The ficlet that ate my drabble!
Feb. 13th, 2006 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonflower_roseTitle: S is for Sibilant
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre/Rating: NC-17; Porn
Warnings: Hem - slash?
Length: 4, 800(ish) words
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
smaragdine! Who actually sent this right back to me after I initially forwarded it about a week ago, and the horrors of technology meant that I didn't get it! Woe is me!
Summary:smutella requested dirty talk parselsmut. A fic for rec drabble gone nuclear. Sorry for the accidental delay Elle dear!
Disclaimer: Please see my disclaimer here.
For smutella – H/D dirty talk parselsmut
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was full to the brim of filthy mudblood scum and dirty, worthless blood traitors.
So it was a good thing Mrs Black’s portrait had been silent since Sirius’ death, then.
The whole residential compliment was on hand tonight. All the members of the Order and the entire Weasley clan, including the new Mrs Fleur Weasley. Neville Longbottom was staying with them – his gran couldn’t have been prouder, apparently. Loony Lovegood wasn’t living in the house, but she was there for the meeting, had stayed for supper afterwards, and would probably sleep over, given the hour.
The Golden Trio, of course, was present. Went without saying.
And then there was him. Resident…prisoner? No, resident.
The meeting was over by nine thirty. Very tiring, a lot of strategising. A lot of very powerful witches and wizards, sitting around the same table. If you were the kind to notice the subtleties, which he was, you could feel their magic mingling together, washing over his skin in waves. It was times like this that he thought, how could they possibly lose? So much strength and conviction, and talent, in this one small group. Voldemort wouldn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell.
“I think that’s enough, for tonight.” Remus Lupin (he struggled not to mentally add ‘the werewolf’ to either the end or beginning of that name) stood, his quiet, yet authoritative voice calling the meeting to a close. “Molly has been so kind as to prepare a little something to restore us – which means there’s a seven course meal just waiting for us to stuff ourselves on.”
The table broke into a relaxed titter, and Mrs Weasley swatted at Lupin with a tea towel.
“Hermione, would you help me with the table please? Ron and Ginny, I want you to start setting out the food as soon as I’ve reheated it.”
Granger was doing something clever that looked like apparating the plates and cutlery onto the table, rather than levitating them, which was causing McGonagall and that Tonks girl to fuss over her cleverness. Clearly it was some kind of household charm breakthrough. The youngest Weasleys did their best not to spill food on anyone’s head. Well, the Weasel didn’t try terribly hard when the dishes were floating over his head, but despite that, he remained clean and unscathed. He didn’t speak to anyone during the meal. He never did. The only time he spoke at all was when he was required to, in the Order meetings, or the other private meetings held with Lupin or McGonagall or Shacklebolt. No one seemed all that interested in his silence, anyway, which suited him just fine. At least he wasn’t being pressured to join in, or make friends. Like it would have been possible anyway, with this group.
Supper was over. It was late, and he was stuffed. He’d had far too much to eat: roast chicken, jacket potatoes, fresh bread rolls slathered in butter, and chicken gravy. He’d avoided any kind of vegetable, aside from the potatoes, and some roast pumpkin. And of course, raspberry roly-poly and custard for afters. He had a sweet tooth after all.
So, he was full, and kind of wanted to go to bed and lapse into a food induced coma, but also kind of wanted to check out the library, see if there was anything good to read. He’d been about as bored as it was possible to be, when you spent most of your time worrying about whether you are going to live til breakfast. A good novel wouldn’t go astray.
That’s where he was when Loony and Longbottom bumped into him. Seemed like they may have been a trifle bored as well.
No one said anything. Longbottom didn’t apologise, but he didn’t have a panic attack at the sight of him, either. They all mostly ignored each other, running their respective fingers down the spines of the dusty old books, looking for something interesting. It wasn’t what he would have called an amiable silence, but nevertheless, when the library door slammed open suddenly, all three of them were startled out of their own, comfortable musings.
“Stupid, stupid fucking box! Why won’t you open!”
It was Potter himself, holding a glossy mahogany case, around the size of a shoebox, and which wouldn’t open, apparently. Even from this distance, he could recognise it as a puzzle box, the kind his mother used to have in the sitting room, in which she would leave him little notes and letters, sometimes a tiny wrapped sweet, when he was small. It was designed to be opened by password only, and part of the fun had been the challenge of working it out, as much as the prize within. He wondered what was inside this one, and where Potter had come by it, and watched Potter as he threw himself down in the nearest armchair and glared at the object in his hands hatefully. Without a word, all three of them exchanged a look, and it seemed to be agreed that bothering Potter just at the minute was probably not advisable. Especially for him. Merlin only knew what Potter would do to him in a snit.
“HA!”
A triumphant sound from Potter, as he noticed something on the bottom of the box.
“So it’s like that, eh? Well, you picked the wrong wizard to mess with this time.”
He chanced a look at Longbottom and Lovegood, who were watching Potter in curious silence. He decided it wouldn’t look bad if he watched too. Since the others were doing it.
Potter lifted the box up to eye level, a smirk on his lips.
And then he hissed. Like a snake. He hissed at the box, like a snake.
The first time he’d heard Potter speak like this was way back in their second year. He remembered with uncomfortable clarity, exactly how he had reacted then, and nothing much had changed. It was arousing, had been when he was twelve and was still arousing now, at eighteen. Except now, at eighteen, he knew exactly what was going on inside his pants, and had a better understanding of why. Power was sexy, and there weren’t many more powerful than Harry Potter. He cursed his genetics inwardly for making him sexually predisposed to strong, dominating people.
Fucking pureblood instincts. I don’t need this right now!
He felt the others tense up nearby, and he didn’t blame them. Potter using Parseltongue was a rarity, and cause for concern. Whatever that box had inside, it wasn’t nice.
Nothing happened to the box, and Potter frowned. He hissed at it again. The lid popped open. Potter jumped. His three spectators jumped too.
He cursed as the case revealed yet another box within it.
“Ssstupid – sssson of a - SsssthSSSSSssSthhhhsssSSSSssssSSSsthSSsssSSSss…”
Potter was doing it again, a simmering whisper of harsh sounds directed at the box, which shuddered and opened again. There was another inside, and Potter looked furious, narrowing his eyes and unleashing an even angrier, more primal sounding rasp than before. Another box revealed, and Potter slammed his fist against the table. Savage whispers fell effortlessly from his tongue, and his hidden observer was uncomfortably drawn to it.
Potter was so obviously powerful, even the other two shrank back a little. It was hot as fuck. He imagined himself in place of the box, a furious Potter spitting angrily at him from above, the kind of expression on his face that suggested he’d fuck you within an inch of your life, or kill you. And he wanted him to, to fuck him that is; with every hiss from Potter’s mouth, his cock thrummed as if in reply. As if Potter was speaking Parseltongue to the snake in his trousers. From his position observing Potter in the library stacks, he shifted from one leg to the other, trying to ignore the burning throb of his cock inside his pants, and for the love of god, not be seen.
The cycle repeated. Potter spat at the puzzle, sizzling words coiling from his mouth like asps, and eventually the next box would open to reveal another within. Each time it was harder for Potter to find the right password, to convince the box to open and let him in, and the words grew ever more sibilant, seething, writhing out of his mouth and burning into the trousers of his silent bystander. Each time, said bystander had to try not to rut against the shelving, or moan in time to the throbbing of his cock. The hissing reached a fever pitch, the box tiny now, palm sized. It couldn’t possibly get any smaller. It was stubbornly refusing to open, Potter was rasping and seething vehemently, his witness clinging to the book stacks with white knuckles and dizzying arousal, and then the box broke open, broke into tiny pieces, and it all stopped abruptly, but for the heavy breathing of three hidden people in the shadows.
A square of paper fell out from inside the broken box. Potter unfolded it, held it up to the light, and crowed victoriously. He left the library as quickly as he had come in.
There was a silence that grew longer and longer, and none of them spoke. He couldn’t even let go of the shelving in front of him, let alone utter a sentence, or even a word. Lovegood said something, finally.
“Did you just come in your pants, Malfoy?”
Draco made a strangled noise. Lovegood sighed.
“That makes three of us, then.”
***
The paper Potter had discovered turned out to be a map. A very fortuitous map to the location of all of Voldemort’s horcruxes, signed in the corner by the idiot Pettigrew.
“I bet he had no idea the puzzle box was locked in Parseltongue,” Granger said excitedly, gesturing wildly. “I bet he just wanted to hide it, so that Voldemort wouldn’t find it and get angry at him, and I bet he was in a royal frenzy when he realised he couldn’t get the box back open again!”
It was nearly two in the morning, and the meeting had been recalled.
Draco sat still and silent as the chatter rose around him. A map, the stupid fool. Pettigrew had made a map of the location of each horcrux, along with a description of exactly what it was. This was the kind of stroke of luck they needed. There was a frenzied surge of exclamation, and Lupin stood finally and called the group to order.
“Not that this isn’t something to be celebrated – but. I think it would be prudent if we set our excitement aside for now and worked on an immediate plan. We have three horcruxes down, the snake Nagini will be last of all, to be destroyed immediately prior to Voldemort. That leaves us with three more. The sooner they are dealt with, the better.”
“But there’s only three!” The Weasel protested, “That’s nothing! Surely we can wait a little, it’ll take no time to destroy them. We have plenty of time.”
“It’s taken eighteen years to destroy just three, Ron. We don’t have the luxury of another eighteen years, or even eighteen days. He could strike to finish this at any time. We need to act immediately.”
Lupin was right, of course. They just needed to work out who was going after what.
“At this stage, I think Hermione, Ron, and Shacklebolt should go to collect Ravenclaw’s artefact, the-” he checked the map, “-obsidian quill, that is to say, a piece of obsidian carved into the shape of a quill. Or something like that. The Hufflepuff artefact, which is a bronze cup with a badger tooth talisman set in the handle, should be taken care of by Longbottom, Bill Weasley, and Mad Eye.” He looked around the table, and saw no protests. “And finally, the Gryffindor artefact, a polished agate griffin egg, should be attended to by Harry, Nymphadora-” He ignored the scowl he received from Tonks and continued, “and Malfoy.”
Granger and the Weasel looked ready to whine about not being able to go with Potter, but he gave them a look and they just…didn’t.
Draco shivered.
Fucking commanding S.O.B. Wish he wasn’t so powerfully sexy. What an utter bastard.
“The rest of us will remain behind and keep working on the current strategies.”
“When do we leave?”
Lupin looked at Potter and considered it.
“Not tomorrow. We need a day to prepare. The day after.”
***
Tonks was shouting at Potter to come back. They were in some sort of underground something, it was a temple, Roman maybe, since they were in Bath. They’d already had to overcome countless booby traps to get this far, and were covered in dirt, sweat, cobwebs, and even a little blood. Tonks clutched her right arm, which was sporting a long, deep scratch from where she’d slipped and fallen against a sharp outcropping of wood. They stood together in the arched opening of a stone passage, a dimly lit chamber barely visible at the opposite end. There was the egg, up ahead, glittering in the scant light; and there was Potter pounding towards it. And there, in between the two, was a large nest of snakes. Who looked pretty unhappy to see them.
“Stop panicking, he’s a Parselmouth.”
Tonks glared at him.
“I know that, Malfoy! But he’s only ever dealt with one snake at a time, hasn’t he? There’s at least a dozen, if not more, they look like they’re bred to protect that bloody rock, and I don’t know if he’s going to be able to handle all of them!”
Draco looked at them too and decided she might have a point.
“Right then. You mind the entrance.”
He rushed off after Potter, completely ignoring her shouting for him to stop.
As he gained upon him, Draco could see that Potter was indeed struggling with the snakes. They were slithering closer and closer to him, as he backed further and further down the stone passage. Potter was hissing furiously, but there were just too many, some rearing up, spitting venom at his feet, their diamond heads jerking sharply in stabbing feints, fangs bared. Draco assessed the situation as he closed in at top speed. If he kept up this velocity, he could probably leap right over the writhing pile of serpents, into the chamber beyond, and would be able to grab the egg. He put his head down and pumped his arms and legs faster, trying to gain more speed.
“Potter! Move!”
Potter wrenched his head around, and instinctively flattened himself against the nearest wall of the passage. Draco caught up to him and jumped…
…and landed heavily on the other side. He stumbled and fell to his knees, his hands thrown out in front of him to slow his fall. Skin scraped from his palms and the legs of his trousers tore even further than they already had been, but he was upright again and staggering towards the marble pedestal which held the agate griffin egg.
It’s a horcrux, remember, don’t touch it with your bare hands.
“Jesus Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing?”
He ignored the question and began tugging his t-shirt over his head.
“Just take care of those bloody snakes, Potty!”
Now bare-chested, he hesitantly approached the pedestal, using his t-shirt like a pair of oven mitts to poke at the egg. When nothing untoward happened, he tossed the shirt over the top of the stone and gathered it up in his arms.
“I have it!”
“Well that’s bloody fantastic, Malfoy – and how are you going to get out, exactly?”
Draco looked at the snake-pile, which seemed to have lost interest in Potter and was watching him with worrying intensity. Draco looked at Potter, and back at the snakes, and then at the egg in his hands.
Bugger.
The decision wasn’t hard, really. After all, he’d come crawling to the Order asking for asylum. It was about time he paid his dues.
“It’s been nice working with you Potter. Just so you know, when you speak snake, it makes people come in their pants. I know this from personal experience. You might find that information handy one day. Catch!”
He threw the egg as hard as he could towards Potter, trusting that he would react in time and catch it. He had been the youngest seeker at Hogwarts in a century, after all. And then he pulled out his wand and began firing off blasting spells at the stone lintel directly above the tangle of snakes. Within seconds, the doorway collapsed, burying the serpents under a shower of rubble and rock, and sealing the opening quite thoroughly.
Sealing him in. For good.
***
A few days later, in dehydrated delirium, Draco thought he heard Potter’s voice.
“…had to be so melodramatic…hundred other ways you could have achieved the same end…never gonna get this dust out of my ears, I’m telling you…lucky you aren’t dead…”
He imagined he was floating. In fact, he’d felt like that quite a few times over the past three days, what with the lack of water and the thinning quality of the air. Draco thought about opening his eyes, but found he really couldn’t muster up the energy, and so continued to imagine he was floating, and listening to Potter’s voice lecturing him.
“…and Ron wasn’t at all happy I insisted on coming back to rescue you…is going to kick your arse when you wake up, you scared her half to death…if you can hear me? Malfoy? Draco?”
No, Draco really didn’t have any energy for opening his eyes. He lay still and allowed himself to pretend he was floating, and listening to Potter’s voice.
***
“Ennervate!”
Draco sat bolt upright in his bed, gasping for breath. He felt like someone had just emptied an icy bucket of water right on top of him. Blinking, shivering, dragging air desperately into his lungs, he looked around him. He was at Grimmauld Place. He was in the room he’d been staying in for all those months. He had Harry Potter sitting next to his bed on the only chair in the room, grinning at him.
“Hullo Malfoy. Thought you were never gonna wake up!”
Draco blinked and shivered some more.
“What the bloody hell…?”
Potter grinned again.
“I rescued you. Bloody inconvenient, that. I’m sure there would have been other options available if you’d just given it a minute to think Malfoy – why’d you have to go burying yourself alive?”
Draco tried not to splutter as he replied.
“Why’d – snakes! They were coming for me! I had to get the egg out of there before it was too late!”
Potter rolled his eyes.
“Come on. I had the snake issue totally contained.”
“Bullshit! I was done for! At least I was gonna go out my way – I take suffocation over being bitten to death any time.”
“You weren’t going to be bitten! I told you!”
“Potter, you were completely out of your depth, you had no mastery whatsoever over those – those hissing worms of death!”
Two angry spots of colour rose high on Potter’s cheeks.
“I was handling it just fine, Malfoy. Those snakes were totally under my command.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself Potter. Now get out. I want to get up.”
Draco moved to sit up properly, but Potter shoved him back down against the pillow.
“You aren’t going anywhere until you admit everything was going fine – I want you to say it. Say I had it under control!”
Draco tried to sit back up again, but Potter pushed him down.
“How old are you? You’re supposed to be Mr Chosen One, and you’re acting like you’re five! Let me up!”
Potter stepped away, teeth gritted, jaw clenched, red-faced, his hands balled into fists. Draco climbed quickly out of the bed, glaring at Potter, running a hand through what felt like terribly knotty hair.
“Don’t think this means I agree with you Malfoy. Because I don’t. I know I had it sorted. You’re just a bloody panic merchant. And don’t think anyone else is going to listen to you, because they aren’t.”
Draco couldn’t help one last dig as Potter turned away and moved towards the door.
“Taking it a bit hard, Potter? Don’t like being unable to dominate, do you? It’s alright Potter – I won’t tell. No one needs to know you couldn’t handle it. I won’t let out your great big secret, that Harry Potter completely lost control-”
He was flat on his back before he knew what hit him. Potter had turned, like a snake himself, and struck, throwing Draco backwards onto the bed again.
“Incarcerous!”
Thick ropes burst from Potter’s wand, binding him thoroughly to the old iron bed head.
“Speaking of losing control, and great big secrets, Malfoy,” Potter’s eyes were slitted. He’d never looked less Gryffindor, and Draco had never felt more Hufflepuff. “I seem to recall you gave me a little information before you caved yourself in the other day. Something along the lines of Parseltongue making you come in your pants?”
Draco’s eyes grew impossibly wide. He had said that, of all the stupidity! He flushed mightily and struggled against his bonds. There was no way out of this, except through some quick talking.
“I was about to die! And I didn’t say it was me who came in my pants; I just said I knew from personal experience that it could happen! Maybe I meant that I saw it happen to someone when I was there! Ever think of that? Merlin, no wonder they didn’t sort you into Ravenclaw Potter! You’ve completely misunderstood what I said!”
Potter sneered at him.
“Yeah, maybe you did Malfoy. That’s why I’m gonna test it out on you. Just to be sure.”
Oh, fuck no.
“No way Potter! You just stay the hell away from me, you hear-”
“SSSssssSsthSssSSSSsSsssSSSSSSSsssSSSSSthhhSSSSSssssss…”
Draco’s cock took immediate action. That is to say, the Colonel had rallied the troops and was standing to attention in Camp Malfoy.
“Stop it! Stop that immediately!”
Potter smirked and didn’t stop at all. Instead, he pulled Draco’s pyjama pants down to his ankles, exposing him completely.
“Ha! I knew it! You’re barring up!”
Good lord, Potter staring at it wasn’t helping anything. He hissed a little more, taking extra care to flutter his tongue against his teeth as he said gods knew what.
“Let me go! This is assault! I’ll…I’ll scream!”
Potter inclined his wand over his shoulder and locked the door. And silenced the room. And then pointed the wand back at Draco and gagged him.
“I’ll take off the gag if you promise to be quiet, Malfoy. Screaming distracts my concentration.”
Draco thrashed and swore and was thoroughly muffled by the gag in his mouth.
“Just nod if you agree to be quiet – or at least, not to scream. Or at least, not to scream for, you know, help or anything…”
Draco weighed his options. Be gagged, and risk swallowing his tongue or drowning in his own saliva as he was Parselmouthed to orgasm, or cooperate and at least be able to breathe properly while being Parselmouthed to orgasm.
He nodded. Potter removed the gag with a lazy flick and promptly climbed onto the bed to kneel over Draco’s chest. Draco fought the urge not to squeal like a girl. Potter bent his head down, right down low near Draco’s ear, and began to talk in low tones.
“I’m the boss here Malfoy. I was the boss in the tunnel the other day, and I am again today. I had those snakes totally under my control, and I’m gonna have your snake just as whipped as the others.”
Yup. It was official. Potter owned his cock, whether he liked it or not. That last part hadn’t even been in Parseltongue, and yet Draco had the frantic urge to offer himself to Potter for his amusement. Potter laughed when Draco gurgled in distress, and commenced murmuring.
“I never heard of anyone being turned on by this before, not til you mentioned it Malfoy…sssSSssSssss…I have to admit, it’s flattering – knowing you can make someone lose control of themselves, just by uttering a few words…” Potter alternated between taunting whispers and slithering hisses which sputtered against his ear. “I could be saying anything to you right now. Anything at all. SSssSssS…like, ‘Malfoy is a kinky slut’…sssSsSss…maybe that is what I’m saying…maybe I’m saying you’re a filthy, dirty pervert, and you’re just getting harder and harder not even knowing what I’ve said…”
Draco whimpered. It was true, all true. Potter could be reciting the ingredients for bread and butter pudding, or an alphabetical listing of every Hogwarts headmaster from the founders onward. It didn’t matter at all what he was saying. Just that he was saying it, could say anything he liked, in a language mastered only by the most powerful of wizards. A language that could control things, monsters; could open hidden doorways and reveal carefully shrouded secrets that no one else could get to.
“I could be saying that I can see it…in your eyes…in the flush on your neck and cheeks…in the way you’re humping the air, and don’t even know it…sssssSSssSss…I could be saying I can smell it…coming out of your skin…sssssssSsssssSthhhhhSsssss…you smell like you want me, Malfoy…sssssSsalty…ssssSsweet…sssssSsubmissive…”
Draco’s chest was heaving in an effort to get enough air. His mouth was both bone dry, and suddenly watering, in turns, with each taunting murmur from Potter’s lips.
“Maybe I’m saying I like to watch you…like to watch your eyes getting darker and darker…watch the ssssssSsweat beading on that little bit of skin above your lip…maybe I’m saying dirty wordsssssss…I could be saying ssssssSspread…or sssssSsuck…or cock…ssssss…do you think that’s what I’m saying, Malfoy? Just saying cock, again and again…”
Potter’s voice was becoming hoarse.
“Maybe I’m saying yesssss…yes, and fuck…maybe I’m saying surrender…maybe I’m saying please…yes, fuck, please, surrender, every time I see your cock jerk against your stomach…”
It was almost too much for Draco to bear. Potter drew in even closer, his lips pressed so tightly to Draco’s ear that his breath stirred the tiniest of hairs inside Draco’s ear.
“Perhaps I’m saying now…now…come for me now…Draco…”
It surged through him like a sudden, hot wave. Draco’s cock obeyed Potter’s words, and he came, shooting thick ribbons of come across his belly, hard and fast, some almost reaching his neck. He thought he heard Potter moan, but couldn’t tell because he was sobbing in desperation himself, and the blood was rushing in his ears.
There were long minutes where he could hear nothing but the harsh panting of breath. His breath, and – and Potter’s, too. He looked carefully at Potter’s face, taking in the pink flushed skin. The darkened eyes. The hitch of his breath. Potter was…he looked down, to where his crotch hovered above Draco’s chest, and he was sure he could see what looked like a –
Potter caught the direction of his gaze, and scrambled suddenly off the bed, the flush replaced by a full, blazing blush of embarrassment. He walked back a few steps, his gait awkward, uncomfortable; his stilted steps reminding Draco of the way he knew he had walked from the library, his pants full of cooling come, his cock not quite soft yet and still jutting away from his body awkwardly. Potter wiped his palms surreptitiously against the legs of his trousers, his chin jerking up defiantly, trying to look composed. In control.
“Well. I guess I proved my point, didn’t I?” Draco lay unmoving, his chest still heaving a little, his body still exposed to Potter’s gaze. But he wasn’t paying attention to that right now. Draco was watching as Potter forced his cool mask into place, and tried to disguise the trembling in his own body. I did that to him, Draco realised. He’s shaking like a leaf over there, and it’s because of me…just from watching me…
Potter seemed to realise he wasn’t fooling anyone, and flushed an even deeper red, turning suddenly to unlock the door and remove the silencing charms.
“I won’t mention this to anyone, Malfoy. If you don’t. I’m not interested in, ah – humiliating you.”
Draco allowed his hand to glide smoothly down his chest, through the sticky stripes of come until it reached his crotch. He watched Potter’s eyes follow the movement, transfixed.
“Of course. Thank you. I’ll keep this entirely to myself. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea or anything. You know, if it got out what we did.”
Potter met his eyes with difficulty, and grasped the door handle.
“Right. Well…thank you for helping with the egg Malfoy.”
“Thanks for coming back for me.”
Draco held his gaze for a few seconds more before Potter snapped out of it, and fumbled out the door, closing it behind him probably a little harder than was strictly necessary. Draco smiled to himself. Yes, Potter owned his dick, no doubt about it. But Draco suspected that maybe he owned a little bit of Potter’s now too.
And hey! Thank you toemmagrant01 for the very cool Valentine's gift! *loves*
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre/Rating: NC-17; Porn
Warnings: Hem - slash?
Length: 4, 800(ish) words
Beta:
smaragdine! Who actually sent this right back to me after I initially forwarded it about a week ago, and the horrors of technology meant that I didn't get it! Woe is me!Summary:
smutella requested dirty talk parselsmut. A fic for rec drabble gone nuclear. Sorry for the accidental delay Elle dear!Disclaimer: Please see my disclaimer here.
For smutella – H/D dirty talk parselsmut
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was full to the brim of filthy mudblood scum and dirty, worthless blood traitors.
So it was a good thing Mrs Black’s portrait had been silent since Sirius’ death, then.
The whole residential compliment was on hand tonight. All the members of the Order and the entire Weasley clan, including the new Mrs Fleur Weasley. Neville Longbottom was staying with them – his gran couldn’t have been prouder, apparently. Loony Lovegood wasn’t living in the house, but she was there for the meeting, had stayed for supper afterwards, and would probably sleep over, given the hour.
The Golden Trio, of course, was present. Went without saying.
And then there was him. Resident…prisoner? No, resident.
The meeting was over by nine thirty. Very tiring, a lot of strategising. A lot of very powerful witches and wizards, sitting around the same table. If you were the kind to notice the subtleties, which he was, you could feel their magic mingling together, washing over his skin in waves. It was times like this that he thought, how could they possibly lose? So much strength and conviction, and talent, in this one small group. Voldemort wouldn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell.
“I think that’s enough, for tonight.” Remus Lupin (he struggled not to mentally add ‘the werewolf’ to either the end or beginning of that name) stood, his quiet, yet authoritative voice calling the meeting to a close. “Molly has been so kind as to prepare a little something to restore us – which means there’s a seven course meal just waiting for us to stuff ourselves on.”
The table broke into a relaxed titter, and Mrs Weasley swatted at Lupin with a tea towel.
“Hermione, would you help me with the table please? Ron and Ginny, I want you to start setting out the food as soon as I’ve reheated it.”
Granger was doing something clever that looked like apparating the plates and cutlery onto the table, rather than levitating them, which was causing McGonagall and that Tonks girl to fuss over her cleverness. Clearly it was some kind of household charm breakthrough. The youngest Weasleys did their best not to spill food on anyone’s head. Well, the Weasel didn’t try terribly hard when the dishes were floating over his head, but despite that, he remained clean and unscathed. He didn’t speak to anyone during the meal. He never did. The only time he spoke at all was when he was required to, in the Order meetings, or the other private meetings held with Lupin or McGonagall or Shacklebolt. No one seemed all that interested in his silence, anyway, which suited him just fine. At least he wasn’t being pressured to join in, or make friends. Like it would have been possible anyway, with this group.
Supper was over. It was late, and he was stuffed. He’d had far too much to eat: roast chicken, jacket potatoes, fresh bread rolls slathered in butter, and chicken gravy. He’d avoided any kind of vegetable, aside from the potatoes, and some roast pumpkin. And of course, raspberry roly-poly and custard for afters. He had a sweet tooth after all.
So, he was full, and kind of wanted to go to bed and lapse into a food induced coma, but also kind of wanted to check out the library, see if there was anything good to read. He’d been about as bored as it was possible to be, when you spent most of your time worrying about whether you are going to live til breakfast. A good novel wouldn’t go astray.
That’s where he was when Loony and Longbottom bumped into him. Seemed like they may have been a trifle bored as well.
No one said anything. Longbottom didn’t apologise, but he didn’t have a panic attack at the sight of him, either. They all mostly ignored each other, running their respective fingers down the spines of the dusty old books, looking for something interesting. It wasn’t what he would have called an amiable silence, but nevertheless, when the library door slammed open suddenly, all three of them were startled out of their own, comfortable musings.
“Stupid, stupid fucking box! Why won’t you open!”
It was Potter himself, holding a glossy mahogany case, around the size of a shoebox, and which wouldn’t open, apparently. Even from this distance, he could recognise it as a puzzle box, the kind his mother used to have in the sitting room, in which she would leave him little notes and letters, sometimes a tiny wrapped sweet, when he was small. It was designed to be opened by password only, and part of the fun had been the challenge of working it out, as much as the prize within. He wondered what was inside this one, and where Potter had come by it, and watched Potter as he threw himself down in the nearest armchair and glared at the object in his hands hatefully. Without a word, all three of them exchanged a look, and it seemed to be agreed that bothering Potter just at the minute was probably not advisable. Especially for him. Merlin only knew what Potter would do to him in a snit.
“HA!”
A triumphant sound from Potter, as he noticed something on the bottom of the box.
“So it’s like that, eh? Well, you picked the wrong wizard to mess with this time.”
He chanced a look at Longbottom and Lovegood, who were watching Potter in curious silence. He decided it wouldn’t look bad if he watched too. Since the others were doing it.
Potter lifted the box up to eye level, a smirk on his lips.
And then he hissed. Like a snake. He hissed at the box, like a snake.
The first time he’d heard Potter speak like this was way back in their second year. He remembered with uncomfortable clarity, exactly how he had reacted then, and nothing much had changed. It was arousing, had been when he was twelve and was still arousing now, at eighteen. Except now, at eighteen, he knew exactly what was going on inside his pants, and had a better understanding of why. Power was sexy, and there weren’t many more powerful than Harry Potter. He cursed his genetics inwardly for making him sexually predisposed to strong, dominating people.
Fucking pureblood instincts. I don’t need this right now!
He felt the others tense up nearby, and he didn’t blame them. Potter using Parseltongue was a rarity, and cause for concern. Whatever that box had inside, it wasn’t nice.
Nothing happened to the box, and Potter frowned. He hissed at it again. The lid popped open. Potter jumped. His three spectators jumped too.
He cursed as the case revealed yet another box within it.
“Ssstupid – sssson of a - SsssthSSSSSssSthhhhsssSSSSssssSSSsthSSsssSSSss…”
Potter was doing it again, a simmering whisper of harsh sounds directed at the box, which shuddered and opened again. There was another inside, and Potter looked furious, narrowing his eyes and unleashing an even angrier, more primal sounding rasp than before. Another box revealed, and Potter slammed his fist against the table. Savage whispers fell effortlessly from his tongue, and his hidden observer was uncomfortably drawn to it.
Potter was so obviously powerful, even the other two shrank back a little. It was hot as fuck. He imagined himself in place of the box, a furious Potter spitting angrily at him from above, the kind of expression on his face that suggested he’d fuck you within an inch of your life, or kill you. And he wanted him to, to fuck him that is; with every hiss from Potter’s mouth, his cock thrummed as if in reply. As if Potter was speaking Parseltongue to the snake in his trousers. From his position observing Potter in the library stacks, he shifted from one leg to the other, trying to ignore the burning throb of his cock inside his pants, and for the love of god, not be seen.
The cycle repeated. Potter spat at the puzzle, sizzling words coiling from his mouth like asps, and eventually the next box would open to reveal another within. Each time it was harder for Potter to find the right password, to convince the box to open and let him in, and the words grew ever more sibilant, seething, writhing out of his mouth and burning into the trousers of his silent bystander. Each time, said bystander had to try not to rut against the shelving, or moan in time to the throbbing of his cock. The hissing reached a fever pitch, the box tiny now, palm sized. It couldn’t possibly get any smaller. It was stubbornly refusing to open, Potter was rasping and seething vehemently, his witness clinging to the book stacks with white knuckles and dizzying arousal, and then the box broke open, broke into tiny pieces, and it all stopped abruptly, but for the heavy breathing of three hidden people in the shadows.
A square of paper fell out from inside the broken box. Potter unfolded it, held it up to the light, and crowed victoriously. He left the library as quickly as he had come in.
There was a silence that grew longer and longer, and none of them spoke. He couldn’t even let go of the shelving in front of him, let alone utter a sentence, or even a word. Lovegood said something, finally.
“Did you just come in your pants, Malfoy?”
Draco made a strangled noise. Lovegood sighed.
“That makes three of us, then.”
The paper Potter had discovered turned out to be a map. A very fortuitous map to the location of all of Voldemort’s horcruxes, signed in the corner by the idiot Pettigrew.
“I bet he had no idea the puzzle box was locked in Parseltongue,” Granger said excitedly, gesturing wildly. “I bet he just wanted to hide it, so that Voldemort wouldn’t find it and get angry at him, and I bet he was in a royal frenzy when he realised he couldn’t get the box back open again!”
It was nearly two in the morning, and the meeting had been recalled.
Draco sat still and silent as the chatter rose around him. A map, the stupid fool. Pettigrew had made a map of the location of each horcrux, along with a description of exactly what it was. This was the kind of stroke of luck they needed. There was a frenzied surge of exclamation, and Lupin stood finally and called the group to order.
“Not that this isn’t something to be celebrated – but. I think it would be prudent if we set our excitement aside for now and worked on an immediate plan. We have three horcruxes down, the snake Nagini will be last of all, to be destroyed immediately prior to Voldemort. That leaves us with three more. The sooner they are dealt with, the better.”
“But there’s only three!” The Weasel protested, “That’s nothing! Surely we can wait a little, it’ll take no time to destroy them. We have plenty of time.”
“It’s taken eighteen years to destroy just three, Ron. We don’t have the luxury of another eighteen years, or even eighteen days. He could strike to finish this at any time. We need to act immediately.”
Lupin was right, of course. They just needed to work out who was going after what.
“At this stage, I think Hermione, Ron, and Shacklebolt should go to collect Ravenclaw’s artefact, the-” he checked the map, “-obsidian quill, that is to say, a piece of obsidian carved into the shape of a quill. Or something like that. The Hufflepuff artefact, which is a bronze cup with a badger tooth talisman set in the handle, should be taken care of by Longbottom, Bill Weasley, and Mad Eye.” He looked around the table, and saw no protests. “And finally, the Gryffindor artefact, a polished agate griffin egg, should be attended to by Harry, Nymphadora-” He ignored the scowl he received from Tonks and continued, “and Malfoy.”
Granger and the Weasel looked ready to whine about not being able to go with Potter, but he gave them a look and they just…didn’t.
Draco shivered.
Fucking commanding S.O.B. Wish he wasn’t so powerfully sexy. What an utter bastard.
“The rest of us will remain behind and keep working on the current strategies.”
“When do we leave?”
Lupin looked at Potter and considered it.
“Not tomorrow. We need a day to prepare. The day after.”
Tonks was shouting at Potter to come back. They were in some sort of underground something, it was a temple, Roman maybe, since they were in Bath. They’d already had to overcome countless booby traps to get this far, and were covered in dirt, sweat, cobwebs, and even a little blood. Tonks clutched her right arm, which was sporting a long, deep scratch from where she’d slipped and fallen against a sharp outcropping of wood. They stood together in the arched opening of a stone passage, a dimly lit chamber barely visible at the opposite end. There was the egg, up ahead, glittering in the scant light; and there was Potter pounding towards it. And there, in between the two, was a large nest of snakes. Who looked pretty unhappy to see them.
“Stop panicking, he’s a Parselmouth.”
Tonks glared at him.
“I know that, Malfoy! But he’s only ever dealt with one snake at a time, hasn’t he? There’s at least a dozen, if not more, they look like they’re bred to protect that bloody rock, and I don’t know if he’s going to be able to handle all of them!”
Draco looked at them too and decided she might have a point.
“Right then. You mind the entrance.”
He rushed off after Potter, completely ignoring her shouting for him to stop.
As he gained upon him, Draco could see that Potter was indeed struggling with the snakes. They were slithering closer and closer to him, as he backed further and further down the stone passage. Potter was hissing furiously, but there were just too many, some rearing up, spitting venom at his feet, their diamond heads jerking sharply in stabbing feints, fangs bared. Draco assessed the situation as he closed in at top speed. If he kept up this velocity, he could probably leap right over the writhing pile of serpents, into the chamber beyond, and would be able to grab the egg. He put his head down and pumped his arms and legs faster, trying to gain more speed.
“Potter! Move!”
Potter wrenched his head around, and instinctively flattened himself against the nearest wall of the passage. Draco caught up to him and jumped…
…and landed heavily on the other side. He stumbled and fell to his knees, his hands thrown out in front of him to slow his fall. Skin scraped from his palms and the legs of his trousers tore even further than they already had been, but he was upright again and staggering towards the marble pedestal which held the agate griffin egg.
It’s a horcrux, remember, don’t touch it with your bare hands.
“Jesus Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing?”
He ignored the question and began tugging his t-shirt over his head.
“Just take care of those bloody snakes, Potty!”
Now bare-chested, he hesitantly approached the pedestal, using his t-shirt like a pair of oven mitts to poke at the egg. When nothing untoward happened, he tossed the shirt over the top of the stone and gathered it up in his arms.
“I have it!”
“Well that’s bloody fantastic, Malfoy – and how are you going to get out, exactly?”
Draco looked at the snake-pile, which seemed to have lost interest in Potter and was watching him with worrying intensity. Draco looked at Potter, and back at the snakes, and then at the egg in his hands.
Bugger.
The decision wasn’t hard, really. After all, he’d come crawling to the Order asking for asylum. It was about time he paid his dues.
“It’s been nice working with you Potter. Just so you know, when you speak snake, it makes people come in their pants. I know this from personal experience. You might find that information handy one day. Catch!”
He threw the egg as hard as he could towards Potter, trusting that he would react in time and catch it. He had been the youngest seeker at Hogwarts in a century, after all. And then he pulled out his wand and began firing off blasting spells at the stone lintel directly above the tangle of snakes. Within seconds, the doorway collapsed, burying the serpents under a shower of rubble and rock, and sealing the opening quite thoroughly.
Sealing him in. For good.
A few days later, in dehydrated delirium, Draco thought he heard Potter’s voice.
“…had to be so melodramatic…hundred other ways you could have achieved the same end…never gonna get this dust out of my ears, I’m telling you…lucky you aren’t dead…”
He imagined he was floating. In fact, he’d felt like that quite a few times over the past three days, what with the lack of water and the thinning quality of the air. Draco thought about opening his eyes, but found he really couldn’t muster up the energy, and so continued to imagine he was floating, and listening to Potter’s voice lecturing him.
“…and Ron wasn’t at all happy I insisted on coming back to rescue you…is going to kick your arse when you wake up, you scared her half to death…if you can hear me? Malfoy? Draco?”
No, Draco really didn’t have any energy for opening his eyes. He lay still and allowed himself to pretend he was floating, and listening to Potter’s voice.
“Ennervate!”
Draco sat bolt upright in his bed, gasping for breath. He felt like someone had just emptied an icy bucket of water right on top of him. Blinking, shivering, dragging air desperately into his lungs, he looked around him. He was at Grimmauld Place. He was in the room he’d been staying in for all those months. He had Harry Potter sitting next to his bed on the only chair in the room, grinning at him.
“Hullo Malfoy. Thought you were never gonna wake up!”
Draco blinked and shivered some more.
“What the bloody hell…?”
Potter grinned again.
“I rescued you. Bloody inconvenient, that. I’m sure there would have been other options available if you’d just given it a minute to think Malfoy – why’d you have to go burying yourself alive?”
Draco tried not to splutter as he replied.
“Why’d – snakes! They were coming for me! I had to get the egg out of there before it was too late!”
Potter rolled his eyes.
“Come on. I had the snake issue totally contained.”
“Bullshit! I was done for! At least I was gonna go out my way – I take suffocation over being bitten to death any time.”
“You weren’t going to be bitten! I told you!”
“Potter, you were completely out of your depth, you had no mastery whatsoever over those – those hissing worms of death!”
Two angry spots of colour rose high on Potter’s cheeks.
“I was handling it just fine, Malfoy. Those snakes were totally under my command.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself Potter. Now get out. I want to get up.”
Draco moved to sit up properly, but Potter shoved him back down against the pillow.
“You aren’t going anywhere until you admit everything was going fine – I want you to say it. Say I had it under control!”
Draco tried to sit back up again, but Potter pushed him down.
“How old are you? You’re supposed to be Mr Chosen One, and you’re acting like you’re five! Let me up!”
Potter stepped away, teeth gritted, jaw clenched, red-faced, his hands balled into fists. Draco climbed quickly out of the bed, glaring at Potter, running a hand through what felt like terribly knotty hair.
“Don’t think this means I agree with you Malfoy. Because I don’t. I know I had it sorted. You’re just a bloody panic merchant. And don’t think anyone else is going to listen to you, because they aren’t.”
Draco couldn’t help one last dig as Potter turned away and moved towards the door.
“Taking it a bit hard, Potter? Don’t like being unable to dominate, do you? It’s alright Potter – I won’t tell. No one needs to know you couldn’t handle it. I won’t let out your great big secret, that Harry Potter completely lost control-”
He was flat on his back before he knew what hit him. Potter had turned, like a snake himself, and struck, throwing Draco backwards onto the bed again.
“Incarcerous!”
Thick ropes burst from Potter’s wand, binding him thoroughly to the old iron bed head.
“Speaking of losing control, and great big secrets, Malfoy,” Potter’s eyes were slitted. He’d never looked less Gryffindor, and Draco had never felt more Hufflepuff. “I seem to recall you gave me a little information before you caved yourself in the other day. Something along the lines of Parseltongue making you come in your pants?”
Draco’s eyes grew impossibly wide. He had said that, of all the stupidity! He flushed mightily and struggled against his bonds. There was no way out of this, except through some quick talking.
“I was about to die! And I didn’t say it was me who came in my pants; I just said I knew from personal experience that it could happen! Maybe I meant that I saw it happen to someone when I was there! Ever think of that? Merlin, no wonder they didn’t sort you into Ravenclaw Potter! You’ve completely misunderstood what I said!”
Potter sneered at him.
“Yeah, maybe you did Malfoy. That’s why I’m gonna test it out on you. Just to be sure.”
Oh, fuck no.
“No way Potter! You just stay the hell away from me, you hear-”
“SSSssssSsthSssSSSSsSsssSSSSSSSsssSSSSSthhhSSSSSssssss…”
Draco’s cock took immediate action. That is to say, the Colonel had rallied the troops and was standing to attention in Camp Malfoy.
“Stop it! Stop that immediately!”
Potter smirked and didn’t stop at all. Instead, he pulled Draco’s pyjama pants down to his ankles, exposing him completely.
“Ha! I knew it! You’re barring up!”
Good lord, Potter staring at it wasn’t helping anything. He hissed a little more, taking extra care to flutter his tongue against his teeth as he said gods knew what.
“Let me go! This is assault! I’ll…I’ll scream!”
Potter inclined his wand over his shoulder and locked the door. And silenced the room. And then pointed the wand back at Draco and gagged him.
“I’ll take off the gag if you promise to be quiet, Malfoy. Screaming distracts my concentration.”
Draco thrashed and swore and was thoroughly muffled by the gag in his mouth.
“Just nod if you agree to be quiet – or at least, not to scream. Or at least, not to scream for, you know, help or anything…”
Draco weighed his options. Be gagged, and risk swallowing his tongue or drowning in his own saliva as he was Parselmouthed to orgasm, or cooperate and at least be able to breathe properly while being Parselmouthed to orgasm.
He nodded. Potter removed the gag with a lazy flick and promptly climbed onto the bed to kneel over Draco’s chest. Draco fought the urge not to squeal like a girl. Potter bent his head down, right down low near Draco’s ear, and began to talk in low tones.
“I’m the boss here Malfoy. I was the boss in the tunnel the other day, and I am again today. I had those snakes totally under my control, and I’m gonna have your snake just as whipped as the others.”
Yup. It was official. Potter owned his cock, whether he liked it or not. That last part hadn’t even been in Parseltongue, and yet Draco had the frantic urge to offer himself to Potter for his amusement. Potter laughed when Draco gurgled in distress, and commenced murmuring.
“I never heard of anyone being turned on by this before, not til you mentioned it Malfoy…sssSSssSssss…I have to admit, it’s flattering – knowing you can make someone lose control of themselves, just by uttering a few words…” Potter alternated between taunting whispers and slithering hisses which sputtered against his ear. “I could be saying anything to you right now. Anything at all. SSssSssS…like, ‘Malfoy is a kinky slut’…sssSsSss…maybe that is what I’m saying…maybe I’m saying you’re a filthy, dirty pervert, and you’re just getting harder and harder not even knowing what I’ve said…”
Draco whimpered. It was true, all true. Potter could be reciting the ingredients for bread and butter pudding, or an alphabetical listing of every Hogwarts headmaster from the founders onward. It didn’t matter at all what he was saying. Just that he was saying it, could say anything he liked, in a language mastered only by the most powerful of wizards. A language that could control things, monsters; could open hidden doorways and reveal carefully shrouded secrets that no one else could get to.
“I could be saying that I can see it…in your eyes…in the flush on your neck and cheeks…in the way you’re humping the air, and don’t even know it…sssssSSssSss…I could be saying I can smell it…coming out of your skin…sssssssSsssssSthhhhhSsssss…you smell like you want me, Malfoy…sssssSsalty…ssssSsweet…sssssSsubmissive…”
Draco’s chest was heaving in an effort to get enough air. His mouth was both bone dry, and suddenly watering, in turns, with each taunting murmur from Potter’s lips.
“Maybe I’m saying I like to watch you…like to watch your eyes getting darker and darker…watch the ssssssSsweat beading on that little bit of skin above your lip…maybe I’m saying dirty wordsssssss…I could be saying ssssssSspread…or sssssSsuck…or cock…ssssss…do you think that’s what I’m saying, Malfoy? Just saying cock, again and again…”
Potter’s voice was becoming hoarse.
“Maybe I’m saying yesssss…yes, and fuck…maybe I’m saying surrender…maybe I’m saying please…yes, fuck, please, surrender, every time I see your cock jerk against your stomach…”
It was almost too much for Draco to bear. Potter drew in even closer, his lips pressed so tightly to Draco’s ear that his breath stirred the tiniest of hairs inside Draco’s ear.
“Perhaps I’m saying now…now…come for me now…Draco…”
It surged through him like a sudden, hot wave. Draco’s cock obeyed Potter’s words, and he came, shooting thick ribbons of come across his belly, hard and fast, some almost reaching his neck. He thought he heard Potter moan, but couldn’t tell because he was sobbing in desperation himself, and the blood was rushing in his ears.
There were long minutes where he could hear nothing but the harsh panting of breath. His breath, and – and Potter’s, too. He looked carefully at Potter’s face, taking in the pink flushed skin. The darkened eyes. The hitch of his breath. Potter was…he looked down, to where his crotch hovered above Draco’s chest, and he was sure he could see what looked like a –
Potter caught the direction of his gaze, and scrambled suddenly off the bed, the flush replaced by a full, blazing blush of embarrassment. He walked back a few steps, his gait awkward, uncomfortable; his stilted steps reminding Draco of the way he knew he had walked from the library, his pants full of cooling come, his cock not quite soft yet and still jutting away from his body awkwardly. Potter wiped his palms surreptitiously against the legs of his trousers, his chin jerking up defiantly, trying to look composed. In control.
“Well. I guess I proved my point, didn’t I?” Draco lay unmoving, his chest still heaving a little, his body still exposed to Potter’s gaze. But he wasn’t paying attention to that right now. Draco was watching as Potter forced his cool mask into place, and tried to disguise the trembling in his own body. I did that to him, Draco realised. He’s shaking like a leaf over there, and it’s because of me…just from watching me…
Potter seemed to realise he wasn’t fooling anyone, and flushed an even deeper red, turning suddenly to unlock the door and remove the silencing charms.
“I won’t mention this to anyone, Malfoy. If you don’t. I’m not interested in, ah – humiliating you.”
Draco allowed his hand to glide smoothly down his chest, through the sticky stripes of come until it reached his crotch. He watched Potter’s eyes follow the movement, transfixed.
“Of course. Thank you. I’ll keep this entirely to myself. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea or anything. You know, if it got out what we did.”
Potter met his eyes with difficulty, and grasped the door handle.
“Right. Well…thank you for helping with the egg Malfoy.”
“Thanks for coming back for me.”
Draco held his gaze for a few seconds more before Potter snapped out of it, and fumbled out the door, closing it behind him probably a little harder than was strictly necessary. Draco smiled to himself. Yes, Potter owned his dick, no doubt about it. But Draco suspected that maybe he owned a little bit of Potter’s now too.
And hey! Thank you to
emmagrant01 for the very cool Valentine's gift! *loves*
