Miscommunication

Harry felt his face grow redder every second Draco stared at him with that bemused expression. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“You want to dress up like cowboys?” Draco asked again, and Harry sank deeper into the couch.

“You asked!” he defended, crossing his arms over his chest.

Just a few moments ago, things had been going so well. They were exchanging hot, wet kisses on Harry’s couch with Draco braced over him, his arms bracketing Harry’s head.

He nuzzled his cheek against Harry’s and murmured seductively in his ear, “Tell me your fantasy, Harry. Anything…”
Harry felt so dizzy and turned on that he’d given Draco the truth.

Now they sat on opposite ends of the couch, half-hard and rapidly deflating, having the most frustrating conversation in Harry’s recent memory.

He didn’t think it was an unreasonable fantasy. Cowboys had those leather boots and tight trousers and chaps and maybe some manly stubble—what wasn’t to like? But Draco stared at him like he’d suggested that perhaps they could rub their naked genitals in a cauldron of Bobotuber Pus.

Draco replied, “I thought you’d say securing your hands to the bed with my old Slytherin tie, or having a quick one behind the Three Broomsticks.”

“Your Slytherin tie?” Harry mused, silently welcoming his reawakened cock back to the proceedings. “I’ve changed my mind. I want that instead.”

Draco help up one slim, elegant hand. “But…cowboys?”

Harry’s eyes shut in humiliation. “Drop it, would you?”

“Cowboys, though? Cow. Boys.”

“Yes, keep mocking me, please!” Harry cried, offended. “How many more times are you going to repeat that word?”

“Until it makes sense!” Draco snapped back. “I’m assuming that a ‘cowboy’ is something good in your quaint Muggle vocabulary?”

That stopped Harry short. “Wait, you don’t know what it is? No, of course you don’t.” He tried to figure out a way to explain the concept. “See it’s…ehm…American Muggles have this tradition…”

Draco snorted. “Bloody Americans, of course. And here I thought that nothing could beat ‘Hogwarts’ for the title of most unflattering naming of an object in the entire history of the world. Honestly, when I hear the word ‘cowboy,’ the only image I get is that gigantic cousin of yours.”

Unbidden, a picture of Dudley wearing a pair of chaps rose in his mind. He would have laughed if he weren’t too busy mourning the fact that he’d probably never achieve another erection for the rest of his life.

“Cowboys are rugged and sexy,” Harry declared. Draco’s eyebrows rose in disbelief as he plowed on. “They wear cowboy boots and cowboy…hats. And they ride horses.”

“Not cows?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t they called, ‘horseboys’?” Draco asked.

Harry could only watch helplessly as the conversation spiraled out of his control, becoming more ridiculous by the second. “Because they wrangle cows.”

“’Wrangle’ them?”

“Yes, with…rope.” He knew there was a better word for it, but he wasn’t exactly up on his Wild West terminology.

“I see…” Draco said in the tone of voice he used when speaking to someone he considered completely daft.

Harry sighed and admitted defeat. Draco probably thought he invented the whole thing. He made a mental note to hire some John Wayne videos after work the next day.

“Never mind, forget it,” Harry said. “The tie thing, let’s do that.”

“No, no,” Draco argued. Suddenly all of the space between them disappeared, and Draco was straddling Harry’s lap. “If you want cowboys, you’ll get cowboys.” He attacked Harry’s neck with his mouth while one hand slipped under Harry’s trousers to grip his cock, tight and perfect.

“Please…” Harry groaned as Draco’s hand began to slowly wank him. “Please don’t think you should to stop, but what does this have to do with cowboys?”

Draco shot him a mischievous look from underneath his silver lashes. “Isn’t it obvious, Harry?” he asked. “I’m milking you.”

Harry’s head knocked against the armrest when he threw it back and laughed.