Fandom: Harry Potter
Warnings: Slash, graphic sex.
Spoilers: Through Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (but very few)
Summary: Draco's reflections on sex, status, and Harry Potter.
Word Count: 225
The hands are far from elegant. Slender, true, and with a certain engaging quickness, but the nails are ragged and the fingers are tanned the colour of caramel, grown deft and common in the many hours spent on the Quidditch pitch. It is the sight, as much as the feel, of those hands raking over Draco Malfoy’s thigh that makes the pale-skinned boy gasp and roll his head back. The grip of those fingers tightens, and Draco hisses in satisfaction and gives Potter’s hair a vicious tug.
Corrupted blood is the hottest blood, Draco’s father always told him, although well out of earshot of his porcelain, pureblood mother.
And now, shuddering and sweating in the disheveled remnants of his uniform; and now, his free hand braced on the dingy stone wall; and now, as Potter’s subtle mouth slithers over him and he bruises Draco’s thighs with his tradesman’s fingers, Draco understands, and wonders briefly whether Potter feels the same way about it. Something of the delicious corruption Draco feels when rough, half-breed hands are sliding over his exquisite skin is echoed, after all, in Potter’s grim smile when he tilts his head to the side as he’s sucking off the other boy, and takes in, on the tensed forearm holding him in place, the dark smudge of a skull with a snake for a tongue.