Bottom Draco One Shots !Drarry!

Merlin I'm Horny

Photo credits: not specific but found it on Tumblr

Merlin, I'm horny.

I thought this would be easier, but my body seems to have other ideas. It certainly isn't helping that Potter looks so...masculine. His broad shoulders, the way his shirt sleeves are rolled up over his forearms, that arse perfectly encased in denim. Even if he wasn't here, dressed in that ridiculous outfit, I'd know what he does for a living. There's just a look about a man who works with his whole body.

I have to stop staring. He'll notice any minute, and then I'll look like a twat. It's not as if he's doing anything terribly fascinating. He's just lifting sacks of soil that look to be as heavy as I am, his muscles rippling beneath the thin material of that hideous flannel and the t-shirt below it. His hair is only long enough to be tied into a sloppy knot at the back of his skull and he's dripping sweat, despite the mild afternoon. Really, there's no excuse for my attention.

"Haven't you got anything better to do, Malfoy?" he asks, not bothering to look at me. Which is for the best; I don't need him seeing the flush that washes over my face.

"How would I ensure you do the job properly if I don't watch you?" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and squaring my shoulders.

"You could trust me and my references." He lifts another sack to his shoulder and strides to the flowerbeds. "It's not as if this is my first job, you know."

"I prefer to keep an eye on my investments," I counter. It's a thin excuse, but I think I'll stick with it.

Chuckling, Potter drops the sack onto the growing pile and turns to face me. He grins and shrugs out of his flannel, tugging it off his arms. Then he crosses his arms at his waist, fingers grasping at the hem of his t-shirt and smirks. In one swift motion, he lifts the material up and over his head and my traitorous cock jerks, reminding me that it's already hard.

Turning, I march back toward the Manor, desperate to get away. "Just don't fuck it up, Potter," I call, and his laughter follows me across the grounds.

-

It's been a week since Potter agreed to render his services. A week from his initial visit to the Manor to assess the grounds and existing garden, startling me with his immense presence in such a place.

Now, he's been on my property for days, all six feet, rough-and-tumble man, slinging manure and pulling weeds. I'm at a loss for what to do with myself. I've been hiding inside since that first day, but I still watch him. I can't seem to stop. I've tried distracting myself with work; it isn't working. I want to wank, but I'm almost certain that he'll smell it on me, if I do.

Shoving away from the desk in what is now my study, I pace to the window. I can see him, bent at the waist as he digs in the earth with his bare hands, like an animal. It's as if he's forgotten he's a wizard and that shouldn't turn me on as much as it does. Suddenly, he straightens, the dark skin of his bare chest-he almost never wears a shirt anymore-glistening in the midmorning sun. Before I can brace myself for it, water is streaming over his face and shoulders, originating from seemingly nowhere as he must have cast a wandless Aguamenti, and my knees go weak.

I catch myself on the windowsill, before a resulting crash can catch his attention. Gods, what is he doing?

His hands, big and workworn, are sliding over his chest and shoulders, down to his abdomen and around his hips, as if he's taking a shower. I can't breathe. I can imagine those hands on me, calluses scraping over the sensitive skin of my stomach and thighs, his delicious stubble burning my chest as he closes that insolent mouth over my nipples.