unsymbolic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unsymbolic) wrote2005-08-07 03:26 pm
unsymbolic) wrote2005-08-07 03:26 pm
The Tearoom Cycle, 1-3
Oh, all the things I should be doing today instead of writing fic....
Title: The Tearoom Cycle, parts 1-3
Author: Tathren
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre: angsty, first time, some drama, PWP-ish
Warnings: underage
HBP Spoilers: No
Length: 2013 words
Disclaimer: Me no own, you know sue.
Summary: A tribute to the great gay men’s tradition of impersonal sex in public places. Two boys, one bording school, one forth-floor toilet.
Notes: This is a draft, not a final edition, and there may be more, or there may not be.
Feedback: Please feed theplant author. Con-crit always welcome.
Day 1:
The real surprise should have been that it had never happened before. Not in four years at Hogwarts had Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter ever chanced to find themselves alone together in the loo.
Harry thought of this as he stood just inside the doorway of the fourth floor boy’s toilet blinking dumbly at Malfoy’s profile. Malfoy, using the second urinal from the end. For a split second, Harry considered turning around and leaving, but as going all the way to a toilet on another floor was sure to make him late for Transfiguration and he didn’t fancy testing his bladder control through a whole double period, he fixed his resolve, swallowed back his discomfort, and went to the urinal farthest possible from Malfoy’s.
Of course by this time Malfoy had noticed him, and though Harry tried not to look over, he could feel the other boy’s cold gaze on him as he moved. He adjusted his robes and unzipped his trousers. Just relax and don’t look, he told himself firmly. Just piss and get the hell out of here. But it was no good. Malfoy was staring at him; he could feel it. Hell, he could even hear it-- the sudden silence was so thick that it echoed off the walls.
Harry’s skin prickled with embarrassed anger. His voice was sharp. “What’s the matter, Malfoy?” His eyes flashed over to confirm that he was indeed the focus of the pale gray gaze, and in a heartbeat he registered the trademark superior-looking sneer, the narrowed eyes, the one pale brow raised in something dangerously close to amusement. “Never seen a bloke have a piss before?”
Malfoy snorted, derisive and composed. The drawl of his voice when he spoke made Harry’s hackles rise. He could hear the Slytherin zipping himself up and the rustle of fabric as he settled his robes back in place. “Well I certainly don’t seem to be seeing it now,” Malfoy taunted.
Harry felt the heat rise instantly in his face. It was quite true-- he couldn’t seem to manage having a pee in a bathroom with Draco Malfoy. Just let him leave! he prayed to no one in particular. But instead Malfoy went to the sink, moving leisurely as he passed far too close for Harry’s comfort. In the periphery of his vision, Harry watched him turn on the tap and wash his hands; he saw Malfoy watching him in the mirror and he knew the boy was playing with him, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Just bloody well leave, you prat!
Malfoy turned the tap off again and the sound of his footsteps as he turned seemed to reverberate unnaturally off the tile. He leaned back against the sink, arms folded across his chest. “Do I make you nervous, Potter?” he asked, hitting far too close to the truth for Harry’s comfort. “Can’t go with me watching, can you?”
“Sod off, Malfoy.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” came the calm familiar drawl. Malfoy’s voice sounded almost disinterested. Almost. “Perhaps I should stay. What do you think?”
“I think you’re a sick bastard,” replied Harry, as he seriously considered hurling the urinal cake at Malfoy’s head.
“Better hurry up, Potter,” Malfoy smirked as he shouldered his bag. “Don’t want to be late for class.” The ringing of the bell punctuated his last word as he walked towards the door. He barely paused as he said, “Oh, too late.”
Forty-five seconds later Harry finally managed to relax enough to relieve himself.
***
Day 2:
If Harry had been smart, he decided later, he would have avoided the fourth floor boy’s toilet like the plague from then on. He would have given it a berth at least two floors wide, gone to any extreme to avoid entering that door, perhaps even sworn off going to the loo between classes for good. At least this was what he thought the following day when, as he stood at the farthest urinal down the line in the thankfully deserted bathroom, the door swung open and Draco Malfoy stepped inside. Oh, you have got to be kidding me!
On the up side, today Harry was just about to finish as Malfoy entered, and he didn’t plan to hang around. He’d just zip up, wash his hands, and....
There were six urinals in this bathroom. Six minus the one which Harry stood at made five. Out of the five, four were distinctly not directly beside Harry’s current location. Four perfectly acceptable urinals. All of which Malfoy moved casually past. Harry’s mouth was instantly Sahara Desert dry. The sound of Malfoy lowering his zip seemed amplified in the room; he was immediately to Harry’s left, so close their elbows almost touched.
Harry looked at him, defiant and stunned. Malfoy’s sneer was more like a smirk, a knowing, overconfident smirk, rife with challenge. He looked directly into Harry’s eyes and then, appraisingly and obviously he looked down at Harry’s.... Harry.
You’ve got to be shitting me! Harry’s jaw dropped, his mind working frantically against the knowledge that Malfoy-- Draco Bloody Malfoy! --was... was.....
Don’t look! Harry’s mind screamed frantically, but as soon as he thought it, it became impossible not to. He glanced down, hardly for a second, but the sight seemed to burn instantly onto his retina: Malfoy’s cock, soft and smooth in his pale hand, the pigment of his foreskin almost impossibly white, one long thin finger stroking his length, tugging the loose skin back so that the pale pink crown of the head peaked through at the tip.
Harry actually thought he might faint. Malfoy’s cock looked soft the way rose petals are soft. It looked, in a word, beautiful. Harry felt his stomach churn. I haven’t just thought that! I haven’t! Malfoy’s eyes were on his face again, and Harry knew he must be as pale as the tile walls around them. He thought he might be ill. Malfoy’s smirk did not falter, but there was a devious glint in his eyes that made Harry’s insides somersault in frantic acrobatics of denial. His knees were feeling weaker by the second.
And then Malfoy looked away, just as though Harry wasn’t there at all, and calmly, casually, without the least indication of tension or discomfort, went about the business of relieving himself.
Harry still hadn’t moved by the time Malfoy stepped silently out the door.
****
Day 3:
“Back for more, Potter?”
Harry frowned at the pale, black-clad form standing by the door. What the hell was that supposed to mean? More what? He watched Malfoy drop his bag by the sink and walk-- no, saunter-- towards him. “What are you on about, Malfoy?” He did his best to sound noncommittal, disinterested. “I’m just here use the loo.”
Malfoy snorted. “Two floors up from your last class?” he mocked.
Harry blinked, nonplussed. How the hell did Malfoy know his schedule? Was Malfoy following him? Had he known that Harry would be here? How could he have? And why the hell would Malfoy want to follow him into the loo?
Harry focused on this line of questions as it was a convenient distraction from the other implications of Malfoy’s words-- why was Harry here in this particular bathroom? It certainly was not the most conveniently located en-route to his next class, and he’d had to come up with some creative excuses so as not to arouse Ron and Hermione’s suspicions when he’d dashed off alone to the forth floor. He’d resolutely banished the titillating vision of Malfoy’s cock from his mind the afternoon before, and had simply justified his actions today by telling himself that he wasn’t going to let a little thing like Malfoy’s presence prevent him from taking a piss just when and where he pleased. He was going to win this little power play with Malfoy; he wasn’t going to back down.
But that meant, Harry realized suddenly, that he must have expected Malfoy to be here in this bathroom again today. Why would he have assumed such a thing? What was going on?
He had no time to ponder these questions though, because instead of stopping at the adjacent urinal like he had the day before, Malfoy had moved to stand directly behind Harry’s back, so close that Harry could feel the heat radiating from his body in a way that made his skin prickle. “What the hell...” he began, whipping his head around defiantly, but Malfoy cut him off.
“Are you through, Potter?”
“What?”
“I asked,” Malfoy said with the sort of condescension one would use to address an unusually slow child, “if you are finished.”
Harry blinked, his brow furrowed in disbelief. Fucking prat! “Yeah,” he said, his voice sharp with sarcasm as he immediately began tucking himself back in. And then everything happened at once. Harry felt Malfoy shove him hard on his back so that he had to reach out to catch himself, hands braced against the wall, and he thought he felt Malfoy kick his feet apart. Harry’s body went rigid with the impulse to fight, but Malfoy’s reflexes were fast, and he had the advantage of surprise. Harry’s mind was still scrambling when he felt the smooth warmth of a hand snake into his trousers and wrap around his shaft.
A completely undignified sound, somewhere between a groan and a squeak, had left his mouth before Harry could stop it. Draco Malfoy-- Draco. Bloody. Malfoy.-- was....
Harry couldn’t even bring himself to think it. His mind screamed in outraged protest; his body did anything but. He knew who he was with; he’d hated this boy for years-- he should have been limp as a fish in his hand! But instead he was hard by the third stroke.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the cool tile wall. Malfoy’s strokes were long and slow and even, and Harry bit his lip against the groan of pleasure building in his chest. Then a hand fisted in his hair, and Harry, gasping, felt his head pulled back, his body stretched taut like a bow. Malfoy’s breath was hot on his neck and loud in his ear, and Harry felt his shoulders press back against Malfoy’s chest, the contact strong, steady, and strangely supportive.
At the top of each stroke, Malfoy’s fingers teased the head of his cock mercilessly and Harry thought he’d never felt anything so exquisitely perfect in all his life. He wanted Malfoy-- Malfoy! --to go on touching him forever. His cock belonged just like this, in Malfoy’s hand. He wrenched his head around, his face inches from the Slytherin’s, his wide eyes stormy with need and confusion and challenge and acres of longing, and Malfoy looked back at him with something like triumph. Malfoy’s hand sped its pace, and when Harry came, his nostrils flaring, eyes pressed closed, and mouth open in a silent scream, he could feel Malfoy watching him, marking him with his steely stare.
Harry panted, his heart galloping in his chest, his head thrown back against Malfoy’s shoulder. For one blissful moment, he rested in Malfoy’s strange embrace, feeling oddly comforted there, and then the body behind him withdrew and Harry staggered a little at the loss. When he looked up again, he saw only the back of Malfoy’s robes as the door swung closed in his wake.
It was, Harry reflected in retrospect, a better image by far than the next time he saw the Slytherin’s face, which was in Snape’s classroom ten minutes later after Harry had managed to restore himself to halfway presentable and been penalized ten house points for his tardiness. Malfoy’s eyes had raked over him and there was a roguish glint to their gray. His sneering smile was crooked and, Harry thought, positively indecent. The first chance he got, Harry resolved, he was going to make certain that Malfoy never smirked at him like that again.
ETA: Typos fixed and a few minor revisions. Thanks to Jess for the quick beta.
Title: The Tearoom Cycle, parts 1-3
Author: Tathren
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre: angsty, first time, some drama, PWP-ish
Warnings: underage
HBP Spoilers: No
Length: 2013 words
Disclaimer: Me no own, you know sue.
Summary: A tribute to the great gay men’s tradition of impersonal sex in public places. Two boys, one bording school, one forth-floor toilet.
Notes: This is a draft, not a final edition, and there may be more, or there may not be.
Feedback: Please feed the
Day 1:
The real surprise should have been that it had never happened before. Not in four years at Hogwarts had Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter ever chanced to find themselves alone together in the loo.
Harry thought of this as he stood just inside the doorway of the fourth floor boy’s toilet blinking dumbly at Malfoy’s profile. Malfoy, using the second urinal from the end. For a split second, Harry considered turning around and leaving, but as going all the way to a toilet on another floor was sure to make him late for Transfiguration and he didn’t fancy testing his bladder control through a whole double period, he fixed his resolve, swallowed back his discomfort, and went to the urinal farthest possible from Malfoy’s.
Of course by this time Malfoy had noticed him, and though Harry tried not to look over, he could feel the other boy’s cold gaze on him as he moved. He adjusted his robes and unzipped his trousers. Just relax and don’t look, he told himself firmly. Just piss and get the hell out of here. But it was no good. Malfoy was staring at him; he could feel it. Hell, he could even hear it-- the sudden silence was so thick that it echoed off the walls.
Harry’s skin prickled with embarrassed anger. His voice was sharp. “What’s the matter, Malfoy?” His eyes flashed over to confirm that he was indeed the focus of the pale gray gaze, and in a heartbeat he registered the trademark superior-looking sneer, the narrowed eyes, the one pale brow raised in something dangerously close to amusement. “Never seen a bloke have a piss before?”
Malfoy snorted, derisive and composed. The drawl of his voice when he spoke made Harry’s hackles rise. He could hear the Slytherin zipping himself up and the rustle of fabric as he settled his robes back in place. “Well I certainly don’t seem to be seeing it now,” Malfoy taunted.
Harry felt the heat rise instantly in his face. It was quite true-- he couldn’t seem to manage having a pee in a bathroom with Draco Malfoy. Just let him leave! he prayed to no one in particular. But instead Malfoy went to the sink, moving leisurely as he passed far too close for Harry’s comfort. In the periphery of his vision, Harry watched him turn on the tap and wash his hands; he saw Malfoy watching him in the mirror and he knew the boy was playing with him, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Just bloody well leave, you prat!
Malfoy turned the tap off again and the sound of his footsteps as he turned seemed to reverberate unnaturally off the tile. He leaned back against the sink, arms folded across his chest. “Do I make you nervous, Potter?” he asked, hitting far too close to the truth for Harry’s comfort. “Can’t go with me watching, can you?”
“Sod off, Malfoy.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” came the calm familiar drawl. Malfoy’s voice sounded almost disinterested. Almost. “Perhaps I should stay. What do you think?”
“I think you’re a sick bastard,” replied Harry, as he seriously considered hurling the urinal cake at Malfoy’s head.
“Better hurry up, Potter,” Malfoy smirked as he shouldered his bag. “Don’t want to be late for class.” The ringing of the bell punctuated his last word as he walked towards the door. He barely paused as he said, “Oh, too late.”
Forty-five seconds later Harry finally managed to relax enough to relieve himself.
***
Day 2:
If Harry had been smart, he decided later, he would have avoided the fourth floor boy’s toilet like the plague from then on. He would have given it a berth at least two floors wide, gone to any extreme to avoid entering that door, perhaps even sworn off going to the loo between classes for good. At least this was what he thought the following day when, as he stood at the farthest urinal down the line in the thankfully deserted bathroom, the door swung open and Draco Malfoy stepped inside. Oh, you have got to be kidding me!
On the up side, today Harry was just about to finish as Malfoy entered, and he didn’t plan to hang around. He’d just zip up, wash his hands, and....
There were six urinals in this bathroom. Six minus the one which Harry stood at made five. Out of the five, four were distinctly not directly beside Harry’s current location. Four perfectly acceptable urinals. All of which Malfoy moved casually past. Harry’s mouth was instantly Sahara Desert dry. The sound of Malfoy lowering his zip seemed amplified in the room; he was immediately to Harry’s left, so close their elbows almost touched.
Harry looked at him, defiant and stunned. Malfoy’s sneer was more like a smirk, a knowing, overconfident smirk, rife with challenge. He looked directly into Harry’s eyes and then, appraisingly and obviously he looked down at Harry’s.... Harry.
You’ve got to be shitting me! Harry’s jaw dropped, his mind working frantically against the knowledge that Malfoy-- Draco Bloody Malfoy! --was... was.....
Don’t look! Harry’s mind screamed frantically, but as soon as he thought it, it became impossible not to. He glanced down, hardly for a second, but the sight seemed to burn instantly onto his retina: Malfoy’s cock, soft and smooth in his pale hand, the pigment of his foreskin almost impossibly white, one long thin finger stroking his length, tugging the loose skin back so that the pale pink crown of the head peaked through at the tip.
Harry actually thought he might faint. Malfoy’s cock looked soft the way rose petals are soft. It looked, in a word, beautiful. Harry felt his stomach churn. I haven’t just thought that! I haven’t! Malfoy’s eyes were on his face again, and Harry knew he must be as pale as the tile walls around them. He thought he might be ill. Malfoy’s smirk did not falter, but there was a devious glint in his eyes that made Harry’s insides somersault in frantic acrobatics of denial. His knees were feeling weaker by the second.
And then Malfoy looked away, just as though Harry wasn’t there at all, and calmly, casually, without the least indication of tension or discomfort, went about the business of relieving himself.
Harry still hadn’t moved by the time Malfoy stepped silently out the door.
****
Day 3:
“Back for more, Potter?”
Harry frowned at the pale, black-clad form standing by the door. What the hell was that supposed to mean? More what? He watched Malfoy drop his bag by the sink and walk-- no, saunter-- towards him. “What are you on about, Malfoy?” He did his best to sound noncommittal, disinterested. “I’m just here use the loo.”
Malfoy snorted. “Two floors up from your last class?” he mocked.
Harry blinked, nonplussed. How the hell did Malfoy know his schedule? Was Malfoy following him? Had he known that Harry would be here? How could he have? And why the hell would Malfoy want to follow him into the loo?
Harry focused on this line of questions as it was a convenient distraction from the other implications of Malfoy’s words-- why was Harry here in this particular bathroom? It certainly was not the most conveniently located en-route to his next class, and he’d had to come up with some creative excuses so as not to arouse Ron and Hermione’s suspicions when he’d dashed off alone to the forth floor. He’d resolutely banished the titillating vision of Malfoy’s cock from his mind the afternoon before, and had simply justified his actions today by telling himself that he wasn’t going to let a little thing like Malfoy’s presence prevent him from taking a piss just when and where he pleased. He was going to win this little power play with Malfoy; he wasn’t going to back down.
But that meant, Harry realized suddenly, that he must have expected Malfoy to be here in this bathroom again today. Why would he have assumed such a thing? What was going on?
He had no time to ponder these questions though, because instead of stopping at the adjacent urinal like he had the day before, Malfoy had moved to stand directly behind Harry’s back, so close that Harry could feel the heat radiating from his body in a way that made his skin prickle. “What the hell...” he began, whipping his head around defiantly, but Malfoy cut him off.
“Are you through, Potter?”
“What?”
“I asked,” Malfoy said with the sort of condescension one would use to address an unusually slow child, “if you are finished.”
Harry blinked, his brow furrowed in disbelief. Fucking prat! “Yeah,” he said, his voice sharp with sarcasm as he immediately began tucking himself back in. And then everything happened at once. Harry felt Malfoy shove him hard on his back so that he had to reach out to catch himself, hands braced against the wall, and he thought he felt Malfoy kick his feet apart. Harry’s body went rigid with the impulse to fight, but Malfoy’s reflexes were fast, and he had the advantage of surprise. Harry’s mind was still scrambling when he felt the smooth warmth of a hand snake into his trousers and wrap around his shaft.
A completely undignified sound, somewhere between a groan and a squeak, had left his mouth before Harry could stop it. Draco Malfoy-- Draco. Bloody. Malfoy.-- was....
Harry couldn’t even bring himself to think it. His mind screamed in outraged protest; his body did anything but. He knew who he was with; he’d hated this boy for years-- he should have been limp as a fish in his hand! But instead he was hard by the third stroke.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the cool tile wall. Malfoy’s strokes were long and slow and even, and Harry bit his lip against the groan of pleasure building in his chest. Then a hand fisted in his hair, and Harry, gasping, felt his head pulled back, his body stretched taut like a bow. Malfoy’s breath was hot on his neck and loud in his ear, and Harry felt his shoulders press back against Malfoy’s chest, the contact strong, steady, and strangely supportive.
At the top of each stroke, Malfoy’s fingers teased the head of his cock mercilessly and Harry thought he’d never felt anything so exquisitely perfect in all his life. He wanted Malfoy-- Malfoy! --to go on touching him forever. His cock belonged just like this, in Malfoy’s hand. He wrenched his head around, his face inches from the Slytherin’s, his wide eyes stormy with need and confusion and challenge and acres of longing, and Malfoy looked back at him with something like triumph. Malfoy’s hand sped its pace, and when Harry came, his nostrils flaring, eyes pressed closed, and mouth open in a silent scream, he could feel Malfoy watching him, marking him with his steely stare.
Harry panted, his heart galloping in his chest, his head thrown back against Malfoy’s shoulder. For one blissful moment, he rested in Malfoy’s strange embrace, feeling oddly comforted there, and then the body behind him withdrew and Harry staggered a little at the loss. When he looked up again, he saw only the back of Malfoy’s robes as the door swung closed in his wake.
It was, Harry reflected in retrospect, a better image by far than the next time he saw the Slytherin’s face, which was in Snape’s classroom ten minutes later after Harry had managed to restore himself to halfway presentable and been penalized ten house points for his tardiness. Malfoy’s eyes had raked over him and there was a roguish glint to their gray. His sneering smile was crooked and, Harry thought, positively indecent. The first chance he got, Harry resolved, he was going to make certain that Malfoy never smirked at him like that again.
ETA: Typos fixed and a few minor revisions. Thanks to Jess for the quick beta.
no subject
no subject
Is there more? I'm not sure yet-- there is in my head, but it's not very clearly formed. I've got a few potential ideas but I'm not certain any of them would play out quickly and I am trying to practice writing things that END because I never seem to manage that.... But certainly there are plenty more hot encounters Harry and Draco could have in the loo. If more materializes it will be posted soon, same bat time, same bat channel.
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"All of which Malfoy moved casually passed." you've used the wrong kind of "past" here... two verbs.
I really liked Harry thinking that he should be limp and was instead hard in three strokes. That was my favorite part.
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Thanks for pointing out my oopsy. Am fixing now!
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Also, I will be reccing this later.
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Am currently brainstorming for further smutty bits. Hopefully more to come soon.
no subject
Yay! *waits
with poking stickspatiently* >:D