Word Count: 961
Summary: Neville discovers a reason to like Draco.
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fic.
Author's Note: And here's another spring prompt answered: Neville + Draco and wall!sex!
Taut Trouser Syndrome—this is what Neville called the condition caused by Malfoy's coming 'round. It was mortifying, confusing, even, because Malfoy'd been coming 'round a lot of late. Neville had never had erotic thoughts about men before, not really, not about one man all the sodding time, at least, and he didn't really understand why Malfoy should be the focus of such thoughts. He hated Malfoy, didn't he? Adjusting himself surreptitiously, Neville stood and glared at his too-frequent customer.
"—five of those bushes, as well as—what? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I can't think why you're here, is all. Surely you've a gardener in residence?"
"I'm not asking you to garden. I'm here for plants. Mother's rather particular about her—"
"Plants, as well as her reputation, and doing business with a . . . a war hero makes good sense, I suppose—but why come, yourself? Why not send a house-elf?"
"If Malfoy business isn't good enough for you, Longbottom, I'll just take myself off."
Something about the "take" and "off" in Malfoy's sentence made Neville's mind blank; he stood still, unable to think of anything to say as unwelcome, intriguing images of Malfoy sprang to mind.
"Fine, then," Draco eventually snapped, turning to leave.
"Wait! I didn't say that you should leave."
"Well, you're certainly acting as though you want me to."
"I do," Neville said, before he could stop himself.
"Then why'd you tell me that—"
"Want you. Er, want you to . . . stay, that is."
Malfoy's eyes glittered in a calculating way in time with the curving of one corner of his mouth. "Longbottom?"
"When you say that you want me to stay, how, exactly, do you want me?"
Neville stopped breathing as Malfoy stopped speaking—about an inch from his face. Taut Trouser Syndrome had never been so bad.
"It's like that, is it?" Malfoy asked, one hand brushing lightly against Neville's erection. "I wasn't certain until now," he continued, his fingers suddenly playing over the placket of Neville's trousers, "and it's good to be certain."
Neville gasped for breath and more of Malfoy's tongue as he found it caressing his own; it didn't take long before they were wrapped around each other and struggling on the floor to tear at each other's clothing. Malfoy, being a "proper" wizard, wasn't wearing anything under his robes; Neville's denims were more difficult to deal with, but soon enough, they were off, and Neville and Malfoy were nude and fisting each other's cocks.
Malfoy laughed and moved to lick up all traces of Neville's orgasm, knocking away Neville's hand. "Later. I want . . . taste good. Later, I said!"
"What! What are you doing?" demanded Neville, when in addition to Malfoy's tongue on his prick, he felt the other man's thumb press into his arse.
"Stand up and . . . I'll show you," Malfoy told him. "Wall."
Shakily, and too gobsmacked to do anything other than comply, Neville rose and leant against the wall on which his gardening tools hung, sucking in a deep breath as Malfoy spread the cheeks of his arse and began to lick in between them.
"Oh! That's . . . fuck."
"You want more permission that this?" Neville asked, waggling his arse.
"Just want to be . . . to know . . . ."
Malfoy's words trailed off as the air charged; Neville could tell he'd cast a silent spell when his arse suddenly felt slick and open. "Merlin. You're, uh, you're really going to fuck me."
Malfoy's response was the blunt pressure of his cock against Neville's arse.
"I know. I'll go slow, slowly," Malfoy whispered, his voice trembling.
Once Neville felt himself open to the slick length of Malfoy's cock, he forgot all about his own nerves and demanded, "Move! I want to feel you mo—"
"You're so . . . bloody tight, so fucking perfect," Malfoy told him, beginning to speed his thrusts.
Neville's prick twitched, and he pushed back to meet Malfoy, again and again and again and then they were both exclaiming, with everything going sticky-hot and tinglingly bright for Neville. As the explosion of colour faded beneath his clenched eyelids, he turned and caught Malfoy up in an embrace, kissing him soundly as they sunk back down to the earthen floor of his greenhouse. Somehow, they ended up in a bit of a cuddle, which was absurd—because this was Malfoy—but Neville didn't care, and he wouldn't let go.
Not with Malfoy shaking the way he was, which was, he thought, rather gratifying.
About the time Neville's muscles were beginning to stiffen, Malfoy murmured, "That's why."
"That's why, er, this," Malfoy said, snuggling into Neville's side more deeply as if in emphasis, "is why I don't send a house-elf. And . . . I thought, well, I wasn't certain if—"
"I wanted you?"
"If you were even gay. Everyone wants me. I'm a Malfoy."
"You're an idiot, Draco," Neville said, figuring it was all right to resort to first names under the circumstances and tightening his grip on Draco's shoulders so that he wouldn't pull away. "We could have been doing this for months."
"Do you really mean that?"
Neville adjusted his position so that he could see Draco's eyes. "Yeah."
And that was nice, too, the touch of . . . well, of whatever it was in Draco's tone that sounded sweet and not arrogantly bastard-like. "I really mean it, but next time, I want . . . to er, to—"
"Fuck me? Hell, yes, next time. . . . When will that be?"
Neville laughed. "Bet you know a spell."
"I know loads of spells, but I don't think," Draco said, caressing Neville's half-hard prick, "that you're going to need one. Longbottom's is noted for its customer service."
Neville couldn't think of anything cheeky to say in reply, so he settled for kissing Draco again.
There was nothing of confusion in it.