sirona_fics | Over to you, folks!

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Over to you, folks!

OKAY. OKAY. LAST POST TODAY, I PROMISE -- or should I say first post today, since it's after midnight here? GAH, I AM RAMBLING ALREADY. THIS WILL WORK JUST FINE, THEN.

I find myself in the strange position of having three--no, four--huge stories in the works. When I say huge, I'm thinking at least upwards of 10K, probably nudging closer to 20K and over. And I'm stumped. Just thinking about ALLLL THE WORDS I'm going to write for them makes me leery of sitting my arse down and getting to it; moreover, I can't seem to decide which one to focus on right now.

So. After much pondering, and deft enabling by

delicatale, to get my writing juices flowing I propose the following: PROMPT ME. I will write drabbles for as many prompts as I get ideas for, and that's a promise. I can't guarantee that every prompt will get filled, BUT I will do my absolute best for as long as I need this exercise. Now, it's half past midnight here right now, so this will happen tomorrow most likely, but. GO ON, YOU GUYS. I WANT TO WAKE UP TO A VERITABLE DELUGE OF PROMPTS! :D

Fandoms: Inception (Arthur/Eames), Sherlock (Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Lestrade (oh god)), H50 (Steve/Danny), XMFC (Charles/Erik), HP (Harry/Draco -- this one is for you,

altri_uccelli, if you fancy it! :))

I did this last year for Christmas, when anyone who wanted a Christmas drabble from me got one. I will very likely do that again this year, so think of this as a wee taster! :D

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Eeeeeeeeee!!! The possibility of H/D from you is as;ldfjdjfasjd.

Okay. Harry and Draco run across each other in a gay club in Amsterdam, neither having known the other was gay.

Yay! :) Now, then -- are you horribly opposed to drugs, my dear? I mean, not hardcore drugs, just recreational, like E and stuff? I have to say, I've never taken any drugs myself, but I did hang around with people who dropped Es in my first year of uni, and I think I can make this swing nicely with the prompt. But I want to make sure it won't actually turn you off! So pls to be letting me know. <3

Not at all! And it's almost de rigeur in Amsterdam. ;)
\o/ \o/ \o/ !!!!!!

Draco walks through the hot pink door with more apprehension that he'd have ideally liked to feel. It's still so new, this freedom he feels, to explore whatever the hell he wants, acknowledge the persistent, no longer grudgingly content to be silenced part of himself. London had been a bust the one and only time he'd tried it, too loud, too brash, too in-your-face for someone who has yet to figure out what he wants, where he fits within this new label he finds applies.

Amsterdam, though. Well, that's different. 200-odd miles might as well be a world away for the difference it makes to the way he feels, looser and more open, t-shirt and skin-tight jeans natural where before he would have felt naked without his robes, constantly on edge from the chance of someone recognising him. Here, the latter at least is remarkably less likely.

He looks around, lets the heavy thump of bass in the air sink into his skin, warm his blood to near-boiling, raise goosebumps over his bare arms and speed up his heartbeat. Exilarating, like a release, the way his breathing runs shallow, the more and more frequent press of bodies against him, a brush at the small of his back, the muscles of his outer thigh. Men and women's eyes slide over him, lingering, sending warmth coarsing all over his skin. Daringly, he returns a few, lets his own gaze touch an arched throat here, the curve of a muscled shoulder there, a tattooed bicep just on the edge of the dimly-lit area around the bar. His fingers itch to touch; he feels almost skin-starved -- and likely is, after the past two years of utter hell.

He swats that thought away like an annoying gnat, set on enjoying the freedom of anonymity while he has it. His long, languid strides bring him to the bar; he waves towards a bottle of some kind, liquid white and shimmering under the blue spotlight. Smirnoff, the red label declares, Ice blocked out underneath it. Well, isn't that perfectly suited for the 'Ice Prince of Slytherin'.

He sips -- it's light, sparkling, lemmony with a bite. He likes it. Turning, he braces an elbow on the bar, relinquishes the reighs of control, releases his mind from its cage. There's a sweet, musky scent in the air; he knows that smell, all the better from a week spent in this city. The club is thick with it, people's movements lazy and loose on the dance floor, touching everywhere they can without getting thrown out for it. Draco lets his eyelids droop, the muscles of his neck roll as he watches the sidelines, scouts out a space to lean away from the worst of the crush. There's a spot towards the back, free for the moment; he makes a snitchline for it, taking care not to bump into anyone too hard. There are people in the small alcove nearby, a group of them; the scent lingers heavy over their heads, billowing into strange shapes as Draco passes. For a second, just a brief one, his steps falter at the sight of a head of dark, messy hair, a familiar body curved forward, listening attentively to a stranger talking. Then Draco shakes himself -- impossible, he should know better. Worse, he's letting himself think of him again, and that has to stop. Hadn't he come to Amsterdam to get his hopeless crush out of his system?

Then again -- if you can't have the real thing...

Draco slips gracefully around the edge of the booth, taking care to cant his hips invitingly. Oh yes, this is just what he needs, thank Circe.

And then the man looks up, and Draco nearly chokes on his own spit, because it can't be. It fucking can't be, Merlin, how is this fair? Surely his eyes are making a fool of him. Must be the smoke.

But no. No, because when has Draco's life been easy, ever?

"Draco," the man--Potter--says cheerfully, voice ever so slightly slurred. "Is that really you? What the hell are you doing here, mate? Ah, never mind, pull up a chair, take a load off. Buy you a drink? Hey, everyone," he says loudly, not waiting for Draco to answer (probably a good thing, he'd be waiting a while. Draco's not sure he remembers how words are supposed to work), "this is my mate Draco, from the UK. Went to school together. Bloke's a fucking genius."

Mate? Genius? What is Potter smoking--oh, never mind. Of-fucking-course it would be just his luck to run into Potter hundreds of miles away from home, in a--wait.

Potter smiles happily up at him, eyes nearly dark with how dilated his pupils are. He's high. He's fucking high, the Saviour of the Wizarding World is high and probably drunk, too, it's the only explanation. Draco holds himself stiffly, all the looseness gone from his muscles until he feels like he's going to break if anyone touches him. Potter's grin doesn't fade, but it gains an edge that Draco recognises from years and years of watching him every spare moment he got.

"I can hear you thinking from over here. I truly hope you're not about to say any of that out loud."

Draco wants to splutter, wrestles his control back with an effort that shouldn't be so draining. You're the sodding Saviour, should you be doing this? he wants to say, and Is that any kind of example to set, Potter?, and How come I never knew you had it in you? In the end, though, he keeps quiet, catalogues the changes in Potter from the boy--the man--he last saw at the Malfoy hearing in front of the Wizengamot, standing up for a family that has brought him nothing but pain. The Potter before him doesn't seem to remember--or care about--any of that. His hair has grown out into even more of a bird's nest, glasses different, more suited to his grown-up face. And what a face it is, Draco thinks wistfully, taking another long drink from his bottle. Potter's eyes flick to his mouth, and when Draco would have expected him to look back up, Potter doesn't. Bucking every single belief Draco has ever held about him, that's the bastard's way. No, Potter's eyes linger over his lips, eyelids drooping when Draco slips his tongue out to lick off the stray drop he can feel try to trail down his chin.

Fucking hell. Potter looks like sex personified. Which brings him back to the original question.

"You do know what kind of club this is, don't you, Potter?"

The words, meant to be scathing and snide, come out more curious than anything. Fifth-year Draco would have been mortified. Post-war Draco is tired enough of the old feud that he doesn't even blink.

Potter is quet for a moment, gaze still focused on Draco's lips before slowly rising to look Draco in the eye. The challenge in Potter's eyes is unmistakable. The silence draws taut between them before Potter breaks it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you expecting an answer? I rather thought that was a rhetorical question." His voice, Merlin, Draco can feel it even with the growling thump of the music, low and slightly husky, languid, faintly mocking, not enough to get Draco's hackles rising. Draco finds himself smirking back.

"You may have a point," he allows. "You too, huh? Never would have pegged you for one, what with the Weaslette hanging on your arm like it's going out of fashion. Possessive, that one. How'd she take it?"

Potter's eyes glint for a moment; danger skitters down Draco's back. It's... exilarating; he feels alive for the first time since a sooth-filled room, flames licking the soles of his boots.

"Well enough," Potter says, not losing his relaxed stance, but enough of a warning in his voice to prevaricate any further discussion on the matter. Draco's not especially interested in following that conversational track; but just for a moment, he considers going through with it anyway, just to bait Potter, see those eyes flashing again.

Draco considers, for quite the first time, that he might be in a bit more trouble than he'd anticipated when it came to Potter -- or, rather, the things Draco wanted to do where Potter was concerned.

He's been quiet for too long; worse, he's been so deep in thought that he's lost track of where his eyes have landed. When he blinks, he finds himself staring at Potter's mouth, red and shiny from the pull he'd just taken from his own bottle, smirking slightly. That look, it should not be allowed; Potter should not be able to look like this, reckless, tempting, almost debauched. Fuck, Draco wants to taste that mouth.

Potter's knee bumps agains his when he shifts to let a man slide out of the booth they sit at. His legs splay wide open, the man's body momentarily cradled between them. Draco may have blacked out for a moment, because when he gets his bearings again he finds Potter grinning at him filthily, the glint of a sharp canine bared to the hazy light. Draco feels restless, skin too small for his body, jeans digging uncomfortably into a cock that hasn't been listening to sense for a while now. Potter's eyes slip lower, drag over his body like a physical caress, come to a stop over his crotch. Draco wants to grab him, manhandle him until Potter straddles his lap; wants to push Potter down on the worn velvet seat and climb on top of him, press down, bite at that spot under Potter's chin until Potter sighs and lets his legs fall open again, for Draco this time.

Bloody fuck, what is in that drink?

Potter bites at his lower lip, drags it through his teeth, lets it slip out flushed red, faint teethmarks showing. "You wanna get out of here?" he says, confident and so, so damn tempting.

Likely it's just the drugs and alcohol talking; even more likely, they'll both wake up tomorrow morning and be horrified about it (though very likely for quite different reasons). But Draco's feeling reckless, a little wild, if he's honest, and fuck, he'll take that chance.

"Hell yes," he says, and Potter--Harry--smiles at him, startlingly bright; all of a sudden that boy Draco's known and wanted for years is there again, underneath the sensual front, and he looks like all his Christmases have come at once. And damn, how is Draco possibly supposed to resist that? "Let's go, Harry."

Harry reaches over and lets their fingers tangle together, just a little, a kind of tentative that cracks right through whatever shell Draco still clings to desperately, old hurt and anger and hopelessness dissolving into fine dust at Harry's touch.

"Okay," Harry breathes, and Draco doesn't think he's imagining the relief in his voice, the bright happiness in his smile. Whatever tomorrow brings them, Draco can--will--deal with, for the chance to keep this, see where it goes, where it takes them.

-----

Oh. Oh. Oh. I am seriously hyperventilating here, right at work, and I'm NOT EVEN KIDDING. This was so hot, so JUST WHAT I WANTED WITHOUT BEING ABLE TO IMAGINE IT MYSELF, so impossibly perfect. Draco, finally taking the steps to acknowledge and explore what he wants. And Harry, several steps ahead of him: I love how comfortable he seems, although some of that's probably from being ever-so-slightly-and-charmingly baked. (I actually really love Harry experimenting like that, by the way; giving himself a break from being straight-laced, and not giving in to a load of stringent Wizarding world expectations on him post-war). And how neither of them can stop looking at the other's mouth. *stuffs a fist into own mouth to stifle the whimpers*

And the fact that Draco's wanted him for years and is actually in Amsterdam in part to get over his hopeless crush, god but that just makes it fifty times better. And the way, through Draco's POV, Harry is acting like sex personified, but then this: Harry reaches over and lets their fingers tangle together, just a little, a kind of tentative that cracks right through whatever shell Draco still clings to desperately, old hurt and anger and hopelessness dissolving into fine dust at Harry's touch. YOU ARE KILLING ME DEAD. I want them to stay in Amsterdam, learning how to live without the burden of expectations and unforgiving memories, just being happy and sated and becoming who they are together. So much love for this, darling. ♥ hugs hugs hugs hugs ♥

jkhgaljghgh YOU, YOU MAKE ME SO HAPPY, COMMENTS LIKE THIS, I WANT TO PRINT IT OUT AND PUT IT UP ON THE WALL. <3<3<3

Seriously, though. Part of my head canon has always been that I want to see them doing what they want to do for a change, even if it's just for this brief snippet of time. Because I can see how tired Harry must be of it all, the war, the responsibility -- the man died, ffs. That's got to take some time to get over. Not to mention understanding Dumbledore's manipulation -- he gets why Dumbledore did it, but that doesn't mean he forgives him, not entirely, even if it's just a furtive pain he shares with no one. And I want to see him, and the others, take the time to get over it. And this would be part of it, in my mind.

OH GOD, I HAVE THIS IDEA. IT'S A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE IDEA, and you are an awful enabler and if I tell it you you are going to go nuts, but. Okay. Since it's you. I have this idea for a story, and I want it to be a case fic, but to have Harry and Draco's evolving relationship at its centre. I want Draco to be the investigator, and Harry to just be there, silently supportive, always giving him shit but never letting him down, standing with him when it counts, and once the case is over I want Draco sort of awkward and uncertain (because ~feelings, wtf), sort of saying goodbye, and Harry going with it, and then Draco wakes up in the middle of the night three or four days later with this crystal clear knowledge that he's a berk, and jumping out of bed and rushing over to Harry's house and akgfjghljhgdfh HAPPY ENDINGS ALL ROUND.

...I've finally gone round the twist, haven't I. ANYWAY THE POINT OF THIS COMMENT IS THAT I LOVE YOU AND YOU ARE WONDERFUL and I am beyond happy to have given you something that fills you with so much joy. <3<3<3

Oh, god, I want that case fic so bad. I imagine it in a tight Draco POV, and because he doesn't think he's the kind of person whom someone like Harry could ever really love, he manages to misinterpret or discount all of Harry's supportiveness and being there for him as not signifying anything special. And YES then he has a moment of clarity and goes to poor, longing!Harry's house and all the pent up FEEEEEEELLLLLLINGS are so fireworky and there's a happy ever after. Oh, yes, so much love for that idea. *happy sigh*

IDK why, I mean, I've not had an H/D idea for so long, and now I can't stop thinking about it. I'm pretty damn sure this will come to exist at some point in the near future. /sigh

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Over to you, folks!

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Burning Bright, 1/3

Burning Bright, 2/3

Burning Bright, 3/3

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H/D case fic

Re: H/D case fic