#555 words

[rockingrobin69]

Mission Report

“Malfoy. Malfoy. Oh, come on, you big, stupid—”

One grey eye cracked open. “Poke me again and you will regret it.”

Harry swallowed the growl. “We have to move, you gigantic twat. The sun’s about to rise in five minutes, and if we’re still here by that time we’ll be toast.”

Malfoy made a miserable face and rolled on his back. “Why’d you have to bring up toast? I’m so bloody hungry.”

His eyes were puffy, and there was a thin red mark from whatever he rested his cheek on. Harry, not snickering, “C’mon. There should be food in this safe-house. I think.” Gulping, and not because of the little stretch that made Malfoy’s tight shirt ride a fair bit up and expose, erm, a lot of his hips, his belly. No, mostly because he was hungry too, and the chances of finding two safe-houses completely empty weren’t so high. Something was up. Something that wasn’t Harry’s—

“All right,” with a sigh like he was doing Harry a favour. “Do you have the map, or are you about to embark on another insane, show-off-y fit of wild magic to get us there?”

“I had to do that or we would’ve been—”

“Crushed by that boulder, yes, I recall.” Rolling his eyes, then rolling to his feet. Harry always liked to watch him do that, go into ‘Mission Mode’ as Ron called it or ‘Dreamy Mode’ as Nev once said. “All right. Concealment charms?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” with only a little bit of a grumble, and up to his feet too (so he wasn’t staring directly at Malfoy’s rather-nice thighs). “On my count? One, two,” they both went a little too fast at the exact same time.

This was the reason they’d partnered them up: Malfoy’s magic wrapped around Harry’s and melted into it, forming something crackly and bright and quite a lot stronger that once blew the roof off the trainee’s locker room.

And Malfoy was beautiful when he cast. All lean figure and exact, clean lines, big shoulders and the perfect tension in every gorgeous muscle, and the look of utter concentration on his face that felt unbreakable. It made Harry grin a little stupidly, then swallow the grin, then shiver a bit: cold air of dawn and Malfoy’s tingling magic, all citrusy and brilliant and far too pretty.

When they were done, with a triumphant smile: “Well, Potter? How are we to proceed? Might I remind you our bags were all crushed by that unfortunate boulder that separated us from the rest of the group.”

“Unfortunate,” Harry agreed, then, “I mean. I still have the coordinates. I can Apparate us there without any, er, show-off-y magic or anything.”

Malfoy’s face was strangely flushed. “Oh? Fine by me. Let’s go and hope—”

“We can crack this case in time? That the others find their way to the next safe-house?”

“That there’s food,” he sighed, a little mischievous glint to his eyes. “Goodness, Potter, it’s like I have to spell everything out for you.”

“Git,” Harry breathed, and offered his arm to the giant git still smirking at him. The coordinates Harry retained were for the Silverburn safe-house, and he was rather certain Malfoy’s not going to like it. Food, yes, plenty of it in the pantry, and there’s only one bed.

(For flufftober day 29. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[stories-by-rie]

101 I will lay here and if I rot, I’d at least be by your side

This is for @flashfictionfridayofficial. This is quite angsty and features both strangling and death.

There was a sudden wind blowing, moving the mist through the underwood. It nearly appeared as if the trees were moving along, slowly and old, the thin trunks a living being that tried to hide in the white clouds around me.

And there was a living being moving. I was not completely alone.

He emerged in midst all of it, the fog, the trees, the coldness, and most importantly the despair. His clothes were ragged, multiple layers against the autumn cold, ripped at some parts from the long journey he must have had behind him.

Then our eyes met, locked, and in a split second, everything came to a halt. The fog, the wind, the trees, and my breath.

The slithering shackles moved around my arms, my torso, in defence of the man that came closer and closer. Nearly hissing as he got to a halt in front of me.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed and hence the ice surly broke, even if it only turned the air cooler again.

  “I’ve finally found you,” he said and fell to his knees in front of me. Tears swelled in his eyes.

I had nearly forgotten what that looked like.

  “You shouldn’t have. Found me. Even searched for me.” I looked at him, how his face got redder, how he tried to swallow, not to give in to the cries.

  “Come back with me. Please. Ramona.” He reached out with his hands, dirty and full of mud. The roots around my body shot up right to his throat, curled around his throat.

  “Give up, August.”

  “Give up?” he pressed out, trying and failing to breathe. “How could I?”

I had no answer. I also had no reason why he couldn’t. Why he just wouldn’t.

  “I can’t leave. Not without you. There is still hope.” The tears ran down his cheeks now. His face was red.

Hollow laughter ripped through me, pierced the fog around us but was drowned by it immediately.

  “Hope? For what. Me?” The roots loosened around him, let him drop to the ground.

  “Ramona. Let me help you.” He was lower than me now, with his hands in the ground. “You deserve better than this. You can still turn back.”

  “But I don’t want to. Why won’t you understand this!”

The roots grew tighter around me, nearly as if they were claiming me, and maybe they were. What did it matter anymore? This was my place now, I belonged here. It was pulsating through me and I wanted it this way.

  “Give up, August. Give up on me. Let me go.”

  “I won’t.” I saw the determination in his eyes. In all of this coldness, here was still a fire burning inside of him. And for a split second, she felt like she once had had that too. It didn’t matter anymore. She just scoffed.

  “I won’t go.”

  “Then stay,” she cooed, traced his cheeks with her frozen fingers.

   “I will,” he assured as the roots started to pull him farther down, running over his hands, his arms, his legs and chest. Black threads. They pulled his head down until he was nearly one with the ground.  Laboured breaths were the only sounds until the fog swallowed even then, and the calm returned.

This time it would stay, and never leave again.

~ 27.11.2020 ~

[rockingrobin69]

Could I please also pick trick? 🥺🙏🎃

You're a star for doing this, thank you! 💙

Hello darling, here's a nice little M-rated fic for you! D/s elements and alcohol mentioned.

Irresistible

“There, good boy.” Harry watched as the words ran through Draco, a highly visible path: from his flushing cheeks, to his sudden gulp, the hand previously tapping the armrest suddenly gone still.

“Begging pardon,” he said, not quite a question. Harry peered at him from the edge of his nose.

“All right,” with a smile. “I think I might like it even better if you begged.”

Draco’s rosy cheeks went flame-red. “P-Potter!” he inched closer on his seat, tongue darting out to wet his lips, a tiny, unintentional movement. Harry wanted to take his face in both hands, leave him panting and messy and barely coherent and yeah, why not, begging too: Harry, who dreamed of this moment for far too long, sat still. Played with the ice cube on his tongue. Waited.

“You’re a terrible tease,” Draco eventually said with a slightly hysterical wave. He’d left his robes on the desk, sitting there in his tight shirt, in those crisp trousers Harry particularly liked, that he knew, god damn him, made his thighs look fucking edible. Harry wondered if that’s what their students see when they look up at him: someone outrageously, destructively handsome. Someone so clearly Harry’s and who needed to be told that, repeatedly, for days and days on end and maybe for always.  

With a sigh he put the whiskey aside. Far more intoxicating, the look in Draco’s eyes. “I’ll never tease you,” he said, as gently as the rasp in his voice allowed, “Not unless you absolutely begged me to.”

The way Draco’s throat tightened on a swallow—sublime. “Potter,” he murmured, a little pleadingly. Harry took pity, then took his chin.

“Don’t worry, darling. You’ll be good for me, yes? And I’ll make sure you’re well and truly satisfied.”

Draco looked down, suddenly shy and unbearably sweet. “I—I want—” Harry waited patiently. When nothing more came:

“Yes, sweetheart? Tell me. What do you want?”

“Hmm?” in all fairness, the way Harry’s thumb kept tracing Draco’s bottom lip might have been slightly distracting. “Potter, I—”

It was mostly an accident, that the thumb slipped past those pink lips and now rested on Draco’s tongue. The gasp, and then the aborted moan, and Draco’s jaw going all slack—also not intentional, and liquid fire in his blood.

“Don’t worry,” Harry made himself say, and lightly pet right behind Draco’s ear, “we’ll go very slowly. We’ll only do what you—”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco mumbled, only half-forming the words and then, with his eyes closed, sucked Harry’s brains out through his thumb.

“What?”

It went out with a slick pop. “Stop horsing around,” Draco panted, tilting his head to level Harry the most scorching look, “and make me beg already.”

“Oh,” Harry managed, then, “oh, right,” laughing with a combination of relief and affection, so potent it nearly threw him off the chair. “My good boy,” with emphasis he hoped wasn’t detectable on the first word, but Draco shook his head and fell to his knees on the rug.

“Yours,” he said, and crawled right between Harry’s thighs, “Come on, you bastard, just—”

Harry did the only possible thing: took his face with both hands and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him. With every intention of leaving him panting and messy and barely coherent, making him his.

[rockingrobin69]

Wildly, Still

Dawn burst through its dark-grey blanket, with a fresh, bright smell Harry loved to his bones. Sitting on the porch with his tea, listening to the merry dance of raindrops on the roof, to the rasp of paper as Draco canvassed through headlines. Passing the Quidditch section to Harry wordlessly, legs crossed, his usual barely-morning frown in its well-loved place.

Inside the house-shaped birdfeeder, again somehow despite the netting, the squirrel was hiding from the rain with its fluffy tail tucked around itself. Warm, probably, Harry thought with begrudging affection: warm and sort of sweet too.

To his left, Draco made a low hum, pleased with something he’d read (not a common occurrence). Soon he’d read it out loud to Harry, with the glint in his eyes when he’d tell him, and the smile that will spread in every line on his face, all familiar and so dear Harry’s heart already fluttered. Thoughtlessly bending forward to brush a strand of white (silver, excuse you!) hair out of his eyes, chewing on a grin.

“What,” Draco said, not really a question.

“Something good? In the paper.”

Long, silvery eyelashes blinked. “Hmm? No, it’s not—only that Weasley will have to eat his own hat. Ha, I told him that going full-Gremlin was silly, and he swore up and down that… yes?” to Harry, who laughed.

“Nothing. Your tea’s getting cold.”

Draco huffed, turned back to the paper. “Your squirrel is getting out of control. I thought you were going to do something about that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I…” sighed.

“What?” sharp eyebrow rising. “Oh, Merlin. Don’t tell me. You’re too soft, Potter.”

Looking at the crow’s feet around Draco’s badly-hidden smile, at his slender hand tapping the table to the rhythm of the rain, with the thick golden band they’d worn for decades: yeah, maybe he was.

“Your tea,” Harry said again instead of crying, instead of bursting with happiness. “Stop being an arse and drink it. You know you hate the flavour of heating charms.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but did pick up the cup and took a tight-lipped sip, entirely for show. “You’re ridiculous,” he said sweetly. Harry took the hand that was still tapping, warmed it in between both of his.

“Yes,” simply. “You too. Very, even.”

It was Tuesday, barely-morning, and the squirrel got in the birdfeeder again. It was raining and they were sitting outside with their tea and reading, not-reading the paper. The world smelled green and wet, and cold, and bright, and Harry pulled Draco’s hand to his lips for a kiss.

“What?” startled. Draco blinked and blinked, still so adorably flustered. “Harry? Is something the matter?”

“No. Everything’s—perfect.”

Breathed it in, let it flood through him, this tingling, fizzy warmth. Draco’s face gentled even further, and he nodded, swallowed a little loudly.

“Good,” he said. “That’s very good.”

With the rain and the tea and the squirrel. With the pond, hidden behind its green veil and overflown. With Draco, precious and beautiful in his house coat, in his flushed cheeks. The table leg was splintering, and the birdfeeder would need more attention, maybe a tighter net or a special charm. Good—it truly was. Unable to say so in words, Harry leaned halfway over the table to kiss his husband, slow and sweet, and knew it was enough.

(A small sequel for Wildly, also Flufftober day 8. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[asheewrites]

Rich Wednesdays (pt1)

DING DONG.

Trevor patted down his shirt and closed his eyes to take a breath. Inhale. Exhale. He was later than Trevor had thought.

But well. He didn’t give him a time. So. Next time he would.

He started towards the door to his flat.

And was promptly stopped in his tracks when he watched a Richard toe off his shoes and put them in their designated spots even brushing off some dirt with the cloth left there for that purpose.

“And here I thought people rang the door to be let in,” Richard full-body-twitched at the sound of Trevor’s voice, immediately standing and turning in the same motion. His body language changed from stiff limbs, an insecure stand and a business smile to lowered shoulders a stance that was slightly shuffled and more relaxed corners of his mouth. His eyes seemed darker, too. 

Richard took a breath, jingled the keys still hanging from his middle finger and said: “Sure, but someone did give me keys”

“… well. I do think someone did, yeah,” Trevor said, taking the last steps towards Richard and... hugged him: “Welcome. It’s… nice that you could make it”

For a moment, Richard stood still. then he put his arms around Trevor and just... breathed. One breath. Two. Three. Then he froze and raised a finger - wher Trevor couldn’t see, obviously - and pushed him the slightest bit away and looked at his phone, pressed seven buttons and put it away again, a tiny and tight nod added to it.  Then he resumed smiling and said: “I got invited Trevor, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Fair, fair. But… uh, what was that about?” Trevor indicated the phone that... apparently was enough reason to break up the greeting. Huh?

“That?” He grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. Someone might become frantic and try to call me. But I told them I’m unavailable and that’s that. They’ll live”

“… are you sure this is alright?” If it was enough reason to-

Richard laughed. Covering his mouth and everything. And waved it off: “It’s my assistant. Really, he’s perfectly capable of handling it. He proved it to me yesterday. Talking to me will not help. It is alright”

Trevor raised a brow: “… if you say so, I suppose it is”

“Mmh, yes, I do,” he looked a bit tired. But he smiled. It was fair.

“… just take the red wine to the dining room. I’ll be with your shortly,” because if he really was tired, they would need the water to spare him the headache come morning

He blinked at Trevor… and looked around. After three failed attempts,he say the decanter in the middle of the table, indicated it and nodded with a lopsided smile. 

Definitely the water.

When he walked over to the dining table, there was a soft thud when he put the wine down. And it took another two seconds until Trevor could hear: “Woah! What fancy restaurant did you rob for us today?”

And Trevor chuckled when he got to the room, water and glasses in hand. He said: “Some of us did find use in learning how to cook”

Trevor placed a kiss on the cheek of the slightly awestruck face of his boyfriend. He might be tired. But he apparently could still be visibly delighted.

[kingsofeverything]

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