Title: What Happens in the Cloakroom… Part 2
Author: sdk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Harry/Draco, Pansy
Rating: R
Length/Word Count: Ficlet Series, 710 words (for this part)
Warnings/Content: hand jobs
Summary: Draco has much better taste in shag fantasies than a man who doesn't see fit to run a comb through his hair. Or so he tells himself.
Notes: This is torino10154's fault. Although I wish I could blame her for the fact that it's now going to be longer than two parts. *headdesk* Unbeta'd so please forgive and point out any typos or errors. Thanks!
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.

Link to Part 1


What Happens in the Cloakroom…
Part 2

“He’s watching you,” Pansy said as she slipped her arm through Draco’s and led him around the the outskirts of the ballroom. Pansy had twisted his arm in coming here in the first place, saying that they both needed to mingle with the upper echelon of the Ministry for the sake of the business (though Draco doubted that was her only motivation). Draco would have been perfectly content to stay in his workroom with his research and his cauldrons, but she’d made a fuss until he’d given in. Anything was worth getting her to shut it sometimes; unfortunately, Pansy was all too aware of his weakness when it came to her whinging.

“Who?”

“Oh you know very well who. The Boy Wonder. The Chosen One. The main attraction of your wank fantasies since you were fourteen, that’s who.”

“Shut it, Pansy,” Draco hissed. He glanced around to make sure no one had overheard her little comment. Not that it was true in the least. Draco had much better taste in shag fantasies than a man who didn’t see fit to even run a comb through his hair.

Still, he felt Potter’s gaze keenly as she led him into a conversation with a group of mid-level managers from some department or another, Draco didn’t quite catch. And if he happened to cheat out so his good side was always in Potter’s direction, stand a bit straighter, and laugh a bit too hard at an old balding Wizard’s cauldron thickness joke, that was merely a coincidence. It didn’t have anything to do with Potter at all.

~

Potter kisses down Draco’s neck, teeth scraping over skin, tongue darting out in soothing flicks until he reaches Draco’s pulse point and sucks until Draco thinks his legs might give out under him. Potter’s hands frantically paw at Draco’s robes, ripping them apart and Draco wants to tell him to slow down--they have time--just as much as he yearns for Potter to free his cock already and let him come. He tangles his fingers into thick black hair, softer than he ever thought it could be, and can’t muffle his moan when Harry finally finds the place Draco most desperately needs to be touched.

His palm is sweaty and soon slick with Draco’s pre-come as he starts stroking, steady and sure. Draco’s hips instinctually follow Potter’s rhythm, and Potter’s lips work their magic again, sliding up the column of Draco’s neck, kissing down the angle of his jaw. Draco’s mouth falls open. He feels his impending orgasm from the tip of his toes all the way up through his chest and he comes with a gasp, covering Potter’s fingers in white.

~

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he sat straight up, breath coming in fits and starts. His heart pounded in his chest, and it took him a moment to realize where he was. Fingers curled into silken sheets, the dim light of the moon filtered through his window, and finally he was able to let out a long steadying breath. He was at home, in bed. It was a dream. Just a dream.

It was however a dream that closely mirrored real events. It was the third time he’d had it that week. The other nights, his brain took a more fictional route, but the starring role always belonged to the same man.

Potter. Harry bloody Potter.

Draco balled his sheets up in his fists. It was unlikely he would be able to sleep again tonight. Not unless he wanted to relive that night again.

And no, he definitely did not want to. It had been a terrible mistake, brought on by too much punch--which was most definitely spiked despite whatever Pansy might have claimed the next day. What did she know anyhow? She had been too busy throwing herself at a Weasley of all people; she had likely been just as infected as Draco.

Draco threw off the rest of the covers and slipped out of bed. He would just go to work, that’s what he would do. And maybe while he was at it, he could develop a potion to keep unwanted fantasies at bay. Especially about bespectacled messy-haired gits.


Link to Part 3








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