Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, H/D...or maybe Harry's feet/Draco :D
Rating: Teen. I cursed. Oops.
Summary: Draco loves Harry's feet...there's just one problem...
Word Count: 1,852
A/N: Uh, yeah, this was supposed to be a drabble for nanwilliems, who requested toenail clippings. there you go, mmmm, sexy sexy sexy toenail clippings The idea kinda ran away with me...and while the toenail clippings featured in this fic aren't exactly sexy, I still hope you like. *crosses fingers* Oh, and I used a quote nanwilliems gave me as well. You shall find * around it, like *this*. That said, enjoy. :)
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. JKR's...and the quote with aterisks around it belongs to nanwilliems. Cheers.
When Draco turned seventeen, he realized that he had a foot fetish. Where before he had been a normal Malfoy who delighted in nothing more than torturing the odd muggle and annoying the so called Golden Trio to within an inch of their miserable little lives, he now found himself facing the danger of being grouped with people like his cousin Nymphadora, whose blood traitor mother had married a muggle, or worse, his uncle Bradford, who in his spare time enjoyed a deep and meaningful relationship with his fish Frieda. Luckily, it was around that time that Draco also discovered that he was gay, so it turned out that he was just disowned and told never to grace his parent’s home again-but with a nice chunk of gold that assured him he would never want for anything. He was rather grateful for this, actually, as he wasn’t particularly fond of ol’ Voldemort…and he didn’t even want to know what a man that ugly’s feet would look like.
With no more family pressure on his back, Draco had been sure that finding the perfect man for him would be one of the easiest things that he had ever done, but alas, it turned out that he was quite wrong. Oh, there were plenty of guys that would date him-Draco was actually rather surprised how many gay men the Wizarding world actually had. This is what came of places like Hogwarts, what with their same sex dorms and communal showers and strict rules about PDA, the bastards-but out of all those willing men, none of them found Draco’s foot fetish to be very charming. Mildly disgusted ausement had been the best reaction to Draco’s love of feet-that had been Pansy, who while poking around his house one day had stumbled upon his secret stash of foot scrubs, the nosy little cow-and although he had come quite proficient at Memory Charms, he had despaired of anyone ever understanding his strange fetish, and therefore resolved to keep it a secret.
Which had become a real trial, considering hi newest lover had the most perfect feet that Draco had ever seen. Soft despite all the wear and tear he put on them, with wonderfully rounded heels, and his arches! Pure perfection. Draco could write love letters to those arches alone. His toes were perfect as well; not too short or too long, with the big toe the exact length of the third and the middle only the slightest bit longer. Looking at those toes was pure heaven…but for one thing.
The person in his bed gave a small murmer and stretched in his sleep; something scraped over Draco’s calf. With a hiss of pain, he pushed the covers off of himself and reached for his wand. Casting a quick Lumos, he winced at the sudden light and once his eyes had adjusted surveyed the damage.
There was a thin red line on the side of his calf, and as Draco watched, a drop of blood appeared at the end of that line and began making a slow trail towards his foot.
Draco’s eyes narrowed at the sight of that blood going down his perfect skin, and he felt something in the back of his mind snap. This. This was the last straw. *Draco couldn’t cope with it any longer. Potter’s toenails had to go! He couldn’t understand why the other boy had let them get this long in the first place. Did he use them to grate cheese in the middle of the night?* It was wrong, really, that he should abuse those perfect feet in such a manner. They had been bothering Draco for a while now, those abnormally long toenails. He’d tried being subtle: leaving the clippers where the other couldn’t help but find them; he’d tried staring pointedly at those nails until Potter had blushed and either put his feet in socks or tucked them underneath himself; hell, he’d even gone on at great length about an article in Quidditch Weekly that had stated that the length of one’s toenails could greatly affect a player’s game, an article which he’d never seen and had probably not even been written. Nothing had worked. Potter’s toenails had kept growing, and now blood had been shed. It was past time for some drastic action.
And so, with a small drop of blood on his leg and a slightly evil smirk on his face, Draco set out to do just that.
Harry woke slowly to a slight tugging sensation on his foot. Opening his eyes, he glared blearily at his boyfriend, who was cradling the foot lovingly; and okay, that was slightly odd, but at least he wasn’t-wait, what was that in his hand?
Harry sat up quickly to knock the offending article out of Draco’s hands, or tried to, as the ties binding his wrists to the headboard were rather counterproductive to sitting up. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, and his (evil, horrible, pain-in-the-ever-loving-ass) boyfriend looked up with a grin that didn’t bode well for Harry, one hand still caressing his foot.
“Harry,” Draco purred, holding up a pair of what was decidedly nail clippers. “It has occurred to me over the course of our relationship that you have a bit of a Problem. As a loving, dutiful, generous, and wonderful-not to mention gorgeous-boyfriend, it is my job to help you fix this Problem.” That said, Draco bent over the foot that he was holding, nail clippers at the ready.
Harry’s eyes widened in fear, and with a small meep of fear, he pulled his foot out of the other boy’s grasp, pulled it back, and promptly kicked Draco in the face.
Draco let out a pained yell and toppled backwards, nail clippers flying. Harry gave a small shout of triumph and pulled as far away from the crazy Malfoy as he could, which wasn’t very far at all as he didn’t have the use of his upper body. Once his feet were as far from the end of the bed as he could get them, he fixed a hard glare at the place where Draco had fallen from sight, and waited.
Sure enough, a few seconds later the top of a blond head appeared over the side of the bed, followed closely by the face of one very pissed off Draco Malfoy.
“You kicked me.” He said softly, almost calmly…if one couldn’t see the manic twitching of his left eyebrow, that was…and Harry was in a position to see it very well, thank you very much.
He didn’t reply, though, and Draco stood up slowly. Harry saw that his hands were clenched into tight fists. “You. Kicked. Me.” He said again, slowly, as if Harry had somehow missed that simple fact, “In the head. You kicked me in the fucking face.” And then he pounced.
Harry-although he would quite vehemently deny this later-screamed like a little girl, kicking out again in the hopes that maybe he could push Draco back a little, maybe even get him in the face again, but Draco anticipated this and grabbed hold of both of Harry’s legs in a bear hug before allowing himself to fall forward onto the bed, still holding tightly to Harry’s legs.
Making a noise like a cornered rabbit, Harry bucked his legs furiously, trying to throw the other off, but Draco clung stubbornly, refusing to let go, and soon Harry gave up. He stopped fighting and settled for simply glaring at Draco, panting.
“Let. Go.” He demanded once he’d caught his breath. Draco shook his head wordlessly, face still flushed from his fight to keep hold of the struggling Harry’s legs. There was a dark red mark on his forehead where he’d been kicked earlier, and Harry allowed himself a small amount of vindictive pleasure from the memory of Draco’s face as he’d gone down. Serves him right, he thought, Coming after me with those damn clippers. Tying me so that I can’t do anything about it. Bastard.
Draco, it seemed, was feeling up to talking again, for he looked up at Harry and announced, “You need some serious help, Potter,” and Harry was surprised to hear genuine concern in his boyfriend’s voice. “Help?” he repeated, and Draco nodded earnestly, before shimmying up Harry’s body to untie his hands and curling up next to the other boy when his hands were freed.
Harry put his arms around his crazy boyfriend and asked cautiously, “Help with what, exactly?” Knowing Draco, it could be any number of things. His hair, for instance, or his clothes, or his-fear of having his toenails clipped? What the hell?
“My fear of what? He asked incredulously, and Draco gave him a sympathetic look and repeated, “You’re fear of having your toenails clipped. Don’t worry, though. We’ll get you help. After all, you-“
Harry couldn’t believe this, he really couldn’t. “Draco-“
“-such beautiful feet. Your toes are completely edible, except for those grotesque nails, and your arches!”
Draco sighed rapturously, and Harry noted that his eyes looked a bit glazed…and was that drool at the corner of his mouth? Because of Harry’s feet? Trying hard not to laugh, Harry nudged Draco slightly, waiting patiently for his eyes to focus. Honestly, his boyfriend was almost too cute.
“Draco, I’m not afraid of clipping my toenails.”
Draco blinked. “It’s okay if you are. Really, I understand.
This time, Harry did laugh. “That’s good to know. But really, I’m not. After this month, you can clip my toenails and do whatever you want with them. Burn them, save them, eat them. Whatever.”
Draco glared. “That’s disgusting,” he said haughtily, then paused, thinking. “Wait. Why can’t I just clip them now? What aren’t you telling me, Potter?” he demanded.
Harry blushed. “Well, er…Ron and I sorta have this bet going…”
One elegant-and perfectly plucked, though Draco would never ever admit it and anyone who dared mention it would find themselves with painful boils in extremely unpleasant places-arched. “Do you mean to tell me that the reason whyI can’t rid your feet of those monstrosities is because you made some ridiculous bet with Weasley? What makes you think I won’t just clip those awful things regardless?”
Harry simply grinned. Draco rolled his eyes. “The things I do for you,” he said tiredly.
Harry’s grin widened. “The things you do for my feet, you mean,” he retorted. Lifting one of said feet, he wriggled the toes suggestively and cooed, “Tell me, Draco, just what do you want to do to my arches?”
Draco smacked him. “Shuddup,” he muttered, “I’m sleepin’.” Harry snorted, but quit teasing Draco…for the moment. It was late; Draco had woken him up out of a sound sleep, and after all that kicking he’d been doing, he was exhausted. Harry closed his eyes and soon was on the verge of what promised to be a great night’s sleep, when a voice came floating out of the darkness…
“Wait a minute. You kicked me in the face over a bet with Weasley? I’m going to kill you!”
Sleep had never seemed so far away.