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Title: Turning the Tables
Author: Lilith (![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
lilithilien)
Fandom: Harry Potter meets Alles Was Zählt *headdesks*
Pairings: Assorted combinations of Deniz, Draco, Harry, and Roman
Summary: Fucking Malfoy and his fucking games. This time Harry's had enough.
Rating/wordcount: PG-13; 1400 words
Disclaimer: Really, do you honestly think in their right mind would write these characters like this if they hoped to make any money off of them?
Author's Note: Forshellydkitty with very belated birthday wishes. I wanted to give you something unique, and I can say with 100% certainty that this is the FIRST time these pairings have ever been written. I hope that you're as amused by all this as I am. Big thanks to sarcastic_jo for reading this along the way and laughing at with me, and to aldiara for translating cheesy pickup lines.
Fucking Malfoy. Not quite three months of dating and already Draco was going on about how he didn't want their sex life to get boring. Or "like his parents'", as he put it, and Harry was not going there. It was bad enough when he'd ambushed Hermione and invited her to join them; Harry had been momentarily speechless as Draco provided a detailed explanation of how he envisioned her in a French maid's outfit, and it was only when her hair began to frizzle that Harry had shut him up.
But this ... this was something else entirely. Giving him a fucking portkey that brought him to this dark club in some foreign place -- Germany, Harry suspected, overhearing the conversations around him -- and waiting there for him, not with open arms but with his lips attached to some stranger. Some tall, dark, and handsome stranger, Harry realised with a little extra beat of his heart that couldn't be blamed entirely on the techno beats shaking the building. They were really going at it too, each looking like they want nothing more than to crawl inside the other's mouth.
Fucking Malfoy and his fucking games," Harry thought in disgust. This is really not on. He turned away, glancing about for the nearest exit so he could Apparate away. He was half-tempted to just say fuck it and leave from here -- it'd already been reckless to portkey into the midst of all these Muggles, but that was just like Draco, always flaunting the rules. Harry knew he couldn't do that in good conscience, though, no matter how much he wanted to get the hell away, so he peered through the hazy room looking for exit signs.
So preoccupied was he that he didn't notice the hand tucked into the curve of his neck until it was partnered with a voice so close that it tickled his ear. "Wie wär's mit was zu trinken, Hübscher? Oder sonstwas?"
Harry whirled around to see a stranger wearing a pink shirt. A pink shirt decorated with roses that would surely have gotten him beaten up in London. "I'm sorry, I don't..."
"Sorry," the man said, his accent making the word dance with the music. "I should have known, you are English, yes? Roman."
It was only when he extended his hand that Harry realised he was introducing himself. "Harry," he offered in return.
"You are alone, Harry?" asked Roman. Harry paused for what he was sure was just a second, but it was long enough for the stranger to follow his gaze over to the other two. "Ah, I see. Meet Deniz Öztürk, Essen's resident slut and my part-time lover. And I assume the other belongs to you?"
Harry started to nod automatically, but his certainty faltered as the kissing figures came into focus under the dancefloor's frantic strobes. Light and dark, their bodies pressed together as tight as charged magnets, so close it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. Harry shook his head to clear the image. "No, I don't guess he does."
The other man rolled his eyes and muttered what Harry was sure meant something like "and people call me negative." "Look, schatz," he continued in his almost-English, "I obviously don't know what's between you two, but if anybody should be giving up here, it's me."
"Why don't you then?" asked Harry, genuinely intrigued by the resignation seeping through the man's voice. Now that he had a better look at him, Harry was struck by Roman's appearance. At first glance it might be easy to pass him over, his compact size and dishwater-blond hair rendering him ordinary. But on closer inspection he revealed an intensity that was deeply attractive, ridiculous pink shirt notwithstanding. His face seemed more alive than any of those in the crowd around them, with sparkling blue eyes that rivalled Dumbledore's and lips that seemed to want to inch upwards. "It's not like he's the only man around here," suggested Harry.
Roman snorted harshly. "You wouldn't think so, and yet…"
For some reason, Harry understood. There was something enticing about the man that had captured Roman's gaze, the man now so completely engrossed in Draco. He seemed to be drawing eyes from all around. If this place wasn't unmistakeably Muggle, Harry might have suspected a glamour charm at work. Not that Draco would have fallen for that, of course, and this sudden reminder that Draco's newest infatuation was solely his own, not the fault of magic, made Harry feel a little sick.
The other man must have noticed him turning green. "Hey," he said, and his voice had gentled, "it's okay, I have an idea."
Harry's line of sight, which had been filled with Draco and Deniz, was suddenly occupied completely by Roman. Harry's eyes flew open wide as he realised what was happening, as he saw Roman's eyes flutter shut, as he had the startlingly clear realisation that Roman's lashes were exceptionally long. He had little time to ponder this thought, though. Before he knew it, hands had darted up into his hair and pulled him the surprisingly short distance to Roman's mouth.
Their kiss might have been something chaste, at least for a few seconds, but Roman took Harry's startled gasp as permission to slip his tongue between his lips. Then any thoughts of innocence were obliterated. Roman kissed dirty, his tongue alternating between teasing licks and meticulous explorations. He tasted incredible, like the kind of expensive champagne reserved for the Ministry's finest functions, and Harry could almost feel bubbles dancing across the roof of his mouth. And just like when he drank champagne, Harry felt his head growing lighter and the world starting to spin ever so slightly faster. He wrapped his arms around Roman, his solidity a welcome anchor. Muscles flexed under his palms like they were trying to tell him something, and Harry answered by pulling Roman closer, his fingers listening earnestly to the unexpectedly strong sinew under that absurd shirt.
They kissed like that for ages, for so long that Harry almost forgot how to breathe, forgot he even needed to breathe. He'd certainly forgotten what he was doing here, in this club so many miles from home, until Roman's lips slid down his jaw, wet, open-mouthed kisses inching their way to his ear.
"Is it working?" he asked, pitching his voice for Harry alone.
At first Harry couldn't think what Roman might be asking. This kiss was definitely working, if the tightness in Harry's trousers was any indication, but Roman should surely have been able to tell that himself. His mirroring bulge suggested that whatever was working was entirely mutual. But then Harry opened his eyes and realised what Roman was referring to.
"Yeah, it is," he whispered back, hiding his words inside a kiss to Roman's ear. Roman shuddered, the ripples reverberating through Harry's hands, and for a split second Harry wondered what it would be like to touch this man's bare skin and make him shiver for hours. But Draco … Draco was staring at him, eyes flashing dangerously as flint striking sparks. He approached them in long, determined steps, looking as predatory as Harry had ever seen him. He even felt a flash of sympathy for the Snitch that Draco set his sights upon. Then a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, Seeker-quick.
"Potter," he said with an imperious tone that Lucius himself would have coveted, "I believe it's time we went home."
His firm tug gave Harry no chance to argue -- not that he would have anyway. Draco like this, eyes on fire and cheeks flushed with jealousy, was a sight to behold. And once they were back in Draco's flat, Harry would be sure to remind him just how this had all started and who needed to apologise to whom. Maybe this time he could convince him to give up these bizarre games of his.
But as he was pulled away, Harry spared a last look back at Roman. The man wasn't looking at him, not at all. He and Deniz were standing still feet apart, but it was clear there was nobody else in all the world save the two of them. The air crackled between their bodies, charged with something that wasn't quite magic, but almost.
As he twisted his wrist out of Draco's grasp and clasped their hands together instead, Harry cast a silent Cheering Charm back towards them. Then he turned his back and followed Draco out into the night.
~~~ The End ~~~
Author: Lilith (
lilithilien) Fandom: Harry Potter meets Alles Was Zählt *headdesks*
Pairings: Assorted combinations of Deniz, Draco, Harry, and Roman
Summary: Fucking Malfoy and his fucking games. This time Harry's had enough.
Rating/wordcount: PG-13; 1400 words
Disclaimer: Really, do you honestly think in their right mind would write these characters like this if they hoped to make any money off of them?
Author's Note: For
shellydkitty with very belated birthday wishes. I wanted to give you something unique, and I can say with 100% certainty that this is the FIRST time these pairings have ever been written. I hope that you're as amused by all this as I am. Big thanks to sarcastic_jo for reading this along the way and laughing aldiara for translating cheesy pickup lines.Fucking Malfoy. Not quite three months of dating and already Draco was going on about how he didn't want their sex life to get boring. Or "like his parents'", as he put it, and Harry was not going there. It was bad enough when he'd ambushed Hermione and invited her to join them; Harry had been momentarily speechless as Draco provided a detailed explanation of how he envisioned her in a French maid's outfit, and it was only when her hair began to frizzle that Harry had shut him up.
But this ... this was something else entirely. Giving him a fucking portkey that brought him to this dark club in some foreign place -- Germany, Harry suspected, overhearing the conversations around him -- and waiting there for him, not with open arms but with his lips attached to some stranger. Some tall, dark, and handsome stranger, Harry realised with a little extra beat of his heart that couldn't be blamed entirely on the techno beats shaking the building. They were really going at it too, each looking like they want nothing more than to crawl inside the other's mouth.
Fucking Malfoy and his fucking games," Harry thought in disgust. This is really not on. He turned away, glancing about for the nearest exit so he could Apparate away. He was half-tempted to just say fuck it and leave from here -- it'd already been reckless to portkey into the midst of all these Muggles, but that was just like Draco, always flaunting the rules. Harry knew he couldn't do that in good conscience, though, no matter how much he wanted to get the hell away, so he peered through the hazy room looking for exit signs.
So preoccupied was he that he didn't notice the hand tucked into the curve of his neck until it was partnered with a voice so close that it tickled his ear. "Wie wär's mit was zu trinken, Hübscher? Oder sonstwas?"
Harry whirled around to see a stranger wearing a pink shirt. A pink shirt decorated with roses that would surely have gotten him beaten up in London. "I'm sorry, I don't..."
"Sorry," the man said, his accent making the word dance with the music. "I should have known, you are English, yes? Roman."
It was only when he extended his hand that Harry realised he was introducing himself. "Harry," he offered in return.
"You are alone, Harry?" asked Roman. Harry paused for what he was sure was just a second, but it was long enough for the stranger to follow his gaze over to the other two. "Ah, I see. Meet Deniz Öztürk, Essen's resident slut and my part-time lover. And I assume the other belongs to you?"
Harry started to nod automatically, but his certainty faltered as the kissing figures came into focus under the dancefloor's frantic strobes. Light and dark, their bodies pressed together as tight as charged magnets, so close it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. Harry shook his head to clear the image. "No, I don't guess he does."
The other man rolled his eyes and muttered what Harry was sure meant something like "and people call me negative." "Look, schatz," he continued in his almost-English, "I obviously don't know what's between you two, but if anybody should be giving up here, it's me."
"Why don't you then?" asked Harry, genuinely intrigued by the resignation seeping through the man's voice. Now that he had a better look at him, Harry was struck by Roman's appearance. At first glance it might be easy to pass him over, his compact size and dishwater-blond hair rendering him ordinary. But on closer inspection he revealed an intensity that was deeply attractive, ridiculous pink shirt notwithstanding. His face seemed more alive than any of those in the crowd around them, with sparkling blue eyes that rivalled Dumbledore's and lips that seemed to want to inch upwards. "It's not like he's the only man around here," suggested Harry.
Roman snorted harshly. "You wouldn't think so, and yet…"
For some reason, Harry understood. There was something enticing about the man that had captured Roman's gaze, the man now so completely engrossed in Draco. He seemed to be drawing eyes from all around. If this place wasn't unmistakeably Muggle, Harry might have suspected a glamour charm at work. Not that Draco would have fallen for that, of course, and this sudden reminder that Draco's newest infatuation was solely his own, not the fault of magic, made Harry feel a little sick.
The other man must have noticed him turning green. "Hey," he said, and his voice had gentled, "it's okay, I have an idea."
Harry's line of sight, which had been filled with Draco and Deniz, was suddenly occupied completely by Roman. Harry's eyes flew open wide as he realised what was happening, as he saw Roman's eyes flutter shut, as he had the startlingly clear realisation that Roman's lashes were exceptionally long. He had little time to ponder this thought, though. Before he knew it, hands had darted up into his hair and pulled him the surprisingly short distance to Roman's mouth.
Their kiss might have been something chaste, at least for a few seconds, but Roman took Harry's startled gasp as permission to slip his tongue between his lips. Then any thoughts of innocence were obliterated. Roman kissed dirty, his tongue alternating between teasing licks and meticulous explorations. He tasted incredible, like the kind of expensive champagne reserved for the Ministry's finest functions, and Harry could almost feel bubbles dancing across the roof of his mouth. And just like when he drank champagne, Harry felt his head growing lighter and the world starting to spin ever so slightly faster. He wrapped his arms around Roman, his solidity a welcome anchor. Muscles flexed under his palms like they were trying to tell him something, and Harry answered by pulling Roman closer, his fingers listening earnestly to the unexpectedly strong sinew under that absurd shirt.
They kissed like that for ages, for so long that Harry almost forgot how to breathe, forgot he even needed to breathe. He'd certainly forgotten what he was doing here, in this club so many miles from home, until Roman's lips slid down his jaw, wet, open-mouthed kisses inching their way to his ear.
"Is it working?" he asked, pitching his voice for Harry alone.
At first Harry couldn't think what Roman might be asking. This kiss was definitely working, if the tightness in Harry's trousers was any indication, but Roman should surely have been able to tell that himself. His mirroring bulge suggested that whatever was working was entirely mutual. But then Harry opened his eyes and realised what Roman was referring to.
"Yeah, it is," he whispered back, hiding his words inside a kiss to Roman's ear. Roman shuddered, the ripples reverberating through Harry's hands, and for a split second Harry wondered what it would be like to touch this man's bare skin and make him shiver for hours. But Draco … Draco was staring at him, eyes flashing dangerously as flint striking sparks. He approached them in long, determined steps, looking as predatory as Harry had ever seen him. He even felt a flash of sympathy for the Snitch that Draco set his sights upon. Then a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, Seeker-quick.
"Potter," he said with an imperious tone that Lucius himself would have coveted, "I believe it's time we went home."
His firm tug gave Harry no chance to argue -- not that he would have anyway. Draco like this, eyes on fire and cheeks flushed with jealousy, was a sight to behold. And once they were back in Draco's flat, Harry would be sure to remind him just how this had all started and who needed to apologise to whom. Maybe this time he could convince him to give up these bizarre games of his.
But as he was pulled away, Harry spared a last look back at Roman. The man wasn't looking at him, not at all. He and Deniz were standing still feet apart, but it was clear there was nobody else in all the world save the two of them. The air crackled between their bodies, charged with something that wasn't quite magic, but almost.
As he twisted his wrist out of Draco's grasp and clasped their hands together instead, Harry cast a silent Cheering Charm back towards them. Then he turned his back and followed Draco out into the night.
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