#allure writes

Written for @drarrymicrofic weekly prompt "Expect" | 265 words | Summer bingo squares: dialogue-only, mpreg, omegaverse, Azkaban, pureblood culture, rated G

"I don't know what more you want from me, mother." "To do your duty, as all Pureblood heirs must." "And haven't I done just that? Landed the perfect Alpha and gotten him to impregnate me—" "If you think the Potter boy—" "Lucius, please. Let me handle this. Draco, your father and I are grateful. Your union with Harry Potter will do wonders for regaining our rightful place in society, regardless of our personal opinions on his suitability as your mate." "And I suppose it doesn't even matter to you that he makes me happy?" "Happiness is a luxury not every Omega can expect. That you've found it despite the odds, well, as your mother of course that matters." "How could he possibly make you happy? That half-blood knows nothing of our ways." "Unbelievable! You'd both still be in Azkaban if it weren't for Harry. As you both enjoy your own luxuries, I hope you remember it's his mercy that allows you to have even a semblance of the life you think you're owed." "Draco, darling—" "I can't stay and listen to him, mother. I won't. I'm leaving." "Back to that muggle flat, no fit place for my son—" "Lucius, stop it, please. Draco, don't go. Bopsi has made a splendid lunch, and I wanted to show you the orchids that bloomed this morning." "I can't. If you want to be a part of your grandchild's life, I suggest you find a way to let go of this outdated bigotry. We're not raising him like this. When you're ready to change, you know where to find me."

Read on AO3

Tags: Cottage Fic, POV Ilya Rozanov, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Body Worship, Shane Hollander's stretch marks get the reverence they deserve

Summary:

The stretch marks hadn't been there the first time Ilya had seen him naked.

@drarrymicrofic prompt “overdrive” | 494 words | thx 4 the vibe check @the-forbidden-forest and mab_di

Harry’d been wanting to invite Draco over to watch Merlin ever since he'd first overheard him talking about the show at pub night.

"The homoerotic subtext is off the charts," Draco had said in his posh drawl.

Harry privately agreed, but he hadn't come out yet, other than to Ron and Hermione, of course — and to Ginny during their breakup.

He wasn't ready to discuss the homoerotic tension in a BBC family show in public.

He definitely wanted to talk to Draco about it, though.

Draco — who was very out and proud. Who had grown out of his pointy schoolboy looks and into his long limbs. Who now resembled a fucking European fashion model.

He was clearly out of Harry's league, but perhaps they could become something more than just carefully friendly.

Perhaps they could become friends.

Hermione and Ron had been very accepting, but he longed for a gay mate. Someone to go out with, once he was ready. Maybe even advice on how to come out.

He could certainly use a dose of Draco's self confidence, which he had in spades.

Harry finally mustered enough courage to invite him over for the series one finale.

"Can I get you anything?" Harry asked as he showed Draco to Grimmauld's sitting room, where he had a cosy sofa facing the television set.

"White wine? Sauvignon Blanc, if you have it," Draco said as he folded one long leg over the other.

"Er, I've got beer and firewhisky," Harry said. "Sorry."

"Tea then."

Harry put the kettle on, and they settled down to watch.

—

Harry felt Draco's hand on his forearm like a brand as he gripped it during the fight scene.

"Salazar," he said as the credits rolled. "I really thought Merlin was going to tell Arthur there."

"Same. He should've."

"They also should have kissed."

"Definitely." Harry swallowed. He really wanted to kiss Draco.

"Oh, you think so?"

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, they so obviously want each other."

Draco gazed back, his grey eyes bright.

"What about you, Potter? I've noticed you haven't dated at all since you and Ginevra split."

Harry took a deep breath and gathered more courage. He defeated the most powerful wizard of their age at seventeen. He could tell a boy that he liked him.

But he'd always been better with actions than with words.

Harry leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Draco's.

God. They were as soft as they looked. Draco gasped in surprise, his mouth opening under Harry's.

And then Draco must have overcome his shock because his slender fingers slipped into Harry's hair, gripping the back of his head.

He angled it how he apparently wanted it and took over the kiss. Deft tongue in Harry's mouth. A satisfied groan in the back of his throat.

When they broke apart, Harry's heart began to pound, going into overdrive. Fuck it.

@merthurmicrofic prompts "Longing" and "Shirt" | Excerpt 441 words & Mature | Full Microfic 700 words & Explicit (second half only on AO3)

Merlin rises with the sun, making his way to the prince’s chambers. He urges Arthur out of bed — with prodding, then jibes, and finally, threats — ignoring the longing to crawl beneath the blankets and curl around him instead. Merlin has become well-practiced at keeping his yearning close to his heart — just like the other secret he carries. He resolutely does not stare as Arthur pulls off his nightshirt, baring a tantalizing expanse of smooth skin over well-built muscle. Averting his eyes as he assists Arthur with his clothing, Merlin instead focuses on the grounding feel of Arthur's grip on his shoulder, the clink of armour and mail and sword. But later, when Arthur is otherwise engaged, Merlin is helpless to stop himself from watching — — as Arthur performs a series of tests with his men, stabbing and twirling, a glorious display of manhood and steel under the burning summer sun. — as Arthur lounges at the dinner table chatting with Morgana, relaxed and easy while he sips from the cup Merlin brings; throat working as he swallows a mouthful of wine. — as Arthur lowers himself into the tub of water Merlin's heated for him — gifting Merlin with a perfect view of his powerful thighs, shapely arse, and narrow hips as they sink inch-by-inch to disappear beneath the steaming surface. Throughout it all, Merlin struggles to tamp down the flames of his desire.  It does not help when Arthur calls him to wash his back, and all that separates Merlin's hand from touching Arthur's wet, sleek skin is the small square of flannel. Merlin recites the Latin names of common herbs and flowers to himself while he runs the cloth over the proud breadth of Arthur's strong, muscular shoulders. He silently counts backwards from one hundred when Arthur stands later, flushed rosy and sweet smelling from the warm, soapy water. Merlin's eyes track the passage of said water as it sluices down Arthur's sculpted chest — and lower still — until he has to make himself look away once more. And then, a clean nightshirt goes over the damp head, and Arthur is supine in his bed, where Merlin found him as the day began.  And — once again — Merlin finds himself avoiding the temptation of sliding in beside him. To lie together, two bodies tangled up as one in the dark. "Was there anything else you require tonight?" he asks, pleased his voice does not waver; gives away nothing of the quickened tempo of his heart. "That will be all, Merlin." Arthur turns to settle into his pillows, granting one more glimpse of that broad, strong back, and Merlin escapes with the scraps of his sanity.

Harry never expected to see the familiar head of white-blonde hair, shining like a beacon under the black lights of his favourite gay club. He never expected to see this much of him, full stop. It figures that even Malfoy's pants would be fancy, posh prat that he is. A tiny, barely-there pair—the black silk leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Harry glances down at his own plain boxer briefs. He'd been looking forward to this men's underwear party for weeks, but hadn't given any thought to what he'd wear. Now, he wonders if he should have gone with something sexier—not that he owns anything like that. Mouth dry, Harry watches Malfoy dance for only another moment before he's pressing through the sea of writhing bodies. Their eyes meet, sending an electric shock right to Harry's gut. Malfoy's gaze travels the length of Harry's torso, stopping at his pants, a wicked grin curving his mouth. Then Harry's propelled forward by the jostling crowd, and suddenly he's in Malfoy's arms—splayed right up against all that sweat-sleek skin. Malfoy's hands slide to his arse, pulling Harry in as he rolls his hips—the slow grind perfect. Filthy. Mouth against his ear, Harry gasps, "Wanna get out of here?" Strong fingers tighten on his backside and then he's sucked into the telltale lurch of apparition—club full of muggles be damned.

@sits-bound surprised me with an incredible little fan bind of my recent @hd-erised fic City of Light (gift for @mars-bar81). It’s so perfect! Look how shiny and sparkly the cover is! Look at the perfect font and the pink chapter headers! Look at the little Eiffel Tower page breaks!! Thank you so much, sweet friend. I will treasure this always.

Malfoy smirks. "Good boy." Harry ignores the fluttering of his pulse at that. "Fuck you." Malfoy's smirk widens. "You wish." "Slander," Harry gulps, as Malfoy steps into his space. He can smell the earthy notes of Malfoy's cologne as he leans in. "Is it?" Malfoy asks, voice low, dangerous. Seductive.

My dear friend @sweatersinthesummer made me a prezzie for my birthday month! She recorded one of my fave Drarry oneshots, something I wrote for my pal @kamaela. Thank you sissy! I love it.