Author: Abremaline ((
![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
abremaline)Rating: NC-17
Canon: post-HBP, contains character spoilers only.
Length: 3,600 words
Scenario: I promise to take my socks off before sex.
Summary: A coarse rope, a dragon fighting tournament, an interesting pair of pants and a set of good socks. The things that Harry will do for Draco are boundless.
Disclaimer: They don�t belong to me. All characters contained within have �Property of J.K. Rowling� stamped in Red Indian Ink on the bottoms of their feet. You just need to look closely enough. Disclaimer2: They are also aged over 18 in the following fiction
Notes: Special thanks to:
berrynia for help in finding a rope that would be suitable.Dragons, Ropes and Socks
I
A soft breeze blew across the courtyard where Harry sat, waiting for his turn to enter the large arena. The dragon fights were an older tradition that had been reinstated only recently. Its purpose was to convince the purebloods that the wizarding culture was being preserved. To show them that despite the many concessions made towards the Muggle world of late, wizards would always retain their own separate culture.
How he had been roped into doing this, he didn�t know. Well, actually that wasn�t entirely true. He did know. It had involved Draco, one naked Harry, and a good amount of coarse abaca rope. None of it had been in any way pleasurable, and so Harry preferred to pretend that it never happened. Still, the fact remained that he now sat here, on his own and looking more than a little like a fool. He rubbed at the healing cuts on his wrists once more, to remind himself that a dragon wasn�t nearly as scary as his lover could be.
The roar of the crowd from inside the stadium reached his ears. The sound was so thick and loud that it sounded more like the crash of the ocean than any noise that could have come from people. It chilled his bones. Every other time the crowd had cheered like that, the contestant had been floated out of the stadium on a stretcher. So far that equated to every contestant, Harry being the last to compete.
His heart thudded nervously as he stood to quickly rearrange the small area of padding that protected the most concerning of his rope cuts. The pants were awkward to walk even one step in; it was no wonder that no one had yet bested the dragons. Most likely they couldn�t stand up long enough to cast a spell.
Still, the cause seemed to mean a great deal to Draco. Surely, there was nothing that could happen that the mediwizards couldn�t fix. Wizards had been doing this for centuries, and so far one man had actually died. One of the Longbottoms, who had been using herbs as a weapon instead of a wand. At least, this was what Draco had told him.
At this point in time, with a greasy-looking man walking towards him�the man who would guide Harry through the corridor to the ring where the dragon waited�Harry chose to believe Draco�s probably fictional tale of only one death, caused by immense stupidity. It was just more comforting to believe it.
With one hand applying gentle pressure to the cut wrist of the other, Harry Potter walked forward to meet the greasy-looking man halfway, chanting to himself all the while, �I�ve battled a dragon before and I survived it.�
II
Draco had sat through this entire tournament with a patience that, for him, was genuinely incredible. He had been bored stupid for half of it, and cheered the dragon on for the other half - ritually whooping as it breathed fire at the occasional healer. It really wasn�t the best entertainment that there was. Tournament Dragon fighting never truly had been much of a sport, most definitely never an entertaining sport.
Essentially, what would happen was this: at the beginning of the day, about three thousand wizards would gather in the courtyard outside the arena. Almost all were there because their partners had bullied them into it. However, as in all things extremely dangerous, there were always some who competed simply because they were idiots. These, in Draco�s mind, were always the least amusing, and often the ones to actually die.
One by one, the bullied and the stupid would be pushed through the steel doors, into the ring. Usually they would fall down from the lack of knee movement, but not always. Then the dragon, in a way that was unique only to dragons, would cock one eyebrow, roll its eyes, and proceed to turn the wizard into something that resembled blackened roast pumpkin.
At this point the mediwizards would apparate in to retrieve the body for healing, offsite. Usually they were left alone, though not always.
What made the tournaments continue was primarily the look on the contestant's faces in that moment after they found themselves in the arena. Close-ups were always provided on a large screen over head, and they were always (with no exceptions) very funny. Secondly, the pants�the same pants that prompted witches and wizards alike to push their loved ones into an enclosed ring with a live dragon.
They were steel meshed leggings, very much resembling what Hermione Granger would have cheerfully told him were fishnet stockings, �Only, made of fencing wire.� The main difference between these and the fishnets were that these were considered to be pants in their own right. So that, unlike the fishnets, there was nothing ever worn overtop of them. Not even a shirt. The only concession to modesty made by the designers of the pants was the fabric fireproof cupping that covered the men�s bulges.
In Draco�s opinion, they truly were remarkable pants. Most appreciated for their arse beautification level and bulge-sizing display. Unfortunately, it was absolutely impossible to get any man (including himself) to wear said pants, unless you distracted them with the much greater fear of a live fire breathing dragon.
So, simply because of the high level of amusement, and the greater perving value of the pants, the tournaments continued - and Draco Malfoy was one of the sponsors. Despite the fact that the tournaments almost always bored him to tears, or to sleep at the very least.
Not today though. Today, he had sat wide awake and waiting the entire tournament through. Today, Draco�s own lover would be out there, in those pants - just skin, wide steel meshing and a fabric dick cup - and absolutely nothing else. Draco was very much looking forward to seeing it.
So far, he had seen Severus Snape, who had been ushered out by one very enthusiastic Remus Lupin. The former professor had stood there stock-still for a full ten minutes looking, by far, the most self-conscious contestant ever to have graced the arena. Sadly, Snape had moved, and the dragon had promptly fried him. Sad, because his entire body had been reflecting his obvious thoughts regarding the pants, and that an entire stadium of people were seeing him in them.
Fenrir Greyback was hurried out by a very scary, lust-filled Minerva McGonagall. He had charged, fallen, and been burnt. Sanguini, the vampire, had been literally pushed into the ring by Hermione Granger. To be fair, the vampire had given quite a fight in the two minutes he had been there, and had looked very impressive doing it.
Ron Weasley had stumbled in of his own accord. The dragon, not truly bothering to try by that point, had missed and only managed to burn the red-head�s wand. Mentally, Draco awarded this as the funniest fight all day; Weasley had tried to defend himself using only his shoes.
After that the day had gotten to be simply ridiculous. The dragon had fallen asleep at one point, and still it had won over the both of Creevey brothers.
But it just got better, Draco thought. The announcer called Harry�s name, and he was riveted to the sight. False confidence oozed out of him as Harry strode into the ring�well, the closest thing to a stride that the pants could possibly allow.
What Harry did in that ring, Draco never knew. All he saw was fenced-in golden skin, the most perfectly muscled arse to stand there yet, and�the fabric bulge that seemed rather larger then Draco knew it should have been. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the sexiest hero to ever fight within the dragon ring. Not that he would complain about it, as three quarters of the stadium were now glaring at Draco jealously.
He replied simply by smirking at them all via the giant screen over the stadium, asimple, silent and extremely effective way of boasting that this fenced arse, and that exaggerated bulge, were his, and none of them would ever get near either of them.
Watching Harry out there, Draco was flooded with the sensations of all the things that made him love the hero. It was more than just the perfection of the way he wore the outfit, though that did contribute. It was the way Harry forgot about the outfit almost entirely, as he dealt with the danger at hand. The way he moved, even through the restriction of not being able to bend his knees. There was always something brilliant about his quiet ability. As though it were an assured thing, that Harry would handle it, and keep Draco safe.
A soft smile spread across Draco�s face as he saw his love absent-mindedly pinch the rope cut on his wrist.
III
Through his nerves, Harry tried his absolute best to listen to what the greasy-looking man was telling him as they walked (or, waddled in Harry�s case) down the corridor, towards the dragon. It would seem that the point was simply to get past the dragon, not necessarily to fight it. That was just the usual by-product of trying to get past it, and so that is what the tournaments had been called. Most spectators, and many of the contestants, Harry learned, had forgotten a long time ago that the entire point of it all was to get to the other side of the arena.
Knowing this, and knowing that the dragon had sent every contestant so far out on a stretcher, Harry knew he would have to be very inventive. He was not allowed to use any other weapon barring the one he brought into the arena with him. Neither was he allowed to use his weapon of choice, his wand, to accio any other object into the ring. So it would be just him, the pants that wouldn�t bend at the knees, and whatever he could manage to conjure, spell, or charm.
He still hadn�t thought of anything when the doorway was opened and he waddled through as confidently as he could.
It was seeing Draco�s face on the overhead screen that gave him a plan. Really, one dragon could not be that far from another. Draco threw fire at Harry all the time, literally conjured fireballs and threw them at him. Surely, it couldn�t be that different to get past this dragon, then it was to get past Draco when was he was in such a mood.
So, Harry cast a fire retardant spell on himself, a spell that he had by now, memorized well. Then he lowered his head in an appropriate show of meekness, and walked slowly forth as sexily as he could manage without bending his knees.
Quietly he muttered the same things he often spoke to Draco. Things like, �I�m Sorry. I really didn�t mean to.� �I promise,� and �Please.� The dragon appeared to slow its breathing as Harry moved slowly forwards.
Whether it was the tone of his voice, his appropriate mix of meekness and sexiness, or the giant boxes of chocolate-covered doxies that he conjured, Harry never knew. Maybe, it was simply that the dragon had grown bored with the repetitiveness of the game. But he managed to get right up to the dragon. He soothingly stroked a place behind its ears, and softly promised it whatever happened to pop into his head at the time.
When the dragon appeared to seem soothed, relaxed, and relatively happy, Harry slowed his petting until his hand wasn�t moving at all. After leaving it sit for a little longer he removed the hand and was able to walk away, towards the other side of the stadium, and safety. He was almost there when the huffed stream of fire hit him spitefully in the back. Thankfully, his spell held just as good as it always did.
Harry flung off the several chocolate-covered doxies that had chased him, pinched at the rope-burned cut on his wrist, and continued to walk towards the exit.
IV
Draco was more than half-hard by the time he walked, at a dignified pace, down the never-ending winding staircases that led from his seat in the stands to the room where he would find Harry.
He was wishing now that he had paid more attention to what Harry had done to actually get past the dragon. Draco honestly did not know. The only thing he did know about the entire challenge was that whatever Harry had done he had looked incredibly sexy doing it. Also that he had somehow gotten something of the chocolate variety smeared on his back.
By the time he reached the bottom of the many stairs, Harry was alone in the celebration room. He was facing away from Draco, gazing towards the other side of the room. Draco�s vision was filled with fencing, across the backs of toned thighs, across golden arse cheeks, and chocolate interwoven between the joints.
Harry�s entire waist down was divided into blocks of one inch wide, diamond-shaped, chocolate flesh portions. It was, by far, the biggest and best chocolate bar he�d ever seen. Draco wanted to lick, suck and bite every last one of those squares. Both his tastebuds and his sex drive agreed: the sight was absolutely delicious. A groan tore forth from the deepest regions of his stomach as he stepped forward. At hearing the sound, Harry�s head and the top half of his body turned to face Draco.
�No. Just stay as you were.� Draco couldn�t prevent the deep rumble from entering his voice.
�Draco. I�ve just fought a dragon.� Harry muttered, astonished.
�Yes, I know, and you look�edible.� His eyes raced over the many �chocolate saviour� squares as he took a step forward. �Amuse me, my great fighter, and look back the other way.�
Something in what he said, or how he said it, must have struck a cord with his lover. Because Harry turned back to how he had been before, presenting Draco, once again, with scores of gold skin and chocolate coated squares of thigh and arse. He thought the blood rushing to his dick must be ready to cut off his circulation soon.
V
Harry started at the sudden feel of a wet, slightly rough tongue swiping at the backs of his lower thighs. His eyes widened in shock as his fingers rushed to find something that they could grip on to. He had been in a placid mood only moments before, ready to simply lean back on his love, rest his weight and relax from the stress of the day. But as that cool wetness softly licked at the spacings between the fencing that covered his legs, he felt his skin began to tingle and come alive.
The higher up Draco�s tongue travelled the more uneven and forceful the licks became. At the same time as Harry�s own fingers gripped the table so hard that they turned white, Draco�s were pressed into him. The pressure of the hands on his hips releasing and then clutching once more, with the same broken rhythm of the mouth that was now kissing and suckling at the very tops of Harry�s thighs.
He could feel his erection swelling within the various protective casings that surrounded it. A tiny cut remained there from the abaca ropes earlier, rubbing against the wool that was still protecting it. The feeling was just prickling enough to add a very nice extra pleasure to that of Draco�s mouth at the rounds of his arse.
A moan reached Harry�s ears as Draco began to rise. Kisses, licks and bites made their way hungrily up the line of his back, sending waves of shivers all the way to his toes and back again. The hands that were wrapped around him began to move as well. One moment they were on his hips, then at his waist, on his stomach, ribs and chest. He felt as though he were entirely swathed in Draco.
Harry�s head was swimming: hands and arms wrapped tightly around his chest as Draco�s soft kisses fell lovingly on the top of his left shoulder, and every time his groin moved against the wool padding, the slightest tingle would rush through his entire body.
Draco growled Harry�s name in that voice that was almost too low in pitch to hear, as he began to gently rock his hips forward. Harry felt the pressure of the other man�s erection against him for a moment before Draco emitted a loud cry of surprise, annoyance and pain.
�The fencing. Harry, the fencing. I can�t�� he huffed in frustration. �Turn around.�
Draco�s hands moved to forcibly turn Harry around so that they were facing each other. Their lips quickly found other and immediately took possession in an almost brutal fashion. Their bodies pushed hard against each other, rubbing needily as they frantically tried to reach relief.
�Harry, wait. Its scratching my legs too much like this.�
They both tried to stop, but just somehow couldn�t, they were too far gone. Draco viciously backed Harry up against the table, and then pushed.
Harry�s knees, which still couldn�t bend, followed the only way they could and flew out straight in front of him as he went backwards. Draco, who had been readying himself to follow his lover onto the tabletop, suddenly found that wired feet hooked behind his legs were ripping his own feet out from under him, and he toppled backward onto the floor in the opposite direction, with a roar of pure denied sexual frustration. It took a moment to settle, before he got to his feet and gently helped Harry to his.
�Okay.� He sighed. �Well, the pants need modifying. Until then, we�re just going to have to do this more simply.�
VI
Draco stood in front of his lover, but just slightly to the side, and managed it so that they weren�t touching from the waist down. It wasn�t easy, especially since they both needed to touch each other so very badly, but somehow they managed it. Draco leant forward and to his left, bending from the waist as he devoured Harry�s mouth.
When he felt the strong hand that he knew better than his own rub at the skin near his now very paining erection, his head fell free of Harry�s and landed on his chest. It felt so good, and he was so much in need, that he knew it wouldn�t take much. He longed to feel Harry at the same time as Harry was feeling him. Draco heard his name cried softly in a plea, and that was all the prompting he needed.
At the same time as Harry�s hand grazed Draco�s cock, Draco reached into the cup and pulled out Harry�s - which was encased in two thick white woollen socks.
�Harry.� He had intended it to be a warning tone, or a questioning tone, but it came out as a groan. And as that strong, confident hand closed tighter around his cock, he just couldn�t control him self any longer. He pushed into it, and was lost to bliss.
When he regained himself, his entire upper body was collapsed upon Harry�s. His hand was still wrapped around the two woollen socks that covered what he really wanted to feel. Hurriedly he made to remove to them, promising himself that he would ask later, only to find that they wouldn�t come off.
�They won�t Draco - magically attached. The counter-spell, it�s at home. They�re stuck there.�
�Harry�� His own voice trailed off as he couldn�t think of any more to say. Instead he sank to his knees, in front of the man he loved, and took the two woollen socks into his mouth.
Applying enough pressure to be felt though the thickness of two woollen socks was not easy. Draco�s jaw was hurting, his lips had rug burn, and his throat was filled with stray bits of wool�and still Harry could barely feel a thing. It was sheer luck, that somewhere amongst all his toothy nibbles (which were really becoming more like bites) he somehow managed to nip at the tiny cut that he hadn�t known was still there.
VII
Harry grabbed Draco�s head as hips thrust forward, pushing himself as far down into Draco as far as he could. Even if he couldn�t really feel it, just knowing that he was in Draco made Harry lose it. He closed his eyes and screamed as he came.
How long he was in ecstasy, he didn�t know. It must have been a while, for when he slowly opened his eyes again, it was to find himself in a straight-legged puddle on the floor. He also found that at some point the socks had come off.
�Draco. The socks. They came off!� He grinned happily.
�Harry,� his lover replied, with a voice that was almost entirely dead, and slightly angry sounding. �I love the fence pants. They just need to be modified to make things easier. But the socks�� He coughed as he slapped a cheque book at Harry�s face. �They cannot stay.�
When Harry looked at him, blankly asking for an answer (while also wondering where the socks in question had gotten to) Draco simply replied. �Fill it in.�
The tone of his voice seemed to delve into the cold regions of, �Do not argue.� So, without asking anymore about it, Harry simply filled in the cheque exactly as Draco dictated:
