Howlong Does It Take For Drysol To Work

harry draco Ficlet

because they do not know what it does and has too much cheap red wine inside them. No excuse but a reason. Or so.
Again ficathon_de for were , on the very last minute, so you may forgive me some drafting error, perhaps, again for Kink (sex in public toilets) and the fact that I Porn so reluctant to write, I produce a lot of it lately condemned. Well, yes.
Rating: R
Warning: toilets. Dirty toilets.
Disclaimer: I hate to have to repeat myself.

Draco is actually in terms of meeting not really spoiled, but the smell of piss, makes him almost insane. Just like Harry, who stares silently into the blind mirror.

Since minutes. Hours. For too long, anyway.

It's always the same game, and nothing pisses Draco more than when Harry is fighting with his conscience. It is easy, too easy. The unhealed Scratches on Draco's back to prove it. Draco is right behind him touched him not, yet, mustered only the shadow of his face in the stained mirror. Harry looks tired, tired and rushed. Nothing new. Draco knows that rotates Potters conscience. Nevertheless, he is here.

"We have an hour." Draco's patience makes her not much, and he also has Harry now given enough time.

The marking of a match, breaking the silence, a moment later the quiet hiss of the fire can be heard, not necessarily what Draco had hoped.

"And you want to use the time."

"If I were here otherwise?"

hoarse laughter, and the tip of the cigarette trembles when Harry gray smoke inhaled deeply.

"Would you else here, Harry?"

Draco leans forward, pressing against Harry's back to bury the nose in the black hair. Harry smells of wood, rain and wind. The glow describes a hectic arc as Harry leaves the cigarette falling fast; Draco can see teeth marks on the filter. Harry does not smoke, except when he meets with him in siffig station toilets. Or in backyards. Or garbage dumps. Or -

Draco plucked the cigarette out of Harry's fingers, draws, twice a wet filter and pushes them carelessly on the sink. He has had enough of waiting and he knows Harry well enough to know what he can get it. His right hand lies on Harry's step. Harry sighs, Draco smirks, there is no effort to repress the triumph in his voice:

. "Looks like your tail on the bad conscience would have won,"

Draco knows Harry hates when it conducts its miserable hypocrisy in mind. He knows, however, that the Harry fury it easier.

Today.

He spins around and the green eyes dark fury, he stared at Draco for a moment. Shocked and desperate - as if he were about to flee. But Harry will not go, that they both know. Harry has seen it too often so, has given him the blame for all this here, for the lies that are so hideous it easy on the lips. More and more often. Driven by the same insatiable obsession that even Draco drives.

Harry's mouth is soft, in contrast to his teeth that dig in punishing Draco's bottom lip. Draco is the sharp Pain after taste, blood and smoke, can also taste it and enjoy the yields to the opponent Harry grunts.

The car door flies off its hinges almost squeaks as on its last legs and is not important. Only Harry is important. Harry, panting his name, his pants tearing down with flying fingers, the toilet bowl between him and the wall throws in the dirt which herds hot and hard between his legs.

Greasy soil under grazed his knees, the smell of dried piss and vomit and water and wood and wind in his nose, and Harry to him about it, in it. Harry, it caresses the malignant Whispers.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

That's because, claw their hands in Draco's skin. scratching caressing torture.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

His teeth dug into his neck. Hard. Painful fixed. Loving, wanting, desiring.

Harry. Harry. Harry.

not the he can have one. Not quite. Not really. Just so. In the flickering light of a broken light bulb, on dirty tile knees.