Midsummer's Day Dream

This was written as a gift fic for a challenge issued at TheHexFiles. It was written for YesIam who chose the following five words to be used in a summer – themed one-shot: stodgy, glutinous, humid, bilious and picnic.


Midsummer’s Day Dream

“POTTER!” His aristocratic voice hissed vehemently in my direction, low and urgent, sending a much-welcomed chill down my spine, my spine where sweat was rapidly accumulating under my heavy robes in the humid summer weather.

“I’m bored,” I whinged shamelessly.

“Pathetic, Potter, really.” He shook his head and refocused his attention to the speaker.

Blithely, I ignore his righteous indignation while the stodgy old expert Auror prattled on, and on, and on until his voice blended into the happily buzzing drone of the garden’s most industrious bees. Smiling, I slowly dragged my reluctant hand from Draco’s thigh while my other hand and pretend concentration centered on completely unnecessary note taking.

The heavy summer air weighed me down, slowing my motions, and my mind. Glancing up, I was quick to observe that the man was still powering through his discourse under full steam.

Whose bloody idea was it to have this requirement outside in this weather?

I silently wished for the welcome cool dampness that enveloped Snape’s dungeons. To distract myself from my misery, I slid my hand under Draco’s thigh, easing to the crook under his knee to massage his secret spot – his tender, spongy area just behind his knee. I felt his muscles quiver and grinned victoriously at my parchment. Moaning softly, he shifted his body and chair away from my reach. I smirked then sighed at the loss. I tried to refocus my attention on the lecture, however, the midsummer’s heavy air served only to dull my concentration further. Finally, the lecturer hem-hemmed, clearing his throat, his entire round body bouncing in eager anticipation and asked for questions in his thick Slavic accent.

“I have one,” Tilting my head to the side, I whispered under my breath to Draco, “but, not for him.”

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Draco snapped as he reclined more against the hard back of the uncomfortable chair. Even the normally crisp pleats in his uniform robes were wilting rapidly.

“I have a question for you.” I turned to smile at him, tuning out the obsequious questions being lazily asked by other overheated Aurors.

“Really? What question could you possibly have for me?” Draco sniped at me, one eyebrow arched in snide curiosity. I felt my skin heat even further in the brilliance of his full attention. Like trying to stare at the sun, I was forced to look away sooner than I wanted. Ducking my head, I asked only for him to hear, “care to desert this bilious picnic in favor of a much more pleasant one?” I spoke to my notes, slanting my eyes to watch his reaction.

“Bilious, Potter? Was that on your Word of The Day calendar?” He snickered at me. I glanced up at the old Auror affecting ignorance once again, pretending to pay no attention to him.

“Well?” I countered softly, hopefully, my heart pounding frantically in my chest.

“Where?” He whispered back, curiosity rising in his voice.

Relaxing, I smiled in triumph. “That gazebo we saw on the opposite side of the pond.” I stared straight ahead as I answered.

“Half an hour after this …” He motioned haughtily across the table with his long-fingered hand,
“… Concludes.”

Triumph! I screeched joyfully inside my head while my face was schooled to cool neutrality.

“Half an hour,” I confirmed.

I waded through the oppressive shimmering heat and crowd, pumping hands, and offered my congratulations to the lecturer before easing back to the flag stoned portico to peer with my best nonchalance towards the pond and the gleaming white gazebo. It seemed to shift slightly in the hazy humidity that had settled over us and claimed the land for its prize. Even as the airy-looking building seemed to faze in and out of reality, I could tell he was not there yet. I still had time to gather a few picnic supplies.

Finally, I made my way to the quaint white-latticed gazebo overlooking the pond where the silvery-white swans glided effortlessly on the surface of the water. I sipped the cold lemonade I brought. Absent-mindedly, I sucked on an ice cube. I pretended not to hear his ever so light footsteps as he climbed the few stairs. I did not turn around to face him yet, steadying both my nerves and my courage.

“What do you have there, Potter?” His voice washed over me. I swore the air temperature rose ten degrees in that instant.

“Lemon aide.” I chuckled while sucking on another ice cue.

“Lemon aid?” He asked in consternation.

“Lemon aide.” I grinned hiding the ice cube on my tongue,

“Are you going to offer me some or what?” He pouted after I stood staring at him with my best goofy grin. He motioned languidly to my pale yellow drink with its dewy glass slowly dripping moisture to the whitewashed floorboards.

“Mmmhmm,” I mumbled, stepping in close, grasping his neck, and pulled him in until our bodies touched. Pressing the ice cube against my cheek with my tongue, I held it there while I kissed him, allowing my now ice cold tongue to slide over the scorching heat of his. His grateful moans pulsed throughout my whole body. My cock hardened as our tongues wrestled. Playfully, I slipped the remains of the ice cube into his mouth. He pulled back, glinting at me with his steely gray eyes, a sly grin playing across his face. He crunched mercilessly on the remnants of the ice, then latched on to my neck, the sensations he provoked -- a wash of hot lips and cold tongue against my artery wrenching a groan from my own lips. His hands skimmed down my arms, one reaching my dangerously loose grip on the slippery glass. He snatched it from my hand, stepped back, licked his lips lazily, and then drank deeply from the tart concoction. His eyes never left mine. Again, that dangerous grin flashed across his pale face; a face dappled with the cool shadows cast by the latticework of the gazebo. He fished an ice cube from the drink, popped it in his mouth then slowly licked his fingers, clearly enjoying his taunting of me this time.

“Draco …” I gulped, not willing or able to tear my eyes from his fingers, the beauty of his pale pink tongue roaming possessively over the pale skin tips, his perfect manicure reflecting the late afternoon sun with a soft glow.

“Strip, Potter,” he commanded sharply, his voice hard, demanding, enticing, always taking control of everything. Happily, I rushed to comply, my eager fingers fumbling on the buttons of my dress shirt. The cuffs would not come loose. I growled in frustration, scowling and cursing at my uncooperative fingers and the damn stupid button. Draco stepped forward, picking up my wrist with his free hand. He lifted my hand to his face, still smiling that almost evil grin I had grown to love, exposed his perfectly aligned white teeth and tore into the threads under the button, biting it from soggy cotton with ferocity that can emanate only from my dragon. My knees buckled at the sensations coursing through my body at that sight. He repeated the same process with my other cuff, tearing the little ivory button from the cloth like a lion rending the flesh of its kill. I growled, desperate need rising from the very soles of my feet. Shrugging, I dropped the cotton dress shirt on the floor then efficiently dispatched my trousers. They slid over my bare arse and legs to pool around my ankles. Shamelessly, I locked eyes with Draco and stepped out of my linen shackles, and closer to him.

“You were not very professional during our lecture, love,” Draco purred reproachfully. “Teasing and taunting me the whole time.”

“I was bored,” I shot back, every nerve ending tingling in anticipation.

“Well, prepare to be bored -- again,” my blonde hissed threateningly.

“Oh yes …” I groaned as my eyes nearly rolled back in my head in gleeful anticipation, “Please?”

His graceful hands raised the dripping glass to my eye level, and he artfully fished another ice cube out of the liquid. As if in slow motion, I watched him move that ice to my chest, tracing first my collarbone, then down the center of my chest. It melted against my overheated skin, yielding tiny rivulets of slightly glutinous liquid to ooze down my body. He circled my hardened nipples slowly, carefully, and I arched my back painfully to press against the thawing contact point. The ice disappeared and he traced down to my navel with his frosty fingers before retrieving yet another cube.

This time, he painted my cock, the underside first, then poking gently into the dip at my angry-red tip. My hands flew to his shoulders for support as my voluntary muscle control seemed to desert me. I wilted, the intensity of the cold too much to bear.

“Draco …” I moaned, throwing my head back and screwing my eyes shut. “FUCK!” I nearly screamed when he circled my sacs with the ice.

“Yes, Potter. Fuck we will,” he growled at me. “Turn around and put your hands on the railing.”

I jerked away from him to obey his command with alacrity. I spread my legs, bending low over the pristine white railing.

“Really, Potter, pathetic,” Draco clucked reprovingly behind me. “Spread them already.”

I shifted my stance even wider. He traced the length of my spine with the ice, holding it just so the liquid oozed down between my cheeks. I swear it had to turn to steam over my anus. I heard the tinkle of ice once more, and nearly jumped out of my skin when he pushed the ice against the same steaming orifice.

“Damn, Draco,” I sputtered.

“Too much?” He queried, not really all that concerned, as he set the now nearly empty glass on the railing near my left hand. I listened joyfully as his zipper squeaked. Somehow, he had managed to unbutton his shirt and drop trow in a matter of seconds. He pressed his scorching skin against mine and whispered a quick lubrication spell. Using his hands, he pulled my cheeks even further apart and pressed his point home. I could not tell if the burn came from the blistering heat or from friction. I did not really care. As he seated himself fully, balls tight against my backside, he asserted, “Bored now, Potter.”

“Fully,” I groaned, happily wiggling as much as I could against him. He pressed against my back, sweat pooling along with my desire. With one hand on my hip and his other hand on my cock, Draco began a slow deep boring to remind to whom I belonged. My head dropped forward; I tensed my arms to brace against him, offering only that resistance, ever only that resistance which would bring more pleasure. The railing shuddered. The nearly empty glass fell overboard. I was moaning, pleading for more with incomprehensible words. Draco shifted behind me, bending his knees at just the right angle and striking against my prostate with delicious vigor.

"Close your legs." His whispered command begged no questions. I inched my feet closer together to feel the pressure inside me increase. He raised off my back, the air now able to cool my skin slightly. His strokes became more powerful, more insistent. I felt the telltale tremble that preceded his explosion. "Touch yourself," he ordered. The fingers of both of his hands dug into my flesh, pulling towards him with each plunge. With a roar, which he quickly muffled against the slick surface of my back, he filled me completely with his glutinous offering as I spilled mine over my hand and onto the no longer pristinely white floorboards.

~*~
A loud sound startled me out of my reverie, “Miss!” The lecturer’s sharp voice punctured the balloon of my sweet daydream like a well-thrown dart of a carnival contest, “Are you paying attention?”

“Why …” I smiled obsequiously as I shifted on my plastic chair; it’s surface now glutinous from pooled sweat resulting from the failed air conditioning, “yes I am.” But not to you. I watched my own hand as it continued on autopilot, dutifully finishing my notes, notes for my next story that is.

~fin~