In the September 2008 issue of Cosmo there was an article on how to estimate the size of a guy's "package" without being noticed. Come on. Seriously. How could you not want to just write it out like that?
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
He could swear that Hermione Granger-Weasley was hitting on him.
Impossible, he knew, but still…the way her chocolate brown eyes were sizing him up right now, Draco couldn't help but feel like the prey of a particularly dangerous predator.
Of course, it was entirely possible that she really was reading the legal brief held out in front of her, her eyes scanning up and down the page languorously, head cocked slightly to the side as though contemplating the solution to a particularly interesting puzzle.
But now – surely, surely, the notorious lawyer and fiery wife of Head Auror Ronald Weasley was NOT, absolutely not, staring at his groin like a ravenous lion.
Gaze traveling back up to the top of the document, or the top of his blazer, he wasn't quite sure, the petite brunette met his eyes suddenly, a smirk lingering in their brown depths.
And then, to Draco's utter consternation, she winked.
The blond shifted towards the sound, his eyes seeking out the form of his best friend hurrying towards him, haphazardly tucking a sheaf of parchment into her smart briefcase as her heels clickity-clacked down the hallway.
"Darling," Pansy cooed, "don't forget our dinner plans this evening. I expect to see you at 7:30 sharp."
Draco sighed, nodding at what must be the tenth reminder today. He barely registered the slight 'tsk' of disapproval that escaped the perky brunette's lips, but he certainly noticed as she swooped forward, plucking a piece of lint of his trousers less than a centimeter away from his crotch.
"Really, you mustn't walk around with lint all over those gorgeous wool trousers," Pansy chided. Pursing her ruby red lips she blew him a kiss before gliding smoothly away, leaving Draco dumbstruck in her wake.
Blaise Zabini, the flamboyantly gay bane of Draco's existence, did not, absolutely not, just grab Draco's arm, swing him around, and stare pointedly at the front of his trousers.
"I've been dying for wool trousers like these," Blaise breathed, smoothing his hands down the seams of the offending article of clothing. "I've just been having such an awful time finding a suitable pair. Wherever did you find these gems?"
Draco rolled his eyes. Honestly, why Blaise even tried, even dreamed to think that Draco was fooled for one second by his transparent actions.
"Zabini, for the love of Merlin's dirty knickers, please stop ogling me."
Blaise just giggled, batting his eyelashes coquettishly at Draco's scowling face.
"Whatever you say, sugar," he teased. The hand curled around Draco's forearm slid down the length of his arm before falling away, pausing quickly to pinch his bum. Giggling again, Blaise beamed at Draco's outraged race and bounced away from Draco's office, ignoring the stream of profanities following behind him.
The elevator doors slid smoothly closed and Draco couldn't help a sigh of relief. The elevator was blissfully, mercifully empty, leaving the blond free to slump casually against the wall and wait for the lift to rise to the lobby.
Which was, of course, why the doors suddenly popped open with barely any warning, letting in, to Draco's horror, an onslaught of people. Frazzled-looking wizards and tired-looking witches bustled in, packing into the elevator like newts in a jar. Silver eyes glowered mercilessly at the pixie-like red head squashed against him, intensity doubling when he caught sight of the smattering of freckles dusting her cheekbones.
Ginny Weasley stumbled as she was jostled by the heavyset wizard on their right, pressing even further into Draco's torso. Both hands, one clutching several thick envelopes, reached out in an attempt to keep her steady. Draco chose instead to pointedly ignore the red-haired vixen, raising his eyes pleadingly towards the ceiling.
Which is why it came as a complete surprise when Ginny's free hand brushed casually along the front of his trousers, tracing over the seams of the zipper.
Barely able to contain a yelp of horror, the wizard's eyes shot down towards the amused hazel eyes staring back at him. Violated, horrified, tormented, and groped, Draco bolted off the elevator as the doors slid open, ignoring the baffled expressions of the affronted wizards around him.
A pair of hands curled around Draco's hips and he felt himself propelled backwards, slamming into the brick wall behind him. A hard, decidedly male body pressed him back, pinning him firmly in place and holding his hands down at his sides.
"There's something of a…wager…passing around the Ministry," a voice breathed in Draco's ear, tickling the blond hair and the skin on his neck. "People are placing bets on you."
"O-on me?" Draco stuttered, eyes straining to see in the darkness surrounding him. Why, why, why he chose to walk home tonight he will never understand.
"Mmmmm," the voice agreed, "everyone's wondering about you, about the gorgeous goody-two-shoes who hasn't slept with anyone in the entire office."
"Oh?" Draco could barely breathe, though he was not quite sure why. The body holding his shifted slightly, his assailant's left hand releasing its grip on Draco's wrist.
"Oh yes." The soft hiss made Draco's eyes flutter closed. "Everyone wants to know just how well endowed the Malfoy men really are."
Draco stifled a moan as the other man's hand brushed across his thigh, tracing its way up to the waist of his trousers.
"Ginny aimed for a subtle groping, Blaise claimed he could guess just by looking," the man's lips brushed softly over Draco's skin, mouthing the words along his neck.
"I told them I would measure you with my mouth."
Draco lowered himself into the desk chair with a small sigh, surveying his office with a bored expression. On his way into work this morning Draco watched through slightly narrowed eyes as he passed a group of his co-workers huddled around one Harry Potter, each one dropping several gold coins into his outstretched hand, and now he couldn't quite account for the feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The door swung open with a soft swishing of air and Draco looked up, raising an eyebrow at the figure in the doorway. Potter strode into his office with an odd gleam in those brilliant green eyes, stopping only when he was standing next to Draco's desk, leaning casually on the polished surface, his knee brushing against Draco's thigh.
"I saw you collecting your winnings this morning," Draco commented nonchalantly, glancing in what he hoped was an uninterested manner at the gorgeous figure standing before him. "Congratulations."
Potter smirked, and Draco fought back the urge to hit him.
"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm going to do with all that money?"
"Enlighten me, Potter," Draco drawled dryly, "whatever are you going to do with your newfound wealth?"
Potter bent forward, placing his hands on either arm of Draco's chair. His eyes drifted downward, and Draco remembered the love bite hidden just under his collar, right where those green eyes were looking.
"I'm going to take you out to dinner," Potter breathed, his breath ghosting over Draco's inexplicably parted lips, "and then I'm going to thank you properly."
And as Draco found himself willingly, oh so willingly, melting into Potter's subsequent kiss, he decided that he was not really, not at all, opposed to Potter's idea.