FIC: Between the Slats (Harry/Draco)

[sarah-cupcake.livejournal.com]

Title: Between the Slats
Author: sarah_cupcake
Prompt Number: #76 by tabitha666
Kink Showcased: Voyeurism
Rating: Hard R?
Pairing(s): Draco/Astoria, Draco/Harry
Summary: Between the slats, hidden well within the confines and shadows of the room, he watches as passions brews. Watches as the heat builds and soars, and imagines it’s him taking place of the other.
Warnings: n/a
Word Count: 3217
Author's Notes: Apologies this isn’t beta’d. I switched this one up a bit, made a few teensy-weensy adjustments. I do feel I must mention I never write Het. EVER. So this is a big thing for me. It’s not as porny (is that even a word?) as I would have liked for my first piece for the fest, but hopefully the prompter won’t mind what I’ve done and it’s still enjoyable. ;)

Is there a tag for Draco/Astoria?

　

The faint light shone through the slats of the door, all thick, solid wood. He was perched in the corner, crowded between dusty robes and shoes long forgotten, boxes empty and overturned, and scattered paper littering the floor. It was probably the one place in the room Draco Malfoy never ventured to look at, or within.

Tucked neatly into the corner of the bedroom, hidden behind the edge of a large mahogany armoire, was a sizable closet, at best. Your eye wasn’t trained to seek it out when you entered the large doors of the room, and you certainly would never know it was there without the knowledge of it being pointed out to you, or the off chance of spotting a petite house elf dusting in between the slats to keep the wood pristine.

Harry had only stumbled across it after having experienced the horrific result of snooping when unwanted. Or when unknown.

He pressed himself closer to the wall, glancing disgruntled at the heavy wool cloak that flapped against his shoulder, dust stirring again from movement in the confined space.

He could just make out the two figures in the center of the bed; light bright enough in the room from the open curtains draped around the balcony door. Malfoy lounged back against the dozen pillows propped up against an intricately designed headboard, his pristine wife’s hips moving in a lazy roll overtop his own.

Not a single hand touched her, instead clenched within the sheets beside his thighs. There was no grasp on her hip or hand in her hair, but Harry could see it clearly, written all over Malfoy’s face. His utter attention was on her.

Harry leaned further into the door of the closet, pressing his nose against the below slat as he gazed out through the one above. He had a better view, could see them more clearly without having the obstruction of trying to gaze between two or more of the slats. He thanked God he’d brought his Invisibility cloak as a precaution, unsure of whether or not Malfoy would enjoy stumbling home to find Harry Potter snooping through the belongings of his office, and then, for unknown reasons, his bedroom.

Harry startled as Astoria let out a low moan, the movement of her hips picking up slightly, her hands reaching up to tug at her hair.

“Draco…” It was sinful, the sound of her voice. The way Malfoy arched into her was fluid, his hips lifting off the bed and his eyes closing tightly.

Harry felt the heat in his groin, the twitch of his cock as Malfoy lifted his hips again, setting his own slow and impeccable rhythm to counteract his blushing new brides.

“Draco.”

“Fuck.” Malfoy’s voice was low and strained, nothing like Harry had ever heard before, and he clenched his own eyes closed, unthinking. The twitch that had occurred in his cock was turning into a steady throb and he reached a hand down slowly, cramped as he were, to rub at the front of his jeans.

He kept his eyes closed as he listened to the couples breathing pick up, Astoria’s voice raising, and then the clear distinction of rustling sheets and a startled gasp. Harry could only imagine what Astoria must look like, legs spread wide as Malfoy pushed back into her at his own pace now, but he didn’t dare look.

Harry bit his lip hard, hand cupping himself as he tried to forget of about the activity occurring just outside the closet door and remember why it was he was even here.

* * *

The truce between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy was tentative at best. Held together by bits of frayed string and scotch tape, leaving several gaping holes. The widest being trust never once earned or accepted. It’s what ultimately created doubt and curiosity, and utmost fear in Harry, who felt he had a right to know of Malfoy’s every movement. Much like sixth year. His whereabouts, his doings, who he was with or spoken to; Harry felt an odd quench to know it all.

A war over, and a dark wizard conquered, Harry still felt little ease, oddly enough. With a sense of peace restored it should have been smooth sailing for the one still often pegged as the wizarding worlds Boy Hero. Instead, working his way up the chain of Auror, he’d only been left feeling even more restricted, even more on edge; even wiser to the ways of old liars. And Malfoy seemed to still hold a bag of secrets in his back pocket.

That was how Harry found himself sneaking watchful glances at Malfoy when wandering through the Ministry’s halls. How he’d begun agreeing to meetings, and social gatherings Malfoy would be making an appearance at. How he’d taken to tea in the boardroom with him, while everyone else chose to eat their lunch at their respective desks.

He’d even taken up the few, and slightly uncomfortable offers, for dinner at the Manor.

That was how he’d discovered the Manors Apparition stations, the boundaries set out around the large home, and just what rooms were and weren’t off limits.

He’d found it all out, gotten cocky cause he still couldn’t shake the thought of Malfoy hiding something, and snuck into the Manor while the house elves prepared a large meal down in the kitchen. What he was looking for, he’d no idea and his cockiness could only get him so far before he was searching frantically in the one room he still couldn’t understand why he’d chosen to go in, trying to find a place, any place, to hide.

It had been there, the closet tucked away in the corner.

* * *

The first time Harry had watched Draco and Astoria had initially been shocking, arousal setting in after, his bodies natural response to viewing two people having sex. He’d been almost dumbfounded when he heard their voices just outside the bedroom door, a laugh and then a knock against the wood before Harry had hid himself away just as Draco pushed through the door with his wife’s lips sealed to his own.

The second time he’d snuck back into the Manor, Draco had his wife against the opposite wall of the closet, a leg thrown over his shoulder while the other hung precariously around his hip. He’d gripped her waist and thigh hard, his face buried in her neck while she screamed and cried and thrashed about. Harry could’ve only hoped they’d used silencing spells to ward off the room, while he jerked his cock to the rapid pace of Malfoys thrusts. He’d tried not to think about his reasons for going back later that night, why he’d hid away in the closet and gotten off to the pair.

The reason became abundantly clear after three more trips to the Malfoy Manor, each ending with a mutual orgasm between Harry, and Draco and his wife.

Watching the two, the contrast was far greater than what he assumed Ginny and himself had looked like. Astoria’s long black hair fell down her back, highlighted by the moon with an eerie glow, her eyes always as blue as sea, were so vast and expanse compared to Malfoy’s cold, and confined slate. They were always searching while Malfoy’s were always steady and locked, focused on the now and the task he was partaking in.

Harry hadn’t found it all that shocking to know that the couple didn’t cuddle after sex, instead rolling to their respective sides of the overly large bed. He did find it surprising though to hear Malfoy’s tender words after, the gentle kiss he always gave no matter how ruthless he’d been, and the soft stroke of his knuckles on her cheek.

Harry wondered if Malfoy’s hands were as soft as they looked, if his warm breath would make him shudder after each kiss; if his words would still be just as sweet if they were for him and not her.

Each time he snuck into the Manor to watch the couple, each time he huddled deep in the confines of the closet while Malfoy was deep inside his wife, his curiosity of taking Astoria’s place grew and grew.

Images of him replaced the ones of her when he’d think back on the events after Apparating back home. Would Malfoy’s kisses still be tender with a male, with him? Would his touch still be strong yet gentle?

What would Malfoy’s cock would feel like inside him? Would he slide down between Harry’s legs, hold them apart while he ate him out with vigour? Harry had clenched his fist tight over his mouth as he’d watched Malfoy do just so to Astoria the one night, his hand squeezing at the base of his cock in rhythmic pulses as Astoria groaned low.

The couple was always a feast to watch, the passion between them showing clearly in the bedroom. Harry had gotten off more times then he could count over the past month he’d been sneaking there then the times he’d had with Ginny. He’d hoped it was just that though, passion in the bedroom. And nothing more.

* * *

The grounds around the Manor were dark and murky when Harry got there that night, pulling the Invisibility cloak tighter around himself. He watched the door just beyond the gates wearily for a moment. He always felt that one of the Malfoy’s would hear him from inside, would fling the door wide open and cast an Unforgivable before Harry had even gotten a chance. He hoped it was a fairly irrational thought for these days.

He eyed the gate, wondering if anyone had ever caught on to the fact that he had learned how to slip in and out without so much as making a sound, as he’d charmed the gates to open the fraction he needed to slip inside, no creaking of iron or groaning of hinges.

The Malfoy’s really needed to come up with better wards for security, unless they’d just given up care.

Harry walked cautiously towards the side of the large Manor, the grass moist beneath his feet. He watched with careful eyes, glancing back every now and again to check that no one had appeared behind him. That no one was coming or leaving the Manor, or walking about on the grounds.

He made his way towards the large ivy covered brick wall, the swirl of the thick green vines wrapping around a dark grey lattice covered beneath it. The lattice conveniently went all the way up to Malfoy’s bedroom balcony, and then beyond. Harry had been using this way of sneaking in and out of the Manor now, as Malfoy often left the French doors open for the night breeze or unlocked during the day, with the curtains drawn closed.

Climbing the lattice wasn’t Harry’s favourite part in his evenings. It was usually tricky, with him losing his grip often enough to contemplate maybe just heading back home. But he was always determined enough to keep going and he thanked Gryffindor for that.

Sliding his hands in between the vines, he gripped at the wooden slats and hoisted himself up, wedging each foot somewhere on a sturdy enough strip of wood to hold his weight as reached for a higher grip.

He’d made it halfway up before he’d heard it, noise coming from the bedroom. He paused.

He’d had this down to a routine, knew exactly what times Malfoy and his wife would waltz into their bedroom before he’d strip her down and take her. Harry made sure he was always there ahead of time, always tucked away neatly in the closet with just enough time before they’d come in and the evening would ensue.

Perhaps he’d mistaken the time, or what the noise was wasn’t even what Harry was considering it to be.

He hoisted himself over the concrete ledge of the balcony once he’d reached the top, standing back up to his full height. He made to take a step towards the door and jolted in place.

Astoria was at the head of the bed, her back bowed and her hands pressed against the headboard. Malfoy groaned behind her, pulling her hips back into his languid thrust. Her arms were shaking, her thighs wide and gleaming. Harry watched as Malfoy slowly withdrew, his cock glistening in the light before he pressed it back inside.

Harry held his breath. He’d seen a lot, gotten a view of things he’d consider himself lucky for getting to see, but in all the things he’d watched Malfoy do with his wife, not once had he seen him take her from behind.

“Oh Draco…” Astoria slumped low, letting out a contended sigh. Malfoy grunted and pressed himself tight to her hips, holding her as he dropped his chin down towards his chest.

Harry frowned. Had he missed it? He’d missed the whole show and only got to see the end? It wasn’t even that grand.

He wanted to groan in frustration but instead gripped his cloak tighter.

Astoria whined as Malfoy pulled out of her, a hand reaching behind to grab at his wrist.

“Shh, just relax.”

“Draco,” she mumbled.

“Shh.”

Harry watched with a dry mouth as Malfoy stood from the bed, his whipcord frame sheened lightly with sweat, his cock, now resting limp against his thigh, still shiny and wet. He had a flush high up on his chest and the bridge of his nose, the fringe of his bang matted to his forehead.

He tugged at the dark sheets on the bed, pulling them over Astoria’s hips as she nestled against the pillows, her dark her fanning out around her. He moved slowly, eyeing her, as he made his way to the end of the bed. Harry froze as he watched him reach down and lift his wand up off the floor.

Astoria made a small noise and Malfoy’s lips moved, muttering something before he returned a comforting shushing noise back to her. He pulled a pair of thin pants off the rustled blankets at the foot of the bed, sliding them over his thin hips before he made his way towards the tall armoire near the closet, a small cabinet beside it decorated with crystal glasses and tall tumblers. The glass front showcasing bottles of liquor placed inside.

"Late to be

out now, isn't it Potter?" Harry stiffened, clutching at the edges of his cloak again. Malfoy turned towards the balcony as he reached for a crystal glass on top of the cabinet. “Been here long?” He smirked.

The question was taunting in its words, haughty and overconfident, much like Malfoy most of the time.

It was the worst of luck if Malfoy had assumptions he was there, knew he was there.

“You know, this silly hiding game of your’s has grown quite wearisome. What’s it been Harry, a few weeks? Few months perhaps? I try not to pay too much attention to you and your fumbling abouts.” Malfoy leaned back against the edge of the cabinet, still holding an empty glass. His eyes were clear and bare, a knowing sort of looking beginning to furrow his brows.

“Come, come now.” He turned back around, leaning down to open the cabinet and pull out a glass container filled with a rich coloured liquid. The door clicked shut softly as he closed it and Harry watched as Malfoy uncapped the large drink, placing the intricate topped down before pouring the liquid into his glass. It looked like brandy, and Harry wondered if Malfoy was aware of that fact that he partaking in a common Muggle alcoholic beverage.

“Care for a drink?” Harry didn’t say anything. He wondered if he didn’t say anything, make any sudden or noisy movements, if Malfoy would just give up and assume he’d gone mad."

So what is it exactly, that drives you to spend your evenings here, hm? Leaving your precious Weasley at home while you watch me fuck my wife night after night." Harry swallowed.

“That’s not very nice you know.”

He wasn’t going to bother to correct Malfoy, tell him that he and Ginny parted ways long ago and that Malfoy very well knew it. It’d made front page of the Prophet for near three weeks, and people still talked about it in hushed voices when he’d go in to Hogs Head Pub for a drink."

So is it the overall look, Potter? That’s what get you hot and bothered? Is she everything you want that the redhead can't give you?” Malfoy moved towards the balcony, his glass tipping to the side gently.

“Come, come now. Let’s not hide.” He whispered.

Harry stood still as Malfoy moved to stand in front of him, eyes never leaving the spot he seemed so sure Harry was in. And he was. It was exactly like having Malfoy look him dead in the eye, and it was unnerving, this much attention. The hair on the back of his neck stood and he licked his lips.

He tugged down at the cloak softly, and it slid right over him, the material falling gently to pool around his feet but for the bit he still held on to. He closed his eyes tight at the notion of giving himself up. And before he’d really have to look Malfoy in the eye, no invisible fabric still hiding him from the world, no pretending.

“Ah.” Malfoy sighed, pleased. “There we are.”

Harry’s knuckles were turning white, he was sure, as he held the cloak hard still in his hands.

“Does the Weaslette know that you can't stand the comfort of your own warm bed. That you aspire to be in mine?” Harry shook his head slowly.

“You’ve still not answered my first question, you know. What is it that does it for you? Is it my wife?” Malfoy leaned in close, his breath gusting hotly over the skin of Harry’s neck as his lips brushed his ear. "Or is it me?"

Harry tensed, back straightening.

"Ah, tsk tsk. That’s a bit surprising, I have to admit Potter. Are you in need of taking place of a one lucky Mrs. Malfoy? You must be so ashamed."

Harry opened his mouth, glaring at Malfoy.

"You know,

Astoria is a bit shy. It'd take a hard bargain to convince her to let you stay and watch. And honestly I can't see her fancying the thought of sharing me anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t want to share you.” Harry bit back. It was the first thing he’d said to Malfoy, and at his widening eye, he definitely regretted it."

That sounds awfully possessive.”

“Please.” Harry glanced at Astoria still lying nestled under the covers.

“Don’t worry, she’s out cold for as long as I want her to be.” Malfoy said offhandedly, not even looking back over his shoulder in the direction Harry was staring, at his sleeping wife.

He lifted the glass of brandy to his lips finally, taking a sip before dropping it back down. His bottom lip was glistening and Harry wanted to lean forward and lick it.

“She might not be convinced, but if your argument’s plausible, Potter, I might be willing to share a secret with you.”

Fin