One of my favorite headcanons is that Draco is absolutely obsessed with the small of Harry’s back.

And he won’t admit it of course, but he takes every opportunity he can to touch it. Resting his hand at the base of Harry’s spine possesively at ministry functions, placing both hands there and tugging the other man close as he ravishes his mouth after a long day at work, flipping him over and mesmerizing the area with his tongue while they fuck, grabbing onto Harry by the shoulders and dragging his cock up his body and resting it at the curve where his spine meets his arse, sucking his ear into his mouth and whispering every single thing he plans to do to him while rutting against him and making Harry nearly cry in desperation.

And Draco doesn’t know if he likes that one spot so much because Harry is so responsive when he touches it, or if Harry has become responsive solely because of the extra attention Draco pays that one particular area of his body.

All Draco knows is that after awhile all it takes is him casually slipping his hand under Harry’s shirt while at the Grangers for dinner, innocently stroking a finger back and forth under his the top of his jeans, then using his thumb to trace circles in the small dip before Harry is short of breath and dragging Draco down the hallway yelling something about a fake work emergency that Draco knows neither Ron nor Hermione believe.

But Draco doesn’t care because it makes him feel heady and drunk knowing how much he can affect Harry, and how much he wants him.

And maybe that’s what it’s really about, because for the longest time Draco felt like he wanted the other man more but in those moments he knows with utter certainty they are equal in everything including their desire for each other.

Pod Fic Rec Days

Because seriously, our lovely, amazingly brilliant and talented podficcers need an extra post. And no, I still don’t care about what date it is. We’re an international fandom :D Johnlock in all its glory :)

Something old aka Victorian Times

“Undiscovered Country” read by Ricky Pulsifer and The Dragongirl (explicit, 2 hours): Culverton Smith’s poison box fells the wrong victim. Story written by Katie Forsythe.

“Sentiment to Paper” (explicit, 50 minutes) read by Ricky Pulsifer: No fewer than three times by the winter of 1883 had I heard Sherlock Holmes disparage the ways of lovers and their irrational tendencies toward writing letters. With this often and loudly-expressed opinion in mind, I was very surprised indeed to find a stack of unsent, unsealed letters in a drawer in his desk. [written by @mistyzeo]

Some BBC-ish Johnlock

“The Edinburgh Problem” (explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @lockedinjohnlock-podfics: “A nice holiday, just a bit more…murdery. ” John said drily.“Yes! The best kind of holiday!” Sherlock beamed. “So we won’t get bored!” After he separates from Mary, John returns to Baker Street. Following a request for help from Sherlock’s cousin Violet, the detective and his blogger take a trip to Edinburgh. John discovers more about the Holmes family and Sherlock than he bargained for, but tries not to run screaming. (AKA the one season 4 never happend)[written by @snorklepie]

Two Two One Bravo Baker (explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @aranel-parmadil: Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? (Aka the one before the canon). [written by abundantlyqueer]

“Sugar me Sweet” (mature, 20 minutes) read by @consultingsmartarse: “Let’s get started, shall we?” Sherlock says as he sheds his coat. A black, diaphanous shirt hangs loose on his shoulders, clings tight to his abdomen. A pair of studded, leather trousers like a second skin. They complement the curve of his plump arse and emphasize the length of his outrageously long legs. Powerful thighs. Muscular calves and…John’s not entirely sure how Sherlock got himself in them, but he’s not complaining. On the contrary. A bit distracted by the idea of him removing them, honestly. Peeling them off, and he’d have to go slow. May even need a little help. (AKA different first meeting) [written by penumbra]

Something different aka Alternative Universe for the win

“The Star-crossed series” (14 parts, rated from teen to explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @aranel-parmadil: Richard, Duke of Gloucester, is 29 years old and needs a break from snide whispers before he just stabs someone. But in his place of sanctuary is a beautiful stranger -Khan Noonien Singh, victim of a time surge after an experiment goes wrong. At first it seems they’ll fight, but then other kinds of duelling seem more appealing.But these two men are making bad choices, and their fates are written in the stars. Will their souls ever learn to make better choices? How long will it take them to find each other again, and what will they have to learn before they do? [written by 221b_hound; art work by @missmuffin221]

“Mise en place” (mature, more than 12 hours) read by @consultingsmartarse: John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn’t have much choice. There’s only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. [written by @azriona]

“Working on the Edges” (mature, 7 hours) read by @consultingsmartarse and @aranel-parmadil: No matter where you put Sherlock and John, they click. Including the Winter Olympics. [written by @earlgreytea68; art work by @anotherwellkeptsecret]

“Northwest Passage” (explicit, more than 12 hours) read by @lockedinjohnlock-podfics: Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn’t truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes. [written by @kryptaria; art work by kacaso]

vckaarrob  asked:

i wish for a fic where aaron admits he actually fancies robert. like, just thinks he's properly fit. because, FACTS.

It’s not as if Aaron didn’t know he had a good-looking husband. He was well aware that Robert was a good-looking bloke, thank you very much, Robert’s looks had been one of the first thing’s he’d noticed about him, all preppy blonde hair and a smarmy grin fixed in place on his mouth, two things Aaron had never known he found attractive in a fella.

But today? Today Robert was out to ruin him. It was the height of summer, and they’d come to the Woolpack for a few post work pints. Aaron was sitting at one of the outside benches with Adam and Victoria, nursing the dregs of a cider, waiting for Robert to come back with their next round.

Expect he was yet to stop talking to Nicola, standing with his hands on his hips, those ridiculous blue trousers he’d donned that Saturday morning highlighting the curve of his arse, the material tight across his thighs. 

God, Aaron loved his arse, and those trousers did nothing but highlight his husband’s great arse. The white shirt he’d paired it with wasn’t exactly helping either, the pristine shirt rolled up to Robert’s elbows, showing off his broad shoulders, the length of his back.

Aaron knew every inch of the skin under that shirt, every freckle, every scar. His mouth was practically watering as he stared at Robert, admired the summery outfit he was wearing, admired the way his blonde hair was slightly messy, his new sunglasses perched on top of his head, his serious business face fixed in place as he and Nicola chatted.


“Huh?” Aaron turned to his sister -in-law, flushing bright red as he realised he’d bene caught staring.

“A picture would last longer.” Victoria smirked, sipping on one of the summery cocktails Charity had decided to start serving as they’d entered the height of summer, long bright days making people happy enough to hand over ten quid for a badly mixed glass of spirits and food colouring. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aaron shook his head, draining the last of his cider. He shouldn’t feel embarrassed, getting caught staring at his own husband’s arse, but he wasn’t exactly used to being so open and honest about how much he honest to god fancied the pants off Robert, even now, over a year down the line from when they’d first gotten back together.

“Mate, you were practically drooling!” Adam snorted, tossing a handful of peanuts into his mouth, 

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m allowed to fancy my husband, aren’t I?” he grumbled, spinning his empty glass between his hands, watching as Robert finally ducked inside the pub to get them their next round.

Victoria beamed at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say you fancy Robert!” she exclaimed, nudging Adam. “Have you?”

“It’s not like we’re always talking about that sort of thing.” Adam shrugged, polishing off the last of his peanuts.

“Talking about what?” Robert asked, arriving back to the table with another tray of drinks for them, his sunglasses back in place, blonde hair mussed up and glowing in the sunshine.

“About how much Aaron fancies the pants off ya.” Victoria giggled, reaching for her fresh cocktail, looking delighted with herself as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, trying to gauge their reactions.

Robert simply smirked, giving Aaron’s knee a squeeze under the table. “Good thing I fancy the pants off him as well then.” 

tell me what fic you wish i’d write

precious moment
(robert/aaron, morning fluff)

for the beautiful @escapingreality51 who is having a bad day and wanted fluff

i hope this works for you, my love <3

Robert loves weekends;

It means he gets the slow wake up, light creeping over his face as it peeks through the gap that’s always in the curtains because Aaron never closes them properly. He gets to roll over, face pressed into Aaron’s shoulder, arm thrown over Aaron’s stomach. Aaron’s usually awake, an early riser even on Saturday, but he’ll rest a hand on the back of Robert’s neck, fingers teasing the hairs at the nape. 

“Morning,” Robert mumbles, brushing his nose against Aaron’s skin. 

Aaron breathes out slowly, kisses the crown of Robert’s head. “Morning. You awake yet?”

He knows Robert isn’t, so Robert doesn’t bother to grace that with a reply. He keeps his eyes closed, relishing the feel of Aaron’s body beneath his, the steady breathing lulling him almost back to sleep. 

“Oi,” Aaron says eventually, free hand rubbing Robert’s arm gently. “We need to be up soon.”

“No we don’t,” Robert grumbles, cracking open one eye to look up at Aaron. “It’s the weekend, don’t ruin it.”

Keep reading

thisbirdhadflown  asked:

Hartwin, 36

36. “I wish I could hate you.”


pairing, number, drabbles

“I wish I could hate you,” Eggsy says casually.

Harry looks up from the paper he’d been idly skimming, head tilting curiously to one side. “Oh? And why is that?”

Eggsy’s nose crinkles in thought. “You’re inconvenient,” he finally says.

Harry outright laughs at that. “I’ve been called many things in my lifetime, Eggsy, but inconvenient may be a first.” He folds his newspaper, setting it aside. “Go on, then. How am I ‘inconvenient’?”

Eggsy ticks off the points on his fingers as he goes. “One, you’re way too handsome. I’ve spent a lotta time that I should be workin’ just starin’ at you.” He tsks his tongue quietly. “Merlin don’t like that much. Two, so good in bed. Then you go off on some mission and leave me here alone? Can’t be satisfied, you’ve ruined me.”

Harry can’t help but smirk. He shifts in his chair, letting his legs fall slightly open, and he knows Eggsy noticed by the way he glares at him.

Three,” Eggsy continues, not to be deterred, “you’re always pullin’ shit like that, then turnin’ around and bein’ all ‘I’m such a gentleman.’ Such a liar, is what you are. And four, and this is the worst one, you made me fall in love with you.”

Harry smiles faintly, pushing back his chair and gesturing to Eggsy.

Eggsy obliges immediately, moving to straddle him, bracketing his thighs with his own legs. He drapes his arms around Harry’s neck.

Harry runs his hands up the back of Eggsy’s legs, over the curve of his arse, until they’re resting the small of his back. “So loving me is inconvenient?”

“Absolutely,” Eggsy says without missing a beat. “Gotta worry about more than just me now, don’t I? Gotta worry that you’re gonna go off and get yourself killed, gotta take care of you if you get sick, gotta remember birthdays and anniversaries and all that shit. But the weirdest part is it don’t even matter, cause even with all that… I ain’t gonna give you up.”

Harry’s smile softens into something more genuine, and he tightens his hold on Eggsy. “I’m certainly glad to hear that,” he says. “Because as inconvenient as you are with your inability to do paperwork or believe that I’ll come home fine from missions or that blasted pug of yours, I’m not giving you up, either.”

The early morning light, filtered through the clouds, softened the otherwise harsh lines of the stark-white walls and solid black furniture, and the blue-grey down comforter was a rumpled mass on top of four large pillows and something he hoped was a breathing body.


Merlin shifted under the blankets, flopping over onto his belly.

A long bare leg, moon-milky against the blue-grey comforter, stretched out and curled slightly. The fine black hairs on his calf and thigh only served to enhance the lines of muscles, lean and lined even at rest. Arthur’s eyes traced the length of his leg, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of Merlin’s boxers, the fabric pushed up all the way to the crook and curve of his arse.

Oh, fuck.

anonymous asked:

I just read your story and it's amazing!! 💗And I was just wondering if you could do a scene where Louis wants to be the big spoon for once? (Like a little ficlit?)

“Really?” Harry asks disbelievingly, one eyebrow raised. He leans back against the headboard, folding one of his arms behind his head just for the way Louis’ eyes dart to his biceps for a millisecond. “Really?”

Keep reading

28. knocking on the wrong door AU

(for the anon who asked for 4 & 28. 4 can be found here. Thanks so much!)

Aaron presses the doorbell with his elbow, trying to keep the parcel aloft and scratch at his itchy nose. He’s carted the thing half way across town, fighting off a dog, a toddler, and a delirious bloke who was rambling something about worms (though it might have been bikes, Aaron’s French is pretty rusty) – all he wants to do is drop it and run.

When a man answers the door sopping wet, and shouts, “Do you speak English?” over the sound of rushing water coming out of his apartment – Aaron feels like this morning is (somehow, almost impossibly) about to get worse.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Quick, get inside.”

Going inside is the absolute last thing Aaron wants to do. He’d rather face off that dog again than go inside. But he needs a signature on the delivery slip, because he needs to get paid, because he needs to eat something that isn’t butter and bread for the first time this month. He goes inside.

“Bloody hell!” is the only thing he can think to say when he gets into the man’s kitchen. There’s water bursting from the sink, roaring loud and flooding everywhere – the man hurriedly trying to clear everything from sight. “What happened?”

“Do I look like I know that?” he yells, and if Aaron wasn’t having The Worst Day ™ he might suppose the two of them shouting at each other is actually kind of comical.

“You’ve gotta turn it off!”

“Right, yeah, ‘cause I’ve been stood here with my hands on my hips waiting for some halfwit to come tell me that!”

Keep reading

Potter bent over their cauldron and took a tentative sniff.

They had abandoned their robes for the day. Even though it was freezing in the corridors, the Potions room was still quite warm. Slughorn had, inanely, even hung mistletoe around the damn place. Luckily it wasn’t the magical kind.

Draco pretended that he wasn’t looking at the curve of Potter’s arse in his tight-hugging jeans.

“I smell old-parchment and mince pies and sandalwood and……something citrusy-”

For some reason he turned red at this announcement, ducked his head, and began scribbling frantically, the scratching of his quill the only sound between the for a moment.

“If it’s something sordid about the Weaslette,” Draco told him, firmly, “keep it to yourself.”

Cautiously he inched towards the potion, making sure to keep his flawless hair away from the fumes. He took the barest of whiffs, already knowing with perfect clarity what he would smell. It was a unique combination of scents; the scent of the air on a crisp, cool day on the edge of winter, something a bit like pine trees, and something musky that was uniquely Potter. Draco felt like kicking the stupid potion for giving him Potter in a bottle.

With a sinking feeling of dread he turned back to his own parchment and wrote it down.

“What did you smell?” Potter asked.

“Mangoes,” Draco told him shortly.

Potter stared at him for a moment. “You did not.”

“And beeswax.”

Potter wrinkled his nose.

“Exactly,” Draco said, “now stop asking me stupid questions.”

Five Times Draco Went to Potions by 


Johnlock Fanfiction Rec List Part 1

Well, I’ve been reading lots of fanfics lately, I asked myself why not?
*Nearly all fics are bottomlock. Switchlock, at most. I am not very big fan of DFP characterization and Toplock. Uups, sorry. (Not sorry.)
*I tried to pick the ones I recently read. 

Behind Closed Curtains by twisting_vine_x
Sherlock teaches John how to dance. (Based on a certain scene from S3E02).
2.9k, General Audiences
(This is like, really angsty and cute at the same time?)

Mirrored by WhimsicalEthnographies
“Watch me, like always.”
6.7k Explicit
(This one is really hot? I love this author’s fics. Go read ‘em all.)

Back to the Start by slashcribe
Sherlock hasn’t played the violin since John’s wedding (which is long since over), and when John returns to 221B, Sherlock relearns the violin as he and John relearn each other. Post S3 fic with an obscene amount of pining, idiocy, and attempts to pawn off tea duties.
14k Mature
(My heart. Also all of this author’s fics.)

An Acquired Taste by kinklock
At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased. At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.
25,8k Explicit
(Smol Batlock? I am in. Also all fics of our fandom mother kinklock​ <3)

Sugar Me Sweet by penumbra
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Sherlock says as he sheds his coat. A black, diaphanous shirt hangs loose on his shoulders, clings tight to his abdomen. A pair of studded, leather trousers like a second skin. They complement the curve of his plump arse and emphasize the length of his outrageously long legs. Powerful thighs. Muscular calves and…John’s not entirely sure how Sherlock got himself in them, but he’s not complaining. On the contrary. A bit distracted by the idea of him removing them, honestly. Peeling them off, and he’d have to go slow. May even need a little help.
3k Mature 
(Too hot? Hot damn. Stripperlock, but with a plot twist. By amazing anotherwellkeptsecret )

The Important Bit by Solshine
Just where exactly is the line between “to love” and “to be in love”? What difference is required between “flatmate” and “husband”? (Besides the rings, obviously.) No, the important bit is that they have each other. Thirty years, give or take, in an atypical marriage. Basically a long bit of platonic domestic fluff.
10k General Audiences
(I can’t even…)

"I like to watch you dance”, had said Moriarty. And now he has Sherlock dancing in the palm of his hand… with John as an audience. Strip dancing and power play scene. Johnlock, angst, romance. Pretty dark.
3 Works, 165k, Explicit (Though it says Mature)
(I’ll never stop promoting Zoffoli’s fics. Warning for extreme angst. Also all other fics by Zoffoli)

Qua Fota Vocant by prettysailorsoldier
Sherlock is enamored with one of the employees at the university library, wiling away hours of his days just to catch a glimpse of the dynamic John Watson: captain of the rugby team, event manager for the LGBT society, and third-year medical student. Of course, being only a first-year, it’s unlikely John will ever notice him. At least, until fate (and a little well-intentioned meddling) intervenes.
18k, Explicit
(Lots of prettysailorsoldier’s fics are among my favourites, I had to pick one. My favourite Teenlock writer.)

Keeping You Safe by Atisenia
After the end of her disastrous marriage, Joan moves back in with Sherlock and learns - quite by accident - what happened to Sherlock’s wings.
2.3k Teen
(Probably the only Femlock in this list. Angst & fluff.)

Take Your Time by TooSelin
In which Sherlock and John are finally together and desperate to have sex, but things keep getting in the way, John is going to lose his mind and Sherlock might just set someone on fire.
8k Explicit
(This is hilarious and sexy. Even I was frustrated after some point, lol.)

Kingdoms Rise by DONTBL1NK
“The name is Sherlock Holmes, and I broke in.”
15k Explicit
(In the name of not giving spoilers, I am not making further commenting. Amazing.)

To the Sticking Place by blueink3
Renowned Shakespearean actor Sherlock Holmes has finally burned all of his bridges in the theatre industry save for his constant director, Greg Lestrade. John Watson has made a name for himself in the musical theatre circuit, but age and injury are working against him. Can they reinvent themselves for an all-male Macbeth without killing one another?
122k Explicit
(Like Performance in a Leading Role, but theatre AU.)

Imaginary Pictures by crossroads
There’s a new boy in class and everybody likes him.
Not that Sherlock would care, as long as ‘John’ leaves him alone…
36k Explicit
(Sherlock’s POV. Cute and hot.)

In Nomine by Atiki
“Alright?” John asks gently, planting a kiss on Sherlock’s left collar bone, smoothing a hand down his chest and belly until it rests in the soft trail of hair below his belly button. John’s smile is all soft and warm. His hand feels tender and solid and real. A soldier’s hand. A surgeon’s hand. A lover’s hand. Oh.
“John”, Sherlock gasps. And that’s where it begins.
3.5k Explicit
(My precious smol son…)

For you, there’s only me by shock_blanket
Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock’s part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there’s only John.
20k Explicit
(Pining pining pining…)

In Care Of by  quietasasleepingarmy
John writes instructions for Sherlock’s lover on how to care for him.
34k Explicit
(My feels… They are so… I am so…)

Mouth to Mouth by OssaCordis
John tastes emotions. Sherlock never cooks.
4.6k Teen
(This makes my heart warmer.)

The Scent of Home by conductor_of_light
John comes back to 221b and Sherlock’s world feels complete again. Even the flat smells right, both of their scents mixing together to make it home.
3.4k Mature
(I have thing for all scent talk.)

The Bottom Third of the Door Handle by  astudyinrose
After Pilot!John and Pilot!Sherlock leave the final crime scene in the unaired pilot of Sherlock, they go to the Chinese restaurant nearby, and… that’s pretty much all you need to know.
6.1k Explicit
(Pilotbabies in love.)

Acceptable Behaviour by  bbcatemysoul
Sherlock isn’t really sure why John wants to shag him, but he’s certain that if he’s careful to behave properly about it, John can be persuaded to keep doing it. In other news, John is a good boyfriend and Sherlock is an idiot.
3.4k Mature
(Sherlock is smol, and then, when wasn’t he?)

A Bit Too Familiar by  Salambo06
When Mrs. Turner’s 'married ones’ come to dinner at 221B, John must face some serious revelations about his relationship with Sherlock.
5.5k Mature
(This my dream tbh.)

A Suitable Stain by vitruvianwatson
John imagines what they must look like–the young, gorgeous university student, naked as the day he was born, draped over the well-dressed older doctor, the muscles rippling in Sherlock’s back as his slim hips roll that beautiful arse up into the air and back down again, his spine curving beneath John’s hand as he moves it to the small of Sherlock’s back to feel the movement. The hard outline of Sherlock’s cock slides back and forth across John’s body, dampening his clothes with precome, and John moves both hands down to Sherlock’s arse, squeezing and pulling him in harder.
7.6k Explicit
(All fics by vitruvianwatson. All of them. Sexy as hell, I can’t even. I have a thing for age differance and vitruvianwatson is only feeding my obsession.)

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by  Polyphony
Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.
30k Mature
(I am really into a particular scene in this. John, oh John.)

White Tulip by withoutawish
Sherlock is in love with John Watson. John Watson is in love with Mary Morstan. Sherlock likes Mary Morstan just fine. Sherlock likes drugs more. And most importantly, Sherlock doesn’t like Sherlock. String theory dictates the laws of the universe. But their story isn’t one that can be boxed up neatly, tied in a heartstring bow.
40k Explicit
(This extremely angsty though, don’t say I didn’t warn. It stole my lunch and left me under the rain.)

A Visit To The Doctor by  flawedamythyst
When Watson gets ill, Holmes goes to extraordinary lengths to get him well again. ACD/BBC crossover.
28k Teen
(READ THIS. I like how at the end Sherlock’s like “Gtfo, we’ll have sex.” Also bonus points for the incredible romance between ACD Holmes/Watson.)

The Haunting of Sherlock Holmes by  MapleleafCameo
Forced by his interfering git of a brother to the countryside to recuperate, Sherlock stumbles upon a 60 year old mystery. Captain John Watson, returning after WWII mysteriously disappeared one night. Bored, Sherlock investigates, but what if Watson didn’t disappear? What if he’s still there? Sort of a ghost story. Eventual Johnlock.
25k Explicit
(Surprisingly, not angsty at all. Ghosts.)

Grey Matters by  J_Baillier
Dr Sherlock Holmes is the hospital’s new neurosurgical star. He performs miracles with his scalpel, but his bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. The task to address the issue falls on one of the unit’s senior neuroanaesthetists, Dr John Watson.
17.5k Mature
(What can I say? I am always a slut for Hospital AU’s.)

A Different Kind of Complication by  Atisenia
When John started getting letters addressed to Sherlock Holmes, he had no idea that his life was about to change forever.
8.7k Teen
(Mike The Cupid is on duty.)

A World Ahead by Junejuly15
'If I were to kiss you now, would you let me?’ Sherlock whispered.
'Try me,’ John growled…
28k Mature
(This is a whole BBC Sherlock fix-it. We’d be crying of happiness if everything happened to be like this.)

Ink Your Name Across My Heart by  prettyvk
The metaphor is imperfect but still workable. If my long term memory is a hard drive, then my short term memory is RAM. The hard drive became read-only following the illness. New data is stored in RAM and can be used while I remain awake. Going to sleep – ‘turning off’ – wipes the RAM, returning the system to what it was prior to the illness.
58k Explicit
(This fic is so special for me. I know it’s extremely well-read by all of the fandom, but I wanted to put it in my list.)

Shameless self-advertisement:

Game Over
That’s when you know you will lose John.
That’s when you know she will take him away from you.
305 words, General

Meeting Harry Watson (WIP)
Harry Watson is a psychiatrist who is an alcoholic and former drug addict.
John Watson had no intention to introduce his sister to Sherlock.
But they did meet years ago. And then they saw each other a couple times more.
(The one which Harry Watson is a doctor and ships Johnlock.)

anonymous asked:


John arched his back as good as he could, with his hands on the floor, his arse was nicely presented. He slightly wiggled it in the direction of Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair. He’d been thinking and barely talking for the past four days.

Sitting in his lap had only made him grumble, kissing his neck had made him growl, and going for his flies made him snap: “John, for GOD’S SAKE! Stop it, I have more important things to think about.” With that he shoved John away, which John responded to with his own sulk. Just that he wasn’t nearly as efficient.

So he decided it was time to make Sherlock come to him. He’d gone out and bought himself the tightest and most flattering yogapants. They made his bum look irresistible, he found.
He planted himself in the living room, ignoring Sherlock completely. And then he’d started doing yoga. If he hadn’t had an alternative motive, he would have actually liked doing it for his body and health.

But soon enough he could spot Sherlock shifting in his seat, a smug smile coming to his face. He kept moving as gracefully as he could, showing off his arse and his muscles.

When he heard Sherlock clear his throat, he knew he had him hooked. Right then he clenched his buttocks tightly, sure that Sherlock was watching.

“John… What - what are you doing?” His voice sounded strained. John grinned to himself and spoke with his huskiest voice: “Yoga.”

“Yes.” Sherlock cleared his throat again and John heard him shift in his chair. “Obviously. But why are you doing it here?” Irritation was now audible too.

“Because it’s my flat too, and I can do my yoga, wherever and whenever I want to.”
He made it sound as if he had been doing yoga all his life.

“It’s distracting. Stop it.” He sounded positively angry/hungry now.

John closed his eyes, getting ready for the explosion. “No.”

For a moment it was completely quiet, he was still in the position with his head low, and his arse high.

A smile bloomed on his face when he felt Sherlock’s heat behind him, and then two hands roughly grabbing his hips.
When Sherlock pushed his evident erection into the cleft of John’s arse, he bowed low over John, and growled: “You are a distraction. A ditraction that must be tended to.”

With a harsh push of his hips, he made it clear what he wanted. “Fucking finally”, John murmured.
He slowly pushed back his own pelvis, wriggling it delightfully as he slowly came to a full stand.

He turned around to face Sherlock, and gave their groins a nice slide against each other. He grinned up at Sherlock, whose pupils had widened enough to look like they were devouring the irises. John felt his cock twitch at that sight. He pulled Sherlock into a hot kiss, soft slides of tongues and lips and sharp nips of teeth. Sherlock herded him towards the kitchen, and John gave a surprised shout, when he felt his feet leave the floor. The table was almost empty (for a change) and John soon found himself, lying with his back on the hard surface looking up at Sherlock. He grinned. “I knew I’d get you here somehow…”

Sherlock smirked back, his hands roaming over John’s yogapant-clad thighs, hot and searching.

“You chose well, John. Those were excellent trousers you bought. I like them so much, I don’t want to take them off all the way.”

He lifted John’s legs to rest on his shoulders, looking at him. John squirmed a bit, this position squeezing his erection nicely, but also a bit torturously. Sherlock reached forward to push John’s shirt up, so that his chest was visible.

“Sherlock…” John was losing his patience. He needed Sherlock inside him, now.

“Shhhh John. Where’s the lube? I know you got it somewhere close because you wouldn’t want to have to interrupt this.” His one hand slid down John’s naked abdomen, then palming his caged erection.

John moaned helplessly, and flailed his right hand aimlessly at Sherlock. “Your right pocket. I - oh dear god - put it there when you were on the sofa.”

Sherlock smirked down at him, and then his smile grew hungry again as he took the tube out of his pocket.
He put it down beside John’s hip and then started to tug at John’s yogapants. John lifted his hips slightly, to help, and the trousers slipped over the curve of his arse. He was about to reach down and pull them over his straining and throbbing erection, when Sherlock stopped him, grabbing his wrists. “Don’t. You weren’t even wearing underwear, needy little cockslut.” He put John’s hands right over the edge of the table and motioned for him to grip tightly.

John did, his chest heaving in deep breaths. With half-lidded eyes he watched how Sherlock coated his fingers generously in lube. From his point of view it still looked as if he was wearing his yogapants all the way, but he knew that his arse was exposed, when a finger slipped between his cheeks, circling the rim and then slowly pushing in. He nearly let go of the table, his fingers trembling with suppressed arousal.

After the second and the third finger had been worked inside of him, and Sherlock still didn’t show any sign of getting down to fucking him, John snapped at him: “Get at it you git! Fuck, I need it!”

Sherlock smiled darkly and slowly pulled out his fingers to slick up his cock.
But before he pushed in, he stopped to look at John and lift his eyebrows. “What do we say when we would like something, John?”

John’s knuckles were white with the hard grip he had on the wood beneath him. “Please! Fucking please Sherlock! Please fuck me!”

And finally, there was the unrelenting push of Sherlock’s cock at his hole, slowly and steadily pushing in, inch after inch.

John arched his back, pushing towards Sherlock, panting and moaning for more. Sherlock happily obliged, pushing faster and rougher, his hands tightly gripping John’s calves. And there it was, John gasped when he felt Sherlock’s cock brush against his prostate. The pleasure rippled and tingled up through John’s spine and into his toes, curling them on both sides of Sherlock’s head. He moaned happily, his eyes rolling back into his head.
Sherlock started building a steady pace and soon John couldn’t even take his hands off the table if he wanted to. It felt like this was the first time in months, although it had actually just been a week.

John’s cock was still bound by the tight pants stretching across the back of his upper thighs. It provided some friction, but not nearly enough. All it took was for Sherlock to reach around John’s legs and brush against the length of it four times and John came with a heartwrenching intensity, even his breath was taken away, and he couldn’t shout. His mouth was formed in a silent, slight ‘O’ and he sucked in breath, his head thunking back against the wood.

Not long after, Sherlock followed, pushing fast and rough into John’s clenching heat, milking his orgasm from him. He groaned and growled as his hot come filled John, giving him later a slippery slope to slide out of John. Come dripped out of his hole, running down his cheeks.

Finally his fingers loosened their hold on the edge of the table. He was exhausted and happy beyond measure, a loopy smile on his lips as Sherlock lowered his legs to dangle over the edge. He could still feel the come run out of him, when Sherlock softly stroked John’s softening cock through the thin layer of the now-sticky yogapants.

“Too bad they’re soiled now. Make sure to wash them so we can repeat this.” With those words he walked away, tucking himself back into his pyjama-bottoms to sit in his chair and think once more.

John couldn’t stand right away, he lay there for a few more minutes, to bathe in the afterglow of wonderful, fantastic sex.

Who would have thought yogapants could be so useful?


Glaive out of armour


Nyx likes wearing tight shirts, or nothing at all (“which is illegal Nyx what are you a nudist?”, “Luche, I’m going to elect to ignore your stupid question.”). Clothes that make him feel better about the way his body looks and the way people (women or men, he doesn’t care) look at him. It’s this self-consciousness of it all, he’s never had much confidence in himself growing up, but knowing that the looks he can receive from certain people, those sort of looks, make him feel better about it all.

Just a little bit.

In the summer, he’ll wear short sleeved shirts, patterns across the front or back, or those lose sleeveless shirts that show off his body under the thin material and when he stretches in the sun. He owns a pair of khaki chinos and only wears them when he’s going out somewhere nice, a party or a celebration with a friend. He enjoys formal casual day to day wear, button shirts and tight trousers, suit jackets over a V-neck shirt. Calming shades of blue and grey on white.

In winter, he’s normally in large puffer coats and fluff padded boots. He’s always wearing some sort of beanie or cap, a scarf that covers his neck (he likes being warm, and hate the feeling of chapped lips) underneath it all he can get away with odd socks and bright yellow shirts (because even indoors he’s wearing a baggy jumper or a hoodie) showing a little madness in all the frozen weather.

Underwear? What is that? Everything’s free flowing when you’re not in your Glaive uniform.


Crowe isn’t a dress kind of woman, the wind running between her legs make her uncomfortable, and there’s far too much maintenance required to keep her legs hairless all throughout the summer (she do it when it’s needed, when it suits her, but she sees so many of those mole rats of models with their perfect legs and faces, not a hair out of place with that strange open mouth thing they do – she’s jealous, a bit, sort of, she’s hot too and she knows that). She prefers shirts and trousers, shorts when she’s feeling brave (and when she wants to brave waxing everything, dear God it’s painful sometimes) she likes shirts with the lace backs or see through parts, feeling sexy and mature when she can walk around feeling confident in her own skin.

In winter, she huddles down, Barbour coats that end at her waist, thick scarves (some of them are glittery or have tassels she knots together when she’s bored), she wears tights if she’s braving the shorts (which is a rarity) but prefers her tight trousers and tall boots to get her through the snow and black ice.    


Libertus doesn’t care what he wears, as long as it’s comfy, or reminds him of home. He’s a backpack for work, printed t-shirt and shorts all day (and even in the winter, he’s immune to it and Nyx is convinced his friend was abducted by an alien) kind of guy. His leather jacket a staple for everyday with the added embellishments he’s still got as mementoes from Galahd. Most of his clothes are thing he can also wear around the home, easy to move in but conservative (he’s not like Nudist Nyx), buttons done up, sleeves down. He can dress up when needed (with help from Nyx and Crowe over a bottle) but will descent down to the depths of fashion fopaux with the addition of socks and sandals to his daily

(Credit to wyrm-eater, it was all their glorious idea)

Libertus also, once upon a time, had a partiality to fanny packs. Colour faux leather they were both a nuisance and useful, but when Luche had enough of looking at the abomination so close to Libertus’s junk and Crowe threatened disownment (“You can’t disown me! You’re my sis.”, “Fight me. I can, and I will with that thing around your waist.”) he stopped, much to the amusement of many.


Style is consistent with Luche, only the best names that he can find (we’re talking $200 just for a thin summer jacket, they all think he’s insane until he wears it and oh dear god he’s hotter than normal) work for him. He’s got this thin natural model look about him and just between him and Crowe it makes it so easy to go shopping together (they just bring the seasons top picks from a fashion magazine (it didn’t matter which) and shove Luche into everything they see in it until a certain shirt and a certain pair of trousers or shorts just works). He likes the weight of long jackets and their deep pockets, the rolled-up ends of certain cut trousers or the way he can roll up the sleeves of a button up and just feel better about it.

In winter, it’s much the same, scarves and deep leather gloves, he pulls out a pair of military like boots when the snow is thick enough to come up to his ankles (it’s a death trap snow don’t be fooled by the fluff)


Crop tops that say “I’d tap me” or “Redheads are better in bed” with terrible neon Ray-Bans (pink or green, he’s got a yellow pair but those are his favourites). Hot pants (it’s hit and miss whether they say “Grope my Glaive”, “Satisfy your sword” or “Explore my Void” – they’re a womens pair and no one gets how he fits into them) that end just a little too close the curve of his arse and perhaps he might endeavour to pack a little ‘something something’ in the front just to see Luche gawk and scowl the entire day. Flip flops or trainers that are about to come apart, mismatched socks with small ladybirds or cute penguins on the side (“Tredd, what are those?” “They’re mooses. Meese? What’s the plural for moose?”, “For God’s sake.”).

In winter, he’s the complete opposite. He’ll put on a pair of trousers(!), fastens up his shirts and finally pulls out something black (for summer Tredd there’s no such thing as black) from the back of his overflowing wardrobe. Everything else is just thrift shop buys. He covers his hair with reindeer hats, or polar bears. Finds as many Christmas themed jumpers as he can (which were purchased every year with increasing concern for his sanity by everyone) and wears them every day, all the time (to the point that the one day he forgot to put one on the entire Glaive group panicked, even Luche, and stole Libertus’s one for him).

Okay. I’m joking, although the idea of Tredd wearing such an abomination to piss Luche off amuses me.

Tredd is actually a very ‘casual wear’ kind of guy. Jeans and lose shirts, jumpers that fit around his wrists and hips just right. He loves the feel of their warmth in the winter and how he looks with them on in the summer, rolled up so people can see the leather bracelets and wrist bands in support of certain charities, and that highly tasteful watch he’s had for the last six years (“No, I didn’t steal it”). Light colours and a few deep reds and blues tone out his wardrobe and he doesn’t add much in the winter except for a thicker coat and a little more constitution. He’s a fan of thick woolly socks in and the smell of his girlfriend’s perfume on his beanie and scarf, although he doesn’t admit that last part openly.  

(Tredd just likes to dick on Luche, this is a thing now [crack ship?] and I will take it to my grave)


He likes his long shirts and jumpers, skinny trousers with simple designs that originate from his birth home and warm colours. (He’s got an entire second wardrobe filled with Ackkan jackets and Bandhgala suits). When he’s going out for the night he’ll don a freshly ironed shirt (never wear white on a night out is his fashion motto so the lightest he goes are pinks or baby blues), watch on the left wrist and ring on the right hand. He always looks classy and rich when he’s sat there in the bar with a bottle before him and his small crowd of fellow Glaive. He’s casual with his clothes, bits of home he’s comfortable to keep. In the winter, it’s much the same, although his style has improved to a slighter Lucian city tone. (Luche was quick to help him, without compromising the man’s individual style, finding him clothes stores and tailors that would provide him with long robes and baggy sleeves he wanted.) Embroided work that crawls up his back and over the shoulder of his coats and jackets. He wears scarves sown by the girls in the Glaive, orange and green colours that he can’t seem to stop picking up.


Axis is very… unimpressive with his sense of style. He’ll wear what he likes, when he likes, and how he likes it – sensibly of course. But there’s moments of character that spark through the seemingly dull exterior, the peek of bright yellow socks under his jeans. Or the blue and orange scarves and the slip of his shirt over a belt buckle that oddly looks like a comic hero symbol. He’ll wear dark long sleeved shirts and jeans, fingerless gloves and black shoes most days, comfortable to go out them at night as well.


Through the year he wears his polo shirts, tight in the sleeves to show off his more… physical attributes, he’s comfortable in most clothes and is wardrobe ready for waking up and wearing whatever he wants (he’s even got a kilt somewhere, Tredd picked it up as a joke and Sonitus remembers that night so fondly he doesn’t dare throw it away). Blues, pinks, greens; colours and shades don’t seem to bother him as long as they work with his skin tone (he’s even found purple doesn’t look half bad). Baggy trousers (not the ones that hang so low you can see his underwear Luche might have a heart attack), ripped jeans and cotton trackie pants with white trainers or converse style shoes.
in the winter, he sports the same black ribbed coat every day, a think dark scarf and snapback. His hands are in his pockets, he always forgets his gloves, too and from work and even though he denies the cold there’s still the rise of condensation as he breathes.

anonymous asked:

sherlock has this one pair of lacy lingerie and one day he wears it and then throws it into the laundry basket making sure john will se it there and then just waits. and then comes the laundry day and sherlock sits in his chair and waits and finally hears that johns fumbling in the bathroom stops for a sec and then he slowly comes out and asks 'when did u wear it?' and sherlock smirks and says 'i dont know i guess now ull need to be extra vigilant to notice it next time wont u'

John coming up with bad excuses to rub his hand over Sherlock’s bum to see whether he’s got the lacy ones on today, but also when Sherlock wears them with the flimsy pyjamas sometimes John can see the pattern on the curve of his arse, my goodness, 

wholove  asked:

I am very happy everyone's picking super important Robron relationship things to ask you to write about but I basically want Aaron's birthday present 'Upstairs' in fic form with that darn waistcoat *shrug*

fINe anything for you, sheree :))))))))

As soon as Aaron shuts the door of the bedroom, he leans against it.

Robert’s standing in front of the bed, necking champagne, the material of his waistcoat stretching nicely over his back. Aaron lets himself look, eyes dragging over the nape of Robert’s neck, the curves of his shoulder, back, and arse, the long, lean legs. Robert’s gorgeous - and he knows it - and Aaron’s so fucking lucky he gets this exclusively. 

(-there’s no room for doubt, no room for guilt, here in their space-)

“Hey,” Aaron says, coming up behind Robert. He rests his hands on Robert’s hips, presses his forehead against the top of Robert’s spine. 

Robert stills, dropping the arm holding the champagne. His free hand settles on one of Aaron’s, brushing his fingertips over Aaron’s knuckles. “Alright?”

Aaron says nothing, hums, then slides his hands up, over Robert’s stomach and up to his chest. He bunches the waistcoat in his hands. Robert relaxes under his touches. They stand like that for a moment, reveling in the time they have to do this. It’s so rare, they have to be so quick, but for the first time in days Aaron can take his time. 

Keep reading

The Sturdy Kind That Doesn't Mind The Snow

I wrote a fic!! It’s a drarry eighth year with a healthy dollop of smut and slight angst. 6.5k with bad singing. For @aurorahavingfun xxx




“Oh I was wondering if you were asleep…”

“Well I was, you complete dick, so go away”

“Okay” Draco thought he heard.


The next morning, Draco awoke in the eighth year dorms. His blankets were halfway off his bed, he had goosebumps all over his body and his cock was tenting his boxers. The worst thing, however, wasn’t the awful pounding in his head, but the fact that Harry Potter was lying over the end of his four poster wearing nothing but a green silk dressing gown and a sleepy frown. What on earth had happened last night? Was the question that was going around and around in Draco’s head. He searched for the answer but came up blank. The only one thing that he was sure about was that his feet were too hot. Gently, he wriggled them out from under the dozing, heavy body at the end of his bed. Slowly, he pulled them, unable to breathe, until, with a jerk, they shot towards his knees and Harry jolted awake.

“Fuck.” Harry groaned, clutching his head. He looked up, blinked a few times, and his features arranged themselves into a look of adorable confusion. “What’re you doing in ma bed Malfoy?” He questioned groggily.

“I’m not, you’re in mine.” Draco replied testily.

“Oh.” Harry said. Understanding dawned on his face. This swiftly changed to discomfort, he squirmed under the blanket before realising that it wasn’t his and jerking back again.

“What, Potter?? I literally remember nothing from last, do you? How much did we end up drinking in the end?”

“I remember Seamus opening the second bottle of firewhisky, I think we were going to play ‘I have never’, but there’s nothing after that.” Harry looked up at Draco with hangover-clouded eyes with a question in his eyes, an accusation almost…

“Here,” Draco said, “I have a hangover-cure potion somewhere…” He leant out of his bed, rummaging through draws and his trunk with his arse in the air. It must have been his headache but Harry had to remind himself to breathe as the translucent skin of Draco’s back was exposed to the cold November morning air. “…Aha!” He cried, triumphantly, brandishing two little green vials. He threw one to the pale, dark-haired boy sat on his ankles.

“Bottoms up.” Harry said with a wink.

“Cheers” Draco replied. He downed it in one and shuddered, “I swear I’d rather be hungover than drink one of those” He said solemnly. Harry laughed at him loudly, too loudly.

“Bollocks.” He said.

“What?!” Draco replied, looking down at himself in confusion and mild surprise.

“I should get back to my bed, I don’t know why I’m here, you don’t know why I’m here, and Ron already thinks I fancy you and I don’t know why I’m telling you this…”

“Hey, it’s okay, I was just about to say that anyway.” Draco lied. Harry leapt off the bed but somehow managed to get his foot tangled in the blankets and fell face first onto Neville who was sleeping in the four poster next to Draco’s.

“Bit eager there, Harry,” Neville quipped, far too awake, in Draco’s opinion, for someone who had just been woken by a clumsy buffoon, “You could have just asked if you wanted a Nevvy-cuddle, you didn’t need to jump on me.”

“You tell him, Nev.” Ron groaned stretching lazily. Obviously he had just been woken by the kerfuffle and was extremely pissed off about it.

“Sorry, mate.” Harry said sarcastically. Neville giggled; Draco smirked. Blaise snuffled in his sleep at the other side of the room.

“Is it just me,” Neville mused, “Or does he sound like a little niffler when he does that?”

“Yes!” Draco burst out, “I’ve been saying that for years but he never believed me!”

“He really does” Harry admitted. Poor Blaise, unaware of the piss being taken out of his snores, snuffled again and the entire dorm erupted in stifled chuckles.

“I’m showering first.” Draco declared, prancing into the bathroom. Harry sighed and stood up off Neville’s bed.

“Urm, Harry, mate,” Ron stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, “Why are you wearing Malfoy’s dressing gown?”

“I am?” Harry looked down at the green silk cloth slung over his shoulders and belted at his waist. It had the initials D.M. embroidered in curly script on the chest pocket and Harry had no recollection of why he was wearing it. “Urrr it’s fine, D-d-Malfoy hates the colour green.” He had no idea how he knew this or why he chose this moment to share it with Ron.

* ******

“Mmmmm?” Harry asked. It was hard to concentrate with Draco’s hand resting subtly on the bottom of his spine, his little finger rubbing intoxicating circles on the curve of his arse.

“I said I have never kissed a girl.”  Hermione sighed exasperatedly. All of the guys (apart from Seamus and Draco) and Parvati, Luna and Lavender took a shot of firewhiskey. Lavender blushed deeply as Seamus looked at her with wide eyes.

“Okay,” He said, “I’ve never had sex.” Ron took a shot as his ears turned scarlet, Hermione timidly sipped her whiskey and Blaise, Draco, Seamus, Dean and Lavender all took a shot.

“I can change that later if you like, Potter,” The drawling voice in his ear was barely loud enough to be a whisper; if the cold hand hadn’t moved further down to the waist band of his jeans and snuck under his jumper, long fingers running through the downy hair at the top of his crack, Harry would have thought he’d imagined it altogether. As it was, the whole world was pleasantly fuzzy and the words barely registered as having a meaning, all he knew was that the sudden, violent racing of his heart had nothing to do with Ginny making eyes at him across the circle of bodies.

“I have never gotten pissed alone.” Vaguely registered in Harry’s brain before his head became heavy and he passed out against a tartan armchair, only to reawaken an hour later, on a rug, in a nearly completely empty common room with a green silk something covering his legs.

**** **

“How?? Wait. I don’t want to know.” Ron groaned deeply, “Do you have anything for my head by any chance?” Harry bent wordlessly under Malfoy’s bed and picked up a hangover-cure for Ron and one for Neville. Ron took his little green vial gratefully but Neville had rolled over and gone back to sleep unnoticed, his light snores mingling musically with Blaise’s. Harry gently placed his potion on his bedside table. Ron turned away to get changed and Harry did the same and was unsure why he felt the urge to look at Draco as he came back from his shower with a fluffy towel around his waist.

He tried to put this completely out of his mind as he went down the stairs and through the eighth year common room with Ron and got some brunch from the kitchen but his missing memories of last night scared him and he wasn’t quite sure why. He’d been drunk before, of course, so he wasn’t sure what was so wrong with him or why he was so worried.

Thinking about it, as he happily took a huge bite out of a huge, sugary cinnamon Danish, it was probably the lack of food and too much alcohol in his blood…

******* ****

“Grrrrrnnnnnn…” Harry groaned as he awoke with an ache in his neck and the prickling feeling that someone was watching him. He scanned the room which was flushed orange with the fire’s glow and jumped to his feet as he spotted long, blond body lounging on the sofa next to his rug, watching the dying embers.

“Ah, so you’re awake now?” Malfoy drawled.

“Well duh…” Harry’s brain was apparently still murky with sleep and alcohol so he sat on the sofa, very, very close to Malfoy, so much so that their thighs were pressed together as the sofa dipped. They sat silently, very aware of their breathing, just watching the fire and thinking. Suddenly, Harry jumped as a cool hand snuck under his jumper and rested on his warm lower back. Delicate, bony fingers toyed with the waistband of his jeans, tantalisingly slow. Harry whined to his embarrassment and Malfoy’s great amusement.

“That’s nice, huh?” Said lips which were extremely close to his ear, blowing hot air on his cheek. Thoughtlessly, Harry turned his head and captured Draco’s thin, pink lips with his own. His heart hammered loudly, quickly as Draco’s lips parted and a talented tongue flicked his own before locking the tip. Firm hands ran up and down his sides and lifted the hem of his jumper. Draco pulled away, panting. “Off.” He demanded quietly. Harry scrambled to remove his jumper as Draco hurried to unbutton his shirt. Their fingers tangled together as they yanked Harry’s t-shirt over his head. Harry bravely climbed into Draco’s lap and sucked on his gorgeous, pale neck, hoping to leave a reminder of this moment, but mainly aiming to make Draco moan, just for him.

* **********

“Harry, Ron!!” Hermione’s voice called as they stepped back into the eighth year dungeon. Stood awkwardly next to her was a pretty brunette with softly curling hair, pale skin and glasses. “Meet Lara, she’s new, from Beauxbatons.”

“Hey.” Lara said, her voice resonating with a Scottish burr.

“Ur, hi” Ron said.

“Yeah, hi.” Harry added. He automatically turned away to look for Draco, mainly to check that he was out of the shower. He was nowhere to be seen so Harry decided to return to his dorm and get ready to shower. Harry grabbed his towel and his soap and steadily stumbled to the shower.

As he approached, he heard a stunning tenor voice singing softly: “There’s one in the park as well, it’s the sturdy kind that doesn’t mind the snow.” Harry smiled widely as he sat cross-legged against the door frame and hummed along, completely out of tune. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, soon the bells will start, but the thing that will make them ring is the carol that you sing right within your heart.” Harry attempted to harmonise at the end but it failed miserably and he collapsed into loud giggles, slightly stifled by his arm against his mouth.

“Hey, who’s laughing at me?” Draco called indignantly as the sound of water shut off in the bathroom. The door opened a crack and a very blond head poked out. A tell-tale red mark on his throat showed where he had vanished a love bite, probably a remainder from a drunken snogging session last night. “Oh, it’s you, Potter, having a good giggle at my singing are you?”

“Actually I was laughing at myself, you have a great voice, Malfoy”

“I know, I could hear, I was pissing with you, love.” Love?? Where had that come from? Draco mentally punched himself as Harry looked extremely taken aback.

“Oh, well, okay then.” Harry turned to leave but stopped in his tracks and pointed back to the bathroom. “I was going to have a shower…”

“I assumed as much, but I’d leave it for a minute, I think I used all of the hot water.”

“Will do” Harry replied with a wink, before mentally kicking himself at his blatant stupidity. What the hell was he thinking? Draco elegantly stroll off with his fluffy towel wrapped low on his hips, the sparse, dark blond hair on his stomach glistening in the low winter sun. Shaking his head, Harry turned away and locked the door to indulge in a long, hot shower.


Once satisfied with the dark purple mark on Draco’s throat, Harry leant back to admire Draco’s lithe, toned upper body. He had well defined abs and a line of light-ish hair trailing down his torso and into his trousers. His eyes were blazing and nearly black with lust.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” Harry slurred slightly.

“You too, love.” Draco took Harry’s earlobe into his mouth and sucked on it, hard. He moaned and squirmed contentedly in his arms.

 “Oh, wow, you’re bloody good at that.”

“I know.” Harry could hear the smirk in his voice but it didn’t seem to matter as Draco’s shockingly cold hands were suddenly down his trousers and inside his boxers, rubbing firmly on the sensitive skin of his arse. Harry felt himself become uncomfortably hard. He slowly grinded his crotch on Draco’s, feeling the other man’s erection through their clothes. He felt his orgasm begin to build in his lower stomach and realised he was about to come in his pants like a horny fifteen year old. He then realised he didn’t care. Draco pulled off his ear with a final suck. He moaned loudly. “Fuck.”

Harry shifted slightly so that their crotches were perfectly aligned and resumed his grinding in earnest. He leant forward to intimately kiss Draco’s swollen lips. Stormy grey eyes locked on emerald green ones. The stunning beauty of this soon to be forgotten moment sent Harry over the edge and he came, all he saw was blankness, a hazy sky of grey, the exact shade of the blond’s irises. He came to with Draco slumped on his chest, obviously in a state of post-orgasm bliss mixed with too much alcohol.

“I hate green.” Draco murmured.

“C’mon, we should go to bed.”

“Stay with me tonight?” Draco asked hopefully.

“Of course.” Harry replied, kissing him sweetly.


“So, Ron, what do you think of our new classmate Lara?” Hermione asked her boyfriend innocently, later that evening.

“She seems okay, nothing on you of course ‘Mione.”

“Right answer.” Hermione snuggled into him contentedly. Harry sniggered but mostly out of habit; he was distracted by a certain ex-Slytherin who was sat with a great tome resting on his lap and his mug of tea levitating beside him. He really was a treat to look at. Hermione pretended not to notice where her friend’s gaze was heading, he’d figure it out soon enough. “She’s sleeping in my dorm, seems nice enough: smart and witty and not too messy.”

“Are you having a go at me for leaving clothes on the floor?? It’s what it’s there for!”

“Not clothes, Ronald, your disgusting boxers”

“You don’t seem to think they’re that disgusting when you yank them off me like they’re on fire!” Hermione blushed profusely and turned to see who had heard. Unsurprisingly, Harry was gazing, open mouthed at Malfoy as if he was the star on top of the world’s most beautiful Christmas tree. Malfoy had obviously reached a tense part of his novel and was nibbling unrelentingly on his lower lip, which, Harry realised, was making him ridiculously aroused. He’d realised pretty quickly during sixth year the effect Draco had on his body: one glance could cause him to come over all faint or send hot flushed all down his spine but he thought he was quite good at hiding it…

Rapidly, as the clock struck eleven, Draco stood up, slammed his book, grabbed his mug and stalked up to his dorm. Pansy Parkinson, who was sat next to him and had been talking at him all evening looked completely taken aback, shrugged and turned to inflict herself on Zabini instead. After saying his goodbyes to Ron and Hermione, Harry let his feet carry him up to his bed, his brain was occupied with other things, namely Malfoy; his little crush had gotten worse lately for some reason. He’d known he was bisexual since fourth year, a certain moment when he couldn’t decide whether he was more jealous of Cedric for getting to dance with Cho or Cho for getting to dance with Cedric. Cedric’s death was made all the more heart breaking for Harry as his crush on the beautiful boy had overtaken his heart and soul by that point.

Harry sat down on his bed with a sigh of contentment. This was short-lasted however as he heard the tell-tale muffled moan of someone wanking under muffliato somewhere to his right. Harry gasped out loud as he realised that it was Draco and his cock stirred unhelpfully in his pants; His trousers were getting tighter and tighter by the second so Harry waved his hand to draw the drapes of his four poster, a pretty impressive piece of wandless magic but he was too enraptured by Draco’s little whines to notice.

He pulled down his trousers and his pants and took out his ridiculously hard, swollen, red cock. He wrapped his cold hands around it but imagined instead that it was a warm mouth with a talented, flicking tongue bringing him to orgasm. After only a few seconds of vigorously pulling himself off, he heard Draco come with a shaking gasp that sounded strangely like his name. Harry saw stars as he, too, exploded over his fist, shouting out with pleasure. With no warning, a shaking, pale hand pulled open his drapes and a sweaty blond head with huge dark grey eyes peered in.

“Next time, kindly cast a silencing charm. Or did you want the whole castle to know what we were doing?” Draco left as quickly as he came, so to speak, leaving Harry feeling as if his bones were made out of jelly and completely confused: ‘what we were doing’? Eventually, he gave up trying to unravel the mystery that was Draco Abraxas Black Malfoy and fell into a deep sleep with his jeans pulled tightly around his thighs, his arse slightly cold in the crisp winter night air.


Harry and Draco hurried up the stairs with their hands clasped tightly, Harry kept squeezing the other boy’s fingers, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating; whenever he felt the slightly smaller hand clench around his, Draco couldn’t help but grin like all his dreams had come true.

In the comforting warmth of their dorm, they pulled off their still sweaty and sticky clothes whilst shyly facing away from each other. Harry tightly wrapped the green silk dressing gown, which was embroidered with the initials D.M, around himself, inhaling the sweet apple scent that was just so completely Draco. He heard the sheets rustle as the ever so slightly taller boy clambered into bed and so span around to dive in beside him.

“Hi.” Harry said sweetly, nuzzling his ear.

“Hi yourself.” Draco drawled while relishing in the feeling of warm skin against his own. Harry really was so hot, in both senses. When they touched, Draco felt like his skin was going to burst into flames, whether of passion or just because of Harry’s body temperature, he couldn’t say. Either way, he was too drunk still to care, all he wanted was for Harry to keep touching him there, just below his ear. Harry was massaging the tender, translucent skin of Draco’s neck with his lips and the very tip of his tongue and Draco was so… s-sleepy…


Harry woke late the next morning and had to hurry to get showered and changed in time for Charms. Luckily, Hermione had brought him a pile of buttered toast, kept hot under a statis charm. He thanked her profusely and unintelligibly as he shoved the first slice into his mouth and practically ran with her to their first lesson. When they decided to return and complete their eighth year at Hogwarts, Ron chose to only study the subjects he enjoyed or really needed to become an auror: DADA, Transfiguration and Potions. All of the golden trio had been offered places in auror training but Hermione was hoping to become a healer and possibly specialise in spell damage so that she could finally lift the memory charms that she cast on her parents to protect them during the war.

“Did you sleep well?” Hermione asked politely.

“Alright, I s’pose.” Harry replied. It was a half lie as he’d slept brilliantly. Wanking always made him relaxed but he couldn’t remember coming so hard or sleeping so well in his life, even when he was with Ginny.

They reached Charms just in the nick of time although everyone else was already in their seats and there were only 2 spaces left, one next to Malfoy and one next to the new girl, Lyra or something. Hermione dove enthusiastically into the seat next to the pretty Scottish girl and began chatting animatedly to her. Reluctantly, Harry sidled into the chair next to Malfoy and pulled his books out of his bag, avoiding the stormy grey eyes which were searching for his own.

The class passed uneventfully and quickly, they were dismissed for lunch. Harry was extremely relieved as prickly and fraught with tension, possibly of the sexual kind, Harry mused, remembering the previous night. They had made civil conversation, coolly spoken words with the merest hint of flirtation here and there, although that might have just been Harry’s overly hopeful imagination.

“How was Lara?” Harry asked as they walked together to the great hall.

“She’s very clever and sweet, she has a crush on someone but she won’t tell me who.” Hermione had recently discovered a talent for matchmaking and was eager to set up her classmates. It was thanks to her that Seamus and Dean had realised their mutual crush on each other and they were now planning their entire life together!

“I’m sure you’ll find out ‘Mione.”

“I’m not worried, I know I will.” She said smugly. Harry shrugged and they walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Lunch was quiche with salad and was as delicious as always. Halfway through, though, Hermione gasped and mumbled something about arithmancy and ran off to the library and Harry could feel Draco looking at him every so often, he stared back subtly using the reflective surface of the pumpkin juice jug to watch as the beautiful boy stared contemplatively at the back of his head.


Harry awoke in the middle of the night to cold fingers running down his back and a strong hand tangled in his hair.

“Shhh,” Draco whispered. “I couldn’t resist…”

The hand on his spine moved smoothly to the waistband of his boxers and down to the crease of his arse; simultaneously, Draco pulled his face towards his own and kissed him hard. His soft tongue nudged Harry’s lower lip so Harry parted his lips and let him in with a high whine. Harry bit down on the invading tongue and smiled cheekily, quirking his eyebrows in the blue-black darkness. Draco moaned with pleasure and moved to suck on the bare, tanned skin of Harry’s neck.

“You gorgeous, gorgeous person…” Harry whispered sleepily in Draco’s ear. “I don’t mind being woken up in the middle of the night if you, oh, do… that to… oh yes…”

Harry grasped helplessly at Draco’s waist as Draco continued to savage his neck before shuffling down to suck fiercely on his nipple. Blond hair tickled his neck tantalisingly so he entwined his fingers into it before pulling at the fine strands experimentally. Draco moaned loudly and murmured his name reverently.

“Mmmmm… Potter.. Harry…” Before promptly falling asleep against his chest.


That night in the common room, Draco sat in his usual seat, with his usual mug, full to the brim with steaming tea, earl grey by the smell of it, but, sat next to him, practically on his lap, was an entirely different person: Lara Paisley. Fuck.

“Looks like we know who Lara had a crush on…” Hermione said glumly, having missed her chance to play cupid.

“Has.” Harry said, equally as depressed or if not, probably more. Hermione looked at him oddly.

“Oh? Who? Malfoy?” Ron said, clueless and completely uninterested in the love lives of ex-slytherins whilst Harry’s heart felt like it was being torn to tiny shreds. He knew he should be as impassive and careless as his friend but he couldn’t bring himself to give up on the guy who he’d been flirting shamelessly with for weeks. Had he been too subtle? He’d never been good with subtlety, or flirting for that matter but he had felt like Draco had been responding and ‘accidently’ brushing him far more than usual. Had he completely misread his actions?

“They’re both purebloods, I suppose it’s a good match really. But she seemed so sweet…” Hermione continued with a wistful expression. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t give a shit if it was a good match or not; his heart was breaking but he tried to hide it as best he could by grinning and acting normal. Did he normally hold his head like this? He hoped his face was as relaxed as he thought it was but, by the strange look Hermione was giving him, it wasn’t.

“I’m off to bed.” Harry sighed, giving up completely.

“Mate, it’s 8 o’clock.” Ron said reasonably.

“I’m really tired.” Harry replied defensively. Seriously? Why did his best mate have to choose tonight to be observant?

“Remember, we have that eighth year party tomorrow, Ron, and it will be Christmas Eve, Harry has every right to go to bed early, now stop pestering him and concentrate on me.” Harry sighed with relief and pulled his heavy heart upstairs to his dorm.

He took his clothes off and steadily pulled his huge tatty t-shirt over his head, it was one of Uncle Vernon’s and fell nearly to his knees although, years ago, it used to hang over his calves. It was soft and comfortable and whilst he lay on his four poster with tears streaming freely down his cheeks, he felt more and more relaxed and as the haze of sleep began to overtake him and began to question his reasons for crying over the blond man’s sex choices. There was nothing between them after all.


Harry woke up in the warm embrace of one Draco Malfoy covered in sweat and shaking from yet another nightmare. Draco, who was obviously in an extremely deep sleep caused by end of the term tiredness and alcohol. He reluctantly removed Draco’s thick, warm arms from his chest and stomach and slid silently out of the bed and to the loo to piss.

When he returned, Draco was spread, star-like across his bed so, not wanting to wake him up, Harry curled up tightly at the foot of the four poster, he pulled Draco’s silk dressing gown around him and slept peacefully, enmeshed in the comfort of another body and the slight pong of feet.

“Draco??” Harry hissed.


“I was wondering if you were asleep…”

“Well I was, you complete dick, so go away”

“Well you seem to like my complete dick right now so you go away…” Harry said inaudibly and childishly.


“I-i-iii don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I ne-e-eed…. I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tre-ee-e. I just want you for my o-own, more than you could ever kno-ow, make my wish come tru-u-u-uuee. All I-ii want foo-o-r Christmas iiis you-u-uuu…” Hermione and Pansy warbled to the charmed karaoke set on the makeshift stage in the room of requirement.

“Bravo!!!” An extremely drunk Seamus cried, wiping a genuine tear from his eye and clinging to his equally as drunk boyfriend of the moment: Ernie Macmillan. His fifth in 4 months, Harry believed, after his devastating break up with Dean over the summer-no one really knew what had gone on there but rumours ranged from Dean cheating with a pretty Beauxbatons boy to an accidental pregnancy to eloping with Nearly Headless Nick.

Harry was himself drunk enough to forget about his still tender heart long enough to have fun. Well, if fun was being sat alone watching everyone else dance and laugh and sing. A petite blonde body daintily moved towards him and sat companionably on his knee.

“Hello Harry Potter.” Luna said, sipping from her purple drink through a florescent yellow straw. She wore a festive red and green dress and her large blue eyes bore into Harry as if seeing straight into his soul. For all he knew, she was.

“Hey Luna.” Harry said glumly.

“He’ll come around eventually, you know.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.” Harry said, far too quickly.

“Of course you don’t but I see the way you look at him in the common room. It’s very similar to the way Hermione looks at Ronald or how Seamus looks at Dean: with longing and deep passion.”

“I really…”

“Look, I know you think I’m a little… odd… but I like to think that we are friends” Luna continued.

“Oh, we are friends, you know that.”

“Well, I see the way he looks at you, too. As if you were the physical representation of all his dreams. The good and the bad, but all utterly enchanting and captivating… Anyway… Pansy!! You lovely woman!!” And she dashed off, leaving Harry to unpick her words and continue with his ‘fun’ and his firewhiskey.

The next song started up on the karaoke but it was Lara and Parvati singing along this time and Parvati had obviously picked a muggle song as Lara had no idea how the tune went and kept breaking out into hysterical giggles. By the end, however, she had learnt the chorus and was singing along happily.

“I don’t care if Monday’s blue, Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too. Thursday, I don’t care about you, it’s Friday I’m in love.” With the final words, she winked heavily at Draco and Draco, from his comfortable chair by the fireplace, smiled back at the pretty Scottish girl who was clad in a red dress with a low neck and a short net skirt, her hair charmed into a sleek reddish brown bob with a fringe brushed to the side, highlighting her bright blue eyes.

Harry stifled a sob and went to find the toilets to relieve himself. He took his time having a piss and as he left he heard faint voices.

“Do you think… love me??” He could hear only snatches of the high, Scottish brogue which registered as Lara Paisley’s so he moved along the scarcely lit corridor, closer to the couple.

“Of course, my darling, isn’t that obvious to you?” This voice registered as Draco’s and Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“Well no.”

“Our parents want us to get married, you know.”

 With this, Harry could take no more and fled as quickly as his feet could carry him back to his dorm. He cast Silencio and finally let his eyes flood with salty tears. Once his tear ducts had run dry and his cheeks had dried with salt tracks encrusted all down his face, he heard the door open.

“Potter? You here?” Draco whispered to the silent dormitory. “Potter, I’m too drunk so if you’re here, I apologise for what I’m about to say…

“Actually, it was Lara who made me tell you so it’s her who you have to thank for this…” Harry’s heart sank.

“Anyway, you have beautiful eyes. They’re the colour of grass in May most of the time but they go darker when you come. How do I know that, you wonder? Well there was that incident last night… But also I don’t know if you have any memories of the night before that morning a few nights ago when you woke up in my bed? Because I do…” At this, Harry opened the drapes around his four poster to reveal himself, red puffy eyes and all. Draco gasped, obviously mostly convinced that he had been talking to thin air.

“Harry…” He sighed. He sidled into Harry’s bed and pulled the curtains shut behind him. He took Harry’s hands, took a deep breath and continued. It started with that game of ‘I have never’. We were mildly flirting for most of the evening f you recall but at that point I’m pretty sure I offered you my bed for the night but in slightly different words with an ever-so-slightly different meaning.” Draco paused and winked. “You passed out for about an hour and everyone went to bed, it was gone 3 after all. When you were asleep, I covered you in my dressing gown to keep you warm, yes the one you woke up in. Then you woke up and, quite brazenly jumped on me!!

“I think you thought it was a dream but what kind of dreams you must have about me, I really don’t want to know.” Harry smiled half-heartedly at this and gestured for Draco to continue. “So anyway, you started acting really oddly towards me after that so I assumed that you remembered but were ignoring me.”

“But what happened with Lara??”  Harry asked, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly with hope. “I mean, you two became very close very quickly…”

“Oh, I was helping Lara seduce her crush and she was helping me with mine”


“Luna Lovegood. Oh, you mean mine?? You, you plonker.”

“You were trying to seduce me??”

“No, I was planning on trying to seduce you but I decided that the grand romantic, but intimate, gesture would be better for a Gryffindor.”

“Is that what this is?” Harry asked, leaning very close to Draco’s lips. He felt the blond boy’s breath catch.

“Only if you want it to be”

“Oh I want it.” Harry leant further and snatched the other man’s lips between his own. Strong arms snaked around his back, anchoring him to Draco’s chest.

“Harry!! Hazza, we’re back!!” With his usual impeccable timing, Ron returned to the dorm with Neville and Blaise. Harry detangled himself from Draco’s embrace and called.

“I’m in here Ron, one sec.” He kissed Draco quickly and reluctantly pulled open his drapes and came face to face with his roaringly drunk best friend and dorm mates.

“Hazza, Dean taught me a muggle joke. Do you know who Father Christmas is, Hazza? Well yeah of course you do. But why is Santa’s sack so big? He only comes once a year!!” At this, Ron and Blaise start to giggle hysterically. “I love this guy.” Ron continued, throwing his arms around the slightly smaller Slytherin’s neck “He gets me, ya know?” Ron started to sway alarmingly and then, suddenly, fell through Harry’s velvet curtains onto a startled Draco Malfoy.

“Bugger” Harry muttered.

“Oh hey there, Malfoy, I thought this was Hazza’s bed.”

“It is, Weasley, we were talking when you buffoons came in.”

“Oh.” Ron said and promptly falls asleep against Draco’s crotch.

“Some help?” Draco asked, gesturing to the dead weight on his lap. Harry and Blaise lifted the ginger man over to his own bed where he murmured sleepily and nuzzled into his pillow.

“Well I’m going to bed.” Blaise said. “Enjoy your talking…”

“Same.” Neville said, climbing into his four poster and pulling his curtains around him noisily.

Harry lingered, fluttering his eyelashes jokingly at Draco before running and bounding under the covers whilst wrapping one arm around the blond’s slim waist and flicking his wand at the curtains for some much needed privacy.


Harry and Draco awoke to an empty dorm. The beds were made and trunks were absent. It took far too long for them to realise that the other eighth years had gone home for Christmas. Harry wasn’t due at the Weasleys’ until boxing day- 2 days’ time- and Draco’s mother was spending the holiday with Andromeda and Teddy where there wasn’t enough room for Draco to also stay.

Harry wasn’t complaining though. He took a lovely hot shower which was utterly relaxing for his aching, over used body. Well, it was relaxing until Draco joined him in order to help him wash his back. He did do that but, surrounded by soapy bubbles and with no one waiting to wash, Harry gave no objection whatsoever when Draco got on his knees and kissed the end of Harry’s cock before taking it into his mouth and sucking as if his life depended on it. He gently fondled Harry’s balls with one hand whilst his cherry red lips bobbed up and down the Gryffindor’s long penis. Harry’s hands entwined themselves instinctively in Draco’s hair, he gripped the strands tightly as he felt the first stirrings of an orgasm in the pit of his stomach. Harry’s spine tingled with pleasure as Draco took him nearly to the base and he moaned loudly.

“Fuck, Malfoy, Draco, I’m gonna come.” Harry groaned hoarsely before releasing down Draco’s throat. “Merlin’s pants, you’re so good at that.”

“Really?” Draco asked shyly. “That was the first blowjob I’ve ever given.” Harry pushed him against the shower wall and hoisted his legs around his waist.

“It was bloody brilliant, although, you do need some more practise…” Harry winked and carried him out of the bathroom and onto his bed.


Boxing Day 2001

“Hello Harry!!” Ginny cried cheerfully. “And Malfoy.” She nodded at Draco politely and asked them what they would like to drink before introducing them to her latest conquest: one of her fellow chasers from her league. Luna was also there with her fiancée Lara and their gorgeous little girl, Peony. The baby was gurgling happily and trying to grab Fleur’s hair who was talking to Lara about the joys of childbirth.

Draco followed Ginny to help with drinks and chat about qudditch and Harry turned to Charlie Weasley who was drinking mulled wine from a china teacup with enchanted roses painted on it.

“Are you two as in love as ever?” Charlie asked. In reply, Harry held up his left hand where a plain gold engagement ring sat on his fourth finger. He shushed Charlie quickly.

“You’re the first to know besides Ron, Hermione, Blaise and Pansy.”

“Merlin, you’re actually marrying the poncy git?”

“Bugger off, you like him really.”

“I do, and I know you two are perfect for each other. I’m truly very happy for you, Harry, when are you going to announce it to everyone?” Harry spied Draco returning with a widely grinning Ginny and winked at him.

Draco coughed loudly. “If I could have your attention, good people.” He said loudly. “After some thought, two days ago, on the second anniversary of our relationship, Harry Potter and I decided to get engaged. We will be married in the spring.” There was a collective gasp and then a tidal wave of people crushed in to congratulate the couple.

“Also, also,” Harry bellowed over the din. “Also, we’re having a baby. Luna has agreed to be our surrogate and she is nearly 6 weeks along.”

There were deafening shrieks of happiness and ‘I told you so’s’ on all sides. All Harry could do was smile at his beloved and count down the minutes until they could be alone together again. But he wasn’t too desperate. They had the rest of their lives after all.

i-am-the-ass-admiral  asked:

Hartwin prompt: either and or both on motorcycles! NSFW if you want. :D Thank

The helmet Harry tosses to him almost hits him in the face, because his mouth has gone dry and he can’t stop staring.

Harry’s straddling a gorgeous motorbike, all black paint and gleaming chrome and supple leather, the Kingsman logo stitched onto the seat just barely peeking out from underneath Harry’s leg. The pinstriped frabic of Harry’s trousers are pulled tight on his thighs and arse from how he’s sitting, his own helmet in his lap as he tugs on a pair of leather gloves, Christ.

“Come on,” Harry nods to the helmet that’s now in Eggsy’s hands. “No time to waste, Eggsy; it wouldn’t do to be late for today’s colorful megalomaniac.”

“On a motorbike in a suit?” Eggsy asks as he approaches Harry and the bike, hoping desperately that his suit-jacket hides the sudden tightness of his trousers. He swings a leg over carefully, fitting the helmet snugly over his head before casually setting a hand on Harry’s hip; Harry will have none of that, though, and grabs Eggsy’s hand in his to pull him forward until he’s flush against Harry’s back and his hands are linked around Harry’s waist, legs bracketed next to Harry’s around the bulk of the bike. Eggsy’s face reddens; there’s no way Harry can’t feel the line of Eggsy’s erection against the curve of his arse.

“You know what they say,” Harry says, voice echoing through the comm-link in the helmet with what’s almost a seductive purr, “It’s always important to ride in style.”

Maybe a fic where Bond wakes up to Q reaching for something on the top shelf wearing nothing but sweatpants that sit on him wayyy down like you can see the curve of his arse and all? – anon

Hope you enjoy honey. Jen.

Bond blinked languidly, yawning as he tried to convinced himself that wakefulness was not, in fact, the end of the world.

His body and brain had yet to be convinced of that fact.


The usual, comforting presence of his partner was not there. The warmth expected in the bed next to was absent, with only the after-effects of a body to suggest there had been somebody there at all.

Of course, Bond was sitting up in an instant. “Q?” he asked, a little more sharply.

“Just a second.”

The mildly irate reply came from near the door; Bond glanced over, and saw his partner trying to grab down an exceptionally battered-looking something that was once presumably computer-based. Q was handling it as though it were likely to go off at any moment – given Q, not an implausible scenario – and Bond didn’t really care, as it meant Q was moving slowly.

Moving slowly, while wearing near-enough nothing but Bond’s old tracksuit trousers, that were very nearly entirely falling off.

“… Q?”

Did I not say in a second?!”

More irate, but Q’s arse tensed as the rest of him became angrier; Bond all but purred as he saw Q’s body become entirely formed of eloquent lines and perfect curves in every single location one could want.

Q returned to normal posture, device resting on a lower shelf, and Bond could honestly say he was disappointed.

Q noticed. “Everything alright?”

Bond nodded dutifully.

“You’re looking at me weirdly.

“You’re looking gorgeous.”

It was certainly gorgeous watching Q’s face flush a little, his smirk just the correct side of cheeky. “Prove it,” he grinned, and yelped with shock as Bond pounced forward, kissing him senseless.

Harry wakes up flushed, having another dream that he knows he has to push down. So far down that even he doesn’t know he’s having them. The bloody bastard would probably have a field day if he knew Harry was dreaming about him. But he can’t help but be drawn in by the elegant way Malfoy’s hips move when he walks, or the gentle curve of his arse when he rides his broom. Harry would very much like to think he rides other brooms just as enthusiastically.