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the bottom!draco emporium--Trivial Pursuit
Title: Trivial Pursuit
Author: c'est moi! olukemi
Rating: NC-17
Summary: ‘Idle hands’ and what have you. Complete PWP. No shame.
Archive: Coil. Or soon to be.
As Draco looked at the dark haired boy across from him, in some corner of his mind he realized that after years of knowing him, he had seen Blaise Zabini express very few emotions.
He'd seen condescension, amusement, self-satisfaction, boredom, and this odd glittering that would come into Blaise's eyes when he was... Upset. Draco didn't deign to call it anything so pithy as 'rage' or 'fury'; it was something more frightening and a lot colder than either of those words implied. However, that wasn't when Draco was most wary of his Housemate.
No, Draco knew that Blaise was most dangerous when he was bored.
"I'm bored, Draco."
Just hearing those three words, murmured in a soft annoyed drawl, was enough to make Draco's palms sweat, enough to make his heart stutter then start on a gallop that almost left him lightheaded.
Those three words had ended up leaving Draco with more bruises, aches, and close calls than he cared to count, so it was perfectly understandable if he was just a bit nervous. He'd rather not have to come up with some creative explanations when their parents got back from the 106th Annual Something or Other Celebration at the Ministry.
Which is why Draco pretended not to hear Blaise and instead looked down at the chessboard set between them.
"Rook to D5!"
He kept his eyes trained on the ivory chess piece as it moved across the board, hoping Blaise hadn't heard that small note of agitation in his voice.
"A rather foolish sacrifice. Knight to D5." There was a pause. "I said I'm bored, Draco."
Draco watched his rook get skewered then beheaded. Wiping his moist palms on his robes, he swallowed hard before affecting a negligent air. "I heard you. You assume I care. Bishop to E3."
"As acting host, your duty is to keep your guests properly entertained. I am not properly entertained. Queen to E3 and checkmate." The ebony queen, the most vicious of the pieces Draco had discovered over the course of play, left very little of his bishop intact and was closing in on his king. He might actually have to get replacement pieces and that would be quite a hassle considering his pieces were all custom--
His train of thought was quite effectively derailed when he saw Blaise's slim, strong fingers wrap around his white king, scooping it up before the black queen could strike the fatal blow. Draco watched, almost mesmerized as the other boy lifted the king and, with a small, rapier-sharp smile stealing across his lips, used his thumb to snap the poor king's head from his body.
Draco launched himself from his seat, leaving the leather and mahogany armchair teetering dangerously in his wake as he raced for the sitting room doors.
There was a crash and then a bare whisper of sound and Draco suddenly found himself getting slammed from behind. He went down hard on the foyer floor, the vile-green runner his mother had purchased last year doing nothing to soften the impact on his knees. They'd be covered in nice purple bruises by morning.
Groaning, he pushed up against the familiar weight pressing down on his body. "You sodding wanker! That hurt!"
Draco felt rather than heard Blaise's laugh, a fine quaking of the other boy's body that he felt all along his spine, making him shiver. Blaise's voice slithered softly past his ear as he murmured. "I know. You assume I care."
They were playing a new game now—-or, rather, a new match of an old one they'd played many times before. He just hoped they were able to put things to rights before their parents returned.
Draco knew the rules by... Well, not by heart. No, he knew them by flesh. They were scratched, bitten, and pressed into every inch of his skin and, according to the rules, he had the right idea when he reared suddenly, dumping Blaise back onto the floor as he scrambled forward on all fours, carpet bunching beneath him.
He'd just made it to his feet, just made it to the end of the foyer, before he was down again.
They landed awkwardly on the settee across from the grandfather clock—-Draco with one knee folded up under him, his other leg dangling off the side, and Blaise on top of him, one knee on the cushions and the other pressing between Draco's parted legs, and wasn't that just interesting—-with such force that it slid a few inches across the floor, leaving some rather nasty scrapes in the polished wood. Draco was about to voice a complaint but Blaise's hands, pulling and tugging at their tangled robes, pushing Draco's up to somewhere around his shoulder blades, reminded him that now was not the time.
When cool fingertips skimmed, then pressed more firmly against bare skin, Draco forgot what he'd been ready to complain about. And when those cool fingertips turned into blunt nails, scraping down his back then dragging down low across his abdomen, Draco forgot to breathe.
He remembered with a gasp as Blaise's fingers somehow snuck their way into his open trousers—-when had that happened?-—bypassed his quite blatant erection and cupped his balls, bold as you please.
Another one of those shiver-inducing silent laughs and the small portion of Draco's brain that still functioned wondered vaguely what was so funny. He certainly didn't find anything amusing about the way those deft fingers gently squeezed and stroked and tugged just. right. No, definitely not a laughing matter. But then, Blaise had always had a rather unique sense of humour.
He stopped laughing when Draco forced his hips back against the other boy's, making both of them painfully aware of the layers of clothing still separating cock from ass and, really, that just wouldn’t do.
Between one shuddering breath and the next, Blaise's fingers were gone and Draco made a small sound—-Malfoys do not whimper-—of disappointment. But his disappointment didn't last long as he realized Blaise was working his trousers down his hips, bunching them around his upper thighs and then those fingers were back, not where he wanted them, but where he suddenly realized he needed them to be.
Face pressed into the burgundy velvet upholstery—-rather musty-smelling; he would have to get on the house elves about that-—Draco was certain he wasn't getting enough air, but he didn't care at the moment as he felt one cold-slick finger wheedle its way into him. He hadn't heard Blaise say a lubrication charm or open that little tube of Muggle stuff he sometimes favoured and often carried with him—-"Just in case."—-but then he doubted he could hear anything past the odd thump-swoosh of blood in his ears.
Another finger joined the first, then a third, and those teasing, coaxing digits twisted and pressed just so, and Draco certainly heard that. Had that been him making such a noise, so needy yet demanding at the same time?
Blaise did it again and Draco's spine arched as he jerked backwards onto those fingers.
Yes, that had definitely been him.
Draco tried to spread his thighs wider to invite more of that delicious invasion, but his position and his trousers prevented him. So he had to be content with pushing back into each thrust and maybe content wasn't the word because damn that felt so good.
Wait. What the hell was he doing? Draco wanted him to put those fingers back now dammit, he wasn't done with them. Blaise couldn't just leave him like this--
Oh.
The warm, wet silk of lips and tongue were sliding up his back and all of a sudden Blaise's cock-hot, smooth, and slick-was nestled snugly against his ass, sliding so. slow. ly. along the crease before—-
Oh.
Biting his lip, Draco made himself hold stock still as he felt Blaise position himself, then the sleek head of his cock was pressing, pushing...
Oh! Ohohohoh-- "Fuck!"
The word exploded from Draco's mouth on a groan as, with Blaise's hands gripping his hips, Blaise entered him in one long, sweet burning slide. Okay, this... This was good, Draco thought inanely.
And then Blaise began to move and he didn't think anything at all. How could he with Blaise pulling out slowly then thrusting back in with hard, sharp jabs laced with a hint of pain—-his inability to spread his legs making him just a shade less than receptive—-establishing a rhythm that made Draco's head spin so that he had to dig his fingers into the arm of the settee in an attempt to keep the world from twirling off its axis. Draco was grateful when Blaise released his hips to curl his hands over his own, grounding the blond boy in the more-than-pleasant here and now.
A few seconds later, the here and now became damn near glorious. Blaise had moved his hands so that he could brace himself and begin a furious pounding tempo that drove Draco's hips into the settee. With each near-violent thrust his cock dragged backandforthbackandforthbackandforth against the velvet and the friction turned the hungry fire in the pit of his stomach into a conflagration with teeth and claws, forcing a sound from Draco that he hadn’t made since he'd been a virgin and they'd played this game for the first time, Blaise gleefully taking his virtue in the process.
Without warning, Blaise began to move, shift, setting off flares behind Draco's eyes and the next he knew, Blaise was sitting on the settee with Draco ensconced on his lap between his thighs. As Draco settled more firmly against him, Blaise was driven deeper than Draco anticipated and he could swear he felt him at the back of his throat. He went still, adjusting, savouring and then Blaise ordered, "Move" and Draco did, but in such a way that let Blaise know that Malfoys took orders from no one.
Gripping Blaise's thighs for support, Draco slid himself almost completely off of him then very very slowly impaled himself again, hips writhing and purling as he went. He did it again, this time letting himself drop the last couple of inches and he heard Blaise groan. Again, but this time he dropped more than half the length and this time Draco's cry drowned out whatever little sound Blaise might have had made.
A hand fisted in Draco's hair, jerking his head back, making the chains of lust running through his body tighten painfully, and Blaise growled against his ear, voice vicious-soft, "Harder. Faster. Now."
Okay, so Malfoys could follow orders. When it suited them.
And it suited Draco just fine to pick up a cadence that had him practically bouncing on Blaise's cock. The dark-haired boy was clutching Draco's hips once more, fingers brutal in his flesh-—yet more bruises to fret over come morning—-as he grunted with each plunging penetration. Draco, head pressing back into Blaise's shoulder, was quite vocal with his pleasure, his cries and moans growing to a fevered pitch until—-
Draco was screaming when he came, his semen dotting the green of the carpeting like some kind of obscene dew—-the house elves would definitely have to see to that before their parents returned—-and Blaise was quick to follow with a spasm of hips and a long, low moan announcing his release.
For a long time, all that could be heard in the foyer was the sound of ragged, halting breaths underscored by the loud ticking of the grandfather clock. Then, with a voice made raw and silky with satisfaction, Blaise murmured, "And that, Draco, is what I call being properly entertained."
FIN.
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