hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-11-17 01:01 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-11-17 01:01 pm
Entry tags:
HP - The Thin Green Line - TN/NL (NC-17)
I have porn on the brain. More sweaty, dirty, filthy -- oh my god, my brain has shorted out.
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
circe_tigana and serialkarma.
Harry Potter
Theodore Nott/Neville Longbottom (NC-17)
The Thousandth Man-verse
The Thin Green Line
Neville’s absolutely breathtaking when Theodore’s inside him. Not gorgeous or beautiful or any of those trite and overused words that everyone employs to describe the person they’re shagging, because really Neville’s not any of those things, but he’s fucking breathtaking, and Theodore can hardly breathe for the way Neville’s whimpering and writhing and stroking his cock as Theodore fucks him with slippery, thick fingers.
Pale, freckled skin completely on display, stretched out on Theodore’s robes, and oh fuck -– Neville feels so good, he’s making those little dying noises that make Theodore’s cock hard, and this is what Theodore has been waiting for.
He can feel the sweat beading along his hairline and gathering in the small of his spine as he licks his dry lips, and Neville’s moaning as Theodore fucks him.
In and out and in again, Theodore’s fingers are gripped by tight, rigid heat and damp, and Neville bends his legs so that Theodore’s fingers can touch him there -- in that place that makes Neville cry out and turn his head from left to right and back again.
Theodore’s knees are being rubbed raw by the stone floor, and he could move, but later -– everything can matter later -- and Neville’s so tight around his fingers, so hot and slick and right. He arches up when Theodore twists his hand a little and scissors his fingers, because he just wants a little stretch. He doesn’t want to hurt Neville, he just -– he really fucking wants.
He wants so much –- and Neville’s gasping and stroking himself, long fingers stripping his cock. There’s something he’s trying to say, and when Theodore leans down to kiss him, Neville gasps something unintelligible against Theodore’s mouth.
Instead of answering, Theodore slips his tongue into Neville’s mouth and kisses him again. The classroom is full of whimpering and obscene slapping noises as Theodore’s fingers thrust in and out, slick from the lubrication spell -- Theodore owes Blaise for teaching him this one when they were younger, but tossing off never felt this good.
Neville’s panting against Theodore’s mouth as Theodore glances downward, and Mordred, the sight of Neville’s cock sliding wetly between Neville’s fingers makes Theodore’s heart skip a beat in his chest. Neville’s thumb is rubbing the head of his cock, slipping and sliding over the foreskin the way Theodore’s tongue does when he’s sucking him off, and when Theodore glances back up Neville’s watching him.
A guttural moan escapes from Theodore’s mouth at the thought of Neville getting off watching Theodore watching him, and Neville’s fingers smear wetness along Theodore’s jaw when he grabs him by the chin and hauls him up for a kiss.
Neville’s teeth clack together when Theodore kisses him too hard, and Theodore wants to apologise, he’s going to apologise, as soon as he stops kissing Neville and licking his mouth and sucking on his tongue. He just –- he has needs.
It's been thirteen days and eleven hours since Theodore last touched Neville and it was starting to make him irritable. Well, 'starting' could be considered a slight understatement -– even Blaise noticed he was rather short of temper.
Theodore's not a cruel person by design; he doesn't tend to go out of his way to make other people miserable just because he's out of sorts (Draco), and he really shouldn’t have transfigured Millicent Bulstrode’s potatoes into mice at breakfast and let her think Goyle did it –- but again, he was feeling slightly irritable, and that makes him unpredictable.
Besides those Hufflepuffs were breathing entirely too loudly; they forced him to hex their voices away. A simple Sine Vox charm could benefit quite a few people –- or more than a few –- but Theodore can’t be bothered to come up with a list at this moment, because he’s entirely too focussed on having lost the plot.
That is what makes him fuck his Gryffindor boyfriend at school, during the middle of the day -– and clearly a lack of sex has not only made him irritable, it’s made him foolhardy and stupid. Obviously Blaise only helped him so he could go back to thinking with the right head, and Neville’s mouth is swollen and red from where Theodore was nipping at his lips.
His cock is hard and wet as he murmurs Theodore’s name, and Theodore thrusts his cock in the hollow of Neville’s hip in response.
This is worth being thought insane.
He’s lying on his robes watching Neville’s hand moving in counterpoint to his thrusts, in and out and down and up and, Merlin, Neville’s sweaty and so fucking hot. Theodore can barely breathe, and his robes are going to reek with sex and sweat, and it’s the best news he's had in days.
Neville turns towards Theodore when he nips at his earlobe, and he’s sucking on Neville’s tongue when he feels the wet splatters on his arm. Neville moans into his mouth as he comes, and Theodore slowly withdraws his fingers as Neville shudders underneath the weight of his arm.
They kiss leisurely as Neville tries to catch his breath, and Neville’s skin is tacky with sweat and come and spit. His eyes are hooded and low as Theodore’s fingers slip and stroke the inside of his thigh and hip and the sparse brown hairs on his stomach, and Neville shifts slightly as Theodore gets to his knees, letting his legs fall open.
This would be much easier with Neville on his stomach, but Theodore finds a place between Neville’s legs and lifts Neville’s ankles onto his shoulders.
They’ve only done this a handful of times, and Neville’s mouth makes a little ‘o’ as Theodore grabs his dick and strokes himself with the lube, come and the sweat from earlier. Neville bites his lip when Theodore pets his thigh and slowly, so slowly, pushes inside.
It takes them some time, and Neville’s breathing in shuddery breaths when Theodore finally stops to steady himself. Neville’s fingers are gripping his robe as though it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and he’s biting his lip, which drives Theodore to distraction, but he’s got Neville underneath him, and around him, and Neville trusts him enough to do this –- Theodore would never do this for anyone. He could never leave himself so open –- that’s just not how things are done, but right now he has Neville and his first thrust is short and perfunctory.
The second is more drawn out, and Neville makes a keening noises causing Theodore to pause mid-thrust. “Don’t stop,” is all Neville says. “Just keep going.”
And that’s all it takes.
Theodore’s fucking and shagging and rutting, and it’s so, so fucking good. In and out and back and forth, Theodore’s brain is nothing but big blurs of color without anything coherent to tie them together: smears of blue as Neville calls his name and wisps of red as Neville slowly gets hard again and jerks himself off.
Their fingers brush and stick together as Theodore reaches around and covers Neville’s hand with his own. The coordination isn’t great, but they’re making it work because it’s what they do even though there’s a green line in Theodore’s periphery that he’s crossing with every thrust, and when he comes all he sees is blackness.
There’s someone calling Neville’s name and then everything goes white.
Theodore comes back to himself lying on Neville’s chest with Neville’s fingers stroking his face, and he leans into the touch, because they generally don’t have the ability to be this close. Very soon they’re going to have to get up and leave –- but right now they have this, and Theodore will have to make it enough.
-end-
Beta byserialkarma, remaining snafus by me.
Written for
circe_tigana and serialkarma. Harry Potter
Theodore Nott/Neville Longbottom (NC-17)
The Thousandth Man-verse
The Thin Green Line
Neville’s absolutely breathtaking when Theodore’s inside him. Not gorgeous or beautiful or any of those trite and overused words that everyone employs to describe the person they’re shagging, because really Neville’s not any of those things, but he’s fucking breathtaking, and Theodore can hardly breathe for the way Neville’s whimpering and writhing and stroking his cock as Theodore fucks him with slippery, thick fingers.
Pale, freckled skin completely on display, stretched out on Theodore’s robes, and oh fuck -– Neville feels so good, he’s making those little dying noises that make Theodore’s cock hard, and this is what Theodore has been waiting for.
He can feel the sweat beading along his hairline and gathering in the small of his spine as he licks his dry lips, and Neville’s moaning as Theodore fucks him.
In and out and in again, Theodore’s fingers are gripped by tight, rigid heat and damp, and Neville bends his legs so that Theodore’s fingers can touch him there -- in that place that makes Neville cry out and turn his head from left to right and back again.
Theodore’s knees are being rubbed raw by the stone floor, and he could move, but later -– everything can matter later -- and Neville’s so tight around his fingers, so hot and slick and right. He arches up when Theodore twists his hand a little and scissors his fingers, because he just wants a little stretch. He doesn’t want to hurt Neville, he just -– he really fucking wants.
He wants so much –- and Neville’s gasping and stroking himself, long fingers stripping his cock. There’s something he’s trying to say, and when Theodore leans down to kiss him, Neville gasps something unintelligible against Theodore’s mouth.
Instead of answering, Theodore slips his tongue into Neville’s mouth and kisses him again. The classroom is full of whimpering and obscene slapping noises as Theodore’s fingers thrust in and out, slick from the lubrication spell -- Theodore owes Blaise for teaching him this one when they were younger, but tossing off never felt this good.
Neville’s panting against Theodore’s mouth as Theodore glances downward, and Mordred, the sight of Neville’s cock sliding wetly between Neville’s fingers makes Theodore’s heart skip a beat in his chest. Neville’s thumb is rubbing the head of his cock, slipping and sliding over the foreskin the way Theodore’s tongue does when he’s sucking him off, and when Theodore glances back up Neville’s watching him.
A guttural moan escapes from Theodore’s mouth at the thought of Neville getting off watching Theodore watching him, and Neville’s fingers smear wetness along Theodore’s jaw when he grabs him by the chin and hauls him up for a kiss.
Neville’s teeth clack together when Theodore kisses him too hard, and Theodore wants to apologise, he’s going to apologise, as soon as he stops kissing Neville and licking his mouth and sucking on his tongue. He just –- he has needs.
It's been thirteen days and eleven hours since Theodore last touched Neville and it was starting to make him irritable. Well, 'starting' could be considered a slight understatement -– even Blaise noticed he was rather short of temper.
Theodore's not a cruel person by design; he doesn't tend to go out of his way to make other people miserable just because he's out of sorts (Draco), and he really shouldn’t have transfigured Millicent Bulstrode’s potatoes into mice at breakfast and let her think Goyle did it –- but again, he was feeling slightly irritable, and that makes him unpredictable.
Besides those Hufflepuffs were breathing entirely too loudly; they forced him to hex their voices away. A simple Sine Vox charm could benefit quite a few people –- or more than a few –- but Theodore can’t be bothered to come up with a list at this moment, because he’s entirely too focussed on having lost the plot.
That is what makes him fuck his Gryffindor boyfriend at school, during the middle of the day -– and clearly a lack of sex has not only made him irritable, it’s made him foolhardy and stupid. Obviously Blaise only helped him so he could go back to thinking with the right head, and Neville’s mouth is swollen and red from where Theodore was nipping at his lips.
His cock is hard and wet as he murmurs Theodore’s name, and Theodore thrusts his cock in the hollow of Neville’s hip in response.
This is worth being thought insane.
He’s lying on his robes watching Neville’s hand moving in counterpoint to his thrusts, in and out and down and up and, Merlin, Neville’s sweaty and so fucking hot. Theodore can barely breathe, and his robes are going to reek with sex and sweat, and it’s the best news he's had in days.
Neville turns towards Theodore when he nips at his earlobe, and he’s sucking on Neville’s tongue when he feels the wet splatters on his arm. Neville moans into his mouth as he comes, and Theodore slowly withdraws his fingers as Neville shudders underneath the weight of his arm.
They kiss leisurely as Neville tries to catch his breath, and Neville’s skin is tacky with sweat and come and spit. His eyes are hooded and low as Theodore’s fingers slip and stroke the inside of his thigh and hip and the sparse brown hairs on his stomach, and Neville shifts slightly as Theodore gets to his knees, letting his legs fall open.
This would be much easier with Neville on his stomach, but Theodore finds a place between Neville’s legs and lifts Neville’s ankles onto his shoulders.
They’ve only done this a handful of times, and Neville’s mouth makes a little ‘o’ as Theodore grabs his dick and strokes himself with the lube, come and the sweat from earlier. Neville bites his lip when Theodore pets his thigh and slowly, so slowly, pushes inside.
It takes them some time, and Neville’s breathing in shuddery breaths when Theodore finally stops to steady himself. Neville’s fingers are gripping his robe as though it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, and he’s biting his lip, which drives Theodore to distraction, but he’s got Neville underneath him, and around him, and Neville trusts him enough to do this –- Theodore would never do this for anyone. He could never leave himself so open –- that’s just not how things are done, but right now he has Neville and his first thrust is short and perfunctory.
The second is more drawn out, and Neville makes a keening noises causing Theodore to pause mid-thrust. “Don’t stop,” is all Neville says. “Just keep going.”
And that’s all it takes.
Theodore’s fucking and shagging and rutting, and it’s so, so fucking good. In and out and back and forth, Theodore’s brain is nothing but big blurs of color without anything coherent to tie them together: smears of blue as Neville calls his name and wisps of red as Neville slowly gets hard again and jerks himself off.
Their fingers brush and stick together as Theodore reaches around and covers Neville’s hand with his own. The coordination isn’t great, but they’re making it work because it’s what they do even though there’s a green line in Theodore’s periphery that he’s crossing with every thrust, and when he comes all he sees is blackness.
There’s someone calling Neville’s name and then everything goes white.
Theodore comes back to himself lying on Neville’s chest with Neville’s fingers stroking his face, and he leans into the touch, because they generally don’t have the ability to be this close. Very soon they’re going to have to get up and leave –- but right now they have this, and Theodore will have to make it enough.
-end-
Beta by
serialkarma, remaining snafus by me.
Re: Blaise says:
Brilliant! I'm delighted to see that you have retained at least part of the plot.
With regards to shagging the quiet ones, have you given any more consideration to Terry Boot. Perhaps Lisa Turpin or Stewart Ackerley or someone else along those lines?
Ennnnh. ::waves hands vaguely:: I am feeling restless, Theodore -- and I really don't like it, to be frank. The thought of Terry Boot (arse not withstanding) or, well, anyone really, isn't as tempting as it should be.
::sighs, brushes hair back with careless hand::
I don't know. Perhaps it's the tergiversari. There is so much to do, and I can't help but feel that time is ticking by. And don't smirk at me, Master Nott. This sudden sense of responsibility is most irritating and utterly unwelcome, I assure you.
Re: Blaise says:
At no time have I completely lost the plot; it's simply been revised somewhat. Never fear, if all else fails I surely have you to remind me of what is important. As for this responsbility business -- Blaise are you feeling ill or poorly. Are you running a temperature, shall I call Madam Pomfrey. You have me somewhat alarmed, I confess.
::narrows eyes::
Unless, you are not Blaise at all and this is a potion of some sort. I shall summon Snape directly unless you can convince me you are who you say you are. What happened to Draco the last time we played Flamingo Croquet at Malfoy Manor? What was the trick your mother taught when we were seven? How did I get the scar on my right knee?
Re: Blaise says:
And no, that does not mean you should go running to Professor Snape, Theodore.
1. The last time we played Flamingo Croquet at Malfoy Manner, the Red Queen tried to seduce you to rather comical effect. And Draco, whilst laughing his silly arse off, tripped over my hedgehog and it took three doses of Mrs. Foolhardy's Quill Remover to get the last of the spines out.
2. My mother taught me a wandless charm with which to record conversations, purportedly to aid me in my schoolwork. And no, I won't share it with you, a man needs some small advantage over his peers, stop badgering. If you'd like, however, I will share with you what Cousin Emanuelle taught me when I was eleven.
3. You have no scar on your right knee, though you do have a rather intriguing set of bite marks on your left shoulderblade. Longbottom, I assume?
Re: Blaise says:
Re: Blaise says:
That's settled then. Now, whatever shall we send our Mr. Malfoy?
Theodore thinks...
I know.
A snitch.
It's either that or a pair of Draco's pants with some rather appalling poetry attached. Draco's still composing those sonnets about himself, isn't he?
Re: Theodore thinks...
A snitch. Sometimes, Theodore, you outdo yourself.
A snitch.
::breaks into delighted laughter::
At dinner, I think? Largest number of spectators possible? Or do you think a private delivery?
Re: Theodore thinks...
On one hand, a public example of Potter's "devotion" would be sufficently confusing and embarassing enough to warrant throwing Draco into a horrible snit. He would be apoleptic -- he also wouldn't be able to keep it a secret and we all know how Draco loves secrets. However, that could back-fire should anyone attempt that ownership spell that Flitwick was going on about the other day. Which is what leads me to believe that a covert cousre of action would be best. A present that Draco can keep to himself. Can you imagine how he would respond? He wouldn't know what to do. Affronted or pleased, obviously horribly confused, and I'd put ten Galleons on some sort of violent snogging and/or row occuring during the next Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match.
You know, it might be the only thing that could convince me to stay for the entire insufferable experience.