#drarrymicrofic

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Getting Together, Literal Sleeping Together, Alpha Draco Malfoy, Omega Harry Potter

Word Count: 557

Written for the @drarrymicrofic Prompt: Tremble and on AO3!

~~

Draco's hands tremble as Harry lowers himself into his lap.

Their scents are swirling together in his room, and Draco's fighting the mating urge coming from the venom dripping from his fangs.

To claim his omega would be a fucking dream… Except Harry is not his omega, not yet anyway.

No, Harry is drunk after a bad day, and Draco told him to sleep it off.

Instead of staying in the guest room, Harry stumbled his way into Draco's room.

Now, the omega that Draco has wanted for years is sitting in his lap, arms hanging over his shoulders, brushing their noses together like it's normal.

"Potter, you're supposed to be in the guest room," his voice is cracking as he speaks, but Draco holds Harry's eye anyway.

"Wan' Alpha," Harry slurs as he dips his head and buries his nose in Draco's neck gland instead.

"Bloody— Potter, you are drunk. We'll talk about this in the morning," murmurs Draco as he brings his hands up to twist them. He lands between Harry's legs, pressing the Omega into the mattress. "Get some sleep, please, Omega."

"Okay, Alpha," Harry's pouting, but he agrees anyway.

Draco's not sure that he's ready for morning to come as he settles back on his side of the bed. Harry curls into his side immediately, and Draco's heart is practically see through as it beats out of his chest.

"Merlin help me… I'm going insane," mutters Draco as he stares down at the unconscious Omega snuggling into his throat.

Draco carefully hugs Harry back and forces his eyes closed.

Whatever happens when the sun rises, he'll deal with it, but for now… Draco' is going to force his brain, and his alpha, to shut up long enough for him to get some actual sleep.

***

Morning comes too early for Draco, especially considering the wetness trailing up his throat.

"Did a dog get in the manor again?" Draco groans as he tries, and fails, to open his eyes against the sun pouring through his window.

"Not a dog." Harry's voice has Draco's eyes flying open to find him hovering. "Glad to see you're awake, Alpha. We need to talk."

"Oh, great," Draco squeezes his eyes shut tightly to avoid looking into Harry's soft ones. "Go ahead."

"Can I kiss you?"

Draco's eyes open so quickly that there are dots as his lips part in surprise, "Huh?!"

"Can I kiss you?" Harry says it slower this time, like that was the problem in the first place.

"You— You want to kiss me?" asks Draco as his brows hike high on his face. "I mean, you can, but what the hell is happening?"

"Draco, I've been trying to court you for like a month and a half now. You didn't seem interested, then last night you—" Harry's cheeks are pink, soft under the sun's rays, but gorgeous enough to make Draco's hand lift to brush his thumb across it. "I'm in love with you, Draco Malfoy, and when you stood up for me last night? Brought me home and tried to tuck me into a different bed, I just— Tell me I'm not wrong."

"You're definitely not wrong," Draco murmurs as he leans up and slots their lips together gently.

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, Mating Bites, Alpha Draco Malfoy, Omega Harry Potter

Word Count: 44

Written for the @drarrymicrofic Prompt: Tremble and on AO3!

~~

Draco's hands tremble as Harry lowers himself into his lap.

This moment is one that he's been waiting literal ages for.

Harry's teeth pierce Draco's neck gland as Draco's fingers dig into the thick thighs bracketing his hips.

Potter always watches his hands, but never asks for what he wants.

Draco, tired of the saviour complex, and wanting to touch more than anything, asks: “Do you want my hands on you?”

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: tremble | wc: 50

Draco wasn’t sure how this had happened.

Eleven: the handshake, rejected.

Fourteen: the realisation.

Sixteen: the bathroom.

Seventeen: the manor. The battle. The trial.

Nineteen, somehow: Harry Potter in his arms, sobbing, limbs quivering, lost.

But not alone. Never again.

New prompt: tremble

(submitted by @darlingirly)

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Harry already feels filthy enough being in the Restricted Section, attempting to find books about the Hallows and why a mysterious cloaked figure calling itself Death stalks his dreams. 

“Potter.”

Fucking Malfoy.

Pansy was happy—no, elated—to finally have Draco here. Their favourite watering hole in Knockturn was swamped with its normal Friday crowd.

Somehow they’d not wound up in Azkaban. In lieu of incarceration, they were serving their time by working for the DMLE—Draco as an Auror; Pansy a forensic specialist.

Their bottle of nero d’avola arrived—a silent ode to Blaise—and Pansy opened her mouth to vent about her week working under Gryffindors, only to be cut off by Draco snarling, seemingly apropos of nothing, “Potter.”

Fuck, this again. Draco’s Harry Potter obsession flaring back to life.

Before she could redirect the conversation to the ills of Granger’s dastardly, arse-hugging pencil skirts that couldn’t possibly be Ministry-approved, Harry Potter manifested before them.

It was infuriating enough Potter had gotten fitter with age, add on his Auror robes and all of sundry were staring.

Pansy was trying to stay below the radar. Great. Soon that sodding cunt Skeeter would be here.

“Draco,” Potter said, and Draco jolted in his seat. His grey eyes owlishly wide and his mouth dropped open. His flushed cheeks rounding out the visage.

Gods, this was embarrassing.

“What do you want, Potter?” Pansy asked.

Potter, without class or decorum, grabbed Draco’s wine and glugged it down. Draco made an affronted noise.

“Potter, what the fuck—”

“Draco, Robarbs just made me Head Auror.” Even more shocking than the use of Draco’s name or an explanation of why he was here, disturbing their evening, was when Potter dropped to his knees and buried his face against Draco’s thigh.

Pansy prided herself for her quick thinking in outlandish situations, but all her brain cells were in absentia.

With a sharp glare to Pansy, promising death upon interruption, Draco lowered his hand to the nape of Potter’s neck and stroked.

“Harry, you don’t have to take it.” Draco waved his wand conjuring a new chair at their table and waved over a server. “Firewhiskey, please,” Draco said as he helped Potter to his chair. “Please keep out the press.” And despite Potter’s flailing objections, Draco offered over an obscene pile of Galleons.

Pansy didn’t put on her best lipstick for this shit.

“What in Circe’s rosy tits is going on?” she hissed.

“Er,” Potter said. “We might have a bit of a bond now.”