Word Count: 494
Summary: Written for the prompts: Sea salts and digibox. Shared condition: Voldemort wins.
Harry stepped though the door and walked purposefully into the kitchen. He looped an arm around Malfoy’s waist and slammed the box down hard on the counter.
“Here are your damned sea salts, straight from the Adriatic, mined by natives and imbued with the pure, natural essence of the
Even though Harry’s tirade, he felt little annoyance when he pressed himself closely to the blond’s warm back and nestled his pelvis against the firm buttocks. He nibbled Malfoy’s neck with a sigh.
“I’ll make it up to you, Potter,” Malfoy said and tipped his head back slightly to allow better access. “You’ll thank me when you taste the Coque au Vin.”
“I’d rather taste the Coque au Draco,” Harry murmured and slid his hand down Malfoy’s smooth abdomen. Before he could dip his fingers beneath the waistband of Malfoy’s trousers, a spoon whacked against Harry’s fingers.
“Not when I’m cooking. You’ll ruin the soufflé.”
Harry scowled and stepped back, knowing hexes would follow if he allowed something to burn, regardless of how much his lover might enjoy the interruption. The blond turned around with a coy smile that normally caused Harry to let the fucking meal burn, because he simply had to have Malfoy right then and there. His amorous intent was short-circuited when his eyes traveled downward to the blond’s torso.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Harry demanded.
“It’s called a t-shirt, Potter. You should know, it’s practically the only item in your entire wardrobe.”
“You are wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Voldemort Wins!’”
Malfoy nodded and grinned.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Voldemort Wins?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s a game, Potter. You know how video games have taken off ever since they got the Wizanet up and running.”
“You live with me and you play a game called Voldemort Wins?”
“Well, not exactly. I’m the chief investor, actually. Come and see.”
Harry was too flummoxed to do anything but follow Malfoy into the living room where a converted digibox had been hooked to Malfoy’s iMac. He tapped the mouse and a vision appeared. Harry saw a likeness of himself brandishing a wand while a freakishly large Voldmort-figure rose from an eerie graveyard.
“Oh look, you’re just inn time to witness your defeat at the hands of the Dark Lord,” Malfoy said brightly.
Harry’s jaw worked. “You’re the chief investor in a game that kills me off?”
Malfoy nodded. “Pansy and Theo designed it. Isn’t it brilliant?”
“Not quite the adjective I had in mind.” Harry dove on the blond, bowling him onto the floor.
“Potter, the soufflé,” Malfoy said weakly.
“Fuck the soufflé,” Harry retorted.
“I’d rather you fuck me,” Malfoy said with a low moan.
Harry’s irritation disappeared in a rush of familiar lust. “Okay. And then we’re going to have a little talk about your investments.”
The horrifically evil piratical demoness lilith1631 has unilaterally decided that I lose for improper usage of the digibox. Therefore I have earned another prompt for the next round. How would I survive a war without earning additional prompts? HOW?
*tosses aside cutlass and Cruicios lilith1631 instead*