Author:
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painless_jRating: NC-17. Warnings for toe-sucking, foot-play and sex; public sex (of sorts). I promise to not have made it squicky unless it�s your personal squick already :)
Canon: post-HBP. No spoilers.
Length: 1580 words.
Scenario: Harry to Draco: I promise to suck your toes for 10 minutes before sex.
Summary: Harry cheats. Draco�s day turns out not quite as he expected.
Disclaimer: don�t own them. Pity, that.
Notes: thanks to
isiscolo for the title and early hunting for typos and glaring mistakes; to cordelia_v for the brainstorming; to geoviki for the fantastic beta and saving my hide, and to bookshop for organising and running this wonderful project!Toeing the Line
Their nights were usually long and eventful, unless of course, one of them had made his point too forcefully and ended up sleeping in the study. Consequently, Harry never quite woke up until he saw the bottom of his mug of coffee. Or of his second mug. That�s why he didn�t immediately notice Draco�s carefully schooled, bored expression, which registered only when Harry reached his hand for the apricot jam but instead found an envelope with the Ministry seal.
�Well, you know what�s in there, you might as well open it,� Draco�s eyes didn�t move from the Prophet investment page before him; they didn�t even stop running along the lines.
Draco never got Ministry invitations. Harry, of course, always did. Every year the letter came addressed to �Harry Potter and guest,� even though the whole Wizarding world knew that they lived together. The Witch Weekly and its less reputable sisters never ceased milking the affair for juicy and - more often than not - completely untruthful details. In spite of that � or maybe because of that - Draco was never mentioned by name in Harry�s invite.
�It can just as well stay unopened. I�m not going.�
�Of course you are.� Draco�s eyes kept scanning the page in front of him. �The event is in your honour. You can�t possibly let down all those people who�ll come to express their gratitude to the hero who saved our world, and all that rot. We�ve had this talk already� how many times?�
They did, indeed, have this argument every year, because Draco�s pride kicked in every time, and so did Harry�s stubborn loyalty.
�I�m not going without you.�
�I�m not invited.� Draco folded the paper in his lap with sharp, precise motions. �Not that I would want to go if I were.�
In the end, Harry knew, Draco would give in. Ministry people would pretend not to notice him, commoners would stare and whisper, Draco would sulk. After coming home they would have a row, then spectacular make-up sex.
�I�m going only if you�re coming with me.�
�Are you stuck, Potter?� Draco threw away the paper with a disgusted grimace.
To cut short the full-blown rant that threatened, Harry quickly asked, �Please? If you come, I promise to make it good for you later.�
Draco�s expression, although still tense, turned calculating.
�How good?�
Smirking, Harry snatched a piece of parchment from under the sugar bowl and wrote down a promise.
People stank. They sweated in their formal robes and filled the air with the sour smell of wine fumes on their breath. The perfume they had poured on themselves to hide the reek of their bodies seemed instead to turn the air into heavy, perfumed lead.
Draco fumed. The old witch in voluptous, orange robes five seats down their table was speaking rapturously to Harry without so much as a polite nod in his direction. She was one more in the endless line of old and young witches and wizards, all of whom adored Harry Potter, admired Harry Potter, caught every word of his as if it were nectar and ambrosia, and pretended there was an empty space next to him.
He had had enough. He composed himself for an abrupt departure, when a murmured hush spread over the tables. The Minister was rising and clearing his throat to make his annual twenty-minute speech. Draco scowled and turned to Harry �
There was no Harry in Harry�s seat.
And then he felt his right shoe ease off.
People stank. In the stuffy air under the table, the whiff of leather from new shining boots and pretty shoes mixed with the smell of feet that had been swimming inside those boots and shoes for hours in the July heat.
Draco�s feet never smelled. At first, Harry had found it amusing. From the few times he'd gone to church with the Dursleys, he had faintly remembered that a pleasant scent emanating from the relics of a holy man was thought to be a sign of a true saint. As far as Draco was from being a saint, his feet nonetheless gave off a strange scent that Harry could never identify, not entirely unpleasant. If anything, it resembled a mix of essential oils: patchouli, lavender, or sandalwood, something dry, cool and earthy at the same time.
Harry twisted out of his stifling robes, threw them on the floor and stretched out on his stomach, grateful for the enormous tables he could lie under without bumping into somebody�s knees.
Draco�s legs were crossed under the table, the upper foot jerking in irritation. Harry captured it and quickly tugged off the shoe. The foot froze.
He waited several seconds in case Draco kicked him in the face in panic, then leaned in, inhaling its peculiar scent and rubbing his cheek against the warm, damp arch. Nobody would call Draco conventionally beautiful, all sharp angles, pointy features and lack of colour, but his feet were a work of Renaissance art: long, narrow, with high arches and straight, slim toes.
He released the suspender spell that had been holding Draco�s socks smooth and tight, and the damp sock immediately sagged as though in relief. Peeling it off, Harry gently blew on the underside of the foot, between the toes and sole. The toes twitched. Harry grinned and set to work.
The cheek! Draco couldn�t believe it. He was sitting at the most official and boring Ministry function of the year with one bare foot half-sucked into Harry�s mouth. Harry, who was currently making himself quite at home under the table. Harry, in whose honor the very event was held. Harry, whose sudden disappearance hadn't gone unnoticed, judging by the faint whispers travelling around him and the hostile looks he was getting, as if he�d eaten their precious hero.
He had been sure Harry�s cheque would be fulfilled the night after the gala when he would want compensation for all his suffering. Leave it to Harry, as usual, to go against sensible expectations. But now he faced a problem. A Malfoy was taught to hold his head high and sit prim and straight under the glares of the unfriendly public. But he was getting hard under the dance of Harry�s tongue between his toes. Dirty. Arousing. Dirty. Ooh.
The tongue painted a broad stripe along his sole. Draco shifted awkwardly.
The Minister paused briefly to drink some water. In the relative silence Draco heard an unmistakable slurping sound from under the table that made his cock jump from �rather interested� to �trying to climb out of his pants� in a mere moment. �Damn it all to hell,� Draco thought and slouched in his seat.
Harry flicked his tongue, slowly and gently, just under Draco�s toes. They unfolded like a flower, giving him more space - to swirl around each of them, to take his time circling every slender digit, tracing every hollow and soft pad, licking around the impeccably well-groomed nails.
When Draco�s toes began wiggling of their own accord, Harry changed his tactics, tracing the veins from every toe up the instep, sucking on the slender ankle bone and at last giving greedy open-mouthed kisses and broad licks to the arch and ball of the foot, seeking the traces of his scent with his nose and tongue.
Draco seemed to be slipping lower in his seat while his robes were slowly climbing up, brushing against soft, pale hairs on his bare legs, their rise directed by small, stealthy tugs of Draco�s trembling fingers.
Harry�s felt his heart leap up to his throat, and he was filled with overwhelming tenderness. He couldn�t bear not to touch himself any longer. Moving the battle to two fronts, he tugged and jerked at his zipper, striving to unfasten his trousers with one hand while covering the foot held in the other with tiny butterfly kisses. Draco�s own hands clenched the fabric bunched up on his thighs, then burrowed under it.
The cloth began shifting in a slow rhythm.
The toes stirring in his hand turned Harry�s attention back to Draco�s foot. He sucked each slim toe into his mouth, bathing and rolling them with his tongue as though they were five tiny wriggling cocks. He felt as though each of them was connected to his own prick that throbbed in his fist; lick � squeeze, suck � twist.
Draco�s fist was flying along his cock, his pale thighs trembled. Harry felt how close he was in the flexing and curling of the toes against his lips. He faintly heard his own gulping breath, as heat rushed downwards from the nape of his neck and the insides of his shoulders. He pressed the twisting, saliva-smeared foot to his cock and roughly pushed against it once, twice, spasming and spraying strings of come into the convulsively flexing, grasping toes.
The pounding in his ears, it appeared, had an external source. The Minister apparently had finished his speech. Harry gingerly pulled on his robes, then smoothed Draco�s down, kissing his knee on the way. Two quick cleaning and one disillusionment charm later he slithered back into his seat. Draco�s face was flushed. Harry pressed their thighs together under the tablecloth and felt for Draco�s hand, gently squeezing his fingers.
Several long seconds later, the squeeze was returned.
For once, they didn�t have a screaming row when they got back home. However, they did have spectacular sex.
The end.
