Title: His Own Merits
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Length/Word Count: 1572 words
Warnings/Content: Hand jobs
Summary: Harry's off his game and it's all Malfoy's fault.
Notes: Written for samedy's prompt, "Harry/Draco, facsimile". As you can see, it kinda got away from me there a bit. Thanks to torino10154 for looking this over, but please forgive and point out any errors/typos from my last minute futzing. <3
Disclaimer: The following is based on fictional characters I don't own doing fictional things in a fictional world I did not create. No copyright infringement intended.


His Own Merits

“Potter.” Draco stood with his hand out, open and stiff, a facsimile of a smile on his lips. It was as good an impression of warmth as a Malfoy could ever manage, but Harry was close enough to see the hardness in Draco’s eyes, the tightness of his jaw and felt the coldness of his grip when Harry clasped his hand in return. “May the best man win.”

“Best team, right?” Harry offered. He tried to smile in return, but it came out a sort of awkward grimace. He wasn’t as good at faking it as Draco.

Draco only grunted and stepped back to mount his broom. Harry tried not to watch as the wind whipped Draco’s robes up, exposing tight fabric stretched over clenched muscles as Draco hovered, waiting for the opening whistle from the referee. It was only when Draco caught his eye and glared that Harry realised he’d failed.

~

An hour and half after the game had finished, Harry stood under the shower and indulged himself in the comfort of the warm spray beating at his back. He was alone in the Gryffindor changing rooms, his team knowing that it was better to leave him to sulk than try to comfort him with meaningless words. He’d bollocks up that game and good, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut, and it was no one’s fault but his own.

And perhaps Draco Malfoy. For looking more bloody good in his Quidditch robes than anyone had rights to. How Harry had made it through the previous years without noticing this little fact was beyond his comprehension, but now that he did, he was just thankful Gryffindor only played Slytherin once. He didn’t think he could take that kind of humiliating defeat twice in one season.

“Potter!” A voice boomed throughout the changing rooms yanking Harry away from his thoughts, though the voice belonged to the man Harry’s mind had been focused on for the better of the day, despite all attempts to lure it away. Harry closed his eyes and hoped that after Malfoy found the main room empty, he’d leave Harry in peace.

No such luck.

The shower curtain was ripped to one side; Harry had barely enough time to yank a hand towel over his privates before Draco took one step in and poked Harry’s chest.

“You bastard.”

There was nothing fake about Draco’s expression then. His lips twisted in an angry line and fire lit up his narrowed eyes. But Harry was having a hard time paying attention to Draco’s ire as Draco was still in his Quidditch uniform, though he’d shucked his protective gear and outer robe, and was left in only skintight trousers and a jumper that outlined the hard line of his stomach. The spray glanced over Harry’s shoulders, leaving pinpricks of dampness on the grey and green fabric and it was only getting wetter. Harry was in hell.

“Wha--Malfoy--for fuck’s sake, I’m in the shower-”

“I’ve waited for over an hour outside for you to come out,” Draco spat. He took another step into the shower, Harry stumbled backwards for more room, but the cubicle was so small, it barely made a difference. Draco was so close, Harry could feel his breath with each word Draco snarled.

“So much for the legendary Gryffindor bravery. You coward.”

“What the bloody hell are you on about, Malfoy?” Harry tried to sound irritated, but his voice came out rather weak and breathy.

“You. Let. Me. Win.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Draco looked as if he wanted to strangle Harry as his accusation echoed throughout the tiled room, but once the beating of the shower took up as the dominant sound once more, the sharp anger faded from Draco’s eyes. It was as if his words had taken everything out of him and all he had left was bitter disappointment.

“No--I didn’t.”

“Do you think I’m a fool? As much as it pains me to admit it, Potter, there’s no possibility you could have played that badly,” Draco said. He still seemed to be inching closer, eyes locked tight on Harry’s and there was nowhere for Harry to run. Any moment now, Draco would notice and no amount of hand towel could hide Harry’s interest.

“I promise you, it wasn’t on purpose.” Harry closed his eyes, held his breath and prayed Draco would leave, and that’s when it happened. Whether on accident or on purpose, Harry didn’t know, but he felt a shift, then a hard thigh brush against his erection and pull back just as quickly. Harry clutched the hand towel tighter and Draco snorted.

“Did I interrupt you? How anyone could have a wank after losing so spectacularly-”

“Just shut it, Malfoy!” Harry tried to sound angry, stern, gruff, anything other than the mess he was right then, aching for Draco to accidentally touch him again and wishing he would finally leave so Harry could wank just as strongly. Whatever Draco was mad at him for--Harry couldn’t remember then--surely this was enough punishment? “Can you just leave it?”

Harry opened his eyes just in time to see realisation dawn over Draco’s features.

“That’s why you were staring at me before the game?” Draco said incredulously, his grey eyes blown wide until they became thoughtful, almost curious. He looked down at the obvious tenting of Harry’s hand towel. Harry willed his erection to go away--surely embarrassment would beat any arousal from Draco’s closeness out of him, but his cock apparently had no shame and seemed to thrive under the attention, twitching beneath Draco’s careful eye. A sly smile found Draco’s lips, his eyes seeking Harry’s once more, with a rather more predatory look.

“That’s why you’ve been looking at me all year? In classes...in the Great Hall--not because you thought I was up to something or plotting or simply waiting around to save me? But because you think I’m attractive?”

“Malfoy-”

“Perhaps...sexy?”

Harry colored a hot red and Draco’s smile grew.

“Even...irresistible?” Draco snatched the towel out of Harry’s desperate clutch and Harry’s chest tightened in panic. Instinctually, he went to cover himself with his hands, but Draco’s fingers reached their target first, curling around Harry’s cock in a featherlight teasing grip. Harry was torn between begging for release and begging for more but he stood stock still, frozen in place.

“What--what are you doing?” Harry inwardly cursed at how feeble his voice sounded, but Draco’s fingers were grazing over the thick vein lining the underside of Harry’s cock and Harry was lucky his knees weren’t buckling. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to moan.

“Making sure you aren’t lying.” Draco tightened his grip then and gave Harry a steady stroke and Harry clenched his fists at his sides. He felt a hard grip on his chin, yanking his face upwards and his eyes flew open instinctually.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes, Potter. Look at me,” Draco rasped. His rhythm was slow and sure, his grip tight, his thumb teasing the hard ridge around the crown with each stroke. “I want you to know that I’m the one doing this to you.”

Harry sagged against the back wall and gave in, watching the spray of the shower completely wet Draco’s jumper, making the fabric cling even tighter to his lithe frame. His hips naturally followed Draco’s lead as he thrust into Draco’s fist, not bothering to stifle his moans any longer. It was too late to be embarrassed, too late to care how Draco would hold this over him later, blackmail him, threaten to tell the whole school--Harry couldn’t worry about that now. His entire being was focused on Draco’s hand and the elicited waves of pleasure throughout his body and Harry couldn’t hold back. A rush went through him, muscles clenched up tight and then he was coming and coming, spraying gobs of white over Draco’s pristine jumper that were quickly washed away under the shower spray.

Harry looked into Draco’s eyes and Draco smiled. “I suppose I won on my own merits after all. Thanks, Potter. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Draco backed out of the small cubicle, but Harry had the presence of mind to grab a fistful of wet jumper, holding him in place. “Wait-”

Draco merely raised an eyebrow, glanced down at Harry’s fingers and back up into Harry’s panicked gaze. “Well?”

“Are you gonna...”

“Let you return the favor?” Draco cocked his head to the side, a finger on his lips, and though that wasn’t the question Harry had planned to ask, the possibility was too thrilling to correct.

“I suppose it’s only fair and you Gryffindors are all about fair play, aren’t you? Very well, meet me in the fifth floor Prefect’s bath after dinner. Eight sharp. Don’t be late, Potter.”

And with that, Draco slipped out of Harry’s grip and left, shutting the shower curtain behind him. Harry leaned back against the tiled wall, let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Only after replaying those last few minutes in his mind over and over again until his erection threatened once more, Harry allowed himself a smile.

Perhaps losing wasn’t so bad after all.




-Fin-







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