wanking_mods (wanking_mods) wrote in hp_wankfest, @ 2008-06-03 00:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2008 fic |
Harry Potter in the Quidditch Locker Room with a pair of Knickers
Title: Infatuation
Author: sdk
Character: Harry Potter
Location: Quidditch locker room, Hogwarts
Object: knickers
Other Characters: Draco, Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,635
Author's Notes: This piece jumps around in time a bit and barely has anything to do with Deathly Hallows canon, and certainly nothing to do with the epilogue. There's a sprinkling of plot mixed in, but hopefully plenty of wank. Special thanks to my beta for her invaluable assistance!
The knickers are simple white cotton. No flower print. No lace or tiny silk ribbons. Just white, plain, seemingly innocent.
But Harry knows better.
He brings the groin to his nose and inhales deeply. He can smell her then, sweet and musky all at once. Her arousal, her scent, trapped in the fabric forever by a spell. She'll always be here for him, whenever he needs her.
Hermione.
Harry leans back against the lockers and opens his robes.
--
Malfoy barged into Harry's office without bothering to shut the door behind him. "She needs to get you out of her system."
Harry didn't bother to look up from marking essays.
"I'm busy."
"Too busy to help out a mate?"
"You're not my mate."
"I'm not talking about me," Malfoy said, speaking slowly. He enunciated every syllable to make it clear he thought Harry was a moron. "I'm referring to Hermione. Your best friend?"
Harry sighed and looked up at Malfoy. "She hasn't been my best friend since you married her."
Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "And that's my fault?"
"Get out, Malfoy."
"I'm offering you a chance to fuck my wife."
"You-" The insult died on Harry's lips as Malfoy's words caught up with his brain, and his face drained of colour.
Malfoy smirked. "I thought that would get your attention."
"You're disgusting," Harry said.
"Maybe." Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "But I'm serious. Think about it."
Harry gripped his quill, his knuckles going white. "I don't have time for whatever game you're playing."
"Yes, classes, what a bore. I have my own first years to torment. We'll talk later."
"No, Malfoy, we won't—just leave."
Malfoy arched his eyebrow again and stared at Harry for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he turned toward the door. But as soon as he reached the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder at Harry, his smirk firmly back in place.
"Yes, we will. You want her. I have her."
Before Harry could think of a retort, Malfoy was gone.
--
He dangles the white knickers in front of his cock, teasing the head with a brush of cotton. It's always so hard for Harry to choose. Should he bring himself off with the knickers against his mouth so he can smell her, pretend he's licking her, tasting her? Or should he wrap the cotton around his cock and plunge inside her, let the elastic chafe his shaft as if they didn't have enough time to get their clothes off? As if he had to push aside her underwear to thrust inside her, because he needed to, because they both couldn't wait?
He doesn't have a lot of time tonight, so he decides on the latter. He's in the locker room just off the Quidditch Pitch, his favourite place, and though it's after curfew and technically all the students should be safely tucked away in their beds, he's not too old to forget his own nightly explorations of the castle when he was still in school. Students could still be up and about; he could be caught at any moment, expelled from Hogwarts for being a dirty old professor. That thought doesn't thrill him, but if Hermione were here he'd be too distracted to care.
So Harry wraps the knickers around his cock and pretends.
--
She needs to get you out of her system.
Those words haunted Harry for the rest of the day. He set his fifth years into pairs and made them practise the disarming spell, then walked around the classroom correcting techniques, offering suggestions. It didn't require a lot of thought, wasn't much different than the DA, really. That was how Hermione had managed to convince him to take the position in the first place. She was always convincing him of something.
But the words stayed with him, no matter how much he tried to push them away. He dismissed his class a half-hour early, much to his students' delight, then waited until curfew to head out to the Quidditch Pitch.
He needed to clear his head. He needed to fly.
"It'll be just like when we were at Hogwarts before," she'd exclaimed after they'd both been offered teaching positions at the newly reopened school. She for Ancient Runes and Harry for Defense. She'd failed to mention who the new Potions Professor would be. Maybe she hadn't known, but Harry could still feel bitter about it if he wanted to.
Harry mounted his broom and took off into the sky, telling himself again that he wouldn't be at Hogwarts had he known about Malfoy, but deep down he knew that wasn't true. Hermione would have convinced him anyway, like always.
But if Harry had known then that he would have had to witness Malfoy and Hermione's bizarre whirlwind of a courtship, he would have found the strength to deny her.
Harry respected Hermione. He'd wanted to give her time to get over Ron, and maybe slowly figure out if their own relationship wasn't so brotherly and sisterly after all, but Malfoy had swooped in and ruined everything, and worse, stuck his tongue out at Harry while doing it.
She needs to get you out of her system.
Malfoy's voice was in the breeze. His presence dominated the air like he was up on a broom, too, breathing down Harry's neck as they chased after the snitch. But Malfoy had already won, and he held the glittering ball before Harry like a tantalizing prize.
I'm offering you a chance to fuck my wife.
His imaginary Malfoy laughed and laughed, his eyes sparkled, mocking, and Harry flew so hard at the ground that he nearly crashed when he landed. Flying wasn't even a refuge anymore. There was no escape.
He headed into the Quidditch locker room intent on a shower and maybe a nice long wank to wear him out before bed, but he had barely put his broom down when he heard a noise.
Rushing footsteps trampled the grass outside, and someone giggled. Harry froze. A girl—no—a woman just outside the locker room. It wasn't a student; the voice was muffled and Harry couldn't make out the words, but he recognised it. He'd know her voice anywhere.
Hermione, and from the deep tones that answered her, it was obvious she wasn't alone.
Harry crept toward the door and opened it a crack, just enough to peek out.
"I thought we were going under the stands," she said. She giggled like a blushing school girl again, but was quickly cut off by someone pushing her against the building only a couple meters away from the door. Then all Harry could see was a head full of blond hair tucked beneath her jaw, doing something that made Hermione's already pink cheeks flush dark red.
Malfoy. Her husband. Harry's jaw clenched.
"I changed my mind," Malfoy said after he finished with her neck. Then he parted her robes, moving down, dipping his head between her breasts. His hand snaked below and pushed her hem up to her waist, revealing her naked thigh.
Harry pressed his eye to the crack, holding his breath. He'd never thought about Hermione when they'd been in school—not like this—until one day he'd seen her curled up with a book on the sofa in the common room. Her skirt had slid up just enough that he'd gotten a glimpse of her thigh. He hadn't been able to look away; he'd kept glancing at her covertly, wanting her skirt to slip up just a bit more, the hint of her curves more than enough to set his teenage heart racing. That one shameful moment had changed the way he saw Hermione forever, like after the Yule Ball when he'd realised she was a girl. After a glimpse of Hermione's thigh, he'd known she was a woman.
And here she was now, her leg completely bared to him, like Malfoy knew Harry was there, watching from the shadows, and he was giving Harry a taste. You could have had this, he was saying, but I got here first.
I'm offering you a chance to fuck my wife.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but he only lasted a moment before he had to look again.
Hermione wrapped her leg around Malfoy's waist, and Malfoy was inside her then. Harry could tell by the way she gasped and clutched at his shoulders, the way their hips moved together, and her arse hit the wall with each thrust. She still had her knickers on; they were white, plain, hugging her arse, but Malfoy was inside her even so, and Harry felt sick to his stomach.
His cock didn't seem to care about that. And his hand cared even less, already dipping into his robes, rubbing himself through his trousers. There was no fighting it; he was hard and throbbing and if he didn't wank then, he'd have to wank later. He couldn't leave until they were done anyhow.
Harry shoved his hand into his trousers and stifled a groan—not that they would have noticed him. Draco grunted and weak breathy moans escaped Hermione's lips like she was trying to hold back, but couldn't help it. Any sound that Harry made would be lost to both of them, but still he was careful, clamping his teeth down hard on his lower lip as he pulled himself off with quick tight strokes, trapped within the confines of his pants.
"Somebody will see," Hermione rasped, and it became her chant as Malfoy drove himself into her over and over, their rhythm growing faster, catching up to the speed of Harry's fist. Hermione was right. Harry saw everything through the slit at the door. He tried to concentrate on her, the way her eyes fluttered closed and the arch of her neck and her bare leg flexing over and over again, but he couldn't block out Malfoy; he was there, invading her, claiming her, stealing her away from Harry again, just because he could.
Hermione gave a sharp gasp, and Malfoy's hips began to jerk until suddenly they both went still, limp against the wall. Harry twisted his wrist and came moments later, trembling with the effort to keep his moan in his throat. His eyes had fallen closed at some point, but that was fine with him. He didn't want to see the soft touches between them, Malfoy carefully letting down her robes, Hermione brushing gentle fingers through his hair.
At least he'd lasted longer than Malfoy.
Harry eased away from the door, and headed for the showers, tiptoeing as to not make a sound. He took a long hot shower, scrubbing his skin as if he could scrub the memory away, and only when he was sure they had to be gone did he emerge from locker room and head back to the castle.
When he reached his quarters, there was a package waiting for him on his bed. A simple brown box with a dainty red ribbon tied in a bow on top. A present. There was no indication of who it was from or how they had gotten into his room, but somehow Harry had a sinking suspicion.
He opened the box. Wrapped in delicate tissue paper was a pair of white knickers and a note.
A souvenir from the show.
Enjoyed the show. Care for a repeat performance?