Lushrooms - Lushrooms

Rhetoric

drarry | E | 1k | kinktober, public sex, exhibitionism, sort-of enemies to lovers

Summary: Harry thought he was past being lured in by Malfoy’s dares.

Read on Ao3

“I dare you.”

Harry ignored him, glancing across the room of well-dressed gala attendees. It was tedious, one of the many little performances he was required to put on to maintain the goodwill and good behaviour of the political elite of their world. Malfoy loved it all though. He loved the formal robes and the glittering chandeliers that floated above the party, he loved the tiny hors d’oeuvres and the sparkling elfwine. He loved the pantomime of getting along.

“Come on, Potter, don’t be so fucking dull. I know you like the idea.” Malfoy paused, stepped close enough for Harry to catch the scent of him, and leaned in as though he was telling secrets. “You’re bored and I’m offering to help.”

His breath was warm against Harry’s ear. Harry stifled the shiver it prompted, but not quickly enough; the only person who noticed it was the only person he wanted to hide it from.

Malfoy lowered his tone, injected a breathy note of excitement to his voice that could have been entirely manufactured for all Harry knew. “You like the idea, don’t you? Dirty bastard.”

At the very moment Harry was about to deliver his stinging reply, the vast gong in the corner of the hall was battered by an over-enthusiastic waiter, and an usher came to hurry them to their seats.

Harry was put in pride of place at the top table—ready to give his speech and convince the landed elite of the wizarding world that donating vast sums of money to causes they shouldn’t need persuading to support was the sensible and elegant thing to do. Malfoy was seated next to him; he’d had the common sense to start throwing his money at good causes as soon as he was spared a sentence in the post-war trials.

At first Harry had thought it was pure self-interest, and he was still sure that accounted for at least eighty percent of Malfoy’s motivation, but Harry was on the board of governors of most of the charities Malfoy donated to, so he knew the sums he was donating and they were not insubstantial. These days Malfoy didn’t even talk about most of his philanthropy publicly, so it wasn’t like he was benefiting in any real way.

He was still a bastard though, and never failed to sidle up to Harry at parties and galas with a mean quip about someone’s outfit, or a suggestion so scandalous Harry would have to work not to blush.

Harry had learned to take it all with a pinch of salt though, even if sometimes he wondered whether Malfoy was actually just joking.

Benedict Hughes—rich, alcoholic, and a desperate social climber—was tonight’s host. He stood to a polite smattering of applause and began one of his infamously nasal and long-winded speeches of introduction—he was clearly pleased to have scored the prize of Harry Potter at his high table and made no attempt at subtlety in his exploitation of it. He opened his address by listing Harry’s medals of honour—awarded long after the war, when the Ministry decided a bit of a history rewrite was needed—and Harry immediately tuned out everything the man said.

“Utterly intolerable, isn’t he?” Malfoy whispered as he leaned in. He was probably only doing it to make it look like the two of them were friendly. They weren’t. They didn’t talk outside of these events. “I might actually fall asleep if I don’t take drastic action.”

Malfoy never fell asleep at parties—he glided around looking bright and engaged until the sun came up, he was the definition of a social butterfly and everyone loved him, even if he spent the entire the time criticising one half of the room to the other.

“You’re just annoyed it’s not you giving the speech,” Harry replied.

Malfoy hummed, then rearranged himself in his seat. “I’m annoyed because you used to be interesting. Can’t even rely on you to throw a punch, these days.”

“Is that what you want, then?”

Harry looked out across the room, more than fifty tables were filled with the beatifically smiling faces of people who had never been touched by the poverty this fundraiser was supposed to fight.

“I told you exactly what I want,” Malfoy muttered. And then his hand slipped under the table and he leaned against the side of his chair—it looked comfortable, insouciant, but it brought him within inches of Harry. Close enough to reach across and undo the zip of Harry’s finely tailored suit trousers.

“What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry whispered, carefully maintaining the bland smile that was the particular mask he wore when he was being paraded on stage like this.

Malfoy’s hand was deft, he had his fingers trailing up and down Harry’s cock before Harry’s words were out of his mouth. Harry stared ahead, desperately trying not to give away what was happening. Malfoy’s hand was warm, and Benedict was droning on, and Harry was getting hard.

Malfoy laughed along with whatever asinine joke Benedict had made—Harry didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear anything above the roar of shocked arousal and pumping blood in his ears—and thumbed at Harry’s foreskin. It was wet now, with precome, which Malfoy smeared around to make the tiny, gentle twists of his wrist even slicker, smoother, more devastatingly aching. Harry held his breath.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, before he used his free hand to lift his wine and take a sip. “I’m going to make you come before dear old Benedict has finished his speech. I’ll even charm you clean before you have to stand up.”

“I’m not—”

Malfoy continued as though Harry hadn’t spoken. “You are.”

He was. He was dangerously close already; hundreds of eyes on him, and one hand, and Harry couldn’t think of anything but the strength of Malfoy’s fingers and how gently, how expertly they dragged pleasure out of him. If they got caught—he clenched his hands into fists, grit his teeth, and tried to ignore the way that thought made his belly hot and tangled with anticipation.

“You are going to come,” Malfoy said. “And then after this farce of a night, I’m going to let you bend me over and fuck a load into me. How’s that for fair play?”

Harry’s balls tightened. Fair play, indeed.

Read on Ao3

October 5th from this prompt list

Read the series here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

Liking only good characters and 100% completely unproblematic things (which don’t exist) is not a replacement for actually being a good person

this is a gift for the amazing, wonderful @o0o-chibaken-o0o who suggested ‘drarry at an art gallery’ like seven months ago. You are a brilliant person who makes this fandom a better place and I love talking to you!!! Hope this is what you were looking for!… Easily my favorite comic I’ve ever worked on. Also dean is a badass ❤️❤️❤️

kinkuary 2022 is here!

well! here we all are again.

i kind of can't believe that we're staring down the barrel of february 2022 in much the same shape as we did february 2021...the more things change, the more they stay the same, eh? i think we could all use a little kink in our lives again :)

just like last year, kinkuary is a very casual event, and both fic and art are welcome. there are no wordcount minimums, all ships are welcome, and there’s no participation requirement—you can create for one, some, or all of the prompts. fics do not need to be beta-read if you don’t want, but i do encourage comprehensive tagging for any potential triggers.

**i've made one major change—this event is now open to all fandoms. your mod is primarily involved in two fandoms, with two main ships, but if you feel like sharing this with people in other fandoms, please feel free to reblog with fest/event tags! the same general rules, outlined in the collection link below, apply—basically, be kind, tag thoughtfully, and enjoy yourself!

you can find the collection and the (very few) rules for this event on Ao3 here! happy creating!

**just like last year, this event is 18+ only. please respect that.

People who can write fanfiction and draw art for it how does it feel to have more power than god

Hannibal (2013-2015)

1x01 || 3x13

Hannibal 3x10 - “And the Woman Clothed in Sun”

written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Dangerous by Big Data, Joywave. (a sherlock reference? in a drarry microfic? more likely than you think.)

“My flat. Come if convenient. DM.”

Harry frowns and sets his phone down decisively, leaving the text unanswered.

A minute later: “If inconvenient, come anyway. DM.”

Harry’s lips almost, almost, quirk in amusement but he flattens them quickly and takes a swig from his pint, ignoring the text. He had meant what he had said the last time they had done this. It was the last.

Another text: “Could be dangerous. DM.”

“God damn it,” Harry mutters, even though he can already feel his heart accelerating in anticipation. Whether it’s the adrenaline high he’s addicted to or it’s Draco himself who’s the addiction— Harry’s no good at resisting temptation.

Downing his pint, he throws a few sickles onto the bartop, and pushes his way out of the pub and into a nearby alley. He palms his wand and apparates to Draco’s, blood singing, a euphoric smile playing at his lips.

where would we be without those 60s housewives and their gay little kirk/spock fanzines. where would we fucking be