A Wayward Dragon In Little Whinging

Malfoy spoke about five sentences of something I like to refer to as Wall Street mumbo jumbo, and Uncle Vernon became his best fucking friend. It's disgusting. If I didn't know the kid wasn't allowed to do magic, I swear he was entrancing them or something. That said, that he can have so many people eating out of the palm of his hand, yet still infuriate the fuck out of me is rather amazing.

Dinner was oddly talkative, Vernon and Malfoy in a heated discussion about numbers that I don't care to learn a thing about. Stocks, bonds, whatever. Uncle Vernon actually pats me on the shoulder as he leaves for the living room because he's glad Malfoy's there. Bizarre. Malfoy watches TV with the family for a bit, and I escape to my room to finally get some fucking alone time.

A whole day stuck with Malfoy and not once did I get a chance to wank. Talk about torture. That he's apparently naïve as fuck doesn't help anything. Because maybe he might have been conscientious if he understood just how hot he was. But no, he was practically clinging to me half the day, like Death Eaters were going to jump us or some shit. Or maybe he's just really afraid of muggles. People seem to scare him. Like overwhelm him to the point of becoming defensive and clingy all at once. Maybe that's why he always kept Crabbe and Goyle around—A human buffer.

Whatever. I really don't want to be thinking about him while touching myself. I have to share a fucking room with him. Closet—it's a really small room. Making things any more awkward is just going to be miserable.

He has a really nice mouth. That crack about cock sucking this morning has been spinning in my head all day. He doesn't ever shut up once he starts talking, and doesn't that just solve everything if he's on his knees full of dick? Hell... Wasn't supposed to think of that... Oh, but it's a nice thought. It really is...

Messing up his perfect hair with my hands, holding his head tight and still as he opens those pouty lips of his for my cock. It could be his first kiss... Bad, Potter. Very bad... But yeah, it could be.

I wonder if he'd swallow... Mmm, maybe just let it dribble out those red lips of his, down his chin, onto his throat. The kid is smoking hot.

I buck into my hand, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Fuck. It's not the first time I've come thinking of him. But it is the first time we're sharing space. Whatever. Whatever gets me through this.

I'm actually really disappointed to discover he hasn't even kissed anyone. It ruins my fantasy of him losing his shit, throwing me down and fucking me senseless. Oh, I'm sure he'll ruin plenty of other things for me before he's back to school, but this one was sort of special to me. Whether he's gay or straight doesn't seem to matter, just as long as he knows how to use his equipment. Damn.

I clean myself up with tissues, make the bed so it doesn't look like I just jerked off on it and then unroll the worn sleeping bag that's been tucked under the bed for ages. It smells like dust and barely clears the space between the nightstand and the door. Hopefully he won't step on me if he tries to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It's seriously cramped.

I'm stripping to my boxerbriefs when he knocks, and I have one of those oh shit moments. Am I going to have to wear pajamas? No AC, middle of summer, and I need to cover myself up for his modesty? This is getting annoying.

“Potter?”

Fuck it. I'm not doing it. He's lived in a dorm for five years. I'm sure he's seen worse. I unlock the door, turning so I don't have to see his expression and sit down on the sleeping bag. It does nothing to soften the absolute hardness of the floor. I really wasn't expecting it to, but I had hoped.

“Oh, you're seriously going to sleep on the floor? I wasn't really going to kick you out of your bed.”

Right. “I'm tired, Malfoy. I was up too early. So if you don't mind...” I lay out, wiggling down into the sleek material and fold my hands under my head. I've slept in worse for much longer, and yeah, I do mean the cupboard.

“Oh... Alright.” He carefully steps over me and sits on the bed. Closing my eyes, I hear him pulling off his boots, the sound strangely sensual to my very messed up senses.

I've never had anyone else in my room. It's intimate. Disruptive. His t-shirt is next, the sound of soft fabric moving over firm skin as he shifts on the bed. I almost expect him to sleep with his jeans on, then I hear the zipper and every nerve in my body sparks. So fucking glad I jerked off earlier or I would be standing at attention right now from that one sound. Or any of the ones that follow as he stands and pushes his tight jeans down his hips, thighs, then kicks them off the rest of the way. Then he folds them, and puts them with his shirt before settling on the bed.

“How do I make the light dim?”

And the moment is broken. He has no fucking idea how to work a light switch. Nothing sexy about that. I know he's smart, I do, but it's really hard to remember when he can't figure out simple shit. I sit up, standing to reach the switch by the door.

“Light switch. Two settings. Up is on. Down is off.” I glance at him to make sure he gets it, only to really wish I hadn't. Black briefs that cling and the rest is all pale, long muscle, eyes gleaming silver and heavy with sleep. He's sprawled on the bed like he belongs there. My bed. And hell, I really want him to belong there.

“You have to walk in the dark to get to bed? Isn't that counterproductive?”

“Amazingly enough, I manage the three steps.” I flip the switch so I don't have to look at him anymore. I regret that as well, but I leave the light off and sink back onto the sleeping bag.

“It's really dark.”

“Sorry, I'm not the nightlight type.”

“Nightlight?”

Sigh. Is he going to talk all night? “It's a dim light you plug in. Usually for little kids. The Dursleys keep one in the kitchen so you don't hurt yourself if you get up to grab a snack in the middle of the night.” Dudley had taken a spill once years ago when sneaking food.

“Oh... Think you'd want to get one?”

I know I shouldn't say it, but I'm feeling really cranky right now, his voice hovering fairly close above my head, just the bed height away. “You afraid of the dark, Malfoy?”

“No. I'm afraid of not seeing whatever is hunting me in the dark.”

Touché. I get up, again, and slip out into the hall, padding to the kitchen. Dudley can manage to work a damn light switch at his age. I unplug the nightlight, ignoring the burn as I make my way back. I hesitate in the doorway, not sure if I really want to go back in there and feel suffocated in that small space with him, where his breath is right in my ear, every movement he makes on the bed almost on top of me.

I push open the door and close it behind me. There's only one wall outlet in the room and I run my hands down the side of the wall where I know it is, fingers brushing over the plastic casing. Once it's plugged in and switched on, I crawl back onto the sleeping bag, trying to ignore the way shadows have now taken over the room, rising tall and intimidating on the walls.

“Thanks.”

I grunt something to acknowledge I heard him, then turn to my side, facing away from the bed. I can still hear him, his breath too loud. Even with my eyes closed, I can see him. Long, glowingly pale, eyes heavy with more than just sleep. Floating just above me, stretched out, releasing soft sighs. It takes forever to fall asleep, and I think even longer for him.