reenka | ~~Ficlet. Gifts. Draco-centric semi-smutty humor type stuff.

Some people might say I'm being hypocritical by posting this bit of semi-fluff-- I just like to think of it as being... er... refreshingly multi-faceted. Anyway, ahahah, there was this post about how/why would canon!Draco say 'I love you', and whether he might say it more easily just to get stuff from people 'cause he's a brat. Heh.

So of course I couldn't resist. Especially 'cause presently I'm working on a long-ass dark!Draco fic, and I think I needed a break. I'm one of those people who have severe issues writing Draco saying that-- ever-- to anyone-- so it was a challenge, imagining how Draco would actually say that casually and remain in character. This bit of silliness resulted.

Those who do actually have a serious thing about er... non-angsty things should probably... er... stay away. Anyway, this isn't fluff, per se. Maybe. That is my story and I'm sticking to it!!1 ~~Damn all you temptresses, whittling away at my resolve.~~

Disclaimer: Draco's ass is so not mine. But then, I'm not Harry Potter.

Author's Note: this grew from a discussion on whether & how canon!Draco would say those three happy little words.

- gifts -

"You don't want to be a bad boy, do you, Draco Lucius Malfoy?"

Little Draco sat mutinously with his hands folded in his lap, glaring at his mum when he thought she wasn't looking. How was he supposed to know what she wanted? It was his shiny box of candy now, wasn't it? He'd already said thank you.

Narcissa kneeled before him, brows furrowed forbiddingly. Draco wasn't worried, of course, because earlier that day mummy told daddy that her baby deserved the very best. Daddy had been upset, but mum stood her ground, and now Draco could have candy any time he liked.

"What do you tell mummy now?" she said sternly.

"When one gets a nice surprise, one says thank you," Draco recited, starting to squirm. "Can I go now?"

His mum took Draco's fingers firmly in her own, forcing Draco to look at her, though he had to try hard not to flinch at her determined expression. That always meant bad news. "Don't you think your mother would like something else for her troubles? A woman needs to be pampered, Draco. You'd do well to learn that now, before the bad habits set in."

Draco's eyes grew wider and wider as she spoke, until he squeaked in barely-stifled confusion. "I-- I know how to please a woman," Draco said finally, sitting up straighter on the small wooden chair. "Dad told me that--"

"That's all right for tonight, though," Narcissa whispered sweetly, trailing the back of a soft, powder-scented hand across Draco's cheek. Inevitably, Draco sneezed.

"When a proper pureblood wizard wants to say thank you to a well-bred witch, he kisses her cheek and says the right words. Do you know what the right words are, Draco?" Draco shook his head quickly. "The right words are 'I love you', Draco."

"I love you too, mum," Draco muttered, the tips of his ears starting to burn. That was a bit of trouble to go to for some chocolate, but his mother knew best, he supposed. "Now can I go?"

"I suppose we have time," Narcissa said softly, smiling as she rose. "You should continue to practice, however."

After she'd left, Draco stared at his chocolates in barely-disguised resentment. 'Brilliant,' he thought. 'Something else to be the best at.' He did smile a bit when he ate the first piece of chocolate, however. The trick, he knew, was to keep his eyes on the prize.

--

Draco was fourteen and royally pissed. As usual, he was sharing the booty with the only non-plebian company that remained available for miles and miles.

Pansy was wearing a tiny skirt that barely covered her arse, and was currently lounging comfortably on top of Draco's premier Slytherin wool blanket. Draco was getting lost in thoughts of how the pattern of Pansy's green thong rather matched the blanket, stifling a series of giggles from his brilliant revelation.

"Do you fancy me?" Pansy whispered, her hand on Draco's arm. She smelled of honey-lemon and her new flyaway curls tickled Draco's cheek. He fought the urge to sneeze while he pondered this question, looking at Pansy's wide, falsely innocent eyes. Her mascara was never runny. Parkinson was a true Pureblood witch of the highest caliber.

Draco laid a casual hand on her firm little arse, squeezing softly. "You're completely pissed, you do realize?" Draco drawled, eyes crossing slightly as Pansy wiggled.

"But-- darling!" Pansy squealed. "I still need to know!" She pushed another grape into his mouth, and Draco swallowed thoughtfully. "Mmmm." He loved grapes.

"That's what you said yesterday," Draco pouted, running a lazy finger up the seam of her knickers. "And the day before. And the day before. And I -know- you're not bleeding, so either piss off or think of something more original. Merlin." His fingers didn't quit their work, of course; Draco merely felt he had to set limits as to what should be considered acceptable amounts of bribery.

He'd always considered Parkinson a sensible enough bird, but apparently every female went around the bend when she'd finally gotten her monthlies, no matter if they held Draco's favor or not.

Draco pursed his lips and winced as Parkinson began to flutter her eyelashes. One more glass and she'd be sprawled across his lap; not that she wasn't already sprawled half an inch away. "Maybe."

Pansy laid her head on Draco's shoulder coyly, sighing like she'd just aged before her time. "You are so cruel to your mistress, Lord Malfoy. I fear I shall have to have a cry soon."

Draco snorted. "You do that." A finger slipped under the flimsy green barrier, teasing at Pansy's 'feminine gifts'. As if on cue, Pansy squealed and relaxed even further. She was his to take. It was a nice feeling, which Draco was in no hurry to rush through right at the moment. Perhaps another glass first.

"So you love me?" she whispered against his neck, nipping slightly. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," Draco said dutifully, rolling his eyes. "Shag now?"

"That's my baby," she mumbled. "After an itty-bitty nap, lover. I--" she hiccoughed-- "need my beauty rest, you know."

"Hey! No drooling before a shag, Parkinson!" he sputtered. "Oi!" But Pansy was already out cold. "Women," he sighed, flipping onto his back. "Always leaving a bloke to take care of things."

--

When Potter sprawled across him, face buried in the crook of Draco's shoulder and his leg flung over Draco's thighs, Draco began to feel rather used. "So this is what I get," he grumbled. "Figures." Potter seemed to purr in his sleep, he noticed without much surprise. "Oi. Potter!" He shook the other's shoulder roughly, but to no effect. "Sex now! Wake up, you fuckwit! It's almost dawn!"

Potter snored, burrowing tighter against him. He really was a menace-- taking up all of Draco's space and only shagging him when he felt like it, whenever he was both awake and not in a bite-Draco's-head-off kind of mood. Which happened more often than one would think, though the dilemma remained: why in the world did Draco put up with this rubbish?

He was rocking against Draco in his sleep and humming something that sounded like a nursery rhyme tune. His limbs started to twitch beyond Draco's control, and he shifted to achieve better friction. Nothing wrong with a free lunch, was there?

Draco was proud of his skills with his mouth: it was warm and wet and wide and there was always just the right amount of suction coupled with a spot of tongue action. Nothing too extreme; no one was going to get spoiled but him, but he could be generous if the mood struck him.

Potter woke up rather quickly, even considering. Besides cock-sucking, he was also talented at screaming. "Aaaaahhh-- Draco-- w-whhaaaahh-- fuckyes!" And sometimes he caught on quicker than expected.

Draco decided to take the whole thing as a compliment. "Awake yet?" he muttered around his mouthful, releasing the twitching cock apparently seconds from release (if Potter's yell of "put it back!" was any sign). "Good. Now give it to me."

On his fours in front of Potter should've felt like some sort of horridly extravagant punishment, but given the way that Potter was the one mewling and whimpering and carrying on, Draco supposed it was an okay trade. He had a well-used pillow for any particular noise emergencies, but otherwise he could listen to the symphony of Potter's utter abjection.

No normal person could be blamed for carrying on a tiny bit when they were being brought off so splendidly, could they? If Potter was a proper wizard at anything (and it wasn't much), apparently it was sex; even Draco was willing to admit he had some small amount of skill of some sort. If nothing else, Draco had always been able to appreciate proper quality in things.

Draco lost the plot a bit around the time Potter bit the particular spot on his shoulder and growled, picking up speed. He may or may not have screamed something which resembled, "Oh fuck-- H-Har-- yeah-- f-fuuuck-- loveyou-- oh yeah-- harder-- faster-- do it! Fuck! P-potter! GOD I-- LOVE YOU! FUCK ME!!"

He probably didn't, though. There was a lot of noise, and Potter was panting like a steam-train, and yelling things like, "Oh yeah, you're my fucking bitch, Malfoy!" If Draco was listening closely at times like these, he'd have to kill Potter before he even got off, which would have been pretty disappointing. Therefore, sex was a bit of a listen-free zone, he figured.

As usual, Potter collapsed on top of him, all sweaty and disgusting, and proceeded to torment him. "I knew you loved me," he said. "Feel free to say it again, Malfoy."

Draco froze, toes tingling with something that might have been panic if Potter wasn't playing with him. Potter was always playing with him.

Draco was a Proper Wizard in every way, and as such, he didn't make untoward noises or soppy declarations muffled by his pillow. Draco had always known Potter was a Feckless Git who'd say anything to curry favor, but this was almost impressive. And more than a little insulting; Draco was going to address that aspect when he was less sleepy.

"I said no such thing," he hissed, nibbling resentfully at Potter's nipple to help drive his point home. "You were hallucinating. As usual, I might add."

Potter sniggered darkly, and Draco would have done something Drastic and Final, but Potter's fingers were tangled in Draco's hair at the moment, and that would've pulled rather nastily.

"You're an oaf and a bloody awful liar, Scarhead," he huffed. "I haven't said anything of the sort to anyone my whole life. Or don't you think I would have noticed by now?"

"I love you too, by the way," Potter mouthed against his hair, doubtlessly wetting it with germ-ridden Gryffindor spit.

"And stop petting my bloody hair!"

"When you stop bloody purring, sure."

Completely scandalized, Draco jolted upright, wincing as all the blood tried to rush back to his head with limited success. "Bugger! This is all your fault!"

"I was awake, you know," Potter snickered. "You're such a silly sod sometimes, Draco. Really, I mean... who hums nursery rhymes in their sleep?"

Draco would've cuffed him on the head, but his arms were tired. Instead, he fell back down, sprawling on his back angled pointedly away from Potter's vile sweaty body.

"I hate you," he declared to the ceiling, frowning murderously. Potter said nothing, so Draco crossed his arms and glared harder. "Well?" he demanded.

Potter laughed, the evil git, and proceeded to kiss his cheek. "You know just what to say to a bloke."

"Bloody right I do," Draco said. "But you're mad if you think I'm thanking you for-- stuff."
~~