Title: What Harry Wants
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: Nc-17
Genre: Humour/PWP
Length/Word Count: One-Shot, 1610 words
Warnings: Crossdressing, dirty talk, spanking
Summary: Harry had a plan, a path, a to-do list for the rest of his life and buggering Draco just wasn't on it.

Notes: Written (loosely) for daily_deviant's November theme of Gender bending/cross-gendering. A million thanks to lilithilien and aldiara for looking this over and going beyond that by staying up all night and keeping me sane when it was two days before my due date and I had to start over from scratch because nothing was working. However, I have messed with it since then, so please forgive and point out any typos or errors.
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters that I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world that I didn't create. No copyright infringement intended, no money's being made.

Originally posted here.



What Harry Wants

The rain came in spits and spats as if it couldn't quite make up its mind whether it wanted to storm that evening or settle for a light drizzle. Harry could sympathise, but he wished he hadn't rushed out of the house without a weather proof cloak, or failing that, an umbrella that Draco would no doubt make fun of as he did with anything wholly Muggle.

But the rain, merely sprinkling at the moment, wasn't enough to drive Harry to seek shelter. Not yet. He was currently pacing the length of the pavement in front of the entrance to Draco's London flat, oblivious to other pedestrians haphazardly darting around his path.

"It has to end," Harry muttered to himself as he stared at his feet sloshing through the few puddles where the cobblestones dipped unevenly. Draco had a walk-up in a Muggle neighbourhood (which drove Lucius batty, which was the reason why Draco lived there) but it boasted all of the Wizardly accoutrements, including a floo. Harry could have used it to avoid the rain entirely, but he'd needed the walk, the fresh air, the chance to gather his courage to do what needed to be done.

His affair with Draco was out of control and it was messing up everything! He'd had a plan, a path, a to-do list for the rest of his life and buggering Draco just wasn't on it.

The plan had gone swimmingly for a while. Kill Voldemort—check! Get accepted into Auror training—check! Make sure Ron and Hermione didn't kill each other before they finally got around to snogging already—check!

But the last item on the to-do list—date Ginny and eventually marry her, have lots of kids and become a true Weasley—that had gotten a bit derailed. He and Ginny were permanently on hold it seemed, and it was all Draco's fault.

"Never should have returned his bloody wand," Harry grumbled. That's what had started this whole mess in the first place. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Just then the sky opened and dumped a cloud full of water right where Harry was standing.

"Perfect." Harry sighed. It seemed the weather agreed with him.

~

Harry spelled his clothes dry the best he could once he'd been buzzed into the building, but his skin still felt cold and clammy and his toes shriveled up in his socks, trying to escape the feel of damp cotton.

Probably for the best. He didn't feel remotely randy after being doused with cold English rain, and so it was the perfect time to tell Draco it was over.

"It's just not working," Harry practised as he trudged up the stairs. "We want different things. I want a family and you want…well, I think you just want to piss off your dad, which I'm all for, one hundred percent, but you don't need me for that, do you?" Wait, scratch that last. When it came to angering Draco's father, Harry couldn't think of a better person Draco should be shagging. He'd better not mention that bit.

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on Draco's door. Everything would be fine. He could do this. He was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? And after facing down Voldemort, how hard could breaking things off with Draco be?

~

He should have owled.

That was Harry's only coherent thought when Draco answered the door. And the thought was barely coherent at that, flitting around the part of Harry's brain that had none of Harry's attention because Draco commanded all of it.

Because Draco was dressed like a school girl.

A crisp white button-up did nothing to cover Draco's chest. It was unbuttoned, the ends tied high in a messy knot to bare his torso and show off the fine dusting of blond that disappeared into a flared grey skirt—a skirt that barely covered his hips. His legs were pale as vanilla, smooth with just a bit of fuzz like a peach; twin ribbed knee socks clung to his shins and slipped perfectly into a pair of black Mary Janes.

Harry gulped. He struggled against the rush of heat to his face, the skittering arousal spreading through his body, but after a moment of Draco digging the toe of his shoe into the hardwood floor like a shy first year, Harry forgot why he was fighting.

"You're late." Draco leaned against the door frame, twirling a lock of hair through his fingers.

Harry barely heard Draco speak; he was too busy staring at Draco's lips. They were the colour of cherries, plump and full, carrying a hint of a pout. Harry had thought Draco's lips were the safest place to look right about now, but as Draco slipped his tongue out to wet them, he realised how wrong he'd been.

"Fuck me," Harry exhaled, but only after those lips turned to a teasing grin did Harry realise he'd spoken the thought aloud.

Draco pushed the door open wider as he turned to saunter into the flat, his grey skirt swishing with the sway of his hips, and Harry swore he saw a flash of red clinging to Draco's arse.

Harry stumbled in after him, just barely remembering to kick the door shut once he was through. The promise of red knickers was like a magnet calling to him—just that glimpse had his body singing for contact, but Draco kept a few steps ahead of him, just out of reach.

Draco finally paused at the wooden kitchen table. With a glance over his shoulder and a sly wink, Draco leaned against the table and arched his back. Slowly the knickers appeared as Draco bent over to display his arse proudly, and Harry's eyes hadn't lied to him—they were red, Gryffindor red, and a shiny soft satin.

"Do you like them?"

Harry could only answer with a growl as Draco slid a hand to his backside and pushed the skirt up further so Harry could get a better view. Draco's eyes twinkled, laughter danced in his smile, but Harry didn't care.

Mine, he thought. All mine.

~

It was the fastest Harry had ever shed his clothes. He ripped the neck of his t-shirt in his haste to pull it over his head, but he couldn't care less, not with Draco rubbing his arse teasingly and giving himself little slaps on each cheek, telling Harry to call him "a bad girl."

*

"You are bad," Harry grunted, and he brought his hand down again for another smack. Draco's arse was nearly as red as the knickers shoved down around his knees and he wiggled in Harry's lap with every spank. "A bad, bad girl."

*

"Slut." Harry's voice was a mere rag of a whisper as Draco wrapped those red lips around Harry's cock and drew him inside. Draco gazed at him beneath long fluttery lashes and Harry only registered the mischievous gleam in his eyes a moment before he felt the grazing of teeth.

Harry gasped and yanked on Draco's hair. "Dirty slut—you're getting another spanking for that-"

*

"Fuck, Harry-" The table rocked as Harry slammed inside Draco, one hand gripping Draco's hip, the other shoved beneath the tied blouse, twisting and pinching Draco's nipple. "Say it—fucking say it-"

"Whore," Harry hissed. A tremble began at the base of Harry's spine and soon his whole body shook as he thrust again, rising to his toes to push even deeper. "You're my fucking whore-"

~

The kitchen floor didn't make the most comfortable bed normally, but Harry was still numb from coming and lost in those blissful moments after where even cold tiles could feel like a down comforter. Draco's hair fanned over his chest and Harry idly fingered the strands until he caught the glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye.

"How did you know…?"

"Know what?" Draco lifted his head and peered up at Harry, the corner of his lips preparing to smirk. "That you'd get off on me dressed up as your little tart?"

A blush threatened Harry's cheeks, but it was absurd to be embarrassed. Not after he'd whispered all those filthy things to Draco moments before.

Draco snorted and settled back down on Harry's chest. "Please. You're not that much of a mystery. And I am a Slytherin after all."

"How could I forget?" Harry rolled his eyes and resumed his light petting of Draco's hair, fascinated with how soft the strands were. It seemed anathema that anything about Draco be described as soft, but there was his hair, trumping all assumptions.

His breath was soft, too, a steady warmth over Harry's chest. Warm—that was another word Harry thought he'd never use to describe Draco Malfoy.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Draco's voice, innocently casual but still laced with his usual drawl, broke Harry free from his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Earlier—you said you needed to come over tonight to talk to me about something. What was it?"

"Oh-" The reason for his visit came back to Harry in a rush. The vows Harry had made to himself…his life straying from the path…that last item on his to-do list that still remained unchecked.

The clammy chill of rain assaulted him with the memory of pacing over the broken cobblestones outside, but a moment later there was Draco's breath again, warming his skin.

Harry glanced over at the sodden red knickers abandoned on the kitchen floor. He really didn't have to break things off with Draco straight away…did he?

"Nothing important."

Draco smiled against Harry's chest, and he spoke barely above a whisper.

"Good."



-Fin-







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