Greenhouse Lessons

Greenhouse Lessons Part Two

Draco was a veritable whirlwind of activity, transplanting his remaining dicentra raptura by Immobilizing them (who know it worked on plants?), and jamming them into the new pots before tossing in dirt haphazardly.

Potter was utterly useless. Not that this was any surprise to Draco. He had conjured shirts for both of them, since the ones Potter had Vanished would likely never be recovered. Now dressed, Potter was seated with an elbow propped on the table and jaw resting on his hand. He did not bother to transplant. Instead, he watched Draco with glowing green eyes and a smile of bemusement.

“Potter, you had best get transplanting before Sprout gets back,” he warned. Potter’s gaze did not waver.

“But then I can’t watch you,” he said simply.

Draco flushed and gnashed his teeth. He finished with his damnable plants and then started on Potter’s, considering it penance for setting the foliage on the Gryffindor to begin with. If Sprout returned to find Potter in his befuddled state with unfinished work, Draco would be blamed. Slytherins expected such treatment.

The instant Draco neared Potter the Gryffindor wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist affectionately.

“Stop it, Potter, or I’ll hex you into the next century.”

“No you won’t,” Potter said confidently.

“Well, then I won’t help you and you’ll have detention again.” Actually, considering Potter’s current condition, it was far more likely that Draco would have detention again, and Potter would be sent to the hospital wing.

“Will you have detention with me?” Potter asked hopefully, and Draco shut his eyes.

“No, Potter. Now let go of me so I can help you with this.”

“I’ll let go. If you kiss me,” Potter said. Draco felt a rush of heat, remembering Potter’s kisses. Clever little bastard.

“No you won’t,” Draco said.

“I keep my word!” Potter said indignantly. Draco could not see Potter’s face, since it was buried in Draco’s ribcage, but he could hear the pout in his voice.

“All right, fine. One kiss. But only if you let go.”

Potter’s grip relaxed, and the dark head rose hopefully. Fuck, but he was rather adorable when he looked at Draco like that. Potter scrambled off his seat and slid his hands up to Draco’s shoulders.

“Hands off, Potter. I said let go—that means completely.”

Potter snatched his hands away as if burned. The Chosen One scowled for a moment, and then lifted his face expectantly. Black lashes fluttered closed over emerald eyes. Draco felt a surge of desire that he tried to stamp out of existence, because he was not supposed to lust after Harry fucking Potter. He hoped to hell Potter would be back to normal tomorrow.

The thought made him pause and he grinned ruefully, realizing Potter would most likely be out for blood tomorrow. With that in mind, Draco figured he’d better enjoy this amorous, overly-friendly version of the Gryffindor while he could.

Draco cupped Potter’s jaw and placed a sweet kiss on the brunet’s lips, only to have Potter press against every inch of Draco he could reach—sans hands—and suck at his lips with fiendish determination.

God, Potter was tenacious! Draco allowed his tongue to slide past the parted lips and Potter took it in eagerly with a moan that sent tremors straight to Draco’s cock. It nearly overwhelmed Draco completely, and he found his hand clenching far too tightly on Potter’s jaw as he fought the urge to plunder the wet mouth until the Gryffindor begged for mercy.

Only the cold knowledge that Sprout was overdue allowed Draco to push Potter roughly away. He tried to control his ragged breathing, and his renewed hard-on, as he brandished an angry finger at the Gryffindor.

“Sit down and don’t move,” Draco barked. The green eyes glared at him somewhat sullenly, but Potter planted himself obediently on the seat. Draco stayed well out of Potter’s reach and crazily transplanted the remaining dicentra raptura. He was nearly finished when he heard the greenhouse door open. Draco bolted back to his seat, hoping to hell he did not look like he felt—completely flushed and just-fucked-by-Harry-bloody-Potter.

Professor Sprout barely gave the boys a cursory look, instead turning immediately to the plants, which Draco remembered to un-Immobilize a heartbeat before Sprout lifted one.

“Very nice, boys. Malfoy, good work. Potter, not finished, but acceptable. You may both go.”

Draco breathed a sigh of profound relief and walked quickly to the door. It was nearly a run, but Sprout’s voice halted him before he could escape.

“Mr. Malfoy!”

Shit. Immediately assuming Sprout had noticed Potter’s less than spot-on attitude, he froze with the door half open. Draco turned to look at Sprout.

“I hope we will have no more brawling during my class,” she stated firmly. Potter approached, and Draco stepped back to allow the Gryffindor to pass, but Potter did not leave the greenhouse. Instead, he wrapped both hands in the folds of Draco’s robes, pressed his body into the Slytherin’s, and latched onto Draco’s neck with a hot, greedy kiss. Sprout’s eyebrows disappeared into her hat.

“Absolutely,” Draco said, even though he was surprised he’d managed to find his voice at all. He smiled lamely. “Potter and I are getting on better already, you see? Erm… he gets very affectionate during a full moon. Strangest thing. Come along, Potter.”

Draco clamped an arm around the Gryffindor’s shoulders and marched him outside. On the path, he transferred his grip to Potter’s bicep and held him at arm’s length. He needed to get Potter to the safety of the Gryffindor common room where Granger and the Weasel could look after him. Before Draco was forced to hex the lustful bugger into unconsciousness.

Part of Draco wanted to bolt for his own room, but he felt partially responsible for Potter’s present condition. Oh fuck, all right, he was completely responsible.

Potter allowed himself to be led docilely enough, until they reached the castle garden, which they had to pass through it to get back inside. Potter suddenly tripped ahead and pivoted, so quickly that Draco walked right into him. Immediately, Potter’s hands twisted into Draco’s hair and his body pressed into Draco’s again.

“Mmmm,” Potter said breathlessly. “Need you, angel.”

The words jolted through Draco. God, not again. He really had to get Potter inside. The Gryffindor’s next words, uttered between searching kisses placed on the soft flesh beneath Draco’s ear, short-circuited that idea. “You can fuck me this time.”

Draco groaned, partly in torment, and partly from the dizzying need that exploded through him at Potter’s words. To have Potter’s gorgeous body beneath him, so incredibly willing… so hot and ready…

“Potter, you are going to utterly hate yourself in the morning,” Draco said in a voice so hoarse it was barely audible. I’ll probably hate myself, too, Draco thought. But at the moment, I really don’t care…

And then Potter’s hand dropped into Draco’s trousers to grip his throbbing erection—and Draco was lost. The farthest he could drag Potter was down the short path to a ceramic bench beneath an overhanging willow tree. The Gryffindor tore mindlessly at Draco’s clothing with one hand while the other inexpertly stroked at Draco’s hard shaft.

“Potter, take your clothes off and get on the bench,” Draco rasped. He moaned the loss of Potter’s warm hand for only a moment as the Gryffindor hastened to comply. Watching Harry Potter disrobe was a special treat, especially when the green eyes—dark slashes in the gloom—never left Draco’s. When robes and trousers pooled at Potter’s feet, he stepped back and sat on the bench, wincing at the cold.

“Lie down,” Draco said roughly, and the breath caught in his throat as Potter lay back, exposing himself fully to Draco’s gaze. The moonlight dappled his body in random patterns as it filtered through the willow leaves. Draco could find no fault with the Gryffindor’s lithe body. Potter said nothing, but raised a pale hand toward Draco in entreaty, and Draco pulled at his own clothing, striving for nonchalance, though the blood hammered through his veins, urging him to tear everything off and join Potter before this magic dissipated.

Once nude, he climbed between Potter’s thighs, sighing with discomfort and pleasure as the chill of the bench touched his legs, and the warmth of Potter’s hands caressed his shoulders.

Potter’s lip eagerly rose to meet his, then their erections rubbed together in a frisson of delight. Potter’s kiss was purely uninhibited. The Gryffindor held back nothing, arching into Draco with pure want. I’m going to burn in hell for this, Draco thought. After Voldemort gives me a medal, and Dumbledore incinerates me, I can spend the rest of eternity wondering why I didn’t run back to my room when I had the chance.

The answer came in the form of a husky, soft voice that expunged all rational thought from Draco’s brain.

“Fuck me, Draco.”

“All right,” Draco breathed, succumbing to the promise of flames without a whimper. He slipped his hands gently over Potter’s smooth skin, moving downward over ribs and hips to cup the tight arse.

Draco cast the spell learned by every wizard boy that ever had a hard-on. The lubricant was cool in his hand, and he let it warm a bit before rubbing it generously around Potter’s taut opening. The Gryffindor arched again and mewed at the touch. Draco slipped his index finger into Potter and had to stop. Fuck, he nearly came himself at the so-hot feel of Potter quivering beneath his hand.

Potter whimpered and Draco’s ardor abated slightly at the sound. He recalled it wasn’t exactly pleasant, at first.

“Easy,” he said reassuringly. “I’ll be careful.” He kissed Potter gently and took the Gryffindor’s cock in his other hand, stroking it back to full hardness. When Potter relaxed, Draco slipped another finger inside and moved them both gently. Potter moaned and threw his head to one side. His glasses were missing and Draco vaguely wondered when they had fallen. The slender column of Potter’s throat tempted Draco to place kisses there—not gentle touches, but bruising, demanding kissed guaranteed to leave marks.

Potter’s hands twisted in Draco’s hair, but surprisingly, not to pull him away. Draco’s hands kept moving—one on Potter's cock, and one inside the Gryffindor, with three fingers moving now.

Potter’s head tossed again and his hands tugged Draco away from staking a claim on this neck.

“Beautiful Draco,” Potter said and captured his mouth. Draco couldn’t breathe, and not merely because Potter was cutting off his air supply. He froze for a moment, and then moved again when Potter whimpered in protest and thrust against his fingers. God, how fucking hot was that?

He twisted the digits slightly, feeling for whatever was responsible for the electric jolt of pleasure Draco recalled from Potter’s foray into Draco earlier. Potter’s mouth left his for an instant as the Gryffindor cried out in surprise—found it—and Draco sucked in air gratefully with a stab of satisfaction.

He withdrew his fingers and replaced them quickly with the engorged head of his cock. As he pressed into Potter’s tight heat, he was heartily glad he had come earlier, or he would not have lasted an instant, especially with Potter’s moans echoing in his ear. He pressed onward, slowly and inexorably. Potter tensed and whimpered, so Draco paused. He placed gentle kisses on Potter’s neck and rubbed a soothing hand over hip and abdomen.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. Want me to stop?” he asked, although he wasn’t completely certain of his ability to stop. Potter drew in a shuddering breath, and Draco caressed Potter’s shaft—still hard.

“No… no, please don’t stop,” the soft voice whispered. Draco sighed gratefully and buried his face in Potter’s neck. The black hair was soft on his face, and smelled heavenly. Potter’s hand slid over Draco’s back and reached his arse before clenching slightly. Draco groaned and slammed his cock home.

Potter yelped, but Draco pulled nearly out and rammed forward again. This time Potter’s cry was more guttural.

“Faster,” Potter breathed. Draco pushed himself away from Potter’s throat and sat up. He planted his feet on either side of the bench. Potter instinctively wrapped his legs around Draco’s hips. Draco reluctantly released Potter’s cock and gripped Potter’s pelvis with both hands, using them to pull the Gryffindor forward into his increasingly savage thrusts.

Potter’s hands clenched on Draco’s wrists—the only flesh he could reach—and his cries became soft huffs that urged Draco mindlessly onward.

“God, god, god,” Draco chanted and felt like he was praying, giving thanks for this astounding gift as the pleasure built, until he felt Potter’s thighs clench almost painfully around him. He watched pale liquid eject over Potter’s dappled abdomen as the Gryffindor’s body bowed in a taut arc. Potter’s lower lip was clamped tightly in white teeth to muffle the scream.

The incredible sight was nearly sensory overload for Draco, who leaned forward to kiss Potter as shudders of ecstasy rolled over him in wave after endless wave, leaving him shaking and breathless, holding his nemesis like a lifeline.

“Bloody incredible,” he said softly, unable to assimilate the brilliance of Harry Potter. Said Gryffindor was pressing soft kisses against Draco’s lips and touching Draco here and there like he was something precious. Draco felt a surge of furious regret that Potter would likely be back to normal soon. Draco could get used to this affectionate, adorable Potter far too easily.

“Potter?” he asked as he removed his head from the Gryffindor’s chest.

“Hmmm?” The voice was sleepy and contented. Draco nearly laughed. Potter was certainly lethargic after sex.

“Do you think you could cast that Cleaning Charm? You’re… better at it than I am.”

Potter chuckled. “Never thought I’d hear you say those words, Malfoy.”

“And you’ll never hear them again, Potter,” Draco said. “Now, snap to it.”

Once Draco had carefully pulled away, Potter Summoned his wand and cast. Draco sat on the edge of the bench and considered putting his clothing back on. Potter scooted over and pressed himself against Draco’s side, sliding his hands over Draco’s skin. The plant-muddled Gryffindor could not seem to keep from touching him.

Draco sighed and leaned sideways to kiss Potter one last time, but the Boy Who Lusted twisted himself around until he straddled Draco’s lap. Potter deepened the kiss, tasting every particle of Draco’s mouth. Bloody hell, if Potter didn’t stop that, they would be out here all night. After long minutes, Draco began to wonder why that would be a bad thing, especially when Potter made a possessive growl as Draco tried to pull away.

He held the Gryffindor tightly for a bit, trying to keep from drowning in desire again. A sound jolted Draco straight back to reality—the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. Fuck—what a position to be caught in! Completely nude with a naked Savior of the Wizarding World wrapped around him. Such juicy gossip would blanket Hogwarts in five minutes, and reach the Daily Prophet in ten.

Potter froze with Draco, although he seemed more curious than alarmed. Astonishingly, the footsteps veered off, and Draco heard a loud female giggle—likely another amorous couple seeking privacy. Draco shied away from the thought of him and Potter as an “amorous couple,” recent activities notwithstanding.

When the sounds faded, Draco pushed Potter away roughly.

“Get dressed, Golden Boy. If we don’t get you back, your watchdog friends will come looking for you.”

Draco hauled his clothing on roughly—for the second time that night—quite an eventful evening, actually—and made sure to stay out of Potter’s reach. The Gryffindor pouted, but obediently dressed. Draco sighed in relief when they were both clothed once more.

“Can you make it back to your room?” Draco asked, thinking he should probably leave Potter, because he hadn’t been joking about the watchdogs.

“Won’t you walk me back?” Potter asked earnestly with an irresistible wide-eyed look that caused Draco to look at him dumbly. Potter followed it with a delicate bite to his lower lip—a coy performance worthy of Blaise Zabini. Potter was full of surprises tonight. Draco felt like he’d cracked open Pandora’s Box to find six others nestled inside.

“No,” Draco said adamantly.

Without warning, Potter leaped on Draco and lashed his arms around Draco’s neck. Wet, searching kisses were placed on Draco’s neck and jaw.

“Please? Please, please, please?”

If a wall had been handy, Draco could have smashed his head into it repeatedly. Luckily, the tree trunk looked too rough for that purpose. It would likely leave scars. Draco snarled.

“Fine. I suppose you’d shag the first fit bloke you happened across, if I let you wander back on your own,” Draco said, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. Potter reared back, looking incredibly like his old self as he glared at Draco.

“I would not!” Potter huffed in an affronted tone. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Draco’s jaw was getting a workout tonight. He’d likely have bruises tomorrow from it hitting the ground.

“You—wha?” he asked intelligently.

But Potter was already stalking back toward the castle. Shit. Potter was miffed. Draco hurried after the Gryffindor to reassure him—and then halted in his tracks. What the fuck am I thinking? He absolutely, positively did not care if the Golden Boy was irritated with him. In fact, this was the only normal thing that had happened since Draco had set the plant on Potter.

Thinking about the dicentra raptura reminded Draco that the whole bloody fiasco was his fault. It was sort of his responsibility to make sure Potter got back safely. With that noble motivation in mind, Draco went after Potter. It had nothing to do with the fact that Draco had no faith in Potter’s words and wanted to ensure the Gryffindor was not unduly tempted on his way back.

Draco had nearly reached the garden entrance when a shape launched itself from the bushes, nearly sending them both sprawling.

“I knew you’d come after me, angel” Potter said and kissed Draco soundly.


“Do you remember the password?” Draco asked dryly, nervously scanning the hallway. It was, thankfully, deserted.

“Yes,” Potter said sullenly. The Gryffindor was miffed again, likely due to Draco’s refusal to be dragged into every dark alcove they passed for Round Three of the Potter Fuckathon. Being caught by Filch was not on Draco’s priority list.

“Good. Now, get in there and go straight to bed.”

Potter gave him that adorable, beseeching look and pitched his voice to a seductive level. “Come with me.”

The words caused one of Draco’s body parts to wake up and nod vigorously, even though it should have been perfectly content to remain passive after the activity it had been subjected to in the past hour.

“I’d rather not be hexed to death for waking up in your bed.”

“M’ friends won’t hurt you,” Potter said confidently, sidling over to mumble the words into Draco’s neck, and plaiting his fingers through Draco’s hair again.

“Your friends certainly would, but it’s not them I’m talking about,” Draco said. He glanced at the portrait of the Fat Lady, whose mouth was open so far all of her teeth were visible. Draco removed Potter’s hands once more and stepped away firmly.

“Go,” Draco ordered.

“See you tomorrow?” Potter asked hopefully.

“You see me every day, Potter,” Draco said dryly.

Potter scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Draco laughed. “You’re going to hate me tomorrow, Potter, but if by some astounding miracle you don’t, then yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Now, go to bed.”

Potter bit his lip, looking uncertain, and Draco clamped down on his self-control. He managed not to leap on Potter and kiss those lips once last time, and then the Gryffindor murmured the password and was gone.

“Goodbye, Potter,” Draco said softly.

Author's Note: Oh yes, this is a trilogy now, lol! God forbid I don't write a sequel to every fic. Part Three coming... sometime.