Making Sweet MusicWord Count:
500 - five drabblesRating:
It all belongs to JKR, even though I'm nicer to the boys than she is.A/N:
Written for hd100
's challenge, "why?"
Draco opened the box with an air of trepidation. When its contents didn’t immediately attack, he looked more closely and poked it.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Muggle radio,” Hermione explained. “It works like magical ones, but you can find new music.”
“Er – thanks.”
“You got him a Muggle birthday present?” Harry said in an undertone. “Why?”
“He could certainly stand to be more integrated,” she muttered back. “And he can come over later, I’ll show him how to find stations and things.”
Harry thought Draco would be more interested in playing with his new flogger, but didn’t say so.~*~
After Draco returned from Hermione’s place he immediately started chattering about everything she’d shown him. Harry listened indulgently and didn’t tease Draco about his new Muggle appreciation. There was something appealing about bright-eyed, excited Draco, and Harry could hardly show his own appreciation from the sofa.
“And then there was this band called the Why, and Hermione sang Behind Blue Eyes
and – ”
Harry tried not to laugh. “Er, Draco – I think you mean the Who
Harry smiled and slid an arm around his waist. “It doesn’t matter.” A hand slipped towards Draco’s arse. “Want to make sweet music?”~*~
“Tell me why, why you cried,” Draco carolled at earsplitting volume, “and why you lied to me!” Having abandoned the Who, he was now immersed in the Beatles.
Harry pulled his pillow over his head, groaning. He moved it when Draco appeared, looking disgustingly cheerful.
“Bloody morning person.”
Draco laughed. “You’re a night owl.” His eyelids went heavy. “And you had a hard day’s night.”
Harry was torn between snorting and stiffening at the memory. “Reckon you’ll still need me when you’re sixty-four?”
“Yep, and you can still feed me. Eggs, preferably.”
He gave Harry an expectant look.
“God I’m whipped.”~*~
That afternoon, Harry returned from watching a Quidditch match with Ron to find music blaring again, and Draco...
Draco was standing on the coffee table, not so much dancing as gyrating
, hips thrusting and chest moving, his head thrown back to expose a neck shining with sweat.
Draco looked at him through sweat- soaked hair. Harry lunged.
An hour later, Hermione went downstairs to find Ron sitting in the hearth with a thousand- yard stare.
“Ron? Did you take Harry’s scarf back?”
He didn’t respond. “Why?” he moaned.
“Why what? Ron?”
He explained. Hermione didn’t see why he was complaining.~*~
Harry thrust again, and watched Draco’s body bow, every muscle tensing, before Harry withdrew and Draco went boneless beneath him.
“Think we should’ve gone upstairs?” he panted into Draco’s neck, before bringing his mouth down and biting.
“Nah,” Draco gasped, hands fisting convulsively at the feel of teeth. “It’s his own damn fault.”
Harry sped up the rhythm, groaning at the feel of Draco meeting each thrust. Draco came with a cry that had music all its own. Harry followed the next instant and wilted on top of him.
“So,” Draco said eventually. “How about a CD thingy?”