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A ficlet for Yeaka; Neville/Draco
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Rating; NC/17 (probably an R, but just to be safe I am applying the higher rating)
Warnings: Dom Neville, Sub Draco, dirty talk, implied hand job, passing off screen mention of cross-dressing, mentions of rimming and desk sex, passing reference to Harry/Dennis Creevey in a D/S relationship
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I am just playing with them for fun, not for profit
Inspired by Yeaka’s Neville/Draco. She introduced me to this pair, and for my money is the best at righting them (or for that matter any HP or Star Trek fanfic, esp smut). This is also a ‘Thank you’ to her for writing me a delicious Harry/Dennis

Neville Longbottom is a sadistic bastard. No, that’s not right, his parents were married before he was born. He’s a sadistic fucker. That’s much more accurate, especially the fucking part. Draco’s lover/master/boyfriend takes to that like he was born to it. Draco believes he was and it is best that everyone else lets him keep those illusions or someone is likely to get hexed. Draco is not inclined to entertain the thought that someone or someones had that cock before he did; or those hands, or that mouth. Did he mention that cock? Bigger than Zabini. Hell it’s bigger than Potters and that’s saying something, and how tiny Creevey takes that night and day, Draco has no idea.
Not that he’ll ever admit to Neville that he’s seen Potter in the all together, well at least not until he want’s to rile him up. Jealous and possessive Neville is even sexier than regular Neville. Regular Neville with his slight Yorkshire accent, strong stubbly jaw, six pack, muscular arms that can pin Draco the bed, wall, dining table (he wonders if Augusta knows about that one), and many other places. All of which gets him hot and aching inside, but does nothing for his problem at the moment. Namely that his fingers are numb.

It is too damn cold to be watching a Quidditch game. He doesn’t care if the Weasel is getting trounced by his sister’s team, he’s too damn cold to care. The only reason he docilely agreed to accompany Neville to the match was because Neville promised him a treat. The last ‘treat’ had entailed a visit to a classroom at Hogwarts (Draco has no idea how Neville managed that, he though Potter was the only one the Headmistress had a soft spot for), a desk, and Draco in a skirt. He’d been dubious about the skirt until Neville lifted it up and went to work with that tongue. Merlin, Neville is talented with that as he is with his cock.

However, he has yet to get his treat and somewhere his gloves got lost along the way, leaving him with on-the-verge-of-frost-bitten hands. He’s snipe at Neville if it would do any good, and it might, but the problem with that is that Draco’s words never have any sting when it comes to his Master. Master, yes Draco is owned and fucked; or fucked so good he likes being owned, take your pick. Speaking of which, he’d very much like to go home to their nice warm bed, have Neville tie him up, and…
“Put em im me pockets.” Gods, he loves that twinge or Yorkshire.

“What, there’s some sort of Muggle handwarmer inside?” It’s possible, Neville has adapted to some Muggle ways, like denims. Not that Draco would ever complain about the last, Neville fills them out so well, near to bursting; just how Draco himself wants to feel.
“Something a bit more organic than that.” Neville replies in a low voice, the one that is just for Draco, the one that would make his students even more gobstruck over him. More than a little interested now, Draco steps back around his man, and slides his hands into both front pockets, letting out a gasp as they keep going. The linings have been removed allowing Draco to wrap his hands around hot, hard, thick flesh. And long, did he mention long?

Hand warmer indeed.

“No, if you be quiet boy, and get me off, you know what will happen.”

Oh, does he. Neville can go a good 30 minutes on the first go around, and that’s inside Draco, not counting foreplay. But on the second? Did he mention Neville was sadistically good at fucking?

“Clean those pretty fingers off for me after, real good, and then later keep my come in ye, not spilling a drop from your tight hole and I’ll have to make it so you have room for more.” That tongue, and Draco is not a bit ashamed to admit that he might be on the verge of coming in his pants at just the thought of all that.

“Can ye be good for me, Baby, and do all of that?”

Good? Oh, he’ll show Neville good. Draco leans in, breathing the scent of Neville, a mixture of firewhiskey, earth and musk, and begins to stroke using both hands. They’ll see who is quiet and who is loud.


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