: The Honeyduke's JobAuthor
: Hard RWarnings
: Auror H/D, established relationship, Draco on a sugar high, and the abuse of children's songsThemes/kinks chosen
: Bertie Botts goes out of business when it is discovered that the poison flavored jelly beans are in fact poisoned.Word Count
: What could be more fun than a stakeout in a sweet shop with Draco Malfoy? Well there's castration, watching Hagrid give Voldemort a lap dance...Author's notes
: I took certain liberties with the prompt, there isn't much smut, and the ending is rushed. I hope, though, that it amuses.
“Blindfolds on Potter, and clamps on his nipples.”
Harry felt his cheeks redden as they passed an elderly witch who glared at them. Carefully avoiding her gaze, he mumbled, “I don’t think that’s how that song goes.”
Draco obviously wasn’t listening. “Chains on his ankles and orgasms triple.”
“Please stop,” Harry begged as they rounded a corner and started down the main street of Hogsmeade.
“Gryffindor penises tied up with string,” Draco sang with a smirk.
“You could just kill me and have done with it,” Harry suggested hopefully.
“These are a few of my favorite things!” Draco finished with a flourish of his hands that indicated he was either disturbingly happy about his newest composition, or trying to shoo away a swarm of Cornish Pixies.
“Tell me again why I agreed to take this case?” Harry prompted as he opened the door of Honeyduke’s and ushered his irritating lover inside.
“Because you knew Shacklebolt would have your balls if you didn’t,” Draco replied with a shrug, and then batted his eyelashes. “Besides, what could possibly be more fun than a stakeout in a sweet shop with me?”
“Castration,” Harry suggested as he followed his partner into the shop, “Watching Hagrid give Voldemort a lap dance…”
“This old man, he played cock, with his dick hidden in a sock, with a knick knack paddy-whack give a boy a bone, this old man—“
“Got arrested for pedophilia?” Harry supplied, following his lover down the aisle of Honeyduke’s.
Draco finished the bizarre dance he’d been doing and stopped with his hands on his hips. Flipping his hair out of his eyes, he huffed, “I’m starting to think you don’t appreciate my singing.”
“You’re the next Pavarotti,” Harry replied dryly.
“How dare you compare me to one of the Patil twins,” Draco shot back with a glare.
“Not Parvati, you great prat,” Harry sighed. “Pavarotti
; he’s a muggle opera—oh, never mind.”
Apparently, blood-flavoured lollipops were more interesting than anything Harry had to say, because Draco was tearing the wrapper off of one and shoving it into his mouth. After a few moments of overly dramatic moaning, he sighed and opened his eyes.
“How many is that?” Harry asked as his partner as they completed their fourth round of the shop and made their way back to the two chairs stationed behind the counter.
“Eight,” Draco replied, sitting down for approximately two seconds before standing back up again and pacing. “So, do you think the perp will show up tonight?”
“Perp?” Harry repeated, trying and failing to suppress his laughter. “Have you been watching muggle detective movies again?”
“Just answer the question, you twit,” Draco snapped. Then, without waiting for a reply, he rambled, “What do we know about him—or her, because you know, I wouldn’t put something like this past a woman—they’re evil—I lived with Pansy for seven years, you know—who puts real poison in poison-flavoured jelly beans, anyway? That’s sacrilege, blasphemy—I hope we have to hex him—or her—“
Harry marveled at the wonder that was Draco Malfoy on a sugar high, and seriously considered casting Arresto Momentum on the git. At this rate, they were making enough noise to alert the entire village of their presence in the sweet shop. Deciding that drastic measures were clearly called for, he stood up and announced, “That’s it, I’m cutting you off.”
“What?” Draco snapped, coming to an abrupt halt and whirling on his heel.
“You heard me, no more sweets,” Harry told his partner. “Unless you
want to explain to Shacklebolt that the suspect got away because you were too hopped up on sugar to hold your wand steady.”
The Head Auror’s name seemed to sober Draco considerably, because he only offered a halfhearted sneer as he dropped down into one of the chairs. Sighing, Harry claimed the other chair and raked a hand through his hair. They sat in silence for all of fifteen seconds before Draco started fidgeting, tapping his foot on the floor and plucking at invisible lint on the sleeve of his robes.
“Would you stop that?” Harry said irritably.
“I can’t help it,” Draco whined. “I’m surrounded by sweets
, Potter—I can’t just sit still
“Well try,” Harry offered, a bit helplessly. It was almost eleven o’clock. The shop’s wards had been alerting them of the suspect’s presence every night at midnight, but the perpetrator was always gone by the time they arrived at the scene. This stakeout was something of a last resort, and they could both count on being there every night until an arrest was made.
Bertie Bott, as it turned out, was the only person who could frighten Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the former was very unhappy with the nightshade content of the poison-flavoured beans being sold at Honeyduke’s.
“Well,” Draco interrupted Harry’s thoughts, and offered him a slow, mischievous smile, “you could always help me do something about all this excess energy.”
“I don’t think now is really a good time for that,” Harry replied, pointedly ignoring his cock’s immediate interest in the suggestion. Despite the fact that they’d been having sex almost every day for three months, his body always reacted like he hadn’t been touched in years.
“Oh come on,” Draco purred, sliding out of his chair and onto Harry’s lap. “We have about an hour, right? That’s more than enough time for me to make you come.”
“I—ah—“ Harry’s breath caught in his throat as his lover pressed up against his rapidly hardening erection.
“I’ll suck you off,” Draco whispered against his ear.
“Okay,” Harry replied weakly, unable—as always—to refuse the offer of his partner’s mouth on his cock.
"You're so easy, Potter," Draco smirked, dropping down to his knees on the floor.
"Git," Harry said faintly, and tried to glare, but his eyes were already closing. And alright, maybe he was
a bit easy, but only for Draco. It would be nice if he could have the same assurance, but for all he knew, his lover was still shagging half of Scotland, and most of England to boot. Their relationship, such as it was, was one of those things they didn't talk about.
Harry had been trying to convince himself he was okay with that.
"You're already hard," Draco observed with a fair amount of glee in his voice. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you have some sort of strange medical condition, because it seems like you're always hard, and I know I'm irresistable, but--"
"Less talking," Harry told his partner, and this time he succeeded in glaring.
"Look at you, pretending to be dominant," Draco cooed, reaching up to pinch Harry's cheek.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. Irritated and not in the mood to sit there with his prick out while his lover babbled off a sugar high, he began re-fastening his trousers, only to have his hands batted away.
"Stop being such a prat," Draco snapped, and without warning, leaned in to lick a hot trail over the head of Harry's cock.
“Fuck!” Harry cursed, hips jolting up out of the chair. The sudden movement forced his prick into his lover’s mouth, and it took quite a bit of willpower not to laugh when Draco glared up at him. Malfoy or not, it was hard to take the look seriously when the man offering it had a mouth full of cock.
Draco set a slow, torturous pace, no doubt designed to drive Harry absolutely mad. Trust Draco Malfoy to work off a sugar high through the skilled use of his tongue—which was, incidentally, pressing slick and hot against the underside of Harry’s prick.
“Good,” Harry hummed, tilting his head back against the top rung of the chair and letting his eyes flutter closed. Tugging the waistband of his trousers down, he hooked the bottom of his open fly beneath his bollocks, pressing them tight up against the base of his cock.
Draco obviously took the hint, because on the next downward thrust of his mouth, his tongue slipped out to tease them. Moaning quietly in the back of his throat, which sent vibrations through Harry’s lower abdomen, he rubbed at the wetted flesh with his thumb. The rest of his fingers curled loosely around the shaft, holding it in place while he lapped at the head. Pulling away to smirk, he asked, “All better, Potter?”
“Would be if—ah—if you’d quit stopping
,” Harry panted, twisting his hips impatiently. There was what sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle, and the lips were back, warm and tight around his cock. Twisting his fingers in the waistband of his trousers, he tugged them up and down in time with his partner’s mouth.
“You could just ask me to lick them, you great prat,” Draco huffed, sounding faintly amused.
“Then stop talking about it and do it,” Harry shot back, pulling his hands away and spreading his thighs wider. It was unusual for him to be so demanding, and he knew it amused his partner more than anything, but every once in awhile he felt the need to have at least some control over the situation. Besides, sitting back and waiting for Draco to get the hint usually only led to frustration—a lesson he’d learned while dealing with the unanswered question of what their relationship meant.
Draco smirked, shook his head, and obeyed. The tip of his tongue teased the skin between Harry’s bollocks, and worked its way across each in turn. After a momentary pause, during which Harry let out a quiet grunt of impatience, Draco laughed softly and closed his lips around the slowly tightening skin.
“Yeah,” Harry whined before he could convince his voice not to sound so needy. There was a hand working his cock, rubbing precome over the head and slicking the shaft, but it paled in contrast to the heat centered at the base. Twisting his fingers in the fabric covering his thighs, he rocked his hips forward, pressing hard against his lover’s mouth.
“Are you—going to come for me?” Draco purred, punctuating the question with two teasing licks along the crease of Harry’s inner thigh.
Harry replied with an embarrassingly helpless sound, and squeezed his eyes shut. Electric pulses of arousal skittered up his spine and ricocheted down to his cock. The hand around his prick tightened, stroked once, and he was coming, hard and fast. Torn apart by pleasure, he arched away from the chair with a high-pitched moan, fingernails digging into his thighs through his trousers. There was a litany of half-formed syllables rushing out of him in short, panted breaths, and every time he canted his hips upward, a fresh jolt of pleasure reduced him to shuddering and whimpering.
A scraping sound just outside the front door of the shop made both men jump, and Harry gave a quiet squeak of pain when Draco’s teeth grazed the overly sensitive head of his cock.
With the remnants of his orgasm leaving him weak and sluggish, Harry fumbled for his wand and almost dropped it. Draco pulled away with a barely audible sound of frustration, and a moment later they were both crouched behind the counter. The shop was dark except for a thin shaft of light from the streetlamps outside. Squinting, Harry tried to focus on the shadows near the door rather than the dim yellow glow, but his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the darkness.
“Flank him,” Draco whispered.
“That only works in movies,” Harry hissed, but his partner was already up and creeping across the floor to the opposite side of the entryway.
The latch of the door turned, very slowly, and a chill of apprehension trickled down the back of Harry’s neck. No matter how many times they did this, he could never quite rid himself of the terrible fear that struck him just seconds before he raised his wand. Once upon a time, the concern might have been directed at himself, but now he had something much more important to worry about losing: Draco.
Draco and his addiction to sugar; Draco and his obsession with making up inappropriate lyrics to children’s songs; Draco and his inordinate fondness for muggle movies—when Harry thought about it in those terms, it didn’t seem much different than admitting to himself that he was in love with a mental patient. But that was the crux of the matter, of course; it didn’t matter what Draco Malfoy was, because to Harry, his once-sworn enemy was defined by the unspoken words ‘I love you.’
The door swung open.
“Incarcerous!” Draco shouted, and as the hooded figure whirled to face him, Harry yelled, “Expelliarmus!”
Their captive fell to the floor in a heap of black robes and twitching limbs held fast in a length of thick rope. Rushing forward at the same time, Harry and Draco dropped to their knees on either side of the suspect’s body, and after a brief struggle to determine who would unmask the villain, reached out in unison to drag the hood away from the man’s face.
“Mister Humbertson?” Harry muttered incredulously.
Humbert Humbertson, founder of Aphrodisic Amphibians, creator of the world’s finest chocolate frogs, glared back at him. The man’s blue eyes, usually wide and cheerful, were narrowed to slits, and his lips were pulled back in a sneer. There was something chilling about seeing one of the world’s most beloved confectioners trussed up and snarling, and for a second, Harry wondered if the man was using polyjuice. Despite being twenty-six years old, there would always be an eleven-year-old in the back of his mind that refused to accept that childhood heroes were sometimes villains.
“Why would you do it?” Harry asked, shaking his head.
“Why do you think, boy?” Humbertson snapped. “That bastard, Bertie Bott, has been burgling my customers for years, and I finally took matters into my own—“
“Descry!” Draco shouted.
“What the hell?” Harry gave a violent start, and glanced up from the prone man to find his lover hovering over them, eyes shining with triumph.
“A dazzling detective, displayed as both deity and defender of dextrose-filled delicacies!” Draco went on with a dramatic flick of his hand that suggested he was holding an imaginary fan.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“This display, no mere disguise, is a direct reply to dastardly deviants who dare desecrate this divine district of decadent desserts,” Draco insisted.
“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Humbertson asked, eyes wide.
Seizing the opportunity, dubious as the conditions were, Harry replied, “That’s my partner; he’s a former Death Eater, fresh out of Saint Mungo’s.”
“He’s barking mad,” Humbertson breathed, trying to push himself back across the floor with his feet.
“Daft,” Draco confirmed with a wicked smile. “Yes, I am quite sure they will say so.”
“Completely mental,” Harry chimed in with a wide grin.
“Unfortunately, this discourse waxes digressive,” Draco purred, dropping to his knees by the man’s head and leaning in close. “So let me simply say that it is my very good honor to meet you, and you may call me—“
“Damn it, Shacklebolt!” Draco snapped, jumping to his feet and glaring as the Head Auror appeared in the center of the room with a quiet pop. Four younger Aurors materialized shortly thereafter, and set to work casting reinforced binding spells on a very terrified looking Humbertston.
“Good work, you two,” Shacklebolt said with a grin. “Sorry we’re a bit late.”
“Just in time to interrupt the best speech of the century,” Draco groused, crossing his arms over his chest.
“He’s been watching that movie again?” Shacklebolt asked Harry.
Harry nodded and sighed. “Four times yesterday, followed by three viewings of The Sound of Music.”
“And I sent you in here with him,” Shacklebolt observed, glancing at the candy-packed aisles of the shop. “Remind me to give you a raise, Potter.”
“What about me?” Draco cried, looking furious.
“You have more money in your trust fund than my entire department makes in a month, Malfoy,” Shacklebolt sighed. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll find a way to spend Potter’s extra income.”
“Well, that’s true,” Draco replied, obviously mollified.
“Would the three of you stop yapping like a couple of schoolgirls and get me the bloody hell out of here?” Humbertson interrupted, staring at Draco.
Draco growled, and then laughed when the old man flinched.
“Enough,” Shacklebolt admonished. “I’ll take care of everything from here; you two go home and get some sleep, because if I see one more incident report with doodles of a squid on it, I’m throwing it in the rubbish bin and making you rewrite it.”
“Hear that, Potter?” Draco asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
Harry sighed again and rolled his eyes.
Once the others had gone, the mood shifted rather abruptly. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable with being suddenly alone with his lover. Lately, after every one of their trysts, Harry was left feeling like a shuffling and muttering schoolboy, afraid to confess a crush.
“So, are you coming home with me or what?” Draco prompted finally.
“Er,” Harry replied. “Uhm, do you want me to?”
“No, of course not, I’d rather spend quality time alone with my hand,” Draco sneered. “Yes
, you absolute dolt—I’m not about to let you get away with having more orgasms than me.”
“Oh,” Harry said, staring down at his shoes. Even with the rush of adrenaline still soaring through his veins, he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask what his lover would do if he said no. In the end, he would go, as he always did, because he couldn’t bear to spend another night alone, wondering whose hands were touching his partner’s face while he lay in bed staring at shadows.
“Potter, if I wanted a girlfriend, I’d have one,” Draco snapped impatiently. “Stop moping, take me home, and fuck me.”
Harry glanced up to offer some kind of retort, but his partner was smiling at him, and he gave in. Raking his fingers through his hair, he let out a quiet laugh and said, “Yeah—yeah, okay.”
Draco nodded decisively and grabbed a fistful of blood-flavoured lollipops from the display stand. “And after, you’re welcome to tag along on my date with Shamrock Holmes.”
“Sherlock Holmes,” Harry muttered. “Please tell me you’re talking about the books, and not that horrible mini-series.”
Draco wasn’t paying attention. Humming under his breath, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. Grinning around the lollipop already in his mouth, he sang, “All-wet’a, my cock is all-wet’a, all-wet’a, from Potter’s slutty mouth.”
“That doesn’t even have the same number of syllables,” Harry murmured against his partner’s hair.
“Who needs syllables when you’re a brilliant composer?” Draco retorted with a muffled snicker.
“You really are insane,” Harry replied, grinning.
They disappeared with a quiet pop, and in the ringing silence between the crack of spellfire and the rush of apparition, Harry thought he heard the quiet reply, “I must be, to love you.”