Author: draicana

Rating: R

Challenge: #6. Did you know there's a locker in the Slytherin/Gryffindor locker room that's big enough to hide a seventeen year old boy?

Summary: Harry goes searching for hs missing gloves and stumbles across something quite unexpected.

Warnings: Voyeurism.

Notes: With many thanks to shaula82 for betaing this for me.

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It was a stupid prank, really, that started it all. One of the new players had decided to hide Harry's Quidditch gear for some mysterious and no doubt pathetic reason. ("Hey! Let's make the famous Harry Potter late for practice! Yay!")

His right arm pad was quickly located in the showers, only slightly damp. His goggles were returned to him by a blushing Ravenclaw second year – their new chaser if Harry's memory served him. Giggles and squeals preceded the recovery of his more private protective gear, which left him with a flaming face in front of the entire Ravenclaw team, scheduled for practice after the Gryffindors who had just taken the field from the Slytherins.

A visit to the Hufflepuff change rooms produced both leg pads, which meant that his left arm guard and his gloves were most likely in the Slytherin change rooms. An arm guard was quite easily replaced, but the gloves were a present from Hermione and were monogrammed with his initials in red and gold.

So, with a heavy heart, Harry made his way into the Slytherin change rooms. There was nobody in the main chamber, but Harry could hear the shower running in the adjacent room.

His left arm pad was lying under one of the benches, but a preliminary search yielded no sign of his gloves. He was just considering opening some of the lockers when the sound of running water ceased. Getting caught in the Slytherin change rooms was not something Harry found appealing, but he was determined not to leave without his gloves. He looked around quickly for somewhere to hide, his eyes coming to rest on a locker that stood in the corner, slightly larger than the others. The door was ajar and it appeared to be empty.

He crawled inside and pulled the door closed behind him, mere moments before a towel clad blond sauntered past. Harry hastily covered his eyes. A few minutes passed without a sound. Curious despite himself, he uncovered his eyes and took a peek through the slots. Draco Malfoy was sprawled on the bench, leaning back against the lockers with eyes closed and his legs akimbo. His hands were resting in his lap and were hold something dark and leathery with suspiciously familiar red and gold stitching...

Harry gave a start and leaned in to get a closer look. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy was clutching Harry's Quidditch gloves. Not just clutching them, either. He appeared to be caressing them lightly. He opened his eyes and stared down at the gloves for a moment, before carefully pulling them on. The fingers of his right hand trailed over the palm of his left. He began to lightly rub his hands together, skin smoothing over leather. His eyes drifted shut as he pressed his hands against his chest.

Harry watched, horrified and mesmerised, as Malfoy began running his hands over his chest, his stomach, his neck. With one hand he tweaked a nipple, eliciting a moan. His other hand drifted back to his lap and pushed the towel away. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but found he could not keep them closed. He cracked open one eyelid, sucking in a breath as he watched Malfoy working his cock with Harry's glove on his hand.

Harry bit down hard on his lip, trying to deny his body's reaction to the other boy's moans. He refused to get turned on by the sight of Draco Malfoy jerking off with his own gloves. There was nothing hot about it, nothing at all. Except, perhaps, the delectable way the muscles in his thighs, stomach and arms were tensing, or the way he was biting down so hard on his lip that there was a trickle of blood escaping. And maybe the grunts and groans that escaped despite his obvious attempts to stay quiet. Well... it wasn't like anybody would ever know...

Harry's hand began slowly creeping down to his own crotch, slipping inside the tight Quidditch pants and wrapping firmly around his cock. A shaky breath escaped him and he closed his eyes, trying to pretend that he wasn't this hard just because of Malfoy and his gloves. He tried to picture one of the girls he found attractive, but his mind kept coming back to the image of Draco Malfoy, sprawled on a bench in a way that begged for debauchery, completely naked except for Harry's gloves. The gloves which covered the hands which were quite obviously causing him pleasure. Harry opened his eyes again and suppressed a whimper as he tightened his grip. This was torture. Pure and exquisite torture.

A cry from across the room as Malfoy came, slumping against the lockers; he then proceeded to lick Harry's gloves clean. Harry bit down hard, trying to muffle the sounds of his own climax. Realisation of what had just happened hit him and tears started rolling down his face. This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't what he wanted or needed right now, but he knew that he'd never be able to get the image of Malfoy coming over his gloves out of his mind... and that on some level, he didn't particularly mind.

The sound of movement startled him. Malfoy was cleaning himself up with the towel. He threw it to the ground and started to dress, leaving Harry's gloves on. He grabbed his bag from inside his locker and headed towards the exit. He paused just inside the doorway and pulled off the gloves. He rubbed them against his cheek, then slipped them into his back pocket before walking outside.

Harry slumped against the locker door in relief. He would wait for a few minutes before leaving the locker and heading back to the Gryffindor change rooms. He would speak to Hermione later and confess the loss of his gloves. There was no way he could think of to get them back now.

A few minutes passed and finally Harry deemed it safe enough to leave. He crawled out of the locker and grabbed Malfoy's used towel to clean himself up a bit. He straightened his clothes and closed the locker, then headed back to join his teammates.

The next day after breakfast left Harry feeling confused, angry and somehow rather pleased. It all boiled down the package he had received – finely worked leather gloves with the initials 'D.M.' stitched on them in green and silver thread – and the accompanying note – 'Enjoy the show? Your turn to perform.'