#Draco saying filthy feedist shit to Harry is one of my favorite things on this earth

[missjanedoeeyes-blog]

Ron and Hermione are HORRIFIED when they hear how Draco talks to Harry about his weight, but somehow it's even worse once they figure out the feedist truth to it.

Harry knows it’s fucked up, but he dearly loves it when Draco says awful shit to him.

Like when he’ll lean over and whisper the most obscene things to Harry in his ritziest accent: “Are you sure you need that biscuit, Potter, you’re about to pop a seam as it is,” or “Here, finish this, I know you’re still hungry, chubs,” or “So greedy, Potter, my god, can you even get up? Shall I levitate you to bed?”

It’s not even all that surprising when Draco starts to do it in front of people. He’s enormously perverse, for one thing, and he knows good and bloody well how much it turns Harry on, for another. So of course it was only a matter of time before he slipped it into conversation in front of Ron and Hermione. It’s not even subtle, by Malfoy standards: just Draco raising one haughty eyebrow when Harry orders dessert and then tapping his wand right on the roundest part of his belly. “Careful, tubby.” It’s spoken quietly, maybe quietly enough that Ron and Hermione can pretend they’ve misheard; they haven’t, though, and Draco didn’t intend for them to. They both look horrified.

Harry’s cheeks and libido both burst into flame. Draco, the smug bastard, looks as icy and removed as always—except, Harry notices, the tips of his ears are just slightly pink.

Draco drops a few more of these little gems throughout the conversation, delivering them so urbanely that it seems almost normal—except, of course, that it’s not normal at all. By the time they Floo home that evening, Ron has reached for his wand twice and Hermione is nearly apoplectic.

Harry is hard enough to drill diamonds with his dick, and Draco looks obnoxiously pleased with himself.

*

The Floo call Harry receives from Hermione the next day is Peak Granger. She’s indignant, concerned, and full of lots of cogent points about how Harry deserves to be treated well.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to stop her once she gets going, so he nods along, occasionally saying something asinine about how Draco was just kidding, which is an unconvincing defense if he’s ever heard it. And speaking of hearing—he knows that Draco is sitting in the next room, listening to every word of this supremely awkward conversation, probably enjoying it to the hilt. Twat.

*

Of course, Draco is supremely unsympathetic to Harry’s plight, when they end up discussing it that night.

Harry glances over at Draco, who’s lying prone on their big bed, arms behind his head, bare torso pale and lean, obnoxiously attractive in the moonlight.

“It’s just bloody awkward, having them feel sorry for me,” he mutters.

“Weasley doesn’t feel sorry for you, he just wants an excuse to hex me in the back.”

Harry snorts. “That too.”

“Shall I stop mentioning how fat you’re getting, darling?” Draco’s voice is silky. He only uses pet names when he’s gearing up for something spectacularly filthy. “Stop stuffing you full of those abhorrent pasties you love so much? Ignore how much you struggle to get your robes to button?” He reaches over and taps Harry firmly on the belly, hard enough to make a little slapping sound and set his tummy to jiggling. “Pretend I don’t know how much it gets you off for me to point out how tubby you’re getting, even when they’re listening?” He pauses theatrically. “Especially when they’re listening?”

“Nooooo,” Harry says, just shy of a whine, and Draco’s hand slips lower on his belly, squeezing the soft pudge below his navel. “I just—fuck, Draco—it’s just embarrassing.”

“So tell them, then,” Draco says lazily, wiggling his fingers beneath the tight, tight elastic of Harry’s pajama pants.

“Tell them what, exactly?”

“That you’re a kinky sod and practically come in your pants when I tell you to go on a diet before I’m crushed under your gut when we shag.”

God, Draco sounds like such a fucking prick. It shouldn’t be so sexy. Really. It shouldn’t.

Harry gasps despite himself, shifting a little so that Draco has better access to his tummy—or his cock, if he’s so inclined. “You think that’ll make it better? ‘Hey guys, no worries, I’m getting off on it?’”

Draco shrugs, his attention clearly focused now on Harry’s belly, where he’s tracing his warm palm over the little pink stretch marks that have popped up. “Of course, Potter. Clear it right up.”

*

It’s a toss up, whether Hermione or Ron takes it worse when Harry tries to explain things to them the next evening when they stop by for a drink.

Ron’s eyes bulge nearly out of their sockets as soon as Harry’s done speaking, and then he’s immediately shaking his head. “You—you like it? When he’s mean to you?”

“Just about the, um, fat thing,” Harry clarifies, because Jesus, he’s not some sort of—well, he is some sort of deviant. Just a highly specialized one.

“Merlin, that’s fucking weird.” Ron frowns, then drains his beer and shakes his head. “Can’t just fancy blokes, you have to shag Malfoy. And then can’t just shag Malfoy, you have to date him. And then can’t just date, shag, and fancy Malfoy, you have to…do that…with him. In front of us. Mate, you’re lucky I love you, you weird bastard.“

For her part, Hermione moves from shock straight into lecture mode. “Harry, I don’t mean to kink-shame you,” she begins earnestly, and Harry ponders the possibility of self-Avada Kedavra. Is it possible? If anyone can do it, it’s Harry, right? Just Savior himself right out of this wretched conversation, one swift AK to the temple.

“—it’s just that these sorts of things need to be carefully negotiated, and both partners need to be very aware of what constitutes safe play,” Hermione ploughs on. “Do you have safewords?”

Death. That’s the only thing that will save him now. So long, cruel world.

Instead of Death, the Floo flames to life and Draco steps through, a small mountain of takeaway cartons levitating in front of him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he declares, clearly not sorry in the least. He brushes invisible soot from his robes and waves his wand, sending the half dozen cartons of food to land neatly on the coffee table.

Before Hermione or Ron can respond, Draco flicks his gaze to Harry. “I didn’t know if you wanted Chinese or curry, so I got you both. Plus extra naan and samosas, and those wretched egg rolls you like so much.” He smiles broadly, an expression so pleasantly Slytherin it almost hurts to look directly at it, and then has the audacity to wink at Harry. “Wouldn’t want you wasting away, Potter.”

Hermione twitches violently.

Ron makes a choking sound disguised as a cough.

Draco smirks, clearly daring them to say anything, and Harry considers again the possibility of casting an unforgivable on himself.

*

Later, once Hermione and Ron have said their awkward goodbyes and Harry’s settled on the couch, open cartons strewn around him and one perched on his tummy, Draco leans over and shoves a dumpling into his mouth, managing to make the gesture both forceful and sweet. “See, Potter, I was right. Isn’t it better now your friends know the truth?”

Harry swallows, then opens his mouth to disagree, because no, it bloody well is not better, not with Draco waltzing in and rubbing their faces in it, and—

Before he can get a single word out, Draco pokes an egg roll between his lips.

“Schmmff,” Harry tries, and Draco nods sagely.

“Of course, Potter. I agree completely. Honesty’s the best policy, et cetera.” Draco’s lips twitch, like maybe he wants to leer but can’t quite muster the necessary prickishness to pull it off. It morphs into a bizarrely gentle smile instead. “Here. Have another egg roll, chubs.”

#anon asks #chubby Harry Potter #harry x draco #chubby kink #Draco saying filthy feedist shit to Harry is one of my favorite things on this earth