Entry tags:

fic, harry/draco, smut

FIC: Skirting the Issue, H/D, NC-17
Title: Skirting the Issue (xD!)
Author: foreword
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything. :(
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, cross-dressing
Word Count: 1525
Summary: Harry loses a bet to Sirius, much to Draco's delight.
Author's Notes: Thank you to incognito for being so sweet and accommodating and betaing for me! ♥

This is for hpdm4ever, as a very belated birthday gift! Hope you like it, sweetie!

***

Draco really must remember to thank Black for this later. This is probably the first and only time he has ever been grateful to Black, but it is not without good reason.

Potter is stuttering like an idiot, trying to explain, and Draco locks the door behind him as he enters the room, smirking at Potter's ridiculous getup.

Harry Potter does not wear a skirt well. His legs are skinny in all the wrong places, with none of the graceful curve of girls' legs, and his hips are too slender for the waistband. He's clinging to it and tugging on it and Draco can only smirk at how silly he looks.

"Finally decided to come out, have you, Potter?"

His face is a deep shade of red now and Draco smiles, taking a seat on the bed and leaning back lazily onto his elbows, watching Harry appreciatively, his gaze sweeping over Potter's ridiculous form.

"Shut up, Malfoy. It's not what it looks like."

Draco laughs and rolls his eyes. This promised to be, at the very least, entertaining.

"Oh? So you're not just hanging around in your room dressed up like a little school girl?"

Harry opens his mouth and shuts it again, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at Draco.

"It's not like I'm doing this for fun."

Draco raises an eyebrow at this. Oh, this would certainly be entertaining.

"Oh? Then why, pray tell? Really, that skirt does nothing for you, Potter. I think even Goyle could pull it off better."

Harry's expression twists and he looks angry -- and now Draco is excited.

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy. You can always leave."

He looks pointedly at the door but keeps his arms crossed firmly over his chest.

Draco lets his gaze sweep Harry's figure again, noting the knee socks pulled only halfway up his calves and clearly unable to go any further, the boring grey skirt sagging gracelessly off of his hips, and the frilly off-white blouse that's loose around curves that Harry doesn't have. He licks his lips without meaning to and looks up at pink-faced Potter once again.

"Come here."

Draco grins, parting his legs in a vague invitation as he moves further back onto his elbows, waiting expectantly. Harry looks down, blushing hard and feverishly avoiding Draco's gaze, obviously trying not to smile.

"Why? I thought this skirt did nothing for me."

Draco doesn't believe the pouting act for one minute, though he supposes Potter probably is thick enough to get his feelings hurt over something like that. He sighs and collapses on his back wearily, tucking his arms under his head and glancing up at Potter's hangings, wondering why anyone would make fabric such a tacky shade of red.

"That's beside the point. I can certainly do things for you, but not if you're going to be such a prat."

"I'm not being a prat."

Draco really doesn't know why he wastes his time on Potter, sometimes. He closes his eyes and sighs again, letting his head fall back against the bed and pulling his arm over his face so he doesn't have to look at the hideous hangings. He's getting a headache, and it's all Potter's fault.

"So, what did you say to Black?"

There's silence and Draco smiles against the back of his arm, knowing Harry is gawking at him from across the room.

"What are you on about?"

"I know about the bet, Potter. Black's terrible at keeping his mouth shut."

The silence is killing him, and Draco is just pulling his arm away from his face to complain when he feels the bed sink underneath him, and something's brushing against the outside of his thighs.

Potter is kneeling over him, his face still flushed and his lips pouty, still in his skirt and blouse as he straddles Draco's lap. Draco swallows and Harry grins.

"What did he tell you about the bet?"

Potter is warm and heavy as he relaxes, settling himself on Draco's thighs and all Draco can pay attention to is how tight his trousers suddenly are. He shifts, moving his hands nonchalantly over Potter's skinny thighs until the wool of the skirt is brushing over his fingers and Potter is squirming against him.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on answering the question, but the very last thing he wants to think about right now is Black, so he tries to change the topic of conversation as smoothly as he can manage with Potter warm and heavy and hard over his lap.

"Perhaps we should get you some sundresses for the summer, Potter."

He's trying for mocking, but he knows it sounds more than a little desperate and he grits his teeth as Potter shifts against him and his fingers dig into the skin of his thighs.

He opens his eyes but that's a mistake, because Potter is there, and he's open and willing and flushed, his legs stretched out over Draco, his cock now startlingly evident under the pleats of his skirt. Draco's fingers move without his consent, sliding over the cool, ticklish flesh of Harry's upper thighs and sliding smoothly into contact with something that feels distinctly like –

Draco nearly chokes out the word, feeling suddenly very hot as he stares up at Potter.

"Knickers?"

Harry looks down bashfully, his cheeks an even deeper shade of red, and Draco is unable to move his hands, his fingers brushing up against material that is entirely too smooth and tight to be anything else.

"Yeah."

He thinks he hears Potter mumble something else, but in his typically annoying fashion, he mumbles it to his blouse instead of to Draco. Fortunately for him, Draco could care less what else he might have to say, for his fingers have just wandered across the hard, swollen bulge of Harry's erection, straining against his knickers.

Potter makes a soft noise and shifts again, pushing his hard-on more firmly into Draco's hand and biting down on his lower lip. It occurs to Draco, not for the first time tonight, that he might come in his shorts.

His hand slides easily over the smooth, tight material, and he pulls his other hand away, his fingers skating quickly over the soft skin of Harry's upper thigh before he drops it, frantically tugging at the fastenings of his trousers as he continues to stroke Harry. Undoing the flies is considerably more difficult with one hand, especially with Potter squirming against him in such an undignified manner.

Finally, they're undone and Draco bites back a groan as he shoves them awkwardly down his hips, shifting up against Harry to push them further down and taking hold of his swollen cock in one hand. He lets out a soft hiss of relief at the touch, his grip tightening over Harry's erection as he strokes himself.

"Fuck."

Potter makes another sound before leaning forward over Draco and kissing him, rutting up against him tentatively, the silken glide of his knickers hard and smooth against the back of Draco's hand as he kisses him, hot and wet.

He can feel Potter's fingers tugging at the buttons of his shirt, but he opts not to complain as he slides his free hand up Harry's thigh, and his fingers brush against the same silky material, stretched tight over Harry's arse. Potter moans into his mouth and Draco's stomach feels wet as Harry rocks against him, his erection bumping up against Draco's hand and cock and belly.

He can feel his balls clenching and he releases his prick, letting it smack up against his belly wetly as he takes hold of Harry's once more, tugging-gripping-stroking through the smooth material as his skirt brushes against Draco's skin, bunched up and trapped between them, and Draco's fingers dig into Harry's arse.

Potter bites down on Draco's lip and now Draco can feel a wetness through the silk, even as Potter reaches between them to take hold of Draco's hot, leaking prick.

Draco brushes his fingers down over Harry's silky arse and between his legs, finding his balls warm and heavy against the knickers as Harry moans again, rocking his hips forward hard into Draco's touch, and suddenly Draco's stomach is warm and sticky and wet with come and Potter is still rutting against him, his breath hot and fast against Draco's mouth as he empties himself.

And now there is the warm, wet, heavy feeling of come-soaked wool against his skin and Potter's knickers sliding, wet and messy against Draco. Potter's grip tightens around him just as he comes, and the other boy collapses against him, a warm, damp, heavy mess of girly things irritating his skin.

Draco doesn't have the energy to complain at the moment, which is just typical of Potter, really. Potter's lucky he's so tired, he decides, as he presses his face against Draco's neck and those horrid spectacles poke him in a most uncomfortable way. He sighs and shifts, but it's no good, because Potter is asleep now.

Draco smiles in spite of himself, surveying the messy scene as he decides that maybe Potter looks all right in a skirt, after all.