Recipient's name: _greensweater
Disclaimer: Harry and Draco are not mine. I just do highly inappropriate things to them for your entertainment. Also, I am poor, and this story doesn't do anything to alleviate that situation. I do this solely for the joy of porn and holiday cheer.
Summary: Draco has taken up sanctuary in a disused section of Twelve Grimmauld Place. Nobody knows he's there except Harry, so to keep him from going insane, Harry lends Draco his Invisibility Cloak. Draco finds a new hobby… and discovers a kink he didn't know he had.
Author's Notes: For some reason, this begged to be written in the first person. I've seldom written in this style, and certainly not for smut, but it just seemed to call to me that way. Also, I've seen so many post-HBP!Draco's that have been characterized by gloom and doom. I've even written them. While that characterization is fair, and solidly based in canon, once in a while I miss some of the more lighthearted notes of our old fanon!Draco. So I decided to bring a few elements of our old friend out to play. I added a dash of crack, some snark, stirred it all together, and baked at 350 degrees for an hour. Dessert is served!
"In Plain Sight"
It had been a sign of trust for Harry to lend me his Invisibility Cloak. Of course, it had also been extremely practical, because nobody but Harry knew that I had taken up sanctuary in the disused Mother-in-law suite at Twelve Grimmauld Place, and the chances that I would stay put in that tiny closet-of-a-flat were only marginally better than the Weasel adopting a pet tarantula. So, when I needed to stretch my legs, I'd pull out the Cloak and… oh, that's right. Dobby knew too. Infernal house elf. But under Harry's orders, Dobby was keeping his squeaky little mouth shut regarding my whereabouts. And he did bring food and pumpkin juice. And butterbeer. Sometimes wine and firewhiskey and... and I spent too much of that first month drunk. I'll admit it. I, Draco Malfoy, was completely pissed for the better part of September. Don't. Tell. ANYONE.
You can't really blame me, though. You wouldn't have done much better. Imagine this for a moment: Your dad is in prison, and has completely sold you out to some noseless, power-hungry psychopath who needs a tan more than I do. Your mother can't do a damn thing to help you, your mentor is as deep undercover as a double-agent can get, and to top it all off, everyone wants you dead. You would have been drunk, too.
Honestly, if it hadn't been for Harry, I don't know what I'd have done. Yes, I call him Harry, but he doesn't need to know that. He's still "Potter" when I'm talking to him. Anyway, after that fiasco at the end of the last school year, Snape told me to go find Harry. He said that the goody-goody hero-boy wouldn't turn me in, nor would he turn me away. Snape was right... although I did need to regrow my left eyebrow after the hex Harry fired at me when I showed up on the doorstep. Don't worry – I got him back, but not until weeks after I had arrived, and I was sure he wouldn't call the Ministry on me. I'm still amazed at how close he came in the first few minutes after he opened the door. It was an extremely tense conversation in which I kept my empty hands in plain view and he kept his wand aimed at my head. I didn't blame him for his distrust. Given the circumstances, I actually respected him much more because of it. Still, we reached a truce. Who would have thought it possible? But it happened, and since then, we've worked together.
We get along quite well, much to our mutual surprise. And I was able to help him. Yes, that's right. I. Helped. Harry. Everyone applauded Perfect Potter for finding the locket Horcrux, but I was the one who delivered it to him. Hey, I needed a bargaining chip, and I figure that after this war is over, if Harry doesn't win, then I'm fucked anyway.
Let's just say that the arrangement is mutually beneficial. I help Harry with the Horcrux search, teach him about Dark Magic, and feed him tid-bits of useful information about as many Death Eaters as I know. We've even worked together on some of the planning. (He's not as stupid as I used to think he was.) In return… he makes sure I don't die. And his house elf brings me booze. It works for now.
But where was I? Oh yes, that's right; the Invisibility Cloak. I was actually quite surprised when Harry came down to my door one night with the Cloak folded into a nice, neat package, bound with string. He told me to take care of it, and to use it whenever I wanted to explore the house, or even to go outside if I wished, as long as I didn't go past the edge of the property. If I did, I'd be outside of the Unplottable barrier, and anyone could find me with a magical tracer charm. I figured it was more than fair. The thing is, there was so much more I could do with that Cloak than to merely stretch my legs.
The first week, I was cautious. I didn't want to blow my cover. The "finest" in the war against You-Know-Who would surely be able to detect a teenage boy under an Invisibility Cloak, right? Not all of them, to be sure. I quickly figured out who was completely oblivious, and who would notice my presence if I so much as breathed too loudly. Mad-Eye Moody? Not a chance in hell would I even go into the same half of the house as him. I'd usually have Dobby check the house whenever I was planning to go out anyway, and if Moody was around, I'd just wait in my room. I was surprised, but the Brood Hen Weasel, the twins, and the Weaselette were pretty sharp, too. Even Tonks, however bizarre she looked on any given day, was very aware of her surroundings. Now I know how she became an Auror. However, Mr. Weasel, Ron Weasel, Granger, and Longbottom – clueless. Yes, even Granger. Too busy with her books and scrolls. And then there was Harry. At first, I thought Harry could tell when I was there, but then, he never really reacted, so I figured I was just being paranoid.
Once I got past the extra-vigilant stage, I began having fun with my newfound powers of Invisibility. I'll never forget the look on the Weasel's face after I poured three drops of Cayenne Inferno into his pumpkin juice. Harmless; just damn hot. He was redder than an apple, and the steam coming out of his ears and nose… priceless. I got to read Granger's diary over her shoulder once. I vowed never to do that again; I almost fell asleep standing up. And one day, I snuck into the Weasley twins' bedroom to see what all their experimenting was about. Apparently, when they came to live at the Headquarters to help with the war, they'd brought half their business with them. The room was full of evil-looking laboratory equipment, and I swore then and there never to cross them. Especially when the butterscotch candies I stole turned me bright yellow for an hour. Overall though, the Invisibility Cloak kept me pretty entertained, particularly when I started watching Harry.
For the longest time, I hadn't seen anything special about everyone's favourite kiss-arse. Essentially, Potter was famous because of a magical mistake. As a result, everyone was completely blind to the fact that Harry Potter was as plain, dull, boring, and normal of a boy as had ever existed. Okay, so he was a damned good Seeker, and yes, he packs a pretty strong magical punch. Alright, I'm not being fair. He was powerful; more powerful than even he knew. The point is, I hadn't realized that at first, but I had started to understand by the end of last year. However, once I really had the chance to watch Harry, up close, I could see just how incredibly powerful he was. And I came to see that because he didn't realize his own power… well, that was just the reason he might win.
And then, in the middle of everything else… I also started to notice Harry. Oh, don't look at me like that. He's cute. Cute… in that wizard-next-door sort of way. There's just something appealing about him. Attractive. Or maybe I've been cooped up long enough that anything with four limbs, a cock, and the ability to walk upright would give me a hard-on. Wait. Self-check here: no, the Weasel still makes me gag. I've still got some of my senses. But there's this thing about Harry that makes him so… so… shit, how the hell do I say this? Magnetic. Yes, that's it. Just look at him for a few moments – really look – and you'll see what I mean. One part self-sacrificing hero, one part scruffy hair, two parts naïve little boy, and one part cynic. Stir in liberal portions of ferocious determination. Add a pinch of awkwardness, and a pair of ridiculous glasses. It's irresistible.
Merlin, I need to get out more often.
Too bad I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Instead, I had to keep myself entertained within the confines of Twelve Grimmauld Place. So, I began Harry-watching, observing the Heroicus potterus in his native habitat. He wasn't hard to find.
For example, I went down to the kitchen last week on one of my outings. I was craving chocolate, and earlier that day, Harry had mentioned a cake that hadn't been finished yet. However, when I got there, I found Harry sitting at the table, eating a sandwich and reading a scroll he and I had been studying the night before. There was a deep furrow between his eyebrows, and he kept tugging at his right earlobe as he read, the way some people chew on their quills. He does it all the time.
I was going to sneak up behind him and startle him, but something stopped me. I just kept watching him, studying him. I stared at his earlobe as he squeezed and tugged it, and imagined myself teasing that earlobe with my tongue. He licked his lips slowly, as if he were intending to torture me. I could have ripped off the cloak right there and jumped him, just to lick those lips myself. But, of course, I didn't do it.
After staring closely at the scroll for a while, Harry took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and stretched backwards. His head tilted back, exposing his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed, and he sighed. That was right about the time I found that the Invisibility Cloak trapped much more heat than I'd thought it did. As quickly as I could without making a sound, I gathered myself up and went outside to cool off. I hope I didn't hear a faint chuckle behind me.
Three days after that, I found Harry asleep in the library. He wasn't alone, much to my dismay. Granger was in there, and so was her pet Weasel. The ginger rodent was getting lectured by his stand-in wife about keeping up with the lessons they would be taking if Hogwarts was still open. I hate to admit it, but she was right. Eventually, if the world wasn't utterly destroyed, I'm sure we'd all have to take N.E.W.T.'s if we wanted to get our certifications and get on with our lives. I mentally kicked myself for slacking so badly. However, I was quickly distracted as Harry shifted in his oversized wing-backed chair. The book he was reading slipped down in his lap, and he curled his head a bit more tightly against the wing. His glasses tipped askew on his face, and he looked so innocent. Not at all the fierce young wizard with whom I'd been practicing dueling the night before. But then, Granger punched him in the arm, saying that he wasn't getting out of studying either, and he woke up like he'd been attacked. The innocence disappeared in a heartbeat, but the image stayed burned in my memory. So adorable; so lickable.
And then, only two nights ago, I found myself unable to sleep. Earlier that day, I'd been working with Harry on deflecting a Dark curse that produced hallucinations. He had thanked me for helping him, but I felt a bit sick every time I shot the curse at him. Sure, I kept the hallucinations mild, and by the end, he seemed almost immune to the curse, so the whole exercise was a great success. Still, it made me think about the horrible things that You-Know-Who's followers did to people; the things they did to me. You could be forced to see insects crawling all over your body, or to watch people being disemboweled. You might even find yourself convinced that everyone you care about is dead. Scary shit.
So, as I said, I couldn't sleep. Even though I knew Harry would just reassure me that he'd appreciated my help, and that he hadn't been hurt at all, I just needed to hear it again. Besides, if I don't sleep, I get circles under my eyes. Hideous.
Sometime after midnight, I threw on the Invisibility Cloak and went up to Harry's room. I didn't knock on the door; I was afraid that someone else would hear. Carefully, I turned the doorknob and let myself in.
The moon had been full only three days prior, and it still cast more than enough light to illuminate the room. Harry was sprawled on his back, all twisted up in his blankets, with his left leg exposed, and his right foot hanging over the edge of the bed. His right arm kept the blanket clutched to his chest, and his face was turned just a bit away from the window. And he was talking in his sleep.
Well, no, talking wasn't quite the word for it. Hissing. Apparently, Potter the Wonder Wizard doesn't just talk in his sleep; he uses Parseltongue. Normal mumbling must be too mundane for Harry. And all I could do was stand there, listening to this hypnotic sound. And then, he started moving.
The dim light played across his skin as he shifted under the blankets, and his right hand clenched and unclenched in the folds of cloth. Underneath the blankets, something else was moving. Right at his crotch, there was a very distinct, very familiar pumping motion. Harry was wanking off in his sleep, right in front of me. I should have left, but there was no way I was going anywhere. You wouldn't have left either.
The hissing got louder, and I could only guess what he was saying. Whatever the translation, I didn't care. He could have been giving a dissertation on the hygiene habits of garden gnomes, and it still would have been the most incredible thing I'd ever heard. The sound seemed to go straight to my cock, and within seconds, I was becoming hard.
Now, before you get carried away, let me point something out to you. Contrary to popular rumour, the boys of Slytherin house did not have mass gay orgies. Thank Merlin for small favours, as half of them are disgusting. I would have been thrilled to get some action with Blaise, but he's straight. With cheekbones like that, it's a bloody shame. So, much to my sincere disappointment, I've not managed to get my rocks off with another bloke. In fact, the closest I ever came to even watching another bloke was an unfortunate incident involving an unlocked door, and Vincent Crabbe. I never want to hear someone grunt like that again. EVER.
But as I stood in Harry's room watching – and listening to – Harry, Crabbe was the furthest thing from my mind. I was transfixed. Frozen to the spot. I couldn't move my feet, but I could sure as hell move my hand. I began stroking at my crotch, awkwardly at first. I was too busy just watching Potter to be able to control my fingers as smoothly as my cock would have wanted. I watched as his mouth worked to form sounds that should have been impossible for the human voice. I watched as his chest rose and fell, more rapidly each time. And I watched as his motions finally caused the blankets to slip away and fall to the floor, leaving his naked body completely exposed.
Between the sight gracing my deprived eyes and the sounds reaching my ears, my brain was rapidly starting to shut down. The hissing was becoming punctuated with deep, throaty noises and gasps. Bloody Merlin's Balls, I wanted to know what he was saying! And as I shoved my hand down my pajama bottoms and grabbed my cock, I wondered how my name would sound in Parseltongue.
Even as I stroked and pumped my own cock in time to Harry's enthusiastic motions on the bed, I knew that it was so wrong. I shouldn't have been doing that. Not there. Not like that. And as the hissing finally dissolved completely into gasps and moans, I realized that he was going to come before I did. And when he finally arched his back off the bed with a strangled cry, and collapsed back to the mattress with the shiny wet spots across his thighs, stomach, and chest, it finally dawned on me that he wasn't asleep, and hadn't been for some time.
I couldn't let him know that I was there. Of course, that was going to be a trick and a half. With no other sounds in the room except Harry's rapid breathing, it was all I could do to keep from gasping loudly enough to wake the dead. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my cock was throbbing in my underwear. I didn't even dare to move enough to take my hand out of my pants. All I could do was stand there, dead silent, slowly dying of asphyxiation, as Harry rolled lazily out of bed and plodded to his private bathroom in a daze. As soon as I heard telltale sound of Harry relieving himself, I let myself out of the room as noiselessly as I could.
And no, I didn't get any sleep that night.
Since then, I haven't used the Invisibility Cloak. I can't get Harry off my mind. When we're working together, I can't look at him without feeling that nervous twinge in my chest. And I can't seem to get my cock to stop reacting to the mere thought of him. I swear, every time I hear anything that sounds like a hiss… well… you know. Thank Merlin wizards wear robes. Harry doesn't seem to suspect anything. At least, he hasn't mentioned anything unusual, or changed the way he acts around me. But for the love of all that is perverted, why can't I stop thinking about the fact that he sleeps naked?
It was insane. It's not like this would ever, or could ever – oh yes, I think I completely forgot to mention this: Harry is straight. Come on, you don't think the hero would be gay, would you? Everyone knew he was head-over-nutsack for the Weaselette last year. And any tingling of my well-honed gaydar in Harry's presence could be nothing more than the result of wishful thinking. Infatuation and utter futility; I didn't think it could get any worse. And I knew, no matter what, this wasn't going to get me anything but a pair of blue balls. With my pale skin, I'm sure they'll almost be indigo; neither attractive nor healthy.
I couldn't get a break either. With the war weighing heavier and heavier, we had a lot to do together in terms of training and planning. I couldn't say no to him. He'd still stop by my little corner of Twelve Grimmauld Place every few hours, and then stay to work on a new curse or discuss a new lead. It would have been great – lots of time to spend with this attractive bloke that I'd happily wallslam every hour on the hour – except that I had to spend the entire time with my legs crossed.
Then, just this afternoon, Harry brought a new scroll for me to see. He seemed immensely excited, but the writing didn't look like any language I'd ever seen before. Not just something I couldn't read, but something that I couldn't even identify as a modern or ancient language. After puzzling for over five minutes, turning the parchment in every direction, and even holding it up to a light in an attempt to read it backwards, I surrendered.
Well, if you're so bright, why don't you read it? That's what I said.
Harry grinned. Opened his mouth. And hissed.
And no, it wasn't a simple hissing noise, which would have had enough of an effect on my cock anyway. Oh no. Harry launched into a Parseltongue oration of epic proportions.
I stared at him as he hissed – he actually sounded eloquent – and felt the blood draining from my face. Naturally, the blood was going straight to my cock instead, slowly robbing me of higher brain function. Finally, before I lost my last shred of intelligent awareness, I put my hand out and covered his mouth. Hoping to save some face, I asked, Where the hell did you get that parchment?
He shook his face free of my hand, still grinning. Cheeky bastard. It was delivered today. We think Snape sent it. I never wanted to believe that he hadn't betrayed us, but… here, look. Salazar Slytherin wrote this himself. Voldemort kept it in his private collection. And Snape… he somehow managed to get a copy of it. Don't you know what this means?
I mustered up the best scowl I could manage, despite my state of increasing arousal. I might have a clue if I understood anything you just said.
Harry's smile turned into a smirk. Hey! He's not supposed to use that facial expression! I have it patented, damn it! My glare didn't seem to faze him at all.
It's really simple. Here, look. He motioned for me to swing around and sit next to him, and for the next ten minutes, he translated, alternating between English and Parseltongue. Each time he hissed, right in my ear, the sound would race down my spine, tingling and teasing, and it was all I could do not to yelp and jump out of my seat. By the end of it, I'd barely managed to remember the general idea of what he'd said – something about Slytherin's plan for the dominance of the pureblooded wizarding race through immortality – but I did have a raging hard-on, and had developed difficulty breathing.
So, Voldemort has taken Slytherin's plans and tailored them directly for his own supremacy. Other than that, the whole plan is outlined here. Pretty intense, isn't it? Harry nudged my shoulder to get my attention, and I realized that I was expected to answer.
Oh. Yes. Intense. Fuck.
I tried to think of horrible things. I thought of slugs and Flobberworms. Hippogriffs. Hagrid. Dobby. Hagrid and Dobby. I wanted to vomit, but my cock was still painfully hard, and then Harry started laughing softly. As he laughed, a few hisses mixed in, and my cheeks began to burn with embarrassment.
Yeah, I choked. Intense. Harry… I thought you could only do that… that Parseltongue thing when there was a snake around.
He nodded his head towards the parchment. Now that I've seen it written, I can control it. I've been practicing all morning, too. It seems to come naturally, which is good. I think it will be useful.
My cock definitely wanted to know what use Harry might have had in mind, and I almost choked. I wanted to DIE. Oh Merlin, why couldn't the roof have collapsed and saved me from the sheer and utter humiliation? All I could say was, Useful?
I'll have to face Voldemort someday, so… if I can throw him off with Parseltongue…
Of course. Plotting and strategy. The war against You-Know-Who. Because in no way, shape, or form would Harry ever plan to use his talented Tongue for the relief of my sexually frustrated condition.
By the time Harry left for supper, my cock had practically tied itself into a knot, but I couldn't even bring myself to wank. I just collapsed sideways onto my bed and whimpered.
That was about two and a half hours ago. Since then, I've been lying here, not quite wanting to cry, and not quite wanting to test whether the Killing Curse would work with a mirror. I've been thinking over everything that's happened these past several weeks. And now, I'm talking to myself. Fuck, I've finally cracked. I've survived scrutiny by the Dark Lord himself, four weeks of being hidden by a double agent, and three months as a fugitive from everyone, but this is what's doing me in. I should probably talk to someone, but the only person who knows where I am is the exact person I need to avoid right now for my own sanity.
I'm desperate. I really think I'm getting desperate. I mean, I could just talk to Harry. He seems like the understanding type. He also seems like the utterly heterosexual type, and this might just be the first nail in my coffin. If I scare him off, and he decides that I'm not worth the trouble… no, Harry wouldn't do that. Even if he wouldn't ever consider wanton Parselsex on the nearest horizontal surface, I don't think he'd kick me out. We've actually developed a decent friendship over the past few months. I enjoy his company, even without the prospect of hearing him hiss my name as he comes.
Oh Merlin, bad thought. Bad thought. DOWN, Little Draco. DOWN. Oh CRAP. That's it. I can't take this anymore. What would you do if you were me? What would any gay wizard with a pulse do?
The Invisibility Cloak.
I need to see him again. I know I shouldn't, but I've got to do it. Tonight.
The house elf never just pops in like a normal member of his species. He always has something strange happening. Today, he has a long chain of argyle socks, knotted into a rope, wrapped several times around his shoulders and waist.
"Dobby, what the hell are the socks for?"
"Oh! Miss Hermione Granger has told Dobby that in the Muggle world, all left socks eventually become lost, and this made Dobby sad, so Dobby decided –"
"Ahh, that's good enough." Now, how to phrase this without making Dobby go running back to Harry and blow my plans. Blow. Oh damn, Draco, just get on with it! "Dobby, I need you to tell me when Harry has gone to bed, okay?"
And there's that stupid, confused expression that Dobby always wears. Does it ever change? "Why does Draco Malfoy want to know this?"
"I've got a surprise for him, and I need to get it ready without him knowing. It's something special, and I really don't want to spoil it. Can you let me know when he goes to bed, and promise me that you won't tell him?"
Watching a house elf struggle with an internal dialogue would be the most comical thing I've ever seen, except that for the first time in a month, I just wanted to kick him and get it over with. "Will Mr. Harry Potter like this surprise?"
"Yes! For the love of Merlin, yes!"
And Dobby's oversized eyeballs go wide with excitement. "You can count on me, Draco Malfoy! Dobby is happy to make sure Harry Potter has his surprise! Dobby will be telling Draco when Harry Potter goes to bed."
The house elf disappears with a pop, and I barely make it across the room to collapse back down on my bed. I'm sure Harry won't go to bed for another hour, maybe more. And within seconds, I'm going insane again. It would be so nice to wank, especially considering the fact that my cock may never recover from this torment, but I can't do it.
So what am I going to do? Simple: I'm going to stare at the wall until my eyeballs begin to water. Then, I'm going to pace around my room a bit. I'll take out the bottle of Firewhiskey I hid under my bed and consider downing half of it, but I won't, because I don't think I could handle being drunk right now. So, I'll put the bottle back under the bed and whimper a bit before burying my face under a pillow and wishing for the world to disappear. In fact, I think I'm going to start with that. Hand me a pillow, would you? Now, squish it down over my face, nice and hard.
Hard. FUCK, MAKE IT STOP!
Minutes turned to seconds turned to milliseconds. Is time running backwards? How long can this take? It has to be bedtime. Is the clock broken? Doesn't everyone go to bed by ten o'clock around here?
"Mr. Draco Malfoy!"
"SHIT!" I'm going to kill that house elf. I'm really going to kill him. If I don't die of a heart attack first. "WHAT?!?"
Dobby takes a few nervous steps back before speaking again, which is a bit satisfying, in a familiar sort of way. "Harry Potter has gone to bed, sir."
I nod, trying to catch my breath. "Thanks, Dobby. That's all I needed."
"Does Draco Malfoy need help surprising Harry Potter, sir?"
"NO!" Heart out of throat. Breathe. Much better. "No, Dobby. This is a private matter. I really can't have help with it. But thank you."
Everything is a blur. Before my brain resumes functionality, the house elf is gone, the Invisibility Cloak is on, and I'm standing in front of Harry's bedroom door. It's dark in the hallway, and the household is quiet. That's when I finally register something with conscious thought. Doesn't Harry usually close his bedroom door?
Okay, for that matter, how many times have I snuck into Harry's room at night? This would be the second time, so I guess precedent doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot, does it? And then I realize the second piece of unexpected information: Harry is still awake, and he is definitely not in bed. Fucking house elf. The bathroom light is on, and Harry is in there, running the water. If I were in a generous mood, I'd give Dobby the benefit of the doubt, and say that perhaps Harry got up again to go to the loo. Actually… good Dobby. With the water running, I can sneak in without him hearing me.
One quick check through the crack of the door. Harry is definitely in the bathroom, and if I can't see him, he can't see me, so the coast is clear. And with one smooth movement, I'm inside Harry's… bedroom, Draco. BEDROOM. In Harry's bedroom. You know, maybe this isn't such a good idea. No, it's definitely not a good idea. I should leave now, while the water is still running and – shit. Too late.
The bathroom light turns off, and the only remaining light in the room is the candle next to Harry's bed. Amazingly, that one tiny candle seems to be using up all the oxygen, because I don't think I can breathe quite right in here. And Harry is coming out of the bathroom and… fuck, he's already naked. Oh no. Oh yes. Oh dear god. He looks incredible. The light from the candle makes his skin look like it's glowing, and it glints off the frames of his glasses, and… can I fuck him now? Please?
Come on, Harry. Blow out the candle, get on the bed, and start the bloody performance!
And no, I don't have any way of knowing that he's going to wank off tonight. I'm just hoping, like a fool. Pitiful has taken on a whole new meaning.
Wait, no… why are you picking up that parchment? It's bedtime! Work is over. Put the parchment away, wrap your hand around your cock, and… hold on… I recognize that parchment. That's the one written in Parseltongue. Read it. Out loud. READ IT, DAMN YOU! Hey, don't put it down! What are you doing?
Harry lies down on the bed, but he doesn't blow out the candle. His cock is already semi-erect, but he doesn't touch himself.
"Hmmmm…" He's stretching out, kicking slowly, messing up the blankets as he moves. He looks like a person who's expecting a lover to arrive. Not the image I need, but my cock certainly likes the idea.
No, I'm not going to touch myself until he does. I'm not going to. But in the meantime, I'm certainly enjoying a feast for the eyes.
After a moment, Harry reaches down with one hand… and, traces a line with one finger from the inside of his thigh, up and over his hip, curving back and forth from his stomach to his chest. There, his hand stops, and two of his fingers close on his nipple. As he pinches, he lets out a long, slow hiss. His other hand comes up, and as I watch in amazement, he begins pinching both of his nipples. The single hiss turns into a complicated string of hissing sounds, and I can't wait anymore.
I unbutton my trousers as quickly as I can, and I have to bite my own tongue to keep myself from sighing in relief when I finally get my hand around my cock. On the bed, Harry has stopped toying with his nipples, and has started lightly running the fingertips of one hand over his cock, while poking and rolling his balls around with the other. And the bloody bastard is still hissing!
The sight of it is too much. I have to close my eyes, but if anything, the electrifying sound of Parseltongue keeps my entire body tingling. I can't describe it, but I can feel it to my core. I can hear Harry on the bed, the sound of blankets shifting, the Parseltongue. Tongues. Harry's tongue on my neck, my tongue on his cock. The hissing gets louder, and I have to bite my lower lip to keep from crying out as the sensations race down my spine. If I imagine, think I can almost understand what Harry is saying.
I can't resist, and I open my eyes again.
Harry is standing in front of me, staring almost directly at me. With the candle behind him, I can barely make out the amused smirk on his face. "Good to see that you arrived." In the next heartbeat, Harry reaches out, grabs the Cloak, and pulls it away from me.
Now, I've still got my hand on my cock. My trousers have slipped halfway down my legs, and even if they hadn't, I'm too shocked to move anyway.
Harry looks far too amused. "You're quite the sight, Draco. I've been expecting you."
My jaw drops, and my first thought is that I must kill Dobby. Slowly and painfully. I finally get my hand off my cock, just in time to clench it into an iron fist. "Dobby told you."
Harry steps closer to me, and I can actually feel the heat off his skin. "Of course. I told him to let me know if you started asking anything about me. Where I am. What I'm doing. What I say when I come."
"Know that you've been watching me?" He winks. "Of course. And I know that you were in here the other night."
I'm mortified. Utterly mortified. "Oh fuck."
And then, to my horror, Harry looks down at my naked cock, which is still standing at attention, and he grins. "Well, that was the idea, wasn't it?"
I wasn't expecting that. Really wasn't expecting that. "I… you… but…"
The grin softens, and Harry leans forward so that he's whispering in my ear. "And in case you were wondering, your name in Parseltongue is –"
Harry hisses this complex string of syllables right into my ear, and my legs give out from underneath me. But I don't fall. Harry has already shoved one of his thighs between my legs, and he's supporting my weight. I can't talk. I can barely breathe. Harry chuckles, and his chest is warm against mine, even through my shirt.
"You really like that, don't you?"
"I… like… wha…?"
All I can do is nod. Harry chuckles again, and suddenly, he grabs my face in his hands and presses his lips against mine. I'm so startled that I open my mouth, and instantly feel his tongue slip inside. His body has mine pinned against the wall, and… his cock is rubbing against mine. I couldn't have imagined this. I can't comprehend this.
I pull my mouth away from his, gasping. "But… why are you… aren't you… straight?"
Harry leans in again, licks my earlobe, and says, "What does thisssss tell you?" He latches his mouth onto my neck, alternatively licking, nipping, and biting his way up my neck and down my jaw line. Between each bite and lick, a hiss escapes him, and my back arches each time. When he finally hisses directly into my ear, I lurch almost completely off the wall, but this time, my prick thrusts directly into his hand.
At this point, Harry stops and leans back away from me. His hand is still wrapped around my cock, and I swear, if he moves his hand, even the slightest bit, it will tip me right over the edge. Somehow, I think Harry knows this.
"How would you like to suck my cock, Draco?"
I look down at his cock, almost lost in the shadows of his silhouette, and I nod blankly. I can't move though, as Harry still has me in his grip. He gives me a devious look, then he leans down and licks the head of my cock, just once.
If I had been willing to do anything for Harry before, I'm his slave now. He releases my cock, and in a heartbeat, I find myself on my knees in front of him. I look up just long enough for him to give me a nod of encouragement.
This is just what I've wanted, and here it is, in front of me. I grasp the base with my right hand, and tentatively wrap my lips around the head of Harry's cock. His thighs shudder, and he groans. Feeling emboldened, I swirl my tongue around the head, tasting the slight saltiness of his skin. This time, he hisses.
That was more than enough. Tipping my head forward, I pull as much of his cock into my mouth as possible. He moans, shakes, and begins a string of hisses that I only wish I could translate. My prick seems to be able to translate it well enough, because it begins twitching and straining. The sounds are almost like physical things, running down my spine, through my gut, and straight to my cock.
I'm trying to breathe through my nose as Harry begins fucking my face in earnest. I'm keeping my right hand on the base of his shaft so I don't choke, but at this point, I hardly care. Harry seems completely engrossed in the sensations, and his Parseltongue tirade hasn't slowed down in the slightest. Whatever he's saying, he might as well be saying it with his mouth directly around my cock.
Without breaking rhythm, I begin stroking my own prick with my left hand in time to Harry's thrusts. Breathing Harry's scent, tasting him, feeling him shudder and writhe in my mouth; I couldn't imagine anything more incredible. And his voice, now breaking into a mix of English and Parseltongue, urges me to stroke myself harder.
I'm trying, but all I can do is keep moving my lips and tongue around Harry's demanding cock. Finally, Harry twists his fingers into my hair and lets out a noise that's half-hiss, half-moan. Hot, sticky fluid shoots into my throat, and I can barely taste it as I swallow quickly. After a few more weak thrusts, Harry pulls back, and collapses to his knees in front of me.
His face is flushed, and I'm sure mine is much more than flushed.
"You look incredible," Harry says, and before I can protest, he leans in again and assaults my lips with his. My mouth feels raw and sensitive, and I whimper as he bites my lower lip. An instant later, he pulls my hand off my cock, and begins stroking it for me. His hand is warm, and his movements confident. Now, he stops kissing me and whispers again, this time in English.
"I don't know if it will work, but I'll teach you a few phrases in Parseltongue. You've already heard your name twice tonight."
"When was the second time?" I gasp.
"When do you think, Sssseffffssssathsssh Ffsssshaaeethhh?" He licks my ear once more. "That's what I said when I came."
His grip on my prick tightens, and it's just too much. The world erupts into a white explosion, and as I come into Harry's hand, he seizes my mouth again with his.
When the orgasm fades and my body stops shaking, all I can do is slump back against the wall behind me and look at the satisfied expression on Harry's face. "You've been waiting to do this for some time now, haven't you?" I ask. I cringe when I realize that my throat is sore.
Harry runs one finger along the underside of my shaft, which is now extremely sensitive, and I shudder. He laughs. "Yes, I have. And you've been waiting for the same thing."
"Why didn't you say anything?" I croak.
"Because I wanted to see how far you'd take it," he answers simply. "And to make sure that I wasn't imagining that you were interested. At least, as much as I was."
Now this surprises me. "You've really been interested?"
Harry suddenly looks a bit shy. "Well, yes. Why else would I have trusted you with my Invisibility Cloak?"
I look at him in slight awe. "You really should have been a Slytherin."
He shrugs. "Perhaps. But now… it's getting late, and I'm getting a bit cold. You're still wearing clothes, you know." He stands up, his cock just in front of my face. I'm tempted to lick it again, but instead, Harry extends his hand. "Are you coming to bed?"
I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. My legs are just a little bit unsteady, but he pulls me close against his body. Still, my brain is reeling. "Bed? But… I can't do that. What if someone finds me here?"
"You can leave in the morning. You've still got the Invisibility Cloak, you know." He gently grinds his cock against mine.
"But what if someone walks in?" I ask weakly. "I mean, what would happen?"
"We'd just have a lot of explaining to do." He steps back and takes my hand. "But that can wait until later."
"But…" My brain wants to protest, but Harry pulls me along after him.
"Or… if you don't feel like sleeping… I can give you a language lesssssssson."
That's enough convincing for me. And as Harry pulls off my shirt and trousers, and pushes me onto the bed, I get the impression that might intend for this to become a more permanent arrangement. No objection here. And if we aren't ready for me to make my grand appearance to everyone else… the Invisibility Cloak will still be there.