wildestranger | A challenge

...

I've been sitting here for several minutes trying to come up with something and all of the reasonable ideas involve a married Ginny rather than a Harry-en-déshabillé as I believe you were going for.

Made several attempts and James has crashed them all. *headdesk*

Harry started at the sound of Blaise's voice. "Draco, this isn't?????" then he quickly turned over and hid his head under the covers.

Draco ran a proprietary palm over the curve of Harry's arse mounding the bedspread in a most delightful manner. A hiss indicating pleasure snuck out from under covers, a wriggle indicated displeasure at these turn of events. Potter was shy about all manners sexual. Until. Until you grabbed his arse or cupped his dick and then. Then. The term "all hell breaks loose" was never more apt. Once you got beyond the blush... Draco wriggle his own arse in appreciation; he'd feel that for the next day or two. If he was lucky. Fast learner, he'd give him that.

"Didn't want my bed smelling like fuck, Blaise."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Because your sheets are noticably inferior," he replied. "I was hardly going to stain mother's best Egyptian cotton with Gryffindor semen, you imbecile." He gestured dismissively. "And then he fell asleep. I quite wore him out."

"Indeed." Blaise leaned over Potter, nose wrinkling as though anticipating a bad smell. "And where am I sleeping?"

"Common room, I'd expect," Draco yawned. "Sooner rather than later." He sighed when Blaise showed no sign of leaving. "Do run along, Zabini. I've a bout of post-coital cuddling in which I'd like to indulge, and it's rather difficult to do when there's an uninvited third party in the room."

"I'll tell Pansy," Blaise offered airily.

"Would you?" Draco asked, unconcerned, climbing into Blaise's bed. "I haven't had a moment, myself."

"Pathetic," Blaise mumbled, watching as Draco draped himself over Potter with a satisfied smirk.

Draco closed his eyes. "If you like. I am, however, thoroughly shagged out and rather indisposed toward debate at the moment. You win. I'm a dastardly loser." He stretched and relaxed again. "If you could close the door on your way out?"

Blaise mumbled something uncomplimentary as he complied.

"You're awful," Harry murmured, running a hand up Draco's back.

"Mmmmm." Draco smiled. "Would you like me to be awful to you?"

Harry's kiss was a rather definitive reply.

Draco replied with an insouciant shrug. “You wanted a painter instead?”

Blaise tossed his bag into the closet. “Thomas does have the better arse.”

“Thomas is immune to my wiles. Much as it pains me to say so.”

Blaise smirked. “As if. What is about you and Ginny Weasley’s leftovers?” He neatly dodged the hex Draco hurled at him, letting it hit the wall with a messy red splat.

Draco’s irritation slid into a sneer. “What is it about you and Snape’s?”

The smirk vanished. Blaise gestured to his bed. “You would know better than I.”

Draco caught his breath.

"Draco," Blaise said in tones of light enquiry, "why is there a Potter in my bed?"

At this, Draco slowly turned around to fix Blaise with a look that wavered between indulgence and sarcasm. In the blink of an eye, the latter had won over.

"Why, Blaise," drawled Draco, "don't you find that charming?"

On the bed, Potter writhed around, grunting with the exertion. Blaise lifted an eyebrow and answered:

"I find that something savage."

'He got lost on the way to the kiln,' Draco said.

Draco's lower lip quivered slighly before curving down into a frown.

Blaise raised his eyebrow at the pout.

Draco pouted even more. "Where else was I supposed to put the body? Certainly not in my bed."

Blaise shook his head, annoyed at Draco's lack of manners far more than his occasional homocidal tendencies. "Why can't you use a rubbish bin like normal people?"

This question caused Draco to lift his chin up haughtily. "Rubbish bins are for commoners and mudbloods. I can't be expected to go near them. They are dirty and smell of rotting hippogryffs."

Cursing Walden MacNair again for participating in the Ministry's 'Take a Pureblood Heir to Work' days, Blaise sighed. "Draco. Am I going to have to have an incinerator installed in the basement for you?"

Draco perked up. "Would you? I would be ever so good then and make all the bodies just burn into ash and there would never be any messes that you would be upset with me for."

Blaise reached out and stroked Draco's cheek with his knuckles. "You're mad, you know."

Draco smiled in a mannner that would have been angelic if he wasn't standing next to a corpse. Blaise glanced over at the naked form face down on the green satin sheets. "Did he make you happy, Draco? Before you killed him?"

Draco considered this a moment. "He was quite good at fucking, actually. But..." he wrinkled his nose. "He called me Colin, and I had to kill him."

"Truly tragic," Blaise murmured as he started unbuttoning his shirt, immediately drawing Draco's attention to the growning expanse of smooth skin.

Blaise smirked. "Unless you plan on us indulging in a bit of necrophilia, I suggest you move Potter so I can bugger you properly."

"I'm not sharing you with anyone. Not even a dead anyone. Especially not a dead Potter." And with that Draco levitated the body out of the bedroom.

Accompanied by the heavy clunk of a head being purposefully bumped into the solid walls of the corridors, Blaise hastily wrote a note to a local crematorium requesting a small personal model furnace to be installed as soon as possible... and graced by a gift card that read "D. Never in the bedroom. B."

Oh dear, it got a bit out of hand: leather straps and cocks oh my!

"Draco," Blaise said in tones of light inquiry, "Why is there a Potter in my bed?"

If he was expecting a reasonable answer he would have been disappointed. However, Blaise knew his house mate better and wasn't surprised to get a flippant thought his scarlet and gold sweater matched your new red silk sheets better than my green duvet.

Blaise sat down gingerly on his mattress next to the Gryffindor intruder, peering at him curiously. He reached over and poked at his chest. Odd, no response. "He's out cold?"

Draco giggled, "Found him passed out or something right outside the Room of Requirement. Smell his breath."

Leaning over, he sniffed and recoiled. "Abominable combination of some minty liquor and ...gillyweed?" A vigorous shake of Potter's shoulder earned him a snort but nothing more.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco, "A little revenge is what I'm thinking."

"Of course! Keep it class though, wouldn't do to stoop to his level." Draco smirked nudging Potter's face, so that it turned to the side, some drool leaking out.
~*~

I'll be good and come back with porn when I'm conscious, I promise. Sorry to spam you.

(deleted comment) (Show 3 comments)

"Draco," Blaise said in tones of light inquiry, "Why is there a Potter in my bed?"

Draco, sitting in only unfastened trousers on the edge of the bed, turned his head indolently from the sight of the bound, nude, blindfolded Harry to meet Blaise’s eyes, his own full of heat, and replied, “Because there’s a Parkinson in mine.”

“Yes, a Parkinson-Malfoy,” Blaise noted, leaning against the doorjamb and admiring the way
Potter’s muscles rippled in response to Draco’s light, possessive caresses.

“Ungrateful, that.”

“He doesn’t appear ungrateful to me,” said Blaise, licking his lips as Potter thrust up to meet
Draco’s grasping hand and moaned.

Draco chuckled softly and began to stroke Potter’s cock slowly. “I meant the hyphen, of course.
Mother was excessively displeased by Pansy’s insistence upon it.”

“God, would you just—”

“Shh,” Draco soothed Potter, increasing the tempo of his ministrations slightly. “You’re the one
who insisted we ask Blaise.”

“Ask me what?”

“Harry’s a gentleman. He didn’t think it right to steal me from you.”

“Potter’s an idiot.”

“Hey!”

Draco released Harry’s prick and smacked it, causing him to yelp. “I told you, shh,” he said, and then, turning to Blaise, he asked, “why is he an idiot?”

“Because,” Blaise replied, moving closer to the bed and casually unclasping the buckle at his
throat so that his robes could fall to the floor, “it’s not me from whom he’s stealing.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, I think Harry understands who matters to me, don’t you?”

“P—please, Draco, just . . . just touch me already!” Harry begged, struggling against his bonds.

“Well Blaise, should I touch him?” Draco asked, watching avidly as Blaise began to peel off his
clothing and reveal perfect, caramel skin.

“It is my bed in my room in my home,” Blaise replied, smiling in smug satisfaction at the fact
that his lover couldn’t tear his eyes away from him, despite the tempting picture Potter made.

“I’d prefer it if you touched me.”

Potter whimpered.

“But Potter may watch, of course.”

Draco leaned over Harry’s torso, teasing him with the slight press of his body and removed
Harry’s blindfold, whispering, “You see? Blaise is also a gentleman. I told you he’d
understand—and you soon will, as well. Trust me.”

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

more of a ficlet

Excellent post!

Generosity (NC-17; Draco/Harry, Blaise/Draco, implied future Blaise/Harry; 765 words), Part I