- Astronomy Tower
- Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
- Slash Romance
- Multiple Eras
Published: 06/14/2003Updated: 09/28/2003Words: 53,207Chapters: 11Hits: 178,233
All Bets Are Off
- Story Summary:
- I am SICK of Good-little-innocent!Harry...````Enter Playboy!Harry and his Overinflated Ego, a challenge, a bet, a couple of Really Cunning Plans - and there you have it, "Forty days and forty nights", Hogwarts style. Mayhem ensues! ````Warning: judicious use of Emphatic Capital Letters and idiotic one-liners.
- Chapter Summary:
- I am sick of Good-Little-Innocent!Harry...enter Playboy!Harry and his Overinflated Ego, a challenge, a bet with Slytherin-Sex-God!Draco, a few Cunning Plans, some serious humiliation and a lot of laughs! This chapter: Draco...shower...Draco in the shower...Draco naked in the shower...mmmmmmnnnn!
- Author's Note:
- Warning, warning! Graphic descriptions of sexual situations in here. Slash and het pairings - what can I say? Draco is a slut! Read at your own risk!
All Bets Are Off
Malfoys don't quiver...
After the Trelawney incident, Harry started avoiding people.
He took to hiding in convenient broom closets and empty classrooms; took his Firebolt and flew away from Hogwarts at every opportunity; spent his evenings hidden in a cobwebby corner of the library that no-one ever visited because it was supposedly haunted by a chain-wielding transvestite maniac; didn't go to bed until he was certain all his dorm-mates were asleep, and even then cast so many locking charms on the doors that Albus Dumbledore himself couldn't have entered the room uninvited. He boycotted Divination altogether. And he had managed to successfully avoid Draco Malfoy for the last five days.
His life was suddenly very dull. He was used to evenings spent charming the socks (and most other items of clothing) off of someone or other, or in the Gryffindor common-room regaling his housemates with anecdotes of his conquests and adventures; he was used to chatting to Ron and Hermione for hours about Quidditch and owls and classes and Hagrid's latest idiotic breeding experiments; he was used to being in the thick of every after-hours prank or kitchen-run; always the centre of attention, basking in the glow of other peoples' admiration and respect.
He was not accustomed to entertaining himself reading books on revenge tactics, ancient weaponry and undetectable poisons, as was his current custom. Revenge was boring. He missed people.
He missed Draco Malfoy too, but he'd die before admitting that to anyone.
Still, it was a relatively uneventful week after that Divination class that Harry leaned his fevered cheek against the cold tile wall of the communal Quidditch showers and sighed with relief. He was alone. Thanks be to Merlin and his fur-coat-wearing pimp. Even with Harry's sudden avoidance strategies, he was still besieged by gawking students, even gawking Professors. The leers and the seductive wiles of every girl that thought she had a chance at making him break his resolution were common-place by now. He was coping with the barrage of seduction schemes and pornographic images scattered everywhere he might find them, with the probing questions of his house-mates and the relentless, unending teasing. All of these things he had learned to cope with. They were not the problem.
No, it was his own thoughts that had, over the past week, begun to drag him down into the gutter like ravening, horny little beasts. Nasty, horrid things, thoughts are, Harry decided. Much better off without them.
And, naturally, he spent the next several minutes standing under the scalding water, thinking. About Draco Malfoy, mostly. Which was disturbing enough in and of itself, without the fact that the blonde Slytherin only ever appeared in Harry's mind naked and pouting, particularly in the recent days since Harry had started to avoid him. Needless to say, Harry was freaking out.
Quidditch practice with the Hufflepuffs that afternoon hadn't helped to take his mind off things the way he had hoped it would. Rather, all that time with his hands on his stick had made him conjure up some really, really interesting images. Harry was certain that not only was it improbable that anyone would put their tongue there, but that it wasn't possible to do that whilst riding a unicorn, and he was equally certain that Draco Malfoy didn't even like strawberries, and would therefore be highly unlikely to eat them off Harry's naked belly in the middle of Gryffindor tower, regardless of how persuasive Harry was.
One of the fantasies involving ice cubes, leather and a bathtub of chocolate syrup had grown so disturbing that Harry found himself quite unable to sit still.
Leaping off his broom mid-Wronsky Feint wasn't the most elegant Quidditch move Harry had ever attempted, but it had served the highly effective purpose of distracting him from his aching arousal with wave upon wave of agonising pain. So that was good.
Harry groaned loudly and morosely. Turning to face the wall, he braced both palms against the tiles and tilted his head back into the stinging needles of spray. He wondered idly if it was possible to wash one's face off, and then hurriedly desisted. Just in case.
He looked down at himself and sighed resignedly. Christ, he still had two bloody weeks to go, and he was on permanent semi. It really couldn't get much worse, right?
Enter sexy, half-naked, blonde arch-nemesis.
* * * *
Draco couldn't keep the smirk from his face as he observed the Gryffindor seeker from the doorway of the showers. He sometimes wondered if Hogwarts wasn't trying to turn everyone homosexual. I mean, with a view like that in a communal shower setting, there were only so many places the imagination could go. All were very non-girl related.
Towel slung low about his slender hips, Draco sauntered across the tiles, swinging his soap and whistling the striptease horn solo. Really, he was wasted on these Plebians - he was so obviously born for the stage. He wished Harry would turn around and look at him, but the poor sod was evidently trying to hold the wall up all by himself, and Draco thought it best for now that Harry left his hands where they were against the tiles. By the look of the raging hard-on Harry was sporting, they were probably better kept otherwise occupied, else Potter might find himself holding his own, and it would never do for him to lose the bet on a careless shower wank. Draco had bigger plans for Mr. Potter.
Draco smirked evilly as he thought about those 'bigger plans'.
Draco eased his towel off and swung it over a nearby rail. Glancing over his shoulder at Potter's rather spectacular back view, he felt his stomach quiver. He growled at himself. Malfoys do NOT quiver, he told himself viciously. He couldn't believe he was actually excited about taking a shower in the presence of Harry Potter. Who is taunting whom here, he asked himself savagely, and turned the hot water on. Sliding under the spray, he let the heat relax him, and planned his next move, eyes never leaving the undeniably spectacular figure of the boy across the room.
* * * *
Harry kept his eyes closed even though he heard someone enter through the far door. He was so absorbed in his mingled frustration and arousal that he was actually quite unable to look around. He just stayed where he was, braced against the wall, body taut as a bowstring with tension and craving.
He was too terrified to reach for the soap in case he found himself unable to keep his hands away from his cock. It was a bit of a worry. In any case, the heat felt so nice that he could've happily stayed where he was forever, slowly washing himself down the drain.
He frowned as Malfoy sashayed into his thoughts again. Bloody git Malfoy, Harry thought savagely. Sashaying around like he owns the place, the poncy bloody toff. This is all that sodding, sadistic bastard's fault. Harry proceeded to curse Malfoy viciously and repeatedly. It took a good three minutes until he had exhausted his basic vocabulary and was forced to fabricate combinations involving barnyard animals, school Professors and various garden implements. He hadn't realised he was speaking aloud until a drawl came from across the room.
"Truthfully, I think the pain involved in that would probably negate any sexual gratification, Potter. I also think that the animal rights activists might have something to say..."
Harry's gut lodged itself in his larynx. Oh hell. It was bloody Malfoy.
Harry tried to think of a scathing reply but couldn't seem to think past the 'eep' that was holding court in his head.
"I'm all for creativity, of course," Malfoy continued, watching Harry's shoulders tense up with a smirk, "But really, even I would draw the line at shagging a donkey with a pitchfork...Then again, judging by your questionable association with Mrs Norris, I suppose you're of the mindset that 'anything goes', right?"
Harry swung round to glare at Malfoy. It was a mistake. If Harry had thought that Draco was adorable in his clothes, then he was completely unprepared for the absolute vision that stood before him in its naked entirety. Draco was a complete Adonis. The shower spray had made him all shimmery and sleek and fuckable, with his hair slicked back from the impeccable bone structure of his face, and his toned body gleaming in the dim light.
Harry mouthed ineffectually. His ability to be a suave sex god seemed to have taken a temporary leave of absence. Sodding thing.
Harry was mortified to find himself stiffening at the very sight.
Smirk deepening, Draco very deliberately allowed his eyes to wander over Harry's face, lingering on the perfect planes and shadows. They slid lower to the hard, taut column of his throat, the muscular breadth of his shoulders, his flat, solid chest. Oh, thank Merlin for Quidditch, Draco thought lasciviously. The boy is edible! Making Harry lose this bet was going to be the more fun than...Draco tried to think of something he had done in his life that was actually fun. Er...a really fun thing, he concluded lamely, glad he wasn't speaking aloud.
He allowed his eyes to skim back up and meet Harry's. The green shards were intense and frightening. Harry's breath hitched in his throat. Draco was irritated to find his own breathing had become rather erratic in response. He gave Harry a mocking wink before returning to his deliberate perusal of Harry's assets, grey eyes inadvertently heating as he took in the lean flanks, flat, ridged abdomen; and lower, the thick, hard length of Harry. If Draco hadn't been a Malfoy, he'd have drooled. However, Malfoys did not drool. He made do with rather a great degree of salivation.
"Meep," Harry whimpered as he turned himself away from those hot, hot eyes, trying to get himself under some semblance of control. There were no words to express the depths of his absolute, unbelievable humiliation. I mean, this wasn't just your everyday, run-of-the-mill blush-inducing embarrassment we're talking about here. This was curl up and die, fall into a convenient nearby bottomless pit, turn into an insubstantial puddle of goo mortification. He felt a deep crimson flush stain his cheekbones and groaned in misery. His worst enemy had just about made him come with a single smouldering look. He may as well die right now. Harry resisted the impulse to swoon theatrically.
He had never been so hot for anyone in his life. Fucking Malfoy.
Draco, meanwhile, was finding his own life suddenly remarkably difficult as he was again faced with Harry's rather delectable back view. Having successfully managed to make Harry very uncomfortable, he was unexpectedly struck by a very similar malady and cursed under his breath as he turned away.
Better make a quick get away while he was still ahead, Draco decided, the little voice of his subconscious adding 'and while Harry still remains clueless as to the fact that you're now as hard as he is'. Shut up, Draco thought violently. The little voice was not brave, and quickly subsided.
Switching off his taps and slinging the towel back around himself with a little artful arranging here and there to hide the evidence of his arousal, Draco sauntered slowly toward Harry. He didn't speak, preferring instead to silently enjoy the tension in the air that increased with every step he took, and the way that Harry seemed to shrink away as he tried to maintain as much distance as possible between them.
Finally, Draco stopped behind Harry, not touching him but making sure that Harry knew exactly how close he was, his mouth not an inch from Harry's ear. He deliberately curled a hand around Harry's body and ran a careless finger down the length of him.
A physical shudder tore through Harry's body, and he found himself moaning in agony. He was surprised to taste blood in his mouth. Apparently that will happen when you try and chew right through your bottom lip.
Still running restless fingers very slowly and seductively up and down the length of Harry's shaft, Draco slowly brought his mouth even closer to the other boy's ear, running his tongue idly around the outer shell, and whispered "Better take care of that Potter. Might put somebody's eye out."
He then stepped back, and with an evil smile turned to walk away. Almost as an afterthought, he reached back and deliberately turned off Harry's hot tap.
He was out of the room before a gasping, spluttering Harry had finished choking on the freezing spray.
Harry remained shivering under the icy water for a very long time.
* * * *
Back in the Slytherin dorms, Draco flung himself, elegantly of course, onto his bed and groaned. His body was still hard and humming from the little encounter back in the showers, and it was merrily ignoring Draco's orders to get back under control. Thank Merlin for big, baggy, voluminous robes, Draco thought fervently. He'd've had a difficult time explaining a raging pedro to the rest of his housemates who were lounging around in the common room, keeping an eye on the tally board and speculating about who would win the pool. How would it look to say 'I've just been teasing Harry Potter unmercifully down at the showers, but an unfortunate side effect of playing around with the sexiest boy you've ever seen is that you wind up imitating an oak plank yourself...'? Idiotic, that's what it'd look like. And Malfoys do not do idiotic.
Quit it! Draco shouted at himself as he found his right hand creeping southward down his belly. I will not let Harry Potter defeat me like this. Fucking, fucking bastard, how dare he do this to me?! I am a fucking Malfoy! Malfoys do not shag their own hands thinking about other boys. Especially bloody Potters! This is simply not on.
Draco needed positive action. He needed vengeance. And most of all, he needed to get rid of his fucking erection.
Wandering back down stairs, he let his eyes seek out a likely candidate. Without thinking, or asking for that matter, he stalked over to a gossiping Pansy Parkinson and picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder and walking back up to his dormitory.
Pansy squealed excitedly. "Draco, what is the meaning of this cavalier treatment?" she shrieked coyly. As if the silly bint didn't know, Draco thought dismissively.
"I want you. I need you. I cannot wait, I must have you, Pansy darling," Draco deadpanned, opening the door of his dorm and entering the room, tossing Pansy dispassionately on the bed and turning back to cast a locking and silencing charm on the door.
He then stalked, catlike, toward the bed, fixing Pansy with those killer eyes that screamed 'you are not going to be walking straight tomorrow!'
Pansy melted, just as she always did. She rose to her knees to meet him as he reached the edge of the bed, and tossed her head back as his mouth hit her throat, his hands concurrently sliding down her backside and lifting her hips to meet his.
"Hello, you," Pansy murmured, feeling Draco's erection slide across her pelvic bone. "You weren't kidding, were you?"
"I am desperate to be inside you, my love," Draco lied.
Pansy smiled and pushed Draco's robes from his body, tearing his shirt in her haste to have him naked. He more sedately started unbuttoning her blouse, but closed his eyes as her body was revealed. He didn't want to look at her. He kissed her instead, and she went liquid in his arms.
Things got rather heated from then on. Draco pushed Pansy back onto the bed and kissed her ferociously, hands everywhere, and Pansy writhed beneath him in pleasure. It wasn't often that the sexy blonde deigned to sleep with her, but when he did it was always ecstatic.
As Draco was running his hands under her skirt, her pants coming apart in his hands and his mouth moving across her collarbone, he was suddenly struck with an image of an undulating, naked Harry Potter beneath him, moaning his name, and nearly fell off the bed.
Go away, he thought at the Phantom Potter in panic.
Draco continued to kiss and touch Pansy anywhere he could reach, sliding his tongue down into her cleavage. She shuddered in pleasure and moaned, her hands at the laces of his trousers.
The sound of her moan was too high a register, Draco thought idly. He privately admitted that the sounds that Harry Potter was making earlier were rather a lot more appealing...and then he nearly died when he realised the foolishness of what he was thinking. Phantom Potter chose that moment to stage a comeback, and whispered sexily in Draco's ear. "You know you want me, Draco," he said. "You know you don't want anyone but me." Phantom Potter wandered through Draco's mind, making himself at home and taking off his clothes. Very Slowly.
Leave me alone, Draco pleaded, his mouth moving down across Pansy's breasts. She was mewling and panting pathetically. "Oh God," she gasped, as Draco's tongue slid across her ribs. "Oh Draco...Oh God!"
One and the same, Draco thought with a smirk.
In his mind, Phantom Potter was down to a rather tight pair of leather trousers and a sexy smirk the size of Great Britain.
Draco concentrated fiercely on Pansy. He started swirling his tongue in and out of her navel, hoping against hope that Phantom Potter wouldn't take off any more clothes.
Ignoring his pleas, Phantom Potter slid his trousers off his naked - 'Oh God, naked' thought Draco - hips and advanced on a terrified Draco with a sexy, menacing expression.
"Oh Draco," Pansy purred.
"Oh Draco," Phantom Potter groaned in his ear. "I want you too..."
And that did it. Pictures of Harry flooded through Draco's mind -- Harry playing Quidditch, ferocious and focussed and unutterably sexy; Harry in potions, laughing at the Weasel and looking adorably unruffled as Snape glared and took points from Gryffindor; Harry deliberately snogging Draco's girlfriend Millicent Bulstrode in the Slytherin corridor just to pay Draco back for being a ponce in class; Harry the sex god dismissing girl after girl at the breakfast table...Harry in the showers just now, taut and hard and moaning with arousal, a sound that Draco found he wanted to hear again and again and again.
Draco closed his eyes and shuddered. He couldn't take it. Get OUT of my HEAD Potter! he shouted in his mind, but the images kept coming. And coming. And suddenly Draco was coming as well. With an agonised moan, he buried his face in the crook of Pansy's neck to stop himself shouting Harry's name, and spilled himself onto the sheets.
He rode it out and then rolled away from her, flopping down on the bed and groaning in misery.
Pansy was gasping beside him with unfulfilled arousal, her skirt around her hips, shirt open, bra crooked and pants, well, quite conspicuously absent, actually. Her lipstick was smeared across her swollen mouth, her face was flushed and her eyes feverish and unfocussed. She looked infinitely shaggable, and Draco could only look at her with absolute non-arousal, hating himself and Harry Potter in equal measure. It was quite a lot.
"Draco, what was that all about?" Pansy whispered in confusion, tugging her shirt closed reluctantly. She couldn't believe it was finished already. How...unsatisfying. "That's never happened before. Is something wrong?"
Draco rolled off the bed and leaned his back against the nearest wall, hands doing up the laces of his pants as he looked at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.
"Yes Pansy, something is wrong," he said very slowly. "Very wrong indeed."
After all, not a whole hell of a lot is right, thought Draco miserably, when one suddenly realises that one has fallen for one's worst enemy.