D’s ignoring me. Nothing new. He’s been ignoring me for years ever since we stopped fighting. That was the compromise. Either continue to obsess and fight with each other every fucking chance we get, or finally let it the fuck go. But he couldn’t let it go, just as much as I couldn’t. So he blatantly ignores me and I, well, I can’t ignore him. No matter how hard I wish I could.
“I don’t know why you couldn’t just tell us,” Hermione says under her breath while chopping ingredients for the overly complicated potion Snape has us all slaving over.
“Because it’s none of our business,” Ron mutters right back, deflecting me from having to shake the little witch until she gets the fucking point already. I give him a grateful look but he’s pissed too, in his own way, for me not telling them about D. But at least he knows this is not the class to discuss it.
“Harry, you’ve been so messed up lately. Angry.” She gives me the look, like I’ve been murdering muggles in my spare time. “I’m worried about you. Things have calmed down. Things are good now. Why are you so…?”
“Fucked in the head?” I give her my own brand of the look, and she shuts her mouth and glares at her ingredients.
Probably because I spent the majority of my life not knowing who I was and then when I started getting an inkling of myself, some dark wizard showed up to kill me. And now with Voldemort dead, I really don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know the fucking point to anything. Except D.
I tried. I dated myself stupid, trying to not think about D and his ever cool facade. Girls, then guys, when I was willing to admit that girls really don’t do it for me. But guys don’t completely do it for me either. Only D does. When D started ignoring me, it was like my fucking world disappeared. My life consisted of worrying about Voldemort and obsessing over D, and D proved that he could strip my existence away every time he walked into a room and chose not to acknowledge me. Like now. Here I am arguing with my friends over the fact that I’ve been staying out late, and he’s just doing his fucking potion like he’s not the reason I’m wandering the halls at night.
“Harry, just talk to us. We really just want to help—”
“Mione, stop sticking your nose in it,” Ron snaps, giving her a warning look that she willfully ignored.
I’m so done with this. Fifteen minutes into class, and I’m walking out the door, all my school things left under my desk.
Every one has a fucking opinion on what I should be doing with my time, with my life and apparently I get no goddamn say in it. Dumbledore signed me up for some sort of internship at the Ministry—Didn’t even fucking ask me. Just sent me a note saying what a privilege it is to be accepted and I should show up a week after I graduate. This is why I’m pissed. It’s also what I told Hermione two weeks ago when the letter showed up in the post. She hasn’t gotten the fucking clue that it’s still the reason I’m pissed. That, along with her constant nagging for me to be whatever the fuck she thinks I’m supposed to be instead of me. Fucking hell.
I push my way into the bathroom and dunk my face under the faucet. What pisses me off the most about the Dumbledore thing is that I’m going to take the internship. Because I don’t have anything else to do. Because I don’t want to do anything. I have no fucking hopes, no ambitions. I’m a fucking shell of a human being, and no one seems to see it.
Fucking hero worshiping Collin. I still can’t get over that kid interrupting me with D. I told him a million fucking times I don’t like him that way. But the second Hermione snaps her fingers, he’s ready to go, just for an excuse to be near me. And maybe, if he was any other way, it wouldn’t be so annoying. But he seems to think I’m the second coming of Christ—Or the first. I still can’t figure out what religious beliefs go with being a wizard with godlike powers. Whatever. The kid thinks my shit doesn’t stink, no matter how many times I crap on him. It’s annoying as fuck.
The door opens and I pull my head up, hair soaking wet and streaming water in front of my eyes. It’s D, and he’s covered in green sludge.
“Neville?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face. Fuck, he’s adorable in everything, even gross sticky stuff that smells like sulfur.
“Granger,” he grunts, looking at me with a blank expression. The water streaming from my hair suddenly soaks my face. Swearing, I duck my head over the sink, squeezing out the excess liquid.
“I’ve never seen Hermione blow up a cauldron before,” I say while trying to sneak a peek of him in the mirror as he strips off his cloak and shirt.
“Apparently she’s upset with me.”
That gets my attention and I nearly brain myself on the faucet, I snap my head up so fast. “Did she say anything to you? Hex you?” I’ll fucking kill her if she so much as sneered in his—
He raises an eyebrow like I’m the biggest moron out there. Maybe I am. He can easily take care of himself. “I might have brought it on myself,” he says after a moment, not looking apologetic. The last button on his shirt is pulled free and I’m not really thinking any longer, his skin pale and stunning and demanding all of my attention.
“She wanted to know what I was doing in a hallway with you at eleven o’clock at night. The Weasel suggested she really shouldn’t be asking me that.” Draco scowls at his shirt, holding it up to take in the full effect of green goop on his school clothes. No charm is going to clean that alone, and he stuffs it into the sink and runs water over it.
“What did you tell her?” I ask, dying of curiosity. Maybe Hermione actually succeeded where I can’t and got a proper answer out of D.
“I said something along the lines of not being able to understand her question on account of her huge buckteeth getting in the way. It sort of went downhill after that.” He shrugs and I can’t help but stare at his shoulders and the muscles rippling under his glowingly pale skin. D might be slender but he is damn fit.
“Well, seeing the aftermath, I’m going to say you still have it, D.” Draco always could piss anyone off if he really wanted to. It was a fucking skill that used to drive me mad. Even Hermione, for all her intent on being civil and apathetic to everyone that annoyed the hell out of her, still blows up. “You cold?”
“Freezing.” I’m on him before the answer is fully out of his mouth, pulling him into my arms while trying not to laugh at the image of D telling Hermione off. Ron must have been roaring. God, but he’s fucking soft. Not that girly, perfumy soft. His skin is powder smooth, his muscles firm and healthy under my hands. When I run my palms over his bare back and sides, he shivers and I don’t think it’s from the cold.
“Any warmer?” I ask, ducking my head to catch his eye, my hair slicked back and dripping water down my eyebrow. He has such fucking beautiful eyes. I could stare at them forever—If he didn’t hex the fuck out of me for it.
“No. This castle is always so fucking cold—Oh.” He falls silent as I pull him closer, his eyes closing, lips parting. Right now he’s unguarded, free of all those many walls he’s always stacking up. I slip my arms from my school cloak and pull the edges around him so that when I run my hands up his back he’s still covered warm. I don’t want to make him warm with my hands, I want to touch him. I want to take every damn opportunity I can get to feel him, sink into the fucking amazing privilege of experiencing Draco Malfoy as a person, hot blooded—no matter how cold he gets—real, alive with needs and wants like any other guy. He tries to hide it but he keeps letting me see for some reason and I’m going to enjoy it while I can.
“Potter, I have to get back,” he whispers weakly. But he doesn’t stop me when my thumb brushes over his nipple. No, he moans, the sound so sexy, I’m rock hard and straining just to know I’m the reason. God. He better not let other people do this to him. No one should touch him the way I touch him. He should only get hard for me, the way he is now, pressing tentatively against my hip.
I wrench him closer, dragging my fingers down his bare back, pulling him by his belt until we’re grinding our erections together. Yeah, he gets fucking hard for me and that makes me so crazy. He’s gasping, these perfect, naughty sounds that make me want to slam him against something solid and have him scream my name. But he won’t say my fucking name. Fuck—I won’t say his name. I call him D because if I call him Draco he’ll fucking know I love him.
Forcing the thought from my mind, I decide slamming is the way to go and I push him into the nearest bathroom stall and throw him against the side wall, shutting the door behind us. I lick his nipple and he cries out, his fingers biting into my skull and pulling my hair so good. He’s sensitive everywhere, including his rosy red buds. I pull the hardening flesh into my mouth, letting my tongue tease over the tight edges, loving every gasping whimper he makes. And when I dare to bite down—God, he is not quiet. If he wasn’t holding my head against his body like he’s going to die if I stop, I would have sworn it hurt.
“Harder,” he whispers, his voice so fucking raspy, shivers go down my spine. I let my grip tighten, tugging on the slick flesh as it slips between my teeth. He wrenches at my hair while he cries out, and the pain is everything I need to keep from losing myself in him. It would be so fucking easy to get lost in D, especially when he’s humping my leg. I slide my hand down between the press of our bodies, feeling the damp muscles of his stomach twitch, hearing the soft groan when he realizes I’m not stopping and slip my fingers beneath his waistband.
His head thumps against the stall, his entire body arching under my hands. “H-Harry…”
Oh my god. I close my eyes, heat thrumming through my veins. Well, he’s not thinking of anyone else, that’s for fucking sure. “You like that, D?”
“Don’t stop.” He tugs at my hair, forcing me to look at him and once I see him, I can’t look away. His cheeks are flushed, his lips red, eyes glazed and dark. Draco Malfoy has to be the sexiest fucking person on the planet. I push my hand further down the front of his pants, my fingers brushing boldly over his hard cock. His eyes widen, lips parting in the hottest moan I have ever heard. The whole time he’s staring at me with those crazy beautiful eyes of his, fingers holding my head still, panting loudly when he’s not whimpering or crying out.
God, I need him. I never should have touched him because there is no way I can ever go back now. To not see his face—brows twisted as he gasps for air, his cheeks nearly as red as those fucking perfect lips of his—is to never know happiness again. A lot of shit has gone down in my life, but fuck, I want to be happy.
Without taking my eyes off of his, I quickly tear his fly open and push his pants and underwear down his toned thighs. His eyes tell me everything. He’s hot for me. Likes it when I’m forceful with him. Likes it when I take control. I just don’t know if he knows how much he likes it. He lets me do a lot of fucked up things and has yet to say a word.
I’m on my knees before he can blink. He stops breathing the instant my nose presses against the side of his cock. I want to look at him but I also want to see just how fucking perfect his dick is.
Ah. Holy fuck. He’s big. Not crazy big, but definitely big enough to convince me that riding him would be worth getting over my last hangup. He’s also red, his pale skin hiding nothing. I lap my tongue slowly over his flushed tip, the flesh hot, firm, thick. Perfect. God, he feels good in my mouth. My tongue trembles and I rub harder, wanting to feel every ridge, every inch. His fingers are in my hair again, pulling me further on him, his cock thrusting against my tonsils in one desperate, needy push. I lock my lips tight, loving how wet he makes my mouth, like I’m already filled with his hot seed. God, just god.
Hands fumbling, I grab his hips, roughly forcing him deeper inside my throat as I open wide to him.
“F-Fuck!” He shouts, then moans.
Should have cast a silencing charm. Not stopping now. I’m going to make him cum. I’m going to fucking show him just what he does to me by doing it to him. And fuck—he better not misinterpret his cock down my throat.
I rock his hips, making him fuck my mouth hard, deep, needing to feel just how real he is inside. My lips are sore and numb, jaw aching as I keep it as wide as I can so he gets as deep as possible. His precum is dripping down my lips, diluted with my saliva, my skin hot and tight, and a little sore from the feel of his zipper. I want to suffocate on him. I want to die sucking his cock, knowing he’s hard because it’s my lips wrapped around him, my hands squeezing his tight ass, my name he keeps mumbling.
“Please—oh god—so close… Harry… god, that’s it… almost…”
Yeah, D, get there. Fucking get there from my mouth. I squeeze his ass tighter, letting my fingers tease into his crack, seeking out his hot little pucker. His hands feel like vices, and I might be missing some hair by the time this is done.
“Fuck… oh fuck…”
He’s thick in my mouth, suffocating, wet bruising thrusts. My lips are raw, and I fucking love it as I struggle to breathe. I want to see him but can’t, the angle too steep as he practically folds over my shoulders to hump my face. He’s close, so fucking close. I press a finger right up against his hole, his flesh fluttering around my tip. His hips give a final wild buck. Yeah, D, fucking yeah. His cry is fucking delirious as he fills my mouth with his cum.
God. My god.
His hands still tangled in my damp hair, he holds me still, keeps me full of his cock while I try to swallow all the hot fluid around his thickness. I feel so crazy right now, burning on my fucking knees, thoroughly used by his gorgeous, brutal dick in the goddamn bathroom of all places. God, he does crazy things to me.
His hands loosen and I gently release his softening flesh, looking up to find him an absolute mess as he pants for air. Beautiful, so damn beautiful. I run my hands down his legs, catching his knees and tugging. He folds with a surprised gasp, falling down into my arms.
He blinks at me like he completely forgot that I was even here. It’s okay. He’s just a little fucked, totally dazed and something I can’t quite figure out but it’s making him look away from me. Sad. He looks a little sad.
I kiss him, trying to pull him from whatever’s haunting him today. He’s languid, dizzy, his fingers digging into my shoulders as he pushes forward and straddles me the best he can around his pulled down trousers. His flesh is damp with sweat, yet still cool to the touch. When I pull him tight, he moans, his tongue meeting mine with fumbling, perfect strokes. I can’t help but notice he’s nearly naked in my arms, his shirt still in the sink, his pants riding low, exposing so much of his beautiful flesh to my hands and the air.
“Wait,” he gasps, but I can’t seem to stop, my mouth burning kisses down his throat, my hands moving over him desperately, pulling him closer, grinding my body against his. He’s gorgeous, fucking sexy, god, fucking perfect, and I have to touch him. I tear at his pants, bending his knee, dragging the material down off one of his long legs and pulling it free from his shoe. I grab his inner thigh, running my palm roughly over his smooth skin, pulling his leg up to wrap around my hip as I slam him back against the stall wall, his body folding awkwardly.
He groans, his breath growing loud as I grind him hard against the wall, spreading his tight cheeks apart with my hands. God, I want him so bad. Want to be in him. Want to make him mine. He won’t even tell me why we’re doing this, won’t say he likes me, won’t even fucking acknowledge that he’s been making out with me.
“Shit, slow down… Oh fuck… fuck.” His head makes a thunk when he arches back, his hole yielding to one of my fingers. He’s tight inside. Hot. Fucking slick.
“You like that, D?”
He whimpers, fingers digging harder into my shoulder, his other hand clasping the back of my neck hard. I plunge into him slowly, wanting him to feel everything, want him to know I’m the one who makes him like this. Desperate, and unhinged, and so fucking ready for more.
“Yeah?” His eyes are squeezed shut, face flushed as I work my finger deeper into his entrance. He is so fucking beautiful, it feels like my heart wants to break just a little.
I press a kiss to his brow, his flesh damp beneath my lips. “D, you ever think you might want to, uh…?” God, this again. This fucking tongue twisting bullshit where the right words won’t come. “D,” I try again, only to sigh in frustration. I want to ask him out. I want to ask him to be my boyfriend. Fuck, if I thought he wouldn’t laugh in my face, I’d ask him to marry me. Whatever will make him mine always.
Draco moans a low, raspy sigh against my cheek the same moment I tease a second finger around his rim. “Harry.”
I lick my lips and stare down at his closed eyelids where his white blond lashes flutter lightly. “More?”
“Just… just a little.”
I lean down and brush my lips to his. “Draco.” Maybe it’s really not the right time. Maybe it’s never going to be the right fucking time to break my heart on Draco Malfoy. “Draco, I need to tell you something. Uh, ask you…”
“I’ll give it back.”
“Your sweatshirt. Sorry I forgot. I’ll…” His breath catches and his fingers twist painfully into my hair. “Fuck… Fuck, Harry. Right there. Right… there…”