Title: Sticky
Author: Vidunder ()
Furniture: lawn chair
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Umh, my first fic with this rating. Somehow this furniture piece just got me inspired. *blush* Thanks for Tionne for betaing!
As the door slammed shut and, a moment later, a car engine roared loudly, Harry scrambled out of the linen closet. He heard the Dursleys' old Seat take off from the driveway, and immediately he broke into a run. Skipping up the stairs three at a time, he sprinted into his room, quickly pulled a piece of parchment out of the drawer and scribbled to it:
They left, the house is empty, come as soon as possible!
Fingers fumbling with excitement, he folded the paper and stuck it in Hedwig's beak. "You know where to go," he whispered, and set her to flight from the open window. The owl soared through the garden, nearly knocking down one of the trashy white chairs set up on the lawn. Then she rose up sharply, high into the bright blue sky, and swiftly disappeared from view.
An idiotic grin split Harry's face. He could not believe he had pulled it off! He had been sitting at the back of the linen closet all morning. Knowing that the Dursleys were about to leave to London for Dudley's birthday, he had hidden himself in the closet, and hoped for the best. Luckily enough, it had taken far too long for Aunt Petunia to notice Harry was missing, and in the end the Dursleys had been forced to leave him at home. Standing at the outside door, Uncle Vernon had cursed and shouted for full ten minutes for Harry to come out of his hiding place, threatening to throw him out if he did not obey, until Aunt Petunia finally dragged him away.
Harry was not worried, he was too exited to have the whole house to himself. At least for the day.
Glancing at his watch, Harry counted he had at least two hours to make all the necessary preparations. A warm feeling washed over him as he thought about the coming day. "Better take a cold shower," he grinned to himself, "wouldn't want to tire myself before Draco arrives."
Half an hour later, the wet haired Harry entered the kitchen. He strolled lazily towards the fridge, venturing if he would dare to steal one of Uncle Vernon's beers, but what he saw from the window made him stop dead in the middle of the room.
In the garden, a blond young man was standing, barefooted, his eyes closed, apparently enjoying the sun shine on his face. A pale hand rose, slowly, and pushed the hair from his eyes. Then it lowered, fingers brushing the cheek, neck, chest. The hand grabbed the hem of the black tank top he was wearing, and with one smooth move, pulled it off. The sun made his skin shine, glow.
"He knows I'm watching," Harry thought, as he stared at the scene, paralyzed.
Another hand rose, the slender fingers caressing the hard torso. Upwards, gliding over the smooth skin of his chest, the softness of his neck, finally sinking into his gleaming hair. His other hand, its thumb tucked under the waistband of his cut-offs, flicked open the button, unzipped the zipper. The clothes dropped down to his ankles, and Harry suddenly found it rather difficult to breath as he realized Draco was not wearing anything under them.
Opening his eyes, Draco stepped out of the trousers. He saw Harry, and with a slight jerk of his head, invited him to follow. Then he turned and walked deeper in the garden, towards the set of lawn chairs.
As Harry stepped out of the house, Draco drew a chair apart from the others. The white plastic of the chair was hot from the sunshine, but he did not seem to mind as he slowly lowered himself on it. He pressed his back against the chair, feeling the cheap plastic give in under his weight. Lifting his leg over the arm rest and letting his head fall back a bit, he closed his eyes again.
Harry walked closer, without taking his eyes off of Draco. The other boy seemed to be enjoying the attention; his arms ranged over his naked body, his cock swelling between his spread legs. His left hand was lying over his chest, pinching his nipple teasingly, the other hand inching towards his crotch.
Touching himself softly, with fingers as light as feathers, Draco felt himself growing harder. He tried to adjust his position in the chair, his slightly sweaty skin sticking to the hot plastic, and grabbed his erection. A soft gasp left his lips, as he slowly started to move his hand. Long, steady strokes, into a rhythm only he knew. He bit his lip, his eyes still closed. Faster, his hand moving faster, the slick sounds of masturbation filling the air. He felt the end coming, he was near--
A strong hand gripped his arm.
"Wh-what?" Draco's eyes fluttered open and he stammered hoarsely, his hand still gripping his pulsing member.
Against the sun, he could see only a dark shape of the man looming over him.
"Oh, I just thought exhibitionism alone is no fun," said Harry, and pulled him into a deep kiss.