@drarrymicrofic | words: 300 | prompt: modesty | beta: @narrativenicole
Living in the same neighbourhood as Potter means terrible things for Draco’s blood pressure. On a trip out for his daily latte, he is – quite literally – exposed to Potter on a run.
Potter spots him, waves, and jogs over. “Hi, Malfoy.” He looks oddly happy to see Draco as he continues to jog in place like the fit tosser he is.
Unbidden, Draco’s gaze darts down to the minuscule fabric covering Potter’s thick thighs (there’s hair and contoured muscles), and the fucking bulge. Cheeks heating rapidly, Draco forces himself to meet Potter’s eyes.
"Potter, please preserve your modesty. It’s unseemly."
Harry blinks, looking down. "What the bloody hell are you on about?"
Draco wants to screech, but he has some decorum remaining.
Maybe.
...Probably.
Leaning closer so none of the wandering Muggles on the pavement will hear, he whisper-screeches, "It's scandalous."
Finally, Potter stops jogging and looks down at his shorts again, surveying them. “They’re running shorts, Malfoy.” He shrugs those shoulders of his – also revealed by the cut-off t-shirt he’s wearing. “They’re Muggle.”
Draco’s blood pressure skyrockets further.
“They’re not fit for public consumption!”
Potter crosses his arms over his chest, and that doesn’t help anything at all. “They’re just shorts.” He chuckles, a warm, dry thing. “Since when are you the purity police? I have bumped into you on the way to those–” He smirks. “–clubs you go out to.”
“That’s–” Draco waves his arms emphatically. “That’s completely different!”
Potter studies him, tilting his head, and his eyes crease. He moves in, his sweaty, masculine smell not nearly as terrible as it should be. In Draco’s ear, he whispers, “If my shorts aren’t fit for public consumption, do you want to see them in private?”
Draco freezes, a horny sentinel in the middle of an Islington high street.
