Title: valleys bow down to you
Author: blackorchids
Characters/Pairings: Dean Thomas/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: acrophilia (arousal from high places)
Other Warnings/Content: established relationship, EWE, frottage, oral sex, airplane sex, public sex
Word Count: ~1000
Summary/Description: After Dean veto'd the broomstick idea, it's up to him to come up with a valid alternative. He's got a plan.
Author's Notes: never written this pair before, yikes





“At this point,” Draco hisses, removing his coat and gracefully balancing on each foot to pointedly unlace one boot and then the other, “It would’ve been easier to just work out the kinks of the broomstick idea.”

The bearded TSA agent gives him another suspicious look and Dean tries not to laugh. Draco has been on his best behavior, but somehow his character has been held under suspicion all day, which is ironic, as these people are muggles and know nothing of his past. It’s very late, which accounts for Draco’s mood, and the lines are not as bad as he’s experienced in childhood. The seating on the plane should be better as well, thanks to Draco’s gold-lined pockets.

Finally, a kindly-looking older gentleman waves them through and Dean is nice enough to grab Draco’s bag as well as his own while Draco struggles to get back into his thousand-galleon dragon-skin boots and he even makes sure to get the coffee order right to try and put Draco back into a better mood before he breaks the news that it’ll be a few hours before they can get on the plane.

The coffee doesn’t do the trick, but a quick handjob in the executive lounge loo seems to work just fine. They find a spot to wait in a secluded corner and Draco dozes in the seat all curled up like a cat, hair flopping into his face. Dean reads a book and works on a lengthy reply to a letter Hermione had sent him earlier in the week.

Eventually, the announcement starts calling seats and rows and, after Dean shakes him awake, the pair of them collect their things and head towards the gate, tickets in hand. Dean can see that Draco’s uncomfortable as all hell, but he doubts anyone else would be able to tell, proud twist of his mouth and arrogant slant of his gaze as they make their way through the tunnel and to their first-class seats.

Draco shifts and turns and tries to pretend he’s not staring out the window. He’s ignoring the safety rules and probably not listening to the pilot’s announcements either, but Dean would bet his beloved Puddlemere United tickets that Draco is watching intently as the landscape starts blurring by, faster and faster.

The plane lifts off the ground and, at his side and almost completely out of view of the stewardess’ eyeliner, Draco’s hand squeezes Dean’s tight.

The scheduled flight from Heathrow to Barcelona isn’t that long, so they have to act pretty quickly. Luckily, after the stewardess is finished with handing out nightcaps and blankets, she retreats to her seat and pulls out a muggle magazine and a pen, ready to ignore her plane-full of mostly-sleeping passengers. The plane lighting is dimmed and any conversation is hushed, and no one is paying them any attention at all.

Still, they make a minimal effort to be subtle, Dean sliding out of his seat first and making his way to a claustrophobic-nightmare of a toilet and occupying himself with washing his hands and needlessly fixing his clothes.

Finally, finally, Draco raps his knuckles against the door and, despite his unease, he’s grinning when Dean slides it open to tug him inside, laughing a little at the thrill of it all.

Draco pulls Dean’s face down the small—infantesimal, as he insists—distance and kisses him roughly, letting out a shaky breath in between. Dean gets a hand on the side of his neck, tilts his head a little, uses his free hand to pull him closer, rolling their hips together firmly.

A little turbulence has them stumbling into the sink and Draco groans and Dean knows what he’s thinking; what they’re both thinking—that they’re in a metal can tens of thousands of feet up the air. They’re going to do so much hiking in Spain, climbing to the apex of mountains where their altitude is even more obvious, but the plane shaking a little is good enough for the moment.

Draco gets a hand on Dean’s waistband, fumbling with the buttons, shoving his hand inside gracelessly and fumbling with Dean’s cock for just a moment before he collects himself and gets a too-tight grip, smirking from beneath his eyelashes like he thinks himself a coquettish maiden and then it’s Dean’s turn to groan.

Draco sinks to his knees and breathes hotly against Dean’s crotch, deft fingers pulling his jeans down just far enough to let Dean’s cock spring free, thick and dark and already dripping at the tip.

Draco’s flushed high on his cheekbones and Dean can’t look away from his mouth as he stretches it wide to take Dean’s cock in with no warning or prep. Dean’s head cracks against the mirror above the sink, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the narrow countertop.

Draco bobs his head up and down in a flawless rhythm, expertly swirling his tongue at the head when he pulls off for air. He’s got one hand cupping and massaging at Dean’s balls, the other wrapped around the base of Dean’s cock where Draco’s mouth doesn’t reach, and his gentle flush is getting more pronounced as he restricts his air for a little while to let Dean rut against his face.

Dean consciously takes a hand away from the counter to drag one finger down the bridge of Draco’s nose before tangling themselves in Draco’s silky white-blonde hair and tugging his head down a little farther, reveling in the feel of the back of Draco’s throat, the slight gargle noise amongst the roar of the plane splitting Dean’s nerves until they’re a millions white-hot endings firing off all at the same time.

He wants to make it last, but he can feel the orgasm building up deep behind his belly, spreading across his collarbones and down his spine, and he pushes Draco’s head away so he can paint his face with strings of hot, sticky come, just as someone knocks on the door.