oh my god I absolutely ADORED lucid and born slippy, so the chance to prompt you with something is so so exciting!! as always, no pressure, but how about something about undressing each other? i've always LOVED the unlacing/undressing tropes in capri, and I bet it would be incredible applied to some lovely drarry. do with this what you wish!!!
sidjdjfnndkff thank you, and thank u again for this ungodly prompt. if there’s three things i love, they’re captive prince, drarry, and soft smutty tropes such as the one u hath so kindly bestowed upon me.
i accidentally made a fair few lucid references in here (prizes for all who can spot them, the prize is a poem about u as composed by me) so i suppose, if you’ve read that one and so wish, u can consider this part of the same universe. or smth ://
maybe i’m just hideously unimaginative when it comes to topics for my banter. anywho
rated e, 1732 words.
The thing about Draco’s work robes, is that they’re buttoned all the way up to the throat. Which, hm, doesn’t sound like an issue in and of itself. But becomes one, of sorts, when Harry is overcome by the need to unbutton them every time he lays eyes on pale, elegant throat, the column of it under stiff black fabric.
The thing is, that Draco looks so austere, so tightly laced, and the thing. Is. That Harry just wants to unlace him.
Draco is, of course, not austere. He’s in fact very, erm, flexible. Pliant. He told Harry once, when they first starting fucking, that his body reformed around Harry’s, and he liked the way he went malleable in Harry’s hands.
“I can’t do that with anyone else,” Draco said. Then frowned. “That didn’t make much sense.”
But the buttons. The buttons. The high-necked buttons. They give Draco a look of frigidity, that he’s not to be spoken to, touched (all in a very sexy, aristocratic kind of way, of course), and it’s so bloody hot that Harry’s taken to banishing his glasses and burying his head under a pillow when Draco dresses in the mornings, just to stop himself getting so hard he goes properly blind with it.
Draco asked him, the third time he burrowed under the bedclothes like a “demented ferret” (glass houses, Harry said), what he was doing.
“The buttons,” Harry murmured. “Want to undo them.”
“The buttons?”
“The buttons.”
“You sick, kinky twist, Harry Potter.”
Harry unearthed himself, at that. “Shut up? It’s not about the buttons, you horror. It’s about what’s underneath the buttons.”
“How touching.”
And then more teasing, and Harry had it up to here and said, “I’ll burrow again.”
So Draco sat next to him on the bed, robes all secured, and said, softly, but still smiling like a git, “Tell me, love. Why the buttons?”
“You’re just—they’re, you know. So—God,” and then Harry had reached out and rent the sides of Draco’s robes apart, the little cloth covered studs clattering over his polished walnut floors, and pulled Draco down on top of him, and fucked him right there until Draco was late for work, and later still because they’d had to spend half an hour charming the wretched things back into place.
Now, Draco says, “the buttons are still wonky from that little stunt you pulled.”
Harry can see only Draco’s legs (crossed over each other on the couch, back flat on the ground, because Draco feels it centres him to drape upended from the furniture at the end of a long day) from where he’s decanting the wine in the kitchen. “I’ve always been pants at tailoring charms.”
“Was that a pun?” says Draco, sounding pained. “I’m leaving you, if that was a pun.”
“But then who will do your bidding? Aerate your wine, iron your silk pants—”
“I’ll get a house elf.”
“—not finished, suck your brains out your cock, make you pasta with butter and cheese when it’s cold and you’re in a mood—”
“I’ll get a gigolo, too.”
“I still wasn’t finished,” Harry says, and Levitates the wine into the living room in front of him.
Draco says, “did you get the right glasses, this time?”
“You’re very funny,” Harry says, because after months of trying to educate Harry, Draco has finally accepted that his one true love is cheap beer, and sorted all the wine glasses he keeps at Harry’s flat into labelled little boxes. (‘This is a coupe, Potter. If you bring me red wine in it again, I’ll throw it at you.’ ‘These are for dessert wine — after dinner, before a good hard boffing.’)
“Why don’t you just go snag one of those fucking — sommiliars.”
“Sommelier.”
“Yeah,” Harry says, happy because Draco’s wearing his work robes and speaking French and looking all twisty, and it’s Friday night, and there’s wine and music from the record Draco put on, and Harry gets to untwist him.
“Did you know,” Draco says, arching his back into a luxurious stretch before rearranging himself right side up and plucking a glass from the air, “that Amantea is starting her own firm.”
“God. Really?”
“Quite. It’s a pro bono thing, evidently. You know she’s been on the exec’s for months about how they direct all their mandatory hours towards corporations, not, you know, people who actually can’t afford legal counsel.”
“‘Course.” Harry distinctly remembers being cornered by Amantea when Draco brought him along to last year's Christmas drinks — he was a decent few in, and Draco kept palming at him through his formal robes when no one was looking, and he thinks he may have agreed to some kind of public crusade in the name of her cause that he doesn’t remember the details of to this day.
“Merlin, that’s incredible. She’s just quit, then? Starting it from the ground up?”
Draco nods, sips his wine. “She asked me to come with her. Ford, too.” And then, into his glass, “Said yes.”
Harry chokes, and Draco smirks at him behind the rim while he expires into his Pinot. “Bastard,” Harry coughs.
“Mm,” Draco hums.
“That’s—fuck, hang on—that’s great, love. Draco, it’s brilliant.”
“Really?” Draco says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s. He can see now that he’s doing that Very Draco Thing where his eyes go a bit too wide and his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Cause I haven’t quit yet.”
“Of course. I think it’s really, really incredible.”
Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush pink. “Any more of that, and I won’t go near your cock for a week.”
“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, smiling.
“Two weeks.”
He leans on his haunches, hooks a blond tendril behind Draco’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Everything you are.”
“A month. A year! Harry,” Draco complains.
Harry snorts. Sits back. “Fine. So would you still be doing all the same work?”
Draco nods. “I’d still be a defence counsel. I’d just be, you know. Not getting paid. At least, not for a while.”
“Good,” Harry says. “We’ve got a horrific amount of money, between the two of us.”
“I’m glad you think so, because we’ll be living off your salary alone. What’s the going rate for darling of the Wizarding world?”
Harry walks his fingers over Draco’s knee, daubed in the heavy black wool of his robes. “Several million a year darling. Are you excited, then?”
Draco shuffles around so he can rest his back against the couch, keeping Harry’s palm pressed to his knee with his own hand as he moves. “Yes. Very. I love my job, but the fees they charge our time at are outrageous. I was always thinking, Mother and I wouldn’t have been able to afford that right after the war. Had we even been allowed a solicitor, but don’t get me bloody started.”
Harry thinks that’s Draco down to his bones. He gives cold little glares to people he doesn’t want to talk to, and shrinks in on himself like a turtle whenever Molly tries to hug him at Sunday lunch, and he’s selfish about stupid things, like letting Ron have the last of his chips at pub night.
And then he does things like drop lunch by Hermione’s office when he has afternoon meetings with the Wizengamot, or quit the job he loves so much, where he’s finally respected and secure, to work for free with Scary Amantea because he actually cares about the abysmal state of the Wizarding justice system, or rent out an entire Muggle theme park for Harry’s birthday, because he’d said, off handed, one night in Draco’s arms, that he’d always been left behind when the Dursley’s took Dudley as a child.
“You’re so nice,” Harry says.
Draco frowns. “Take it back.”
Harry says, “Won’t,” and gives him a good, slow kiss that tastes like wine. Wine from a proper glass.
“I have bad news, too,” Draco says into Harry’s lips.
Harry can’t think of how anything could be bad, wrong, when Draco’s mouth is so soft and so close, but he murmurs, “What,” anyway.
“No dress code, at the new firm.”
Harry pulls back, stricken. “No more buttons?”
“Less regular buttons,” Draco amends, and Harry places a protective hand over Draco’s clavicles.
“This is completely tragic,” Harry says.
“Dare I say, Potter, you’ll just have to make the most of them. While you can.”
Harry nods, leans down again, a hand either side of Draco’s hips, and kisses him again.
When he pulls back, it’s so he can get his hands on the reeling column of buttons that runs from Draco’s navel to his Adam’s apple.
There was a certain carnal appeal in tearing them off him that first time, but now Harry likes this. His hands on Draco, his mouth following. Pushing the silken studs through the loops, undressing Draco inch by milk white inch.
“Yes,” Draco says, as Harry licks and nips his way down every bit of skin he exposes. When Draco swallows, Harry feels the movement of it roll beneath his palm. When Draco’s legs fall open, Harry mouths at his hip bone as it shifts under his tongue.
Harry disrobes himself with slightly less worshipping finesse. Pushes the tailored cloth off Draco’s shoulders, helps him arrange himself underneath Harry, ankles clasped lazily at his back. Fucks him slow, and sweet, and two more times.
Really, Harry doesn’t know why the robes do it for him so utterly and completely. They look kind of like the type of thing a vicar would wear, which is also what Harry remembers thinking when he saw Draco in his dress robes at the Yule Ball (although now it’s more a very rich, very sleek sort of vicar vibe, and less of the fusty, I-took-a-celibacy-oath-at-thirteen-and-am- now-seventy-two thing he had going back then. With all the velvet. Draco looks much better in silk. Anyway.)
On that, it’s probably because it’s a reminder that it’s Malfoy who he’s with. Malfoy, not Death Eater, tormentor, but pale limbs, plush, pink mouth and naked vulnerability before him. It’s how far they’ve both come, and how Draco presents himself to the world — so far away from what Harry gets to see. What’s Harry’s. What’s theirs.
“Also,” Draco says, when Harry tells him this in bed that night, “I look positively indecent in black.”
what's the first drarry fic you remember reading? would you re-read it today?
Hello lovely, thank you for the ask 💜 My first Drarry fics were in my mother language (PT) and I barely remember them, except for the classic AU Green Eyes by Amy Lupin. This fic was responsible for making Green Eyes my #1 favorite Drarry song!
I started reading in English pretty early on and my strongest memory is of Irresistible Poison by Rhysenn. I remember being completely obsessed with it, I must have reread the scene where they get stuck together (was it inside a chest? A closet? Who knows, not me!) probably 25617168 times and the sexual tension would give me goosebumps every damn time 😂 I don’t really read love/lust potion fics anymore but I’d love to revisit this fic one day and get drown in nostalgia. Too bad it’s such a long read, but who knows! What about you?
how about Rooibos and Turkish and Gunpowder tea? :D
Rooibos: What is one of you favourite books?
This is so hard to answer, because which one do I choose? There are so many books to love. It’s almost cliché to say P&P, but I genuinly adore that book and I have reread it more than any other book I own.
Turkish tea: What is your favourite cake?
I don’t have a sweet tooth, but if it has chocolate, I’m usually down. Also carrot cake (but the good kind my American coworker bakes!)
Gunpowder tea: If you had the chance: would you go to space?
Hell no. I love space, but in that kind of way you love the ocean deep: in awe and from a safe distance.
Hello my lovely, thanks for the ask and sorry for being approximately a million years late replying 😅
F. canon fics or au?
I’m never sure where the line is for something to be a true au - everything I’ve written has diverged from canon to an extent I’d say it’s a different ‘verse. My hurtfest, If an injury is to be inflicted, is probably my most au of fics so far—but my Pride & Prejudice WIP will definitely be the top of the au list when it’s finished!
G. longfics or shortfics?
I’ve written two longer fics, but the rest of my stories are shorter, ranging from drabbles to 10k. I love that about fanfic, that a story can be the length it needs to be—no more, no less—and there’s no compulsion to drag a tale out, or to cut it unnecessarily. They unfold in their own time. My shortest fic is Mettle at just 120 words, my longest is If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted at 44k!
H. original characters or no?
I haven’t written many, my focus is usually on the core characters of Draco and Harry, and those that orbit closely around them. But I really enjoyed the cruel and obsequious Julien in my @hd-hurtfest fic—he was a nasty little man and I loved writing him!
I. porn with plot or porn without plot?
My porn always comes with a generous serving of plot, it just happens, even when I don’t intend it. I think it’s because I am so invested in these characters, and so ‘even’ sex scenes are weighted with my ideas about how they feel, how they think, how they move and touch and relate to each other. For me, that’s what makes a sex scene enjoyable to write.
J. smut or fluff?
I think I’ve served up a healthy dose of both in my published works! Breathe You In is one of my most gentle and soft fics, Patient, Hungry, Waiting would be the closest I’ve gotten to a PWP!
K. angst or happy?
I need a happy ending, or at least a hopeful one—as a reader and as a writer. I am a pretty soft bean... I don’t mind putting them through the angst, but I like to soothe it in the end!
hiya!! i hope your day is swell! how about 20, 8, and 18 for the asks?
Hello darling! Thanks for the asks 💗
8. do you prefer happy, bittersweet, or sad endings?
I mean, I definitely prefer happy endings but I’m a slut for open/bittersweet endings, too! Idk, there’s something cathartic and thought-provoking about the heartache that makes it stick with you the longest!
18. characters you want to wrap in a blanket and tell them they’re going to be okay?
Tony, Harry, fanon Draco 😭❤️
20. name a song that reminds you heavily of a specific fandom or character.
I’m gonna go with Earth by Sleeping at Last which gives me strong post-war Draco vibes!
in feeling: sitting by a warm fire; in purpose: discovering incredible new stories daily; in essence: a cozy, feel-good bookshelf
oh my goodness, what a lovely reply! I’m so so humbled 😭 thanks so much, it means a lot to know that my blog gives you such warm, cozy vibes. Life has been a bit chaotic and I haven’t been reccing as much as I’d like, but I hope you’re enjoying the sweet comfort fics I’ve been reading lately. Thanks for sticking around and for your patience! I appreciate you 💗
THAT PROMPT RESPONSE IS IMPECCABLE!!! I'M LOSING MY MIND! And frantically trying to track down all the Lucid bits -- Harry messing up the wine glasses, certainly, them being incredibly rich, and Draco studying law, hmmm... will continue to ponder what other hints there may be. What a lovely fic you've written!!!
!!!!!! WHAT’S IMPECCABLE IS UR MIND FOR COMING UP W THAT GENIUSNESS !!
^^^ that was ur poem btw (free verse) bc im pretty sure thats all of the lucid references there were. believe me when i say draco being a lawyer AGAIN was an utter coincidence. once they started talking about wine, i went back to check what his career was just to see if it could strictly be considered a continuation and was pleasantly surprised skngejkngr
thank again for the lovely prompt, it really was exactly what i needed
