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I've never really been one to talk shit about dick size. You're born with what you got, and you make do. Being a wizard, you even get a little leeway, and I know there are more than a few blokes that stuff an extra inch or two to make things interesting. I am not one of those guys. I really wish Theodore Nott was.
Malfoy's looking at Nott's dick like he's internally berating it for just how fucking small it is. It's not a sweet expression, but few of Malfoy's are. It also doesn't help that I'm polyjuiced as Nott, because hell, I have never felt inadequate before, but I sure do under that withering stare. I'm not hung like a horse—no matter what all my diehard Potter fans would have you believe. But I'm not Nott. Fucked up thing? Malfoy sucks this kid off all the time. How the hell does Nott put up with that glare every time he's being blown?
Determined to make the most of things before the potion wears off, I grab Draco's very silky shoulder length hair, and push him down to his knees. Heh, he is not happy about that. Nott is also a fucking sappy, romantic gasbag that likes to whisper sweet nothings in the blond's ear while he's rubbing up against him. I know better and wrench Draco's hair hard, the boy's lips parting in a surprised moan.
“That's it.” I cup my other hand down his cheek, fingers running over his lips, touching the edge of his teeth, his trembling tongue. He's not glaring now. No, he's into it, eyelids heavy with want, soft puffs of air hitting my hip. “Suck me, Malfoy.” I pull his hair again. “Now.”
“Fuck,” he gasps, all he can get out before I'm pushing between his gorgeous lips, holding his face firm to keep him from trying to pull off.
Shit. I really shouldn't be doing this.
He groans, opening wider as I sit as deep as I can inside the scalding heat of his mouth. God, I wish it was deeper. Part of me wants to suffocate him, take his throat so hard he'll always be raspy from what I do to him. That he'll never know it's me just makes me more desperate to mark him in some way. “God, that's it, baby... Let me fuck you.”
I can't stop staring at his face, his cheeks flushed, brows furrowed as he tries not to choke every time I push into him. He's tight inside, and so wet. The noises he makes are obscene, loud, and crazy desperate. It's nearly impossible to hold back. He's so hot and sexy, and I've been dreaming of fucking him for years now.
He grabs my hips, and I wonder if he's finally going to push me back, put me in my place for being too rough, but it never comes. No, he just moans again, opens wider, his fingers clawing at the back of my thighs and digging into the muscles of my ass as he helps me slam into his mouth. “Fuck, Malfoy.” God, he likes it. I tighten my grip in his hair, pulling him back so I can see his face. Fuck, he really likes it.
“You going to cum like this? Just from my cock bruising your tonsils?” I can't stop myself, can't stop from saying shit to him. His mouth is full of dick, dripping wet, and he loves it. It doesn't help that he's on his knees in a back hallway of the dungeons, like he does this all the time. Like he's been looking for someone to come along and use him.
I slowly pull out, his lips clinging tight suction to my head, trying to keep my dick inside. He finally releases me with a wet pop, his tongue caressing over the tip of my cock for a toe curling instant. Fuck. I force his face further back, tilting him up by his chin until he meets my eyes. I watch, surprise jolting through me when he actually blushes.
Okay, maybe he doesn't do this all the time. But he should. Because he's really fucking good at it.
He opens his mouth to my thumb, his lips swollen and bright red. I push hard against his soft flesh, watching him gasp, knowing his teeth are biting in on the other side of his lip. His tongue is suddenly drifting out, licking at my knuckle. I take two fingers and push them into his widening mouth. “You have a really sick... oral fixation.” His tongue comes up to wrap around my digits, coating me in his clear fluids, sucking me down, teeth scraping as he runs his hands up my hips and stomach, nails digging in and pulling down.
Oh shit. My eyes close, his hands doing something crazy to me, his mouth sucking my fingers like they're directly connected to my dick, and making me dizzy and so painfully hard. I knew he'd be good—Fuck, he could stick his tongue out and tell me to fuck off, and I'd be coming for him. But that he's into it makes it so much better. I can almost pretend it's for me.
Fucking Nott. Fucking douche bag, Theodore Nott and his bite-sized prick for dating Malfoy.
Opening my eyes, I pull my fingers free of his tongue, grab him by the back of the neck, and grind my too small cock up against his bottom lip. He looks up at me, cruel grey eyes intense with fire and sex, and fuck, I want to ruin him. And I'm pretty sure, seeing how his tongue is sneaking out to lick my slit, he would really enjoy it.
But although Draco Malfoy might get on his knees in a hallway, he does not, under any circumstances, spread his fucking legs in a hallway. I'm actually not even sure he bottoms. Every time I've seen him with his boyfriend, he has never once shown an interest in letting anything between those tight cheeks of his. Then again, when you have some sap whimpering how much they're meant to be together while also refusing to plump his cock up with a simple spell, it really fucking kills the mood. Least, it sure did for me, watching Nott put his soggy kisses and limp wristed hands all over the wild blond. A hot piece of ass like Malfoy deserves fucking better.
Too bad I'm not the one to give it to him.
My fingers bite into the back of his neck, pulling him down again. I watch his face, his lashes fluttering shut, mouth dropping open in anticipation, tongue reaching out to meet my cock when I push into him again. I cup my other hand to his cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and gripping hard as I pull him down to meet every relentless thrust I give into his tight heat. My god, he's beautiful. His mouth is wide open, dripping wet down his chin and my length, whimpering, hot suction noises and choked sobs escaping as he surrenders to me. He gasps around my dick, struggling to draw air in, his hands grasping weakly to my thighs as he lets out a string of desperate, low moans.
“God... god, that's it... want it... fucking take it...” He's going to cum. I can see it on his face. He's so fucking gone, he's going to cum with my cock in his mouth. “You're doing so good, baby... so... fucking... tight...” He makes this beautiful, wet cry when I pull him down a final time, his throat opening to me, so hot and dripping tight as I shoot stream after stream of my seed into him. And fuck, he swallows down every nasty drop, milking me for more while fighting to breathe.
Fuck. I pull out of him, my dick growing cold in the air. I don't care. I have to touch him, or I'm going to lose my fucking mind. I drag him up to his feet, his body swaying, arms heavy as he wraps around me and opens to my kiss. Before he can think to stop me, I shove my hand down the front of his pants, groaning when I find him slick with cum already. God—the gorgeous prat came without even touching himself. Both his hands were on my thighs the whole time, pretty fucking sure.
“Theo, fuck, that was so good. Didn't know it could—Fuck. Fuck.” He pulls me down into another kiss, crushing me back against the wall, grinding against me so hard I think he's trying to fuck me with his pants on. It's hot, really hot, but him calling me his boyfriend's name is a punch to the gut.
Fuck, I'm such an idiot.
I kiss him—I'm never going to get another chance—and reach down to tuck myself back in while he sucks on my neck. Malfoy does really nice things with that mouth of his.
“I gotta go.” I push him back, watching the confusion and hurt flash in his beautiful grey eyes. God, I'm the biggest fucking asshole ever.
I yank him by the arm, his eyes widening as he crashes against my chest. “Baby, you were incredible,” I whisper against his lips, cupping his face firmly, tilting him a little closer so I can kiss him the way I've always wanted to kiss him. He melts into me, moaning, tongue tentatively tangling with mine. I pull him closer, unable to stop as I wrap him in my arms, kissing him so consumingly, so thoroughly, all he can do is whimper once I finally release him and leave him leaning weakly on the wall.
I walk away before I can think of a reason not to, glancing back as I round the corner, finding him staring at me, his eyes blazing as they meet mine.
Shit, I am such a fuck up.
I have once again ruined my own life.
Not the first time, likely not the last time. Definitely not the first or last where Draco Malfoy is concerned.
I made myself not follow him around like a psycho stalker after crossing the line a week ago. God, what the fuck was I thinking? Polyjuicing myself into his sappy boyfriend—Voldemort must have done some fucking permanent damage to my head, because if I were sane, I would have known just how bad an idea that was. Yeah, I am definitely fucked in the head, because all I can think of is doing it again.
There's something wrong with me when it comes to Malfoy.
“Whatever, Granger. Not like you have a chance at actually winning. Mudbloods are excluded from Perceptional Scholarships.”
Something seriously wrong with me.
“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Ron snaps, saying what I should be saying. But I'm not, I'm looking at the git's hands, remembering how they felt moving over me. I'm trying very hard not to look at his face, because his mouth is fucking heaven, and if I look, I'm going to touch. I'm handsy and I know it, so best to avoid it all together.
“Actually, the Perceptional Scholarships just started offering two new opportunities that include muggleborns,” Hermione says tightly, flipping open her Potions text. “Considering you're already rolling in your father's money, I'm sure you're not interested.”
“On the contrary...” I look up because I know that tone, and I know that smirk, and I want to see his face when he says whatever shit thing he's going to say. I want to see it almost just as much as I want to see his face when he comes. Issues, I know. “If I can ensure every mudblood, poverty stricken weasel, and pathetic orphan never get a knut of scholarship money, I'm happy to try.”
He's such a bastard.
“What's the matter, Potter? Not up for playing hero today?” He rests his manicured hand on my desk, hip cocked to the side and drawing my eyes down his long legs. I'm up for something, but he's not interested. He'd rather go blow his soggy toothpick of a boyfriend.
I'm pretty sure I didn't hate Nott a month ago.
Feeling spiteful, I rip a sheet of parchment paper off and scribble down the words to the dick enlarging spell every fucking guy knows in the castle. “Here, Malfoy, give this to Nott. Maybe he can dislodge that stick out of your ass for you.”
Scowling at the spell, he crumples the piece of paper, lobbing it at my head. Fucking score one for me.
Malfoy huffs away to his seat, glaring at me like I'm the one that stuck that stick up his ass in the first place. Maybe I am. Who the fuck knows at this point. We've been fighting forever.
Ron bends over, unwrapping the paper and snickering loudly. “Little too close to home there, huh, Har?”
I growl, summoning the paper to me and incinerating it. I told Ron about the polyjuice thing because at this point I'm sure I'm losing my mind over the Slytherin prat, and I need some fucking help. Ron, naturally, was not helpful. Oh, he was quick to point out I was fucked in the head, but his advice consisted of teasing the shit out of me since. I can't tell Hermione—She'd either call me out for rape, or blackmail me into killing the kid. She hates Malfoy, hardcore.
Course, Malfoy's now practically in Nott's lap, the lucky shit. Given the whispering and twin glares in my direction, Nott didn't like my suggestion either. Well fuck him.
Ron gives me a look, one I've grown to anticipate, and he starts conjuring under the table. Two minutes later, a stick covered in what looks a lot like shit but's probably just mud, ends up on Nott and Malfoy's desk. It's three feet long, and it takes every bit of self control I have not to burst out laughing.
For the best, because Malfoy starts hexing the fuck out of me ten seconds later, Ron whooping in laughter as I duck for cover.
Snape gives me detention. I laugh my ass to the hospital ward to reattach my finger.
While cleaning the sludge off of Snape's classroom and storeroom walls, I happen to notice he has a premade polyjuice potion just waiting for a hair. I don't believe in fate, or signs—Hell, I barely believe in magic half the time. It feels more like science with instruction manuals directing energy. That said, I do believe in opportunity. The vial ends up in my pocket when I hightail it back to my room to use the second of three hairs I grabbed from Nott's hairbrush over a month ago.
I'm not really thinking at this point. I try not to think when I'm in the middle of fucking up my life. Because if I wasn't head over heels for Malfoy already, fucking his sexy, nasty mouth raw is going to do it.
I check the Marauder’s Map before I down the potion. Nott's in bed, fast asleep. Malfoy's wandering the halls, probably getting in from his own detention in Transfigurations. He's been twitchy lately, and not just bitching at me for a change. I throw my invisibility cloak on after transfiguring my clothes, so no one in the dorm thinks the Slytherins are attacking, and slip out of the common room.
He's pacing. Pissed off, grumbling under his breath, pacing. Malfoy is also not happy to see me. Well, to see Nott, anyways. I'm pretty sure he'd be even less happy to see me.
“Thought you were going to bed?” He accuses, eyes flashing as he paces right past me, turns, and makes another round.
Malfoy is fucking hot when he's angry. But the pacing is hard to follow, so I grab his arm, pulling him close. He glares at me, then pushes me back, and fuck, I just want him more.
“I don't want to talk, Theo. That fucking Potter—Can't fucking stand him!”
Seriously, he's still pissed off about that stupid stick? That was hours ago. He holds onto shit way too long.
He pushes at my shoulders again, like that's going to make me let him go. I grab his arms, holding him tight against me. His eyes darken, nostrils flare, breath catches, and all my senses tell me the switch that turns him on is flipped, just like that.
I step him back, three, four, until he's flush against the wall. I pull his arms to the sides so they're no longer trapped between us, pinning him in place.
He arches, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “God... I thought... I thought you didn't want to.”
“What don't I want?” I ask, eyes drawn to his long throat and the way he swallows.
“You, uh, said you didn't want to hurt me,” Draco whispers, his body pushing forward against mine.
I nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in, needing to remember everything I can about him. Because I can't do this again. Nott touches him differently, and eventually they're going to figure it out. Just not tonight. “Did I hurt you, baby?”
“No,” he sighs, hands relaxing in my hold, body losing all its tension. “It was amazing, and I don't know why you're afraid to do it again. I want you to do it... So bad.”
I look him in the eye, his crystal clear gaze full of fire and trust. I hate that he can't see me in here. I look at him like I always look at him, but these aren't my eyes, and he just doesn't know me. Another reason I shouldn't be doing this, and am just fucking up my head.
But my crazy isn't going to go away just because I know better. I do plenty of fucking wrong, especially when it comes to Malfoy, and I'm not stopping now. Fucking Nott. If the prick had a set of balls, I could have gotten away with a lot more.
“I'll make a deal with you.” I pull his arms higher, his breath hitching from the motion. “You tell me what you want, anything you want, and I'll give it to you right here, right now.”
“Oh, fuck,” he moans, eyes closing, body shuddering against me.
Oh fuck, indeed. “But, once we're done, baby, we don't talk about it again, okay?” I cover him with my body, nudging a leg between his thighs. He's hard already, only getting harder as I grind against him. “Think of it as a secret meet up. Just two strangers in a hallway. It can be anything you want, but only as long as it's now. How's that sound?”
He leans in to nip my ear, his tongue teasing over my skin and making me dizzy. “It sounds hot.”
His voice is pure sex, but he seems a little scared. I have to wonder just what he's thinking about, and if he's ever done it before. He keeps kissing my neck, teeth nipping, tongue lapping languidly while he chooses. Hell, maybe this is a bad idea. What if it's something super intimate? Has he been with Nott like that yet? Do I seriously want to interfere in something that could be emotional for him?
“I know you said it grosses you out—”
“Fuck what I said. Tell me.” I pull back so I can see his face. Damn, he is adorable, flushed and biting his lip nervously. I'm digging myself a damn big hole here. “Whatever it is, I want to do it to you. I want you to feel fucking amazing, and I want to be the one to make you feel that way.” It's all true, and I hate that he thinks its his boyfriend saying it to him. But god, he does crazy things to me, and even when he pisses me off like the prat he is, I want him to feel so fucking good.
“God, okay... okay...” He's looking everywhere but at me. Suddenly he leans forward, mouth on my ear to whisper. “I want you to... hell... I want...”
God, I'm going to die if he doesn't tell me. It's important. Something Nott's too boring to do for him.
Holy fuck, yes.
I let go of his hands and slam him back by the shoulders. He stares at me wide eyed, like I've lost my mind. Fine, I'm fucked in the head. I'm aware. “Take your pants off, right fucking now.”
“Uh... okay.” Biting his lip, he hesitantly reaches down, pulling at his belt clasp. I want to ask him a million questions, the main one being if he's ever had a tongue up his ass. Or anything up his ass, for that matter. But I feel like he might have had this conversation with the boyfriend who thinks tongue fucking is gross, so I can't ask anything without making him suspicious.
“Should I... Do you want me to do the cleaning spell?”
Damn, he's really nervous. “Let me do everything.” I hold his face, bending down to kiss him. He tastes just like last time, except without the tang of cum on his tongue. It's so hard to hold back, and he groans when I crush him against the wall, his trousers sliding down and hitting the floor. I run my palms over his flesh, pulling him against me while devouring every gasp he makes. He's smooth. Cool marble. Strong, toned, compact muscle, and his ass is fucking perfect, firm and tight, and goddamn perky. I give him a small pinch and he gasps, smacking me on the arm halfheartedly. Fuck, he's sexy.
I cast a silencing spell first, because I have every intention of making him scream. He shudders from the cleaning spell, his mouth dropping open to pant. It's a good sign that he at least enjoys sensation back there. I pull his underwear down, still holding him tight against me, wanting to feel his hard cock and smooth flesh for as long as I can.
“How do you want it?” I ask, smiling when his head falls back against the wall. He looks damn near drunk with anticipation, his eyes bright, lips wet and parted.
“Put your tongue in me like you fucked my mouth the last time in this hallway,” he demands lowly, cocky smirk firmly in place.
I glance around, realizing for the first time that, fuck, this is where I found him that last time.
Oh... Oh fuck.
Either Nott really sucks at getting head, or I left a bit of an impression on Malfoy. And hell, isn't that just the sexiest fucking thought ever, to know he wants it the way only I give it to him.
I spin him around, pushing him chest first against the wall. He groans and pushes back against me, rubbing his bare ass against my erection. Damn. Maybe he's not completely against bottoming after all. “You're going to get really weak in the knees, baby. I can spell you something to hold onto.” I lick his neck, reminding myself that leaving marks on him is a bad idea.
Eyes downcast, his next words are so quiet I have to lean in to hear. “Can you... tie me up?”
God, this is going to kill me. I never should have come back here. The first time fucked me up so bad, I've been dreaming of him crawling into my bed and sucking me off, waking up thinking he was lying right next to me, spooned in tight. No good will come of this. But he's a drug. Designed to get me so high and fucking good, while making me feel like shit the second he leaves my sight. Fuck, or says two words to me.
He pushes back against me again and the world goes dark. All those fucked up thoughts of heartbreak and impossible relationships drain away, replaced with the feel of his smooth, firm ass rubbing against my jeans and cock. Fuck yeah. I hold his hips, surging forward, grinding him hard until he can't stop moaning.
I have to stop or I'm going to do something he didn't agree to, no matter how much I'm sure he'll like it. I pull his right arm up over his head, extending it high. I follow with his left, holding them together, his body stretched out, shirt hanging loose, pants around his ankles to reveal his creamy smooth ass and legs. He whimpers when my spell encases his forearms in a supple, yet sturdy leather wrap, keeping the strain off of his wrists when I secure his arms overhead.
“How does it feel?” I run my hands up over his arms, his body trembling.
“Crazy good,” he whispers hoarsely, his eyes looking above at his bound arms.
“Too tight? Any numbness? Pins and needles?” I press, wanting him to enjoy himself instead of thinking about his arms hurting like fuck.
“No, it's good. God, it looks good, doesn't it?” He can't seem to keep his eyes off his arms, and I can't blame him. Draco Malfoy looks fucking amazing in leather and chains.
“You look sexy as sin.” I wrap my arms around him, stealing this moment to breathe him in again. I run my hands up, unclasping button by button until his shirt peels away and I can move my hands unobstructed over his chest. He exhales sharply when I find his nipples, his head falling back against my shoulder, body arching into my touch.
“Harder... Fuck, yeah.” Moaning when I twist one of his nipples, he slams back against me, snickering while he looks up at me nearly upside down. “I like it when you do that.”
Sexy. So damn sexy. “I know, baby. You're going to like what I do next even better.” I give his red bud a final, lip biting twist, and sink down to my knees, dragging my palms over his body as I go. He bucks his hips into my hands, but I don't touch his perfect, flushed cock. He came the first time from just my dick in his mouth. I want to see if he'll do the same with my tongue buried in his ass.
His thighs tremble when I spread his legs. I pull him back from the wall, pushing his shoulders forward so he can rest his head and give me better access. Not to mention, he gets a fine view of his dripping cock. My view is just as nice of his alabaster skin, the muscles of his ass flexing, legs long, strong and tense. His flesh is cool against my flushed face. I know he wants it like that blowjob, hard and wild, but he keeps jumping under my hand, gasping from just the feel of my breath, the brush of my nose against his ass cheek. God, he's sensitive. I run my thumbs along his crack, spreading him wide, opening him up.
“Oh hell... god, do it... please...”
Nearly naked, bound and begging in a hallway—Thank you, Merlin. Pressing my face between the swell of his flesh, I reach my tongue deep into his crevis, running up and teasing a slow circle around his hot pucker. And fuck, he yells. Damn. I feel giddy knowing how much he's going to love this. That I can do this for him when his boyfriend won't. I lick him again, my breath bouncing heat back at me, his hips jerking from the wet touch. He's strung so tight, his muscles flexing under my hands, pucker fluttering and squeezing against the tip of my tongue as I slowly torment him with small pushes and harder dragging laps.
“Fucking... god,” he sobs when I finally wiggle into him, driving forward, keeping him wide and pulling him back onto my tongue and lips. I take him slow, plunging into his hot, tight flesh with deep strokes, caressing long, aching cries from him. He gets wet, slick from my saliva and his own sweet juices, shudders racking his taut body when my thumbs slip and press into his hole. His knees start shaking, and I'm not surprised when he slams forward, chains holding him overhead, shoulders and head heavy on the wall. I ease off, catching my breath and cooling my face, and let him regain some composure.
Hell, I forgot just how much of a tongue workout this is. My knees are screaming at me, the cold castle floors not made for kneeling. It's totally worth it. I wipe away the saliva slick on my chin before placing a line of kisses over his trembling ass. I caress down with my hand, massaging his inner thigh, so careful to avoid touching his tight sac and bobbing cock. I want to torture him. He drives me crazy, and I'm going to do the same to him. And hell, given his unceasing moans, it's working.
“Please... more... just need it...” Draco's hips rock, and I steady him before he can suffocate me on his pretty pink hole. “Oh god... god... deeper... Stop being so fucking nice about it!”
Fuck. That's my fucking boy.
“Quit your goddamn bitching, spread your legs wider, and fucking take what I give you,” I order roughly, smacking him hard on the ass.
“Fuck!” He yelps, “You fucking bastard.”
It hurt. I know because my hand is still stinging. He also fucking loves it, precum now pouring from his dick like a faucet. Before he can regroup enough to get too upset, I lick over the quickly appearing red mark, coating wet, scraping my teeth on his flesh. He hisses, pushing back into my touch, mumbling something incoherent.
“What was that?” I ask, smiling as I trail my tongue in a heart over his burning ass cheek. Sexy, sexy prat.
He groans, and I can hear his absolute need. “Don't stop. Please.”
“Oh, beautiful, there's nothing you can say or do to make me stop.” His legs widen to my kisses. I know, fucking know, leaving marks is the stupidest fucking thing I can do. Nott's going to wonder who's touching his boyfriend. But apparently I'm an idiot. I suck a welt on his silky inner thigh, his soft leg hair tickling my lips. I suck another, then another, loving every gasp, every cry for more he makes. God, I want him to be mine.
“Yes... god, yes...”
He's not going to last much longer like this. Just breathing against his ass has him bucking. I never knew he was so sensitive. It's crazy—And damn perfect. Spreading his cheeks wide again, I press my thumb just at the ring of his entrance. He stills, his body tense, breathing strained. He pushes back, whimpering, trying to get me inside him, and fuck, I can't refuse him anything.
“Ask me.” I press both thumbs against his hole, his hips shifting, trying to push onto me.
“Hell—Do it.” His voice is nothing more than a dark rasp of need. I wish I could see his face right now. Fuck, I wish he could see my face right now. I surge forward, plunging my tongue deep inside him while I spread his hole wide. He sobs, arching, his entire body taut. I know when he cums, hear it in his moan, feel it in his hips. But I'm not done. I've got at least a good fifteen minutes left with this polyjuice potion, and I'm going to make sure I use them all.
All I can hear are his weak, aching cries as I continue plunging my tongue into him, sucking on his hole, pushing my thumbs in deeper while stretching him. He sounds so lost, so consumed; I'm maddened from it. I love how he tastes, how hot he is inside, how every fucking thing I do makes him move, or cry, or want. He wanted it like last time, and fuck, I'm done holding back, done being nice and proper, because he is fucking there, on the brink, knowing exactly what I feel like wanting him and never fucking having him.
“God, I can't... please... god, it's so... so... good... Can't... just can't...”
But he can. I know he can. He can for me, and I'm going to show him. I give him a final, deep lick, rubbing my aching jaw as I force my cramped legs to stand and pull him back against my chest. He's boneless, hanging and swaying from his arms, legs shaking. I tip his chin back, finding his face. God—My god, he's beautiful. White blond hair nearly transparent, plastered to his face with sweat. Eyes hazy and dark, pupils blown wide. Cheeks flushed, lips blood red and dripping saliva.
“Baby.” I don't recognize myself, and not just because it's Nott's voice. My throat feels so tight, my heart pounding in my ears. He focuses weakly on me, staring me right in the eye, so much fucking emotion I can't bear it. Because he's not looking at me, he's looking at Nott, and fuck—I just fucking ruin myself every time when it comes to him.
I pull him harder against me, looking down his lithe, sweat soaked body. I find his seed slick on his flat stomach. I drag my fingers through his cum and pull it to my lips. He tastes fine, really fine. Everything about Draco is fucking perfect. I find him watching me, his tongue flicking out to wet his already wet lips. God, he makes me want to do fucked up shit. I push my fingers still sticky with his cum against those red, swollen lips, and he opens, moaning, hips rocking as he licks me clean.
I glance at my watch, trying to estimate just how long it's going to take to get him off again. If I do and it takes too long, than he's stuck weak and wobbling in a hallway. Fuck... Fuck, I'm not stopping.
“Oh hell... Oh, wait, just... oh god...”
“Hush, baby... You're going to like this.” My fingers slippery with summoned lube, I continue stroking a digit inside him, finding and caressing his prostate with each sure push. He writhes in my arms, head thrown back on my shoulder, mouth wide as he babbles fucking brilliant nonsense at me. Yeah, and he's already hard again. Fuck, this boy is fucking perfect.
And my god, I hate Nott.
“Oh—oh fuck!” He sobs, tears spilling down his face when I plunge two fingers deep inside his tight, slick flesh, hitting that spot that makes him crazy.
I can't stop. He's so beautiful, undone, quaking in my arms, my body the only thing keeping him from the ground right now. Fragile, yet wild. Vulnerable, but so fucking trusting that I'll do right by him. I'm fucking up. This is the biggest fuck up I have ever done. But I can't stop. All I can do is watch his face twist in the sexiest expressions I've ever seen while he thrashes and rides my fingers.
“God, you're made for this, Malfoy.” I push his hair from his face. His eyes open and find mine again. God, this is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done, and I am so glad I'm doing it. “One more, baby?”
At his weak nod, I pull my fingers out and press three against his hole. He exhales noisily, eyes rolling back as I slowly stretch into him, scissoring, twisting his unbearable tightness, and grinding his prostate once I find it. He comes hard, loud, shouting before he collapses boneless against me. Holy hell.
I quickly dispell his bonds, pulling him down to the ground and into my lap. “Baby, you okay? You—Oh.”
He's found my watch, his fingers twitching over it curiously. I try to read his face, but he's so out of it, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know what the fuck he's looking at. “Come on, Malfoy. Let's get you cleaned up and to bed.”
He's definitely in a sex high, body just starting to cool down and stop shaking. I throw a few cleaning spells on him, hoping to distract myself from just how hot he is, his skin so goddamn beautiful. It's almost otherworldly, the way he looks. I've never seen anyone as pale and as ethereal. Maybe that makes it okay. Maybe he's just that fucking special, it's okay I'm crazy because of him.
I eventually get his pants back on and zipped up, his shirt now with all the buttons in place. Realizing I'm cuddling him at this point and definitely running out of time, I make myself stand, hauling him up in my arms. Still, I can't stop smiling like an idiot when he wraps an arm around my neck and kisses me soundly, if not a bit woozily.
“Thank you... thank you... thank you...” He murmurs, kissing me between each very sincere phrase of gratitude. “It was... God, it was heaven... amazing... perfect...”
“Once,” I remind, hating how his expression falls, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Just a secret, crazy hookup, baby. Where we can do something wild we wouldn't otherwise do, and not talk about it later.”
“...Shit.” He turns, ducking his head, upset and something else I really can't tell. But maybe this is the better way to do things. If I walk him back to his common room, he's going to find Nott inside. Leaving now, upset enough to not talk to his boyfriend for the night, will give me longer to cover my tracks. Either that, or stun Malfoy, knock him out and leave him in front of his dorm. Meaner, but less likely he'll ever realize that what he did tonight wasn't with Nott.
He makes the decision for me, glancing my way once, something fiery flashing in his eyes before he starts walking down the hall. I watch him go, running a hand through Nott's too neat, too short hair, still rock hard, yet now feeling ridiculously lonely instead of frustrated. Fuck.
Biggest fuck up ever. I don't think I can tell Ron about this one. And not just because of all the anal. I really must hate myself.
I can't sleep since that night. I close my eyes and Malfoy's waiting for me. Beautiful, aching, and telling me how good Nott does him. It's hell.
I've been trying to avoid him this week. It's surprisingly difficult. Even when I'm no longer dogging him, watching him under the cloak, seeing his steps on the map, I'm still, apparently, always in his fucking vicinity.
“You look like shit,” Ron chirps at me as he sits and starts piling breakfast on his plate. I make a noncommittal groan and rub my face with my hands. Glasses replaced with contacts, nose not too big, eyebrows just a little bushy, scar still firmly ingrained on my forehead. I pull my fingers through my hair, feeling the silky strands spray in an exaggeration of my normal mess. I want to be an exaggeration today. As me as I can fucking be, so that I won't ever want to be small dicked and grinding on Malfoy.
I grunt, refusing to speak of it. Ron glances my way and doesn't say another word. I didn't tell him everything about the second polyjuice fiasco, but what I did reveal was enough to earn a hint of pity in his eyes now. Crap.
Hermione eventually joins us, her nose buried in a book. Seamus is trying to choke Dean and Neville on waffles with obscene jokes. I keep my head down, pushing my eggs around on my plate, trying to pretend I can't hear Malfoy bitching at his boyfriend.
Nott's really not a good match for Malfoy. Not because of the many spiteful reasons I can list, but because the boy just doesn't know how to stand his own against the blond. Once Malfoy starts ranting, you can either get lost and let him cool off, or shout right back until he finally shuts the fuck up. Nott just sits there in silence, fucking easy prey for the many mean things the blond spews as he gets out his frustrations about his dad.
Lucius Malfoy was recently accused of being head honcho for some sort of pyramid scheme. Bad enough, but apparently he was bankrupting wizards, not muggles, which crossed the line of sick fuck, straight into jail time and frozen assets. Draco might be needing those scholarships after all, given his ever increasing pissed off state. Nott, sweet hearted and dull headed, seems content to be the kid's emotional punching bag. Actually, he seems fucking thrilled that Malfoy is even looking at him.
Whatever. Like I fucking care.
It's time to get the fuck away from Malfoy. He's everywhere lately, meals, classes, wandering the halls at night when I want to wander. Fucking obnoxious bullshit that I can't get a moment's peace from. I get up, determined to take a quick shower before heading to Care of Magical Creatures.
I make it to the Great Hall doors when a loud crack snaps through the air. I whirl, just in time to see Malfoy sparking, snarling at three Ravenclaws who are all up in his face. Because apparently Lucius fucking up means Draco is now on the shit end of every pissed off family that was fleeced by his father. I should leave. I should really mind my own fucking business.
But I'm fucked in the head, and my feet are already crossing the distance, my blood boiling in my ears, body tight with anger. I see Ron out of the corner of my eye, and he's jumping the table before I even make it to Corner's back. The kid is pissed, and I gotta say, Crabbe and Goyle are looking a little pale right now. Boring as fuck Nott is just sitting there, watching Draco verbally tear into the three like it's his favorite soap opera.
Michael Corner's not taking any of it. “You piece of shit, manipulative bastard. My sister is ruined because of your family! She just had a kid! She and her husband lost their new home! That you can sit there, like some fucking prince, lording over—”
Malfoy looks like he's going to stab the kid with his wand.
“Corner, c'mere a sec.” Terry and Artie both jump a foot at the sound of my voice—And yeah, maybe, just maybe I'm taking things a little personally. Because Draco might be about to stab Corner with his wand, but it's only because the idiot Ravenclaw has my boy by the collar like he's about to punch his face in. Ron's suddenly on my arm, trying to pull me away. Not fucking happening.
“Mind your own business, Potter,” Malfoy says tightly, which I readily ignore to instead grab Corner into a headlock. Corner drops Malfoy to punch me in the eye with his fist—He does a damn fine job of it. But I'm not here to beat the fuck out of the kid, just keep him from hurting Malfoy. Twisting him around, I wrench Corner's arm until he's yells in pain and falls to his knees in my hold.
“You done?” Ron asks, looking like he's not sure if he wants to stop me, or keep the other Ravenclaws from coming at me.
“Almost.” I give another sharp pull to Corner's arms, feeling his shoulder blades give as I push my shoe into his back. I do a quick binding spell. The fucker is totally the type to keep swinging even when against a stronger opponent. Not to mention, I just really enjoy tying people up, especially angry boys that look good in knots. I leave him snarling on the floor, hands tied behind his back in a ladder pattern. I spare Malfoy a glance, the blond looking extra pissed that he has to see my face.
“I didn't ask for your fucking help, scarhead.”
Fuck, he's pretty. And makes me hate every nice fucking thing I want to do to him. I ignore him—it pisses him off extra—and instead turn to the other two Ravenclaws that haven't realized it's time to leave. “Fuck off. Now.”
They do, glaring more at me than Malfoy at this point as they drag their idiot friend away. I turn to go, stopping when I catch Nott looking at me from the bench. Fucking Nott. Does he get that I just saved his boyfriend from a beating while he sat on his fucking ass and watched? Fuck, I hate this kid.
Before I can get a proper thought in my head, I reach over and grab the last piece of bacon off his plate. He stares at me in surprise, eyes narrowing, something clicking in that fucking slow head of his as I glare him down and chew his food. What a goddamn waste.
“Come on, Harry.”
I give Nott a mean smile, letting Ron pull me away. Malfoy's red, but he's always like that when he's about to kill me. I wink—'cus I can't leave well enough alone—and he flips me off in farewell.
Yeah, he's fucking pretty. God, I hate my life.
Ron, best mate that he is, comes with me to blow off steam. Well, I'm really the one blowing shit up. He's just watching and shaking his head at my expense for being such an idiot. I know. I fucked up big, and can't seem to get myself out of this fucking hole I dug.
“Maybe you should start dating again.”
He gives me a look—I think he's been learning from Hermione. “You're going all caveman, Harry. You can't just bash Nott's head in and win the git's rodent sized heart. He can't fucking stand you.”
“I'm aware.” Growling, I set fire to the nearest bush, watching as green flames quickly encase the brambles and burn out. The Forbidden Forest is always a great place to beat the shit out of inanimate objects with little fear of retaliation.
“And seriously, you can't fucking stand him.” Another look I choose to ignore. “Harry—Shit, it's Malfoy, for Merlin sake. You can do better. Fuck, anyone is better. A damn venomous snake is better.”
I glare, but don't disagree. I don't like Malfoy because he's good for me. Hell, I don't like him by choice at all. But I do, really fucking do, like him. And it's killing me.
“Listen, we can go out this weekend. Sneak down to Hogsmeade. Find you something to distract—It doesn't even have to be someone 'right.' Just shit, you need to get over him. You damn near made an ass of yourself today. He might be too egotistical to figure it out, but people are going to start talking.”
“I don't fucking care what people say.” Huge slashes appear on the large rock I've targeted. I raise my wand again, the stone exploding outwards. Ron ducks, scowling from the rain of dust and sand.
“He will haunt you for a fucking lifetime if he figures out you like him. You know him, Har. He will crush you. Repeatedly. Just because you feel. Just because he can.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I turn, razing down three trees in one swipe. Of course Ron's right. Malfoy's a fucking monster. He's hated me forever, and nothing is going to change that.
“God, I'm so fucked.”
Ron slaps a hand on my shoulder, sighing heavily. “Yeah, you are.” He points to another rock. I explode it. “I can call the twins down. We can go to that club. Even if you don't find anyone, you can get yourself properly piss drunk.”
Ron really is the best fucking mate a bloke can have. Not many straight guys would forcefully drag their gay friend to a gay club to get them laid. You don't get more loyal than a Weasley.
Drinking is definitely the answer. At least, it feels like the answer right now, so drunk I don't care that my feet don't dance or my clothes are way too tight and revealing. It's dark, hot, loud, and I'm buzzed and quickly spiraling towards soused with every drop I suck down of the array of beverages the Weasely twins keep pushing into my hand while we're laughing up a storm. And fuck, they are just the fucking funniest.
Ron's got my back, pointing blokes out like I'm actually going to look at anyone when all I can think about is Malfoy. But hell, I came here for a reason. It's impossible—Anything with Draco Malfoy is fucking impossible. I can't even have a simple conversation with the kid without it ending in hexes.
I've been hearing a lot about fish tonight. And climbing horses—Alright, I might be plastered.
“Woah there, on your feet, Potter.” George, or Fred—Forge. Gonna go with Forge, pulls me up by my arm. “You cannot hold your liquor.”
I laugh—he's really fucking funny. I'm pretty sure they've been trying to get me drunk. It's okay, drunk is good. Drunk is really, really good. Especially when someone runs their hand up my ass, like many a person has been doing as they pass me in these fucking amazing pants one of the twins insisted I wear.
“Okay, handsome. I think it's time we throw you to the wolves.”
I just blink at the three of them, snickering as another animal reference reaches my addled mind. Wolves. Shit. Fucking wolves, and fish in the sea, and getting on horses. I'm not sure exactly where they're leading me, everything dark, the air heavy with heat and moisture. There are more guys here, and they're moving, swaying to the deep beat together in a way that's totally catching my dizzy eye.
“Nice.” Arms wrap around me, a warm, hard body pressing up against my back. “Hey, pretty thing. You look fucking hot in these pants.” His voice is low and completely unfamiliar, breath curling around my ear.
I chuckle—I'm sweating in these leather pants. Hands move down my abs, and my eyes close, heat quickly pooling in my gut. We start to sway, his hips rocking, lips on my neck, fingers tangling with mine. And for a few minutes, it's fucking fine. Then my mind decides it needs more booze because Malfoy's flashing before my eyes, on his knees, mouth wide open, lips fucking red and swollen and full of dick. Now all I can think of is how the stranger holding me is too tall, too broad chested, and scruffy bearded. Hell, I really need a drink.
Something cold presses to my cheek, and there's freckly Forge, shot in hand. Fuck, I love Weasleys. I open and he pours it down my throat, and the burn is so much better than the damn pain in my heart.
“You looking to party, handsome?” Warm arms asks, and hell, okay, everyone is just fucking hilarious tonight.
“Show me how to dance.” It comes out way more slurred than I mean it to. Warm arms doesn't seem to care. I didn't know dancing was just grinding on some guy's rod in the dark, surrounded by a sea of faceless fish. But warm arms likes it, and hell, he feels nice, even if too tall, and too broad, and not nearly as angry as he's supposed to be.
I'm not sure when I got back to Hogwarts. Warm arms was replaced by too much cologne, toothpaste breath, and fucking amazing hands by the time the twins dragged me from the club. I'm also not sure how I managed to turn an excursion to the bathroom into a lost stumble around the school. The moving staircases fucked me up, and Ron was so tired, he fell asleep the second he hit his bed. I can't sleep. I can still hear the low pulse from the club in the back of my head, and I need to move, or drift, or spin, which I'm doing now. Spinning. Not sure if my feet are moving, but the walls are.
I lean against the nearest tilting wall, chuckling to myself. My hand is covered in glitter, and I can't stop laughing about it. I think it was from fucking amazing hands. The glitter wasn't what made his hands so amazing, but the guy was sparkling a whole lot.
I don't hear footsteps, but he's not interested in being sneaky, which I realize pretty fucking quick when he slams my shoulder into the wall. I blink blearily, my vision full of pale, smug prat.
“Huh, would have thought you'd fall like a sack of bricks. You're totally shitfaced.” Draco looks me up and down, his eyes lingering for a frozen eternity on my leather pants. “You're sparkling like a fucktard.”
“Fucking amazing hands,” I explain, the words still too slow and slurred. I laugh at his confused expression.
“What about amazing hands?”
“The guy with his hands down my pants was covered in glitter.” I push away from the wall, arms half windmilling when I fall back. I furrow my brows, the muscles of my face feeling strangely numb and slow. I find his hand on my chest, pushing me against the wall. A smile breaks crookedly across my lips. The world is a goddamn joke, as are his fucking beautiful eyes.
“Where'd you go?”
“Flesh? Err... Club? Fish?” For the life of me, I can't remember the name of the place.
I hold my finger up when he says the name. “You should never, ever go there,” I add emphatically. “Ever.”
“Oh? Do I have a glitter allergy?”
He's funny tonight. He's smiling at me, like he's thinking of leaving me stripped in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. I'd get naked for him. Totally.
“They're handsy there. Very handsy. Fucking amazing handsy.” I nearly fall, I'm laughing so hard.
“What, afraid I'm going to get handsy with you?”
I'm not, the notion never crossing my mind. I'm terrified he's going to wind up getting pawed at by an entire room full of hot, faceless men. “Malfoy, you wouldn't know what to fucking do with someone like me.”
It should piss him off, shut him up, and send him ranting. It doesn't. “What, get you drunk and molest you?” He scoffs, his hand pushing me harder against the wall. “You don't seem particularly complicated, Potter.”
I shrug. I'm really not complicated, in any sense of the word. “Just fucked in the head.” He has very nice hands. Pretty sure they'd trump fucking amazing hands if they were in my pants. My eyes blurring in and out of focus, I notice his knuckles are split and bleeding.
My poor, beautiful baby.
“Potter, let go of my fucking hand.”
“What happened? Was it that pissant, Corner?” I pull his hand up to my face, trapping his fingers between mine. He's glaring, but it's halfhearted at best. Apparently I'm less annoying when drunk. Go figure.
“I dealt with it,” he huffs. I know, my boy's a badass, and I really shouldn't worry about him. But I do. He's got a mean, nasty mouth, and everyone wants to kick his head in.
God, he has really nice hands. I rub my cheek over the back of his fingers. Really nice. He tries to pull away, but I hold tight, kissing his bruised knuckles tenderly. I'm expecting him to ruin his hand beating my face in anyways. Might as well enjoy.
“Just shut up for five seconds.” Glaring at him, I lick his fingers, slowly tasting his blood and sweat, and the faintest hint of dirt. And Merlin loves me, because he snaps his mouth shut and keeps it shut. I lick him again, nipping his fingertips, holding him by the wrist so I can tease his palm and bite the flesh of his thumb. He groans, again trying to pull his hand away.
“So?” I pull him closer, and he smells exactly like I remember. I'm a little shorter than Nott, and a fucking lot stronger. When Malfoy hits my chest, he fits perfectly in the crook of my neck. I continue to torment his hand, watching him as I do. When I pull his finger into my mouth, he starts to pant.
“I... I have a boyfriend.”
“So?” Fucking Nott. I use my other hand to snag him by the belt and pull his hips up against mine. God, he is perfect, and already half hard. “Your boyfriend's a poof.”
He furrows his brows, looking terribly cute. “Potter, I'm gay.”
“I know, baby. But your boyfriend's a fucking fairy.” I deep throat two of his fingers and he gapes at me, a half laugh, half moan escaping him.
“Potter, you're gay.”
He really is fucking adorable, smiling at me like that. I pull his fingers out until I'm biting on the tips again. I suck and he whimpers. God, I want to do so much stuff to him. Bad, nasty, sweaty stuff. Stuff there is no way I can get hard enough for with so much alcohol in my system.
“How well does he blow you?” I ask while wrapping my arm around his waist. He doesn't push away, but he's tense, like he's about to. “Does he get down on his knees every night to worship your fucking gorgeous cock?”
“You're really drunk,” he whispers, cheeks flushing the loveliest shade of red.
I keep his hand between us, my tongue teasing over his fingers to keep from kissing him the way I really, really want to. “Not an answer. Does he take care of you? Make sure you're happy? Make sure you're satisfied?”
He blinks, eyes slipping to stare at the collar of my tee. “He, uh... he's really sweet... Says he cares about me, and stuff. He thinks we should take things slow.”
Gag me. “That must be frustrating as fuck.”
He looks at me, his grey eyes oddly sober, one eyebrow raised in his patented 'I don't give a fuck about anything' expression. I really love his many expressions. Usually I'm faced with the angriest, meanest ones, but sometimes he throws me false apathy, and that's just as hot. He's too cool for me. We both know it. Doesn't mean I'm giving up.
“When was the last time he blew you?”
“Shit, what the fuck do you care?”
I smirk, biting his palm hard. He groans deep in his throat, his entire body jerking against mine. “Just trying to figure out how hard up you'd have to be to let me grope you in a hallway.”
Malfoy has a very sexy scowl. “A while, you asshole. Like, fuck, weeks.”
“Huh?” There's no way I heard that right. “Weeks? You're so full of shit.”
Not the response he was expecting, apparently. “Fuck you. He's, like, saving himself or some shit. I don't know. I have to jump him half the time just to get his pants off. And he's so fucking shy to touch me—Shit. You're goddamn annoying, Potter. Not everyone is so frustrated they start humping people when they're drunk. He's romantic. It's nice.”
Like fuck it is. I bite his hand again. He gasps, his eyelashes fluttering shut. “There's nothing romantic about having to convince your boyfriend to touch you. That's just fucked up.”
“Shut up, scarhead. You haven't had a boyfriend in... fuck... ever. You don't know shit.” His eyes are still closed, lips parted in a loud pant. God, if he only knew how he looked. That he could be with someone that could ignore just how fucking sexy he is... Maybe Malfoy hates himself too.
I wrap his arm around my neck, freeing my hands so I can reach down and unclasp his belt.
He swears when my fingers slide into his underwear, then buries his head into my neck, gasping loudly. “Potter, what are you...?”
“Drunk, baby... Really fucking drunk.”
I slide to my knees, his eyes fixed on mine. There's a storm going on, a million thoughts and emotions flickering faster than I can read on his handsome face. I tug his pants down his thighs and he gasps, lust replacing all other expressions. Sex is easy. Desire, attraction, hot, sweaty need. It's that other shit—the many things that keep us from facing the fact that he can't stop obsessing over me, and I can't get him out of my mind—that fucks everything up.
He's hot against my cheek. Smells like him, like sex and sweat. I nuzzle into his hard cock, loving how smooth he feels, how heavy he is against my face. He trims tight and I run my fingers through his white-blond hairs, amazed with just how goddamn pale he is everywhere. When I glance up, he's already lost, his fingers threading through my hair, his tongue flicking out across his lips. I watch him as I open my mouth, moving slowly over his dick, wetting him, coating him with me. His hair is a soft halo around his head as he stares down, his eyebrows twisting, mouth nearly as wide as mine.
I take him slow, teasing the head of his cock, feeling the swell of his flesh between my lips, sliding my tongue gently into every thin ripple of flesh. His nails scrape my skull, and I don't fight him when he rocks his hips forward, pushing into my tongue with slow, heady thrusts.
“Fuck... Holy fuck, Potter.”
God, he's sexy when he's begging for more. I open wider, trapping the head of his cock against my tonsils while rubbing my tongue along his smooth underside. He's thicker than I thought he'd be. I knew he was long because I've seen him in the shower, but I didn't know he'd feel so fucking thick in my mouth, in my throat. I swallow him down as far as he can go, and his moans are divine in my ears.
Grabbing him hard by the hips, I pull him until he's falling forward, bruising my throat deep while he clutches the wall for balance. His sac brushes my bottom lip, hair bristly against my face. I run a hand down, feeling him tense in anticipation, his thighs hard, ass tight. I drag a gurgling breath in—fuck, he's really damn perfect in my mouth—then press a cool finger to his very hot hole.
“Oh god... oh... oh hell...” He's torn, hips moving as if trying to figure out whether to fuck me deeper, or push onto my finger. I plunge into his tight ring of muscles while pushing him tighter to my face. His short hairs tickle my nose, and fuck, he smells amazing—All boy. Hot, sexy boy.
It's getting really hard to breathe, my mouth wetter than it's ever been, and full of Malfoy's dick. I want to choke on him so bad. He should always come like this. In me. On me. Fucked by me. I slowly thrust a finger in and out of him, seeking the spot inside that's going to make him scream. I know when I find it, one of his hands suddenly pulling my hair painfully as he shouts and nearly falls.
I press his prostate steadily, holding his hip with one hand while he tries to fuck a hole in my throat. He's so close, swelling in my mouth, the underside of his cock singing against my tongue. I'm salivating just thinking of his cum when he suddenly pushes my head back, giving me less than an instant to close my eyes before he's coming all over my face. Hot fluid splashes over my skin in streams, cheeks, lips, and fuck, I forgot just how hot and dirty it feels. But still, fucking prat took my prize.
I can't be angry, not when I crack my eyes open to find him moaning as he stares at me, his expression crazy intense, eyes burning into me. I stab his prostate one more time before pulling my finger out, and he growls—fucking growls—and grabs me by the neck.
“You look fucking good like that.”
He really shouldn't be allowed to talk to me right now. I mean, fuck. “You like me in cum? Or is it your cum that does it for you?”
He has the sexiest, meanest smirk. I pull him down and he glares, nearly sprawled out over my shoulders. I grab him by the hair, pulling him into a hard kiss, making sure I wipe as much of his wet jizz on his face as possible. I know I'm too brutal, biting his bottom lip too hard, crushing his mouth beneath mine. But god, I need him so bad right now. Need to know he can feel everything he fucking does to me.
“Shit, Potter... damn, ease up...” He clings to me, fingers digging into my back as I frantically bite down his neck, tearing at his shirt. I need to stop... I really need to stop... I'm fucking drunk, and need to stop undressing him, and grinding on him, and trying to get his milky thighs around my hips. I push him down to the floor, his body rocking under me, our breath so loud in the air. Still, he doesn't push me away, his eyelids heavy, lips swollen as he drags me down for another kiss.
It takes everything I have, every scrap of strength and sanity left, to pull away from his beautiful body. Fuck, he's a mess. Lying on the ground, propped on his elbows, eyes a silver daze, legs parted shamelessly. He's covered in red and purple welts from my mouth, his hair a golden haystack, clothes fucking every which way. Hard again. God, my boy gets hard so easy. Everything about him is fucking tight.
I can't help it. My hand is suddenly on his cock, cupping him in my palm, stroking him firmly. “You have a great dick, Malfoy.”
He doesn't say anything, his eyebrow twitching something I'm way too fuzzy headed to read right now. I have to stop. Seriously. I force myself to sit back, my eyes still roaming over him, even though my hands are now safely on my thighs.
Staring at me with that same intense glare, he finally speaks. “Let me see yours.”
I blink. I'm really not doing well here. “What, my dick?”
“Yes, you idiot. I want to see, so fucking show me.”
Damn. I'm in love with a bossy little bitch. I take a quick look at his hands just to make sure he's not getting ready to curse me the second my pants are down. No wand in sight. Shrugging, I sit up on my knees, only swaying slightly as I unzip my ridiculously tight leather pants. I'm careful, because there's no place for underwear in these things, and I don't want to cut myself up on the metal teeth.
“Fucking glitter,” I mutter, my sparkling dick looking like it went a round with a disco ball and lost. I try to brush it off, but it's not happening. My sweat seems to have melted the twinkle into my skin. I'll probably be picking glitter off of my junk for days. Not cool, fucking amazing hands.
“That with the spell?”
I look up, trying to figure out what spell he's talking about. He's not looking at me, well, not at my face, anyways. He's very much staring at my half hard cock, my poor guy desperately hanging in there, even with the booze. “Glitter?”
“The extending spell.”
I snort. “I don't fucking stuff.”
“Like fuck you don't. You wrote the fucking spell out, Potter. I know you know it.”
“Still don't use it. Dispell me. Go for it. See what happens.”
Glaring at me challengingly, he sits up, looking sexy as fucking hell as he rummages around for his wand. His legs are to die for. His calves are strong, thighs hard—And that ass. Can't forget that ass.
“Finite Incantatem. Finite... Finite Incantatem!”
“Shit—Don't peel my skin off.” I grab his wrist before he can try to dispell my dick to the other side of the hall. For some reason he's really fucking pissed off at me right now, and I can't figure out why. “What's your problem, Malfoy?”
“You, you jackass. You, and your fucking mouth, and fucking pants, and fucking big prick. Why the fuck do you have to kiss like that? Why the fuck do you have to be so—Fuck! Fuck, I hate you.”
I let his wrist go, scowling as I tuck myself in and try not to zip my dick. Whatever. He always hates me. He's always going to hate me. Even if I blow him to fucking heaven, Malfoy is always going to hate me. God, my life fucking sucks. I'm not nearly drunk enough to deal with this shit.
I get to my feet, the hall tilting around me. Holding onto the wall, I find him glaring—'Cus that's what he does whenever he looks at me. Glares. “Go cry about it to your limp dicked boyfriend. I'm sure he'll pretend to give a fuck. I sure won't.” I can't storm off, but with a hand on the wall, I at least don't fall on my face as I stumble away.
I look back, completely confused. I've made it to the end of the hall, and he's yelling like we've been arguing the entire time I was walking away. Were we? I didn't think we were. “What?”
Malfoy does a great stomping storm. He manages to look pissed without exaggerating his movements. Graceful. Sexy. Furious. He's dressed, but his hair is still a mess, and I can see the remains of his cum still streaking his face. Fucking, fucking sexy.
“I said fuck you.” He shoves me against the wall, snarling in my face.
Yeah, really sexy. “I'm kinda out of it right now, and totally tired, but maybe next time.”
“You fucking arrogant, condescending, audacious—”
I've heard this one before, and start walking again. Apparently he's not done, and he barrels into me, slamming me up against the wall again. “Shit, I'm dizzy, baby.” I try to steady on his shoulders, but he seems determined to shove me again.
“Stop calling me that. I'm not your fucking baby.”
He's not, but it really hurts to hear him say it. “Sorry, baby. Don't know what I was thinking, baby. Won't happen again... baby. Can I go now?”
“I fucking hate you!”
And I fucking love you. Life just ain't fair.
I grab him by the back of the neck, pulling him into a deep kiss before he can try and bite my face off. He puts up a good fight, but he's damn easy to turn on, and soon enough he's melting, moaning, pulling at my arms like he wants to climb inside me. God, I want him to be mine so bad.
He whimpers when I slow my movements, his fingers twisting in my sleeves. I give him a final, languid, wet kiss, and rest my forehead on his. I snag him by the chin, rubbing my thumb over his swollen bottom lip. His eyes are wild this close, crystal sky and angry clouds. “I'm really sorry you hate me, Drake.”
I pull away and slip around the corner so I don't have to see his expression. I feel suddenly extremely tired of whatever the fuck it is we're doing.
It's the same corridor. I blearily realize while winding my way back to the common room. I ended up in the same corridor and he was there, almost like he was waiting. But I didn't look like Nott, and apparently Nott doesn't touch him much anyways. So I don't really get it. But I'm fucked in the head, in love with a boy that hates me, and currently sloshed out of my mind. Which is good. Because I don't want to get it. I don't want to think about him anymore, and just how fucked up he makes me feel.
Today is hell. And not just because I'm hung over—but a lot of it is definitely because I'm hung over. It's Sunday, so I sleep in as late as I can, then stumble to get something in my stomach to help clear the taste of death from my mouth.
I dreamed of him. All night. Like some sort of love crazed moron. Fuck love. Fuck him. Fucking hate everything.
I don't realize I'm wearing last night's clothes until I'm at the lunch table and Ron is trying, and failing not to laugh at me. “You are covered in glitter. Covered. You look like some retarded vampire wannabe. I think I might stake you, just to make sure.”
I glare because he thinks he's funny, and he's totally not. Fucking hate Weasleys today too. “Vampires don't sparkle.”
“The gay ones do.”
“No, gay ones suck cock and blood. Vampires don't sparkle. They're bloodthirsty predators. That's it. Shut up, my head hurts.”
He does, but he's staring at me with that look on his face, and I brace myself when he raises his brows.
I take a swig of pumpkin juice, trying not to gag on the flavor when it mixes with whatever crawled in my mouth and died last night. “Fuck off.”
“How? Shit—It's like a month to make that potion!”
Damn it. How does he figure this shit out? It's not like I'm covered in Malfoy—I washed my fucking face. “No potion. No... No. Not talking about this.” I duck my head, determined to choke down some toast without vomiting.
“Oh my god. Did he? Did you?” He's suddenly in my lap, whispering in my ear like every tween girl that isn't Hermione. “Does he like you? I mean, he can't fucking stand you, so if he's—Gah, this glitter is fucking everywhere.” He musses up his flaming red hair while glaring at me. “Why would he bone you, if he doesn't like you?”
“Because his boyfriend's a cock tease.” I try to say it as emotionlessly as possible, but he winces anyways. I'm bitter. Angry, lovelorn, and bitter. Fuck my life.
“Harry, babe, bring some of that my way!” Seamus has arrived, and he can tell I'm hungover. Bastard. “Fuck, those are some hot pants. C'mere. Do a twirl.”
I look up to find him looming over me, grinning from ear to ear. “Finnigan, you're going to be twirling on my fist if you don't shut the fuck up.”
“Ooh, cheeky. Just like your ass in those pants.” He's snickering like a prat, and I can't help but smirk back. Then he slaps my ass, hard, and I seriously consider throwing him across the room.
“Fuck, how much glitter do you have on your butt? There has to be some sort of legal limit.” Seamus holds his hand up, scowling at his glittering palm.
Considering it for a moment, I smack his hand at his nose. Seamus ends up with a nice glittery handprint emblazoned right in the middle of his face. Maybe nice enough to not wrestle him to the ground for being intentionally loud when he knows my head hurts. Maybe.
“That's a good look, Seamus. Very modern.” Dean pushes his friend into the seat next to Ron before I can decide if I'm done with the annoying bastard. I must be. I grab a sandwich, pulling all the filling out so I can tear pieces of the bread apart and nibble. My stomach doesn't really want food, but I'm always hungry, even now.
Ron suddenly grabs my arm, and I glance over at him, meeting his wide eyed gaze. I look to where he's tilting his head, along with everyone else at my table. I then immediately look away. It's just Malfoy. I know what Malfoy looks like. I don't need Ron fucking pointing him out to me. I am not a thirteen year old girl that needs to look at my fucking crush ever second he walks in the room.
“What, did Malfoy and you get into a glitter fight?” Seamus asks, his hands beating a drum solo on the table.
Oh dear fuck.
My face feels like a damn volcano, but I try to keep my tone flat while I duck my head. “When are we not fighting?” I chance a peek at Malfoy to see just how bad it is. It's bad. He looks exhausted, like he just rolled out of bed. He's rumpled, scowling tiredly, scabs on his knuckles, and there's glitter all over his hair, hands, and—Holy fuck, his lips and chin. I hate glitter, I really, honestly do. But he makes it look sexy. Especially since I know how he got it.
I can't help but wonder if his cock is sparkling right now.
I need to get the fuck out and take a shower, pronto. Ron once again has my back, this time cracking jokes with Seamus and Dean while hauling me off the bench because I'm frozen like a naughty kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. This is bad. Really bad. And Malfoy's totally oblivious to the stares he's getting, those same eyes immediately zooming in on me right after. I haven't gotten to a mirror, but I imagine I must be sparkling like a huge pile of galleons.
“How bad is this right now?” I ask Ron as we start towards the door, knowing he'll be straight with me.
“You're fucked. Absolutely reamed.”
My head pounds at the answer, somehow managing to magnify in pain at the simple words. Crap. I think he's reading my mind, because Ron lets me go the second I make my decision, his hands up like he doesn't want to have any part in it. I can't blame him. This is going to be hard enough on me.
The Slytherin table is thankfully sparse of occupants. I really don't want to be hexed into oblivious for what I'm about to do. I catch McGonagall eyeing me from the head table, but I'm hoping I'll be fast enough before she thinks to stop me.
He turns in his seat, glaring like I'm the last person he wants to see right now. He has no fucking idea. I grab him by the shirt and haul him up, pushing him forcefully back on the table while he snarls. Plates and glasses go rolling, silverware clattering to the floor.
“Get the fuck off me!” He punches me in the gut, and I, being a fucking idiot, don't defend myself because for some reason I'm pretty sure I deserve it. I slam his shoulder's down, but I can't bring myself to actually punch him. Fuck, I suck at this. He's goddamn pretty, and I just can't—
“Fuck!” The sodding ferret bit me! I tighten my grip on his biceps, growling inches from him as I debate if I can bear to headbutt his gorgeous face. The urge is definitely growing.
“Potter, I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, but if you don't get your fucking hands off of me in five fucking seconds, I'm going to tear you limb from fucking limb.”
My god, he is sexy.
I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling like a fucking idiot. He's not smiling, which only makes it even better. Because he is just so fucking sexy when he's angry, his eyes flashing, his cheeks flushed, his teeth ready to sink into me.
“I'm going to fucking count to—”
“Sorry. Glitter emergency.” I let him go before he can fully comprehend what I've said, pushing away like I'm angry as fuck, and not just wishing I could crawl up the table and grind him into lunch. Ron grabs my arm like he's pulling me away, and thank god for Ron, because Nott's standing in the doorway to the Great Hall, glaring at me suspiciously.
Dread hits my stomach and I nearly stop cold. But Ron's pulling me, keeping me going, even though he can see just as clearly as I that Nott has one single sparkle of glitter shinning on his upper lip. Which means he's kissed Malfoy. Malfoy, who has my glitter all over his mouth and chin—And seriously, my fuck, how can anyone have an opportunity to kiss Draco and not get every fucking inch of their lips saturated in that glitter? What the fuck is wrong with Nott? Is he straight? He has to be straight. There is nothing healthy about whatever the fuck he's doing with Malfoy.
My thoughts must be clear on my face because Nott seems angry enough to actually say something to me. “Potter, keep your hands off my boyfriend.”
“Or what, Nott? You gonna save him?” Someone has to touch Malfoy, and clearly it's not him.
Ron glares at me, and yes, I'm apparently a fucking caveman. Whatever.
“I'm warning you. If you so much as—” Nott doesn't have anything on Draco's style and finesse, nevermind pure passion for verbal threats. He also doesn't have the fucking guts to back his words up.
“Hey, you might let him bitch you out, but I don't put up with his fucking mouth, Nott. You have a problem with me fighting with him, take it up with your boyfriend.” But you can't, because you're a fucking bitch boy that's probably straight and leading Malfoy along like one day you're going to grow a pair and actually get into the gorgeous prat sexually. God, I fucking hate Nott. Hate Malfoy for liking the kid, and hate Nott for being Nott.
Ron, thank god, shoves me out the door before I can do something even more stupid, like beat the crap out of the Slytherin in a battle for primitive male dominance. He drags me up to our dorm, my head pounding with each step I take. Then he dumps me on my bed—the bedspread covered in glitter as well—and gives me the telling off I'm sorely in need of.
“What the fuck happened last night? You were supposed to get over him! Why the hell did we bring you to that club and liquor you up beyond all recognition, if not to get this done with?”
I groan, pathetic and dejected. He doesn't care.
“Harry! It was all over his mouth! Everyone could see. Nott could see! What the hell were you thinking?”
“Stop yelling.” My head feels like shit, and he fucking knows it. “I wasn't thinking—I was fucked up. And shit, he let me. He more than let me. What I do with Malfoy is my own damn business.”
“Like fuck it is. You don't get to touch him, Harry. You sure as hell don't get to kiss him. He's in a relationship with a really likeable bloke.” He glares when I scoff. “And you have no right to interfere. This isn't like you. The polyjuice thing was fucked up enough. This—You might as well have written your name all over him.”
“It was an accident.” The glitter hadn't looked that bad until the light of day. “And seriously, all he had to do was wash up. Sure, I did a shit thing, but it's not like he's going out of his way to hide it. And, for real, he wasn't screaming rape or anything. Everything he screamed was fucking positive. Very positive.” I'm pretty sure. I don't remember everything about last night, but I know Malfoy enjoyed himself. A lot.
Ron starts pacing, arms folded over his chest while he glowers. “So what, you're going to just let him use you when he's horny?”
Would it be that fucking bad?
“You want to be some sort of dog, chasing after Nott's table scraps? Come on, Harry, you're better than this!”
God, I'm really not. I just want him so bad, it hurts. I lie back on my bed, curling up in a ball on my side. I hate my life so much right now.
Apparently I'm too pathetic to yell at. Win. Ron takes off to see if anyone believes Malfoy's covered in my glitter because we're fighting. I remain to brood like the whiny bitch I've turned into since I first touched the hot blond.
There's been this rumor going around, being spread by a particular pale Slytherin and his cronies for years now, insinuating that I get everything I want. The thing is, it's bullshit. It's always been bullshit. While my peers can look at my large inheritance, my flying skills that got me onto the Quidditch team early, my all encompassing fame, and just see the good I've gotten over the years, I can't. If I really got what I wanted, my parents wouldn't be dead. I wouldn't have a fucking scar covering half my forehead. No one would cheer my fucking name for bouncing a killing curse off my skull. I wouldn't live with relatives that fear me so much, they tell their coworkers and neighbors that I'm a criminal. Draco Malfoy wouldn't hate me.
No, I don't get a goddamn thing I want. And I've got godlike powers. Reality sucks.
It is apparently much easier to believe that Malfoy and I were beating the shit out of each other, instead of beating off on each other. Whoop dee fucking doo. I am painfully bitter about everything. And I mean everything. The girls asked me to help them with their dueling skills, and I blew them off. Same with Ron when he tried to get me to fly tonight. Everyone can go suck it for all I care.
It's been two weeks, and Malfoy keeps hanging out in that corridor at night. I watch him on the map, hating everything. Nott never meets up with him. He's waiting for me. Fuck, maybe he's waiting for me, juiced as Nott. I really don't know. The kid has brains—Malfoy's always been smarter than me.
Probably why he hates me so much when good shit falls into my lap. It also tries to get me killed, but it's easy to ignore that part when you're jealous. I know. I ignored his bastard of a father because I hated his privilege and connections, and just plain luck to have parents.
I'm restless tonight, feeling ready to fuck up my life again. Just... I'm hesitating. Whatever the hell he wants, it's going to cost me. I can't imagine any scenario where I'm going to come out unscathed. This time, I'm not rushing to my doom, and that freaks me out big time. It hurts. It hurts more than anything has ever hurt before, and I don't want to know what it feels like when he hurts me again.
I throw my invisibility cloak over my shoulder, pausing as I pass the mirror Seamus stuck to the wall. I'm told I look pretty hot, but I just seem tired. And ruffled. And a little fucked in the head. I sigh, pushing out the dormroom door and making my way down the spiral staircase. The common room is empty, and so are the hallways as I slowly find my way through the maze of corridors into the dungeons.
Malfoy doesn't look up when I reach him. He's sitting on the floor against the wall, knees raised, eyes closed. He's awake though, I can tell. I wait, wondering when he'll say something. He doesn't. I sit in the middle of the hall and look at the ceiling.
His knuckles are a mess again. Nearly everyday now. They've just started the trial for his dad, and everyone's talking about it. There have been pages in the paper just on the victims and how they're hurting. Draco won't be getting a page for how his dad fucked up his life.
“I like your jeans.” He looks damn near rugged and relaxed for a change, like maybe that stick was finally dislodged.
“Theo got them for me.”
“Crap. I hate your jeans. Fuck, don't tell me that shit.”
He finally opens his eyes, fixing me with an unreadable stare. Yeah, he's way too cool for me. I nudge his foot with mine, because I'm antsy and he's there, and I want to touch him, but really can't seem to get up the nerve when he's being so cold.
“Corner again?” I ask, nodding at his hands.
I whistle. The kid is a bruiser, through and through. He has to be with a name like that. “He mess you up?” 'Cus I'm going to fuck the kid up the first chance I see him.
He doesn't answer, just stares at me some more, like he's waiting for me to spring some big revelation on him or something. I've got nothing. I'm bored. I like him. I can't have him. Not much more to me at the moment.
“I need to know something, Potter. A couple of things.” His voice is ice, and I'm immediately on guard. His jaw is set, the way he gets when he's eating something big emotionally. I'm going to assume it's anger. He has a lot of reasons to be angry at me. Like millions, probably.
I go back to staring at the ceiling, not sure if I can handle seeing him hate me like I deserve. “Shoot.”
“Your watch. Were did you get it?”
He really is brilliant. And I am so boned.
“It was my dad's, actually. Or, at least, that's what Sirius told me.”
“One of a kind. Wizard style, pure platinum with black mother of pearl face.”
“Err...” I actually bother to look at my watch, because I've never really paid it much attention, even though I look at it every single day to get the time. “Yeah. I guess so.” Okay, he's extra brilliant. No wonder I always feel like an idiot when we're sharing classes.
The floor feels like it's rushing towards me, my blood loud in my ears. My stomach is in a huge knot, and I'm getting ready for whatever comes next. I start tapping my foot nervously, again staring up at the dark, stone ceiling, the torchlight making every crevis look like pure night. It'll be over soon, and maybe I'll finally be able to get on with my life.
“How many times?”
He doesn't have to elaborate. I know what he's asking. “Twice. This hallway.”
He's quiet for a long time. So long, I can feel the sweat trickling down my neck and spine as I wait. But I can't look at him. No way in fuck I can look at him right now. Hell, maybe not ever.
“Do you... do that sort of thing a lot?”
I sputter, completely caught off guard. “Fuck no! Holy shit—Never.” And I have to look at him, because it's really fucking important that he understands I have never, ever tried to get into anyone's pants by polyjuicing. His expression isn't cool anymore. There's definitely something dark and intense, likely deadly lurking in his eyes. But I stare him down because this is everything to me. “You're the only one. I swear.”
There's that anger, just sparking, just flaring beneath his facade. I consider looking away, pretty sure I'm pissing him off, but he's already snapping another question at me. “Why?”
Every fucking plausible excuse I can think of runs through my mind at once. I can't tell him. I can't. It must be on my face, because he starts yelling.
“Why, Potter? You violated my fucking relationship. My body. My fucking security. Why the fuck would you do something so fucked up? What the hell did I do to you—Nothing I have done has ever fucking compared to this, this madness! Nothing!”
God. Can it get worse than this? Seriously? Well, besides the fucking thing he wants me to tell him?
“Explain it to me—For fuck sake!” He runs his hands over his face, and I notice for the first time just how tired he is. He's going through shit because of his father, and I just fucked up his life while ruining my own. Fuck it. I have to tell him. I have to. I owe him at least that.
My mouth is dry, and my voice comes out like sandpaper. “First, I just want to say that my reasons don't justify what I did, okay? I... I know how fucked up it is. I didn't even really intend... No. Ignore that. I'm fucked up.” I try to wet my lips, but everything is so dry right now. I can't look at him while I say this, so I focus on the floor between us. “I fell for you.”
God, he's just not going to make this even remotely easy. I force myself to meet his eyes, and he's ready to kill me now. “I'm in love with you.” Yup, that is definitely his killing glare. “And although that doesn't justify shit, it made a lot of very bad ideas seem really fucking brilliant at the time. I told myself it was harmless. Because, god, I would never hurt you.” I hold my hand up before he can yell. “Physically—Crap, sexually? I know we used to fight, but hell, it kills me to hurt you. That's why I stopped fighting with you. I just couldn't touch you like that. It was wrong. It felt like I was hurting myself.”
“Then what the hell was that glitter thing? You fucking slammed me against the damn table!”
I do everything to keep my voice level, trying not to feed his very justifiable anger. “You were covered in the glitter that was all over me. It was on your mouth. My friends were starting to put two and two together. I thought you'd rather think I was trying to beat you, than have to explain to your boyfriend why your lips were covered in my glitter. I... Shit, I knew I had fucked things up for you, and I just wanted to fix it any way I could.”
I shake my head, a harsh laugh tearing from my throat. “You are always going to fucking hate me, Malfoy. I know it. You know it. Everyone in the damn school knows it. So I did something really fucked up because I would never, ever get a chance with you otherwise.” His eyes say it all, but I don't look away. I'm never going to have another chance to tell him the truth, as terrible as it is.
“I'm sorry for all the many fucking terrible ways I hurt you, betrayed you, and used you. And I'm sorry for how much this whole thing has just fucked me up worse, because being with you was amazing, and it's never going to happen. Especially after this. But I still can't regret it. And yeah, I'm sure you will work the rest of your life trying to make sure I do. But you'll fail. When I held you in my arms, my life finally meant something. And even if it never means anything again, at least for those moments it did.”
I am probably the biggest fucking fool out there, baring my soul to Draco Malfoy. Because I know better than anyone else just how good he is at destroying the defenseless. I'm expecting it. Anticipating it. If he does it well enough, maybe, finally, these feelings can rest. A truly broken heart won't ever feel again, and that's what I want. Need.
He gets up, his eyes blazing anger, and I patiently wait for him to scream, or punch, or draw his wand and hex me into oblivion. Instead he walks away, not saying a single word to me.
God, the fucking bastard.
The morning looms, rainy, dreary, miserable. This is my life. The life I made. The life I can't blame on fucked up dark wizards that kill parents and toddlers alike. And hell, maybe I can start to understand how a bloke can go so fucking wrong and start murdering people in the name of something. Because I went crazy wrong the moment Malfoy started dating Nott. In the name of love.
I dress slowly, not really paying much attention to my clothes. My body feels heavy. My arms don't want to lift, my head permanently stuck at a downwards slope. The guys are already off to breakfast, and the common room is gratefully empty. My bookbag feels like a ball and chain today. I float it, but still, I can't seem to do much but drag my steps.
I'm not hungry, and I don't want to see him in the Great Hall, sitting with his boyfriend to begin the ignoring of a lifetime he started last night. God, he is fucking brilliant. He was so beyond angry, but he knew how to hurt me, and he put that first. Just ignore me. Because I am nothing to him. I will always be nothing to him.
I deserve worse. I deserve to be bleeding. Fine, I just want to be bleeding. Physical pain is so much easier to bear than this rotting, festering feeling inside, empty and full all at once, and all monstrous. Fucked up. I am so fucked up.
I turn sluggishly, confused as to why Hermione is running down the hall leading to our transfiguration class and heading straight for me. I'm early. I'm really early for class. Does she have like a twenty minutes early or it doesn't count clause I don't know about?
She stops, her hair a fluffy mess while she pants for air. I wish I can raise some enthusiasm, but I have nothing left to give. I can barely keep my head up to look at her. Good thing she's shorter than me. “Okay, Mione?”
She nods wildly, grabs my hand, and starts pulling me back the way she came. I stare at her back as I stumble, unease trickling through the fog of misery in my head. “Mione?”
“New article,” she snaps out, her breath still strained. “Gotta hurry.”
I love Hermione, I really do, but sometimes she's from another planet. Not the same planet the rest of the girls are from, with their smelly perfume and hours of vapid giggling, but one all by herself, with different rules, and different priorities. If the fucking paper was that important, she could have summoned it to me. And knowing her, it's not even something I'm going to give a fuck about. Yet, she's pulling me down the damn hall anyways.
I realize Hermione's personal planet is actually a lot closer to mine than previously thought when she pulls me into the Great Hall. Holy fuck. It's a mess, half the kids on their asses pulling themselves from the floor, and the rest, well, gone. Tables are sideways, plates and food everywhere. The Slytherin table is literally cracked in half. That feeling of dread is growing, faster and faster when I can't find Ron or Draco in the crazy mess. Hermione's saying something to me, but I can't hear her over the blood roaring in my ears.
Gotta find them. Now. Every single article this month has been about how Lucius Malfoy has fucked over muggleborns and purebloods alike, and I'm in this room because of the latest article. Where is he?
I look around quickly, my magic snapping like electricity in the air. There's a path. Slytherin table, outward blast that took out the Ravenclaw table. Head table relatively fine, so we're moving in the opposite direction, back to the Great Hall doors, scorch marks on the floor, broken stone to the right, fallen painting to the left, down, down... Castle doors.
I slam outside, Hermione hot on my heels. I'm not thinking anymore, and I can only hope she doesn't try to stop me. There's a crowd out in the drear and mud, a circle of about fifty students. Two thirds of them are pointing inwards, looking to murder, the other third pointing outwards, looking to not be murdered. Guess who's in the fucking center?
My boy. His boyfriend. Ron.
If you ever need a truly fucking loyal friend, you find yourself a Weasley. There is no substitution.
I try to stuff down the cold ice skating through my entire core as I catch site of Draco. He's bleeding. A lot. Nott's holding him upright, because my boy's eyes aren't open, and his legs aren't working anymore.
I'm moving, but I don't feel it. Everything is slowing down. The smoke as spells ring out. The twisted expressions of anger and hate. The voices, echoing from far away as heat rises up in me in a wave beyond anything I have ever felt before.
I have a frozen moment of eternity to acknowledge the whispering of terror over what I'm going to do. Then I'm here, touching their backs, and they're just falling to the ground under my fingertips. Five, nine, thirteen, twenty-three...
“Snap the fuck out of it!”
Ron slugs me across the face. Lights flash behind my eyelids, pain exploding red from my cheek. The noise of the real world roars into focus. Everyone is screaming, mostly the kids on the ground. I can't seem to get my brain to turn back on. The world is glassy, the noise tin, the light too bright and tinted green.
God, where is Draco?
“No!” Ron wrestles me by the shoulders before I can turn, and I know it's bad. Because he's protecting me, not Malfoy now. Oh god.
I can't breathe.
I clutch uselessly at the slippery grass, the world spinning around me while Ron holds me down in a lock.
“Alive, I promise you. He's alive.”
Okay. Okay. But Ron's not letting me up, so I don't fully believe him.
I don't know how long he holds me down. Long enough for the professors and Madame Pomfrey to get there. One by one, the screams fade out to silence. I stare at the ground, tasting dirt, and copper, and salt. The voices are all muddled in my head, low, concerned rumbles that don't mean a damn thing to me. None of them are his voice. That's all I know for certain.
I can't feel anything. I know Ron is still there, sitting on my back. There are vibrations as feet step past my bubble of awareness. None of it's real. I'm a million miles away, next to Hermione's planet, so glad I don't have to feel. My body would never be able to contain the emotions. I need a planet for them. A big one. A lonely one. Out in the dark, in the vacuum, where no one else can be harmed by this madness inside me.
Scholarships. They tried to kill him over the fucking scholarships. Somehow Lucius Malfoy had managed to bankrupt four different prestigious educational programs. Probably doesn't sound like a big deal—sure as fuck doesn't to me—but the wizarding world is small, and the wealth is never really spread here. While the majority fight for every knut, the rich purebloods hoard their treasure like dragons. The only way to get at the gold is to gut the guard.
I don't fucking know. I don't fucking know much of anything right now. Thinking leads to feeling, and I can't endure that at all.
McGonagall and Dumbledore had a long talk with me, where I told them the very little I actually understood of what happened. After, Madame Pomfrey pulled me into the hospital ward with Ron's help, and drugged me asleep. I really wish she was here now with more of that blue potion, because I don't want to be awake. Probably not ever again.
My victims have all recovered. Don't know the spell I used, but Dumbledore thinks it's a new version of the Cruciatus Curse. He had a look in his eye, like he was wondering just how fucked up I've become since he tore me from my loveless, miserable life in the cupboard, and put a wand in my hand nearly seven years ago. A lot. I'm fucked up big time.
I close my eyes when I hear voices. Nott again. He was drugged up after going into shock. They won't let him see Malfoy. At least he's no longer covered in blood; he was looking damn gory for a while there.
“I just want to see him. I won't bother him—I just need to see that he's okay.”
“Mr. Nott, do not make me tell you again.” Madame Pomfrey doesn't bend to anyone, even perfect boyfriends. “I dare say you're well enough to go back to class. Dinner is just finishing up.”
“Please, Madame Pomfrey. I won't say a word. I won't do anything to wake him up. Please. He's all alone, and... please.”
God, I hate him so much.
She lets him in. A good five minutes. He comes out crying. I really want to fall back asleep.
I keep seeing Malfoy's face. Not like before, not yelling at me, or moaning, or sneering. No, with his eyes closed, deathly pale, scarlet streaming down. There's a shadow where no shadow should be on his cheek because someone took a blunt object to his perfect face and caved it in. I wish I had killed them. All of them.
I wish I had gotten up and gone to breakfast on time.
I wish I could see him, and hold him, and not have him hate me.
Godlike powers don't mean shit in this world. Magic? Fuck magic. Magic doesn’t get you shit. People are still poor, evil still wins, and we die. All of us. He hates me, and no magic will ever change it.
I'm thinking of becoming an accountant. I suck at math, but hey, calculators. No magic. No expectation that things should have been different. God, they should have.
I'm going to be the rich prat he was supposed to be. And he—Well, his dad fucked him up. He's going to have to work for a living now. With fifteen less scholarships available when it comes time to apprentice. I'm sure when he's back on his feet, he'll appreciate the irony.
If he lives.
Nott sent him flowers. Roses. Three bouquets. I want to vomit. Perfect fucking prince charming. I even saw a stuffed animal in there. A dragon. Fucktard. I hate my life so much.
Madame Pomfrey won't let me leave. I'm surprised I'm not in some padded cell right now. Two days since the incident, and she keeps mumbling something about magical exhaustion, and severe fatigue and dehydration. I guess I broke myself when losing my mind cursing my classmates. Wouldn't be the first time.
The room reeks of roses. Pomfrey won't let anything in the critical ward with Malfoy, so I have to look at his fucking flowers. Fuck.
Ron's been by, giving me shit for the mess I made, patting my shoulder for the way my heart's numb. Hermione dropped off homework and a book on the Cruciatus Curse. That's my girl—Sees me go crazy with power and gives me a thumbs up for having the ability. Whole other planet. She found me, not the professors, when things went to shit. Apparently Ron's been telling her just how much I'm fucked over Malfoy. She hasn't thrown a hissy yet, even though I know she hates the Slytherin.
Hermione was kind enough to incinerate my flowers for me. News has gotten out that the great Harry Potter saved the fucking day once again, and all the fans want to send me 'get well, thanks for saving a worthless rich prat' gifts. I won't let her burn the roses—although god, I hate those roses—but she's been awesome to get the other shit out.
I'm not sure why I'm awake now. Probably just between potions. I wonder if Madame Pomfrey is trying to inadvertantly heal my broken heart. I should tell her it's a lost cause, and drag my ass back to my dorm. But I'm tired. And I really don't want to talk to anyone.
Malfoy's door opens, and Nott walks out. I sigh internally, totally remembering what woke me up this time. He looks my way, and I immediately look at the ceiling.
Crap, here he comes.
“I wanted to thank you.”
For fuck sake. I'm going to burn in Hell. I really am. I don't know if Hell is real, but when I die, I'm going straight to it.
“They say if he was brought in any later, he wouldn't have, well, survived. You... you saved his life.”
Somehow this only makes me feel even more miserable, and I fix my glare on him. His eyes are rimmed in red, like he's been crying while sitting with Malfoy. I really, truly, hate him. “I'm sure you holding off that crowd of crazies singlehandedly had a greater impact than me, Nott. You definitely win in the hero department.”
He snorts—fucking snorts—in my face. “Shut up, Potter. God, I hate you so much.”
For the first time, I wonder if Malfoy actually told Nott about what I did. Prince charming doesn't really seem angry enough for that though. “Funny, I thought you didn't really give a fuck about all that Golden Boy shit.”
His laugh is pure self deprecating. “Oh, I didn't. Not until I realized my boyfriend can't stop ranting about you day and night, even over shit that has nothing to do with him. And then I fucking wake up one Sunday to find you dressed like some wet dream, and him covered in fucking glitter and hickies. I'm not an idiot.”
Fuck, guess he's not. Looks like I'm the only dumbass in the goddamn place. Crap.
“He hates me, Nott. You have nothing to worry about.”
He laughs again, sounding almost as bitter as I am. “Fuck you, Potter. Thanks for saving his life. Fuck you for ever being born.”
Nice. Malfoy's been rubbing off on the kid. He walks away, swearing under his breath. Part of me feels just the slightest bit satisfied that at least he's miserable too. Yeah, I'm a fucking monster.
I really need to get the fuck out of the hospital ward. I don't even know what day it is now... Or night. Pretty sure it's night. Pomfrey keeps spiking my juice, knocking me out, and seriously, it's getting really fucking annoying. I'm thirsty as fuck again, but I just finally woke up.
God, but I'm thirsty. There has to be laws against this. But, magic, so if it involves pushing your will on others without their consent, the law tends to accept it as part of the consequence. I reach for the glass on the bedside table, groaning from the pain in my heavy arms. Why am I in pain?
I remember the heaviness. Side effect from the exhaustion and dehydration. Not sure about pain. Actually, I look to be covered in slashes.
I pull my arm close, licking mindlessly at the nearest slash. It's fairly fresh, blood still wet. Not life threatening, but a mean sting. There's a rustle of movement by the foot of my bed, and there's Malfoy, glaring, face perfect, if not a bit gaunt.
“Bleeding me in my sleep?”
“Yes. Should have stabbed you through the fucking chest.”
Probably. He still has his wand out, and given the look on his face, he's not done with me just yet. I lie back, holding my heavy arms out in surrender. “Well, have at it then.”
He snarls, probably pissed I'm not putting up a fight. Whatever. I just don't have it in me anymore. A part of me is just so relieved he's really alive and well enough to be slashing the shit out of me. Angry people don't die. They live on, making the world a shitty place for everyone else. He'll live a damn long time.
“You ruined everything, Potter. Fucked everything up.”
I open my eyes again, finding him glaring down only a foot away. “Sorry. I'm a fuck up. It's what I do.”
He presses his wand to my shoulder, daring me to say anything. I don't. The pain is quick, intense, and makes me gasp. I have to close my eyes because his expression is pure torment.
“You ruined my fucking life.”
“Did I? Didn't notice with all the people trying to kill you.”
“Fuck you!” The next slash is deeper, over my chest, delicious agony I can't even begin to describe. “You think playing hero is going to make up for what you did?”
“Shit, you think I went in there to make you like me? They were going to kill you. They nearly—Fuck.” He really makes me crazy. “Just get lost, Malfoy. I can't bear to see your goddamn face anymore. Go take your fucking roses too. They stink.”
“You ruined. My fucking. Life.”
Why the fuck does he keep saying that? “I didn't fuck up your dad, Malfoy. I didn't write those goddamn articles, or arrest him. I shoved my tongue up your ass, and made you blow me. It's not the fucking end of the world.”
I really need to learn to keep my big mouth shut. He slashes down my stomach so quick, I only just turn my hips in time to keep him from cutting my bits off. The fucking prat. I grab his wrist, twisting until he hisses, his wand dropping from his hand. He goes to punch me, and I grab that hand as well, growling when he tries to headbutt me. He's fucking pissed, and weak as a damn kitten.
“Go back to bed, you idiot. You're just going to tire yourself out.”
He struggles, trying to wrench his arms from my grasp. “Shut the fuck up! I can't fucking stand you!”
“Yeah? Then maybe you shouldn't be in here talking to me.” Shit, but he is so damn pretty.
He suddenly stills, glaring at me in warning. “Don't fucking do it, Potter. I will tear you limb from fucking limb if you so much as touch me with—”
I know. How the hell can I resist? I pull him down while he's still cursing my name. He falls against my chest, snarling. But his mouth is hot when I kiss him, yielding and hungry. I hold onto his arms, but he's practically climbing up me, gasping into every hard kiss, groaning loudly when I suck on his tongue and pull him closer. God, he drives me crazy. Fucking crazy.
Suddenly he slams his hands down, breaking his arms free and smacking my shoulders at the same time. Ouch.
His eyes are molten metal. “If you ever fucking do that again, I'm going to castrate you. Slowly.”
“With your teeth?” I grasp his face before he can pull away, crushing his lips to mine, drinking down every angry moan and growl he makes. I'm never going to learn my lesson. Kissing Draco Malfoy is worth every fucking nasty name, and painful wound he gives me. And when he walks away to his perfect fucking boyfriend, this is all I'll have to remember. Furious kisses.
He grabs my neck, and I'm pretty sure he's going to strangle me, but instead his fingernails dig in, dragging down, scratching over my collarbone and chest. I groan, tugging on his silky locks, wrapping one of my arms around his waist and pulling him down on top of me to tangle in the blanket between my raised knees. “I got you, baby.”
“Shut up, you fucking pain.” He pushes my head back, his mouth hot and teeth sharp as he moves down my throat, biting and licking. I shudder under his slick tongue, hips thrusting up, fire racing over my skin in erratic waves. I run my palm down his back, cupping his ass, pulling him against my body with heady, perfect motions. He moans every time his hard cock grinds into my hip. I squeeze his ass tight, wanting to build that rhythm, needing to feel his body move against my aching dick until he's gasping for mercy.
“I really... can't stand you,” he whimpers into my neck, holding me painfully hard around the shoulders while he pants heavily.
“I know, baby. But I like you enough for the both of us.” I grab his chin, pulling him up so I can kiss him. It's sloppy, uncoordinated, but so good, his tongue shivering, lips dripping wet. He keeps moaning, soft, desperate pleas as we rock together. For the longest minutes we breathe the same air, share the same words and cries of intense heat and need. I watch him when he finally lets go, and it's the most beautiful expression I've ever seen on him. Especially since he's looking at me, knowing it's me. Fire moves through me so great, I have to hold him tight, ground myself in his perfect smelling flesh and weight of his body, my hips bucking against his in maddened, wild jolts as I come.
God, he's everything. Fucking everything. I wrap around him, breathing him in, listening to his strained breathing as he tries to get his wits back.
“Make me.” I hold him tighter, moving a palm down his side, kissing into his neck. He's sweaty, growing warmer in my arms, and full of beautiful, soft sighs. “You're so beautiful.”
“You're an idiot.”
He lets me hold him for a good ten minutes, grumbling the entire time even as he nuzzles into my chest, his hands wrapping around my sides. Nothing can compare to having him breathe with me, pressing his weight down on my body, filling my senses, making my crazy fade for just this moment. It's perfect. Right. Fleeting.
“I need to go.” He pushes up, and I let him, releasing my arms from around his waist. He picks up his wand, looking me over, staring at all the slashes he's left on my skin. He smirks, meets my eyes for a second, then turns away.
I stare at the closed door to his room for long minutes, the heat of his body slowly draining from me. Finally I grab the glass still waiting on the table beside me, and down it with one long gulp. I don't want to think. I don't want to feel. I want to sleep this all away, and pray I'll eventually wake up where it doesn't all hurt.
The next time I wake up, I get up. No thinking, no plan. It's time to get the fuck out. My body fights me, but I ignore it. I change, the morning dawn just breaking through the narrow windows. I don't say goodbye to Madame Pomfrey, just incase she wants to try and convince me I need another drink. I make it to my dorm, to my bed, and collapse. He won't find me here, even if I want him to.
It's time to grow the fuck up and let him go. I just really, really don't want to.
Ron finds me eventually, cussing me out for being an idiot. I can't explain. Fine, I'm an idiot. But I'm done watching Nott visit him, done smelling his roses and wondering what he's doing on the other side of the door. I can't do this anymore. Ron gets me water that doesn't put me to sleep, and I stare blearily at the pile of homework that's built up, hoping to do something useful, something constructive beyond pining for the impossible.
The next day, I make myself go to class. It's tough. People are talking about me, but not about Malfoy. No, I'm a dark wizard again. It seems to happen every time I reveal my power, usually when someone's trying to kill me. I think if I could remember being attacked as a baby, I might have been prepared for the lifetime of wizards following in the trend. But I don't remember Voldemort. I've had quite the opportunity to meet his many remaining followers though, and let me say, it's been a fucking blast.
I get the stink eye for the next week. It won't blow over for a while—I attacked my fellow students, blah fucking blah. They nearly killed one of their own, but I'm the evil one. I know. Godlike powers are nothing when faced with the idiocy of humans.
Nott seems about ready to throttle me, Malfoy still in the hospital ward. I've never seen the boy so pissed off. Which is strange, because I don't look at Nott. I don't say shit to him. I don't say shit about him. I've decided to leave well enough alone and stop fucking up everyone's lives, if only to stop fucking up my own.
Still seriously considering going muggle. Not an accountant, but there must be something I'm qualified for out there that won't bore the shit out of me. The longer I stay around magic, the more I feel the pull to use it. That sort of power, it twists inside after a while. Makes me think it's okay to do all the many things my power can let me do. And believe me, I can do a lot. A whole fucking lot of terrible. Easy.
“Come flying after class. I can get the team out.” Ron is determined to get me living again.
I sigh, adjusting my bookbag on my shoulder. Potions is next, and I'm full of dread. The Slytherins are giving me shit lately, more so than usual. I have a feeling Nott's talking me down, stirring up trouble. That, plus the return of the dark wizard label, and Snape in general, just sucks the joy out of the otherwise interesting class. “Maybe. Let's see how tired I am.”
“You sound like an old man.”
I feel like an old man. An old, defeated man that's done fighting. It's pathetic, but it's honest.
I keep my head down when approaching the Potions classroom. I can already hear them talking shit. Perfect Potter's going to donate money to reinstate the bankrupt scholarships. Hero boy just can't stop demanding all the attention. Nearly killed his classmates, and now he thinks he can buy his way into doing whatever he wants.
I did make a large donation to the scholarship fund. It's shit what happened, and no one deserves to suffer just because Lucius Malfoy is an unscrupulous asshole. But I donated anonymously, so I don't know who the fuck leaked it. But I'll find out, because I really don't want to get shit or praise every time I throw money at things. I plan on throwing my parents' money at a lot of things in the future. It's doing no good sitting in that dank vault, that's for sure.
“Hey, Potter, feel like lending me a couple hundred galleons? There's this new broom I want to get. Hey, I'd even give you a spin on it. You do enjoy a good broom ride, so I hear.”
And so it begins. “Fuck off and get a job, Zabini.” Blaise doesn't actually need a job, his parents not dumb enough to go into business with Lucius Malfoy. Most of the purebloods were too smart to fall for Malfoy's scheme. Which only made all the other wizarding families so very bitter when they weren't spared. But it does mean at least the majority of Draco's house has his back, Slytherins mostly comprised of arrogant purebloods.
I duck through the door before I can get anymore shit. Only to stumble back when someone smacks into my shoulder. Holding my arm, I look up to find Nott there, glaring with a very spiteful expression on his face. I'm pretty sure he hit me on purpose, actually, which is just bizarre for the kid. I take a step forward to get into the room, but he immediately steps in front of me, chest puffed up like some angry bird.
“Yeah, you, Potter.” He shoves me, hard, the world tilting for a second before I catch my balance, my bag jarring against my back. Okay.
“I don't know what you're deal is, but I need to get to class.” He's got his hands in fists like he wants to take a swing at me. Considering Snape is on the other side of the door, I really can't imagine what's going through his head right now. “Whatever the hell this is, can you speed it up?”
He can, and he does, throwing a punch right at my face. I reflexively duck, dropping my bag and grabbing him low—because fuck, I'm short. I push him back, and angry as he is, he's not coordinated enough for this. I don't actually think I've ever seen Nott in a proper fight. For good reason; he sucks.
It's rather amazing that no matter how much magic we can raise up, we really just love a good fistfight. It's got to be a guy thing. I've seen girls hex the nail polish of a rival's fingers, just to be a bitch.
Nott picks himself up off the floor, growling as he touches his bleeding lip. But I can see it in his eyes. He's not done. “Come on, Nott. Don't make me mess you up. Your boyfriend will be very pissed to see you bloodied and bruised.”
Mentioning Draco was apparently the wrong thing to do, and he practically roars when he lunges at me. Fuck. Fucking psycho Slytherin perfect boyfriend bastard. I let him hit me head on even though I could have dodged, his fists wailing on my back. I duck down, wrap my arms around his thighs, tip sideways, and half throw, half roll him the fuck away. The floors are pure stone, and he slams his shoulder and side hard, ending up on his back and groaning in pain. I think he bit his tongue, but I'm not getting close enough to see. He managed to wrench my arm when he tried to hold on, but nothing life threatening.
I exchange a questioning look with Ron, but he seems just as clueless as to why Nott has suddenly lost his shit. As does Snape, who immediately docks points from Gryffindor—the vindictive jackass—for fighting. Believe me, if Nott had won, he still would have docked points. Hell, Snape would have given Slytherin twenty just for someone kicking my ass.
Zabini drags Nott's pathetic self up to the hospital ward, patting the boy companionably on his bruised shoulder while Nott gives me the evil eye until he turns the corner.
Seriously, what the hell did I do? The last time I actually talked to Nott was that bizarre conversation where he thanked me for saving Draco's life, while in the same breath admitted he hated my guts. It really doesn't make sense that he wants to beat my skull in now. The kid won. He's got himself a beautiful, vicious, Slytherin prat that will happily verbally tear him to pieces while sucking his tiny cock. What more could the boy ask for?
“You okay?” Hermione frets, running her wand over my shoulder and arm when I walk in the room. I let her, 'cus she'll hound me until I do, flinching under Snape's glare from the front of the class. Right. I'm the disruption, once again. Not the bastard swinging at me. Yeah, it's always so damn good to be me. Get shit for donating to charity, and defending myself. I must have been a real right bastard in a past life.
“Miss Granger, if you would kindly stop fawning over Mr. Potter, I would like to start my class.” Every eye is suddenly on the two of us, even though I'm gay, and Hermione and Ron have been a thing for, like, ever. It's actually kind of funny, and she giggles when I throw an arm around her and kiss her cheek. Ron doesn't, huffing weakly until she sits down and takes his hand.
“Gag me,” Parkinson mutters, making a vomiting noise I have a feeling she perfected on her journey from a dress size of 18 to 0. Fuck her. Hermione's beautiful, with a hell of a lot more brains and power than the jealous bitch. Parkinson just wishes she had her own planet as cool as my girl's.
Then I see him, and the world swims for the longest, loudest moment when I meet his eyes. He's out of the hospital. He's okay. He's... Well, he's glaring at me.
I sit. Nearly miss my chair. Get my ass aligned properly, and manage not to fall over. God, he fucks me up.
Ron's seen Malfoy too, and he leans over to whisper in my ear. “Think he sicced his boyfriend on you? Like a welcome back present?”
I have no idea, but it seems like something Malfoy might do. But not really something Nott would normally agree to. Nott was genuinely pissed... Fuck. Had Malfoy finally told him about the polyjuicing? If I were Nott, I would have totally flipped over that. Actually, I would have flipped a fuck ton more. Maybe it's not that—Or maybe Nott's just a better person than I am.
Pretty sure he is.
I try to push it out of my mind. I shouldn't be thinking about Malfoy anymore. I told myself I was going to stop this crazy thing. Just, it's really hard when he's actually in the same room as me again. I feel like I haven't seen him in forever, and god, now I can't stop thinking about that night in the hospital. How the hell am I going to do this? How the hell can I pretend he's not the fucking reason my heart is racing, my palms sweating, my god damn brain running circles around my dick, and totally losing.
And he keeps glaring at me!
Ah, I'm so fucked. I mean, really. I'm never going to get over this. I'm going to have to move to Siberia or something. A place where Draco Malfoy would never dare grace. Huh, I could just go back to the Dursleys. Damn. That kind of bummed me out. I really need to stop thinking about him.
God, he felt so good in my arms. Warm. Damn near sweet, even for all his grumbling. I bet he was a cat in a former life. One that demanded to be petted, all the while scratching the shit out of anyone that dared. A white cat. Pristine and haughty. I should get myself a cat.
I can't have Malfoy but I can, pretty sure, get a damn cat.
“Don't look now, but I think someone's here to kill you.” Ron doesn't bother whispering. We've just finished our half hour flight around the quidditch pitch. My face is numb from the cool wind, my hair feeling beyond windswept as I quickly try to pat it down when I catch sight of Malfoy.
“Get lost, Weasel.”
“Nice to see you too, Ferret. Glad you're face filled in after I pulled you from Ripper's boot.”
Malfoy pauses at that, uncertainty flickering across his features. I wonder just how much he remembers of the incident that put him in the hospital ward for nearly two weeks. Apparently not a lot, and Ron and I both gape when Draco suddenly holds his hand out to the redhead. “Thanks for that.”
Ron looks like Malfoy's hand is about to bite him. Unperturbed, Malfoy grabs his boldly and gives him a proper shake. The world, amazingly enough, continues to turn. The sun even starts to set.
“I'm... going to go now,” Ron mutters, glaring at Draco suspiciously, then at his hand. I'm pretty sure the blond didn't curse him. I could be wrong. It is Malfoy.
I jump, eyes flying to his. “Er, hey, Malfoy.” I really don't feel like fighting right now. The flying has done me some good, and I'm so sure he's going to just mess me up again. I'm already dazed and feeling self conscious as all fuck. I pull my bangs down again, just to be on the safe side. Damn it. I hate this shit.
“You're not going to shake my hand, are you?” I ask when he continues to stand there. He's glaring, but it's not as mean as normal. There's heat to it, but it's not crazy, I want to beat the fuck out of you anger. Yet.
“Do you want me to shake your hand?”
What? Shit, I really need to get away from him. He just fucks up my head. “Malfoy, what do you want?”
He tilts his head at me, raising an eyebrow the longer I glare back. “Potter, you stare. A lot.”
What? “You came out here to tell me that?” I think he's fucking with me. “How about you tell me why Nott's trying to kill me. Do I have to watch for him trying to polyjuice one of my friends to gut me in my sleep?”
Draco scoffs, glancing to the side, looking too cool for the world in general. “He doesn't have the imagination. Fuck, then again, didn't think you had the fucking imagination either, and look where that got me.”
I stare at him—He's there, he's hot, and he's talking weird shit. I'm going to stare. “What that got you?”
“Yes, fucktard. Got me.” He glares at me, like I'm really supposed to know what he's talking about. Do I know what he's talking about? Fucked up? Is that what he's implying? I know it fucked me up, but he seems, as usual, fine as a cool drink on a hot day. Wait, is he saying he didn't tell Nott, or he did? God, he really makes me crazy.
“I don't mean to sound like an ass, Potter, but could you like pay the fuck attention for two minutes here?”
“I'm seriously trying, Malfoy. If you could just make sense with what the hell you're saying to me. Single syllables. You might have to spell out some of the big words.”
He gives me a look, like he can't tell if I'm joking or not. I'm not sure if I fully am. He fucks with my head, and it's really hard to see things up and down around him.
“I need a bodyguard. Probably until my father's trial is over.”
Okay, I understand it. Just not sure what the hell he means. “You want me to be your muscle? Seriously?”
He looks at my biceps, smirking that fucking sexy way of his. “Let's go with idiot on retainer. Doorstop. Human shield. My personal, expendable orphan.”
He's a prat. A sexy, sexy prat. I cross my arms over my chest, for some reason feeling the need to puff myself up and look as strong as possible. “And why, exactly, would I subject myself to your particular brand of torture while also saving your ass from the many angry people that hate you?”
“Ah, well that would be because you're an idiot. A lovestruck, demented, idiot.”
He really has the most adorable smile, the little fucker. I run my tongue over my teeth, already knowing I'm going to say yes. But I really shouldn't. It's a bad idea for many reasons I can't seem to remember at the moment. “Won't your boyfriend just want to beat my face in even more?”
“Nott, you...” I stop, taking in his extremely bored expression, his eyebrow looking just a little too cocky to be believable. Oh.
“Are you paying attention, or will you be spacing out for the rest of this conversation?”
“Did you break up with Nott? Have you seriously been talking to me about fucking bodyguard bullshit instead of telling me you don't have a boyfriend anymore?”
He shrugs, his fingers twisting into his hair as he pushes a white-blond strand back. “It's not bullshit. People have been getting, well, crazy around here.” He looks at me, something flashing in his eyes that I really wish wasn't fear, but it is. “And you, well, you don't seem to mind that I'm not the nicest fucking person on the planet. So, yeah. I'd really like you to help me out.”
“Why did you break up with Nott?”
“I am. I am very fucking focused. Now tell me or I won't help.”
He gives me a calculating look, then glances away. All cool again. “He kisses for shit.”
“Like fuck you broke up with him over—”
“What the fuck do you know, hmm? How many boyfriends have you had?”
Fine, I don't date well. But he's so full of shit. “He was sweet to you. Brought you those roses. Cried at your bedside. Tried to save your ass, even though he's not strong for shit. You didn't dump him over his kissing skills. Kissing skills can be improved.”
He sighs, clearly annoyed that I'm not letting this go. Too fucking bad. “You sure he didn't dump you, Malfoy? Got a little sick and tired of you talking shit to him?”
“Fuck off, Potter. He was practically crying when I kicked him to the curb. Stop being a dick.”
I shut up. I can't promise what comes out of my mouth won't be shit, but I can choose not to open it.
“I didn't feel anything when he kissed me.” He glances my way a second, then quickly looks down, hands shoving into his front pockets. “So, bodyguard. My dormmates are pretty chill about the whole thing, but sometimes I get people cornering me in the halls. Especially around meal times, and right before bed. I'd need you to walk with me. I'm sure it's a hassle, but let's face it, they won't fuck with you. After what happened when I was knocked out, everyone's pretty sure you're going to murder the next one you touch.”
I scowl, sick of this particular theory floating around. “Don't believe everything you hear, Malfoy.”
“Oh, so you didn't tap twenty-seven people and send them to the ground in excruciating, debilitating pain, singlehandedly saving my life, and likely the lives of the people trying to protect me?”
Well, when he puts it that way. “Why didn't you feel anything when he kissed you?”
“No, I want to know. How do you know? What if he suddenly got really good at kissing? Would you feel something then?”
“For the love of—What is wrong with you? Seriously?”
“Malfoy, unless you fucking tell me that you like when I kiss you, I'm not going to stop asking.”
He snaps his mouth shut, glaring. Chin tilting up, he huffs. “Fuck off.”
“I can wait all fucking night. And hey, as your bodyguard, you'll catch yourself a nice cold out here with me.”
“You're such a fucking pain.”
I just stare at him. His cheeks are pink, and I don't think it's from the chill air. It's starting to get dark, the forest creating a long shadow across the field.
“I can't pay you anything, just so we're clear.”
He barrels on, glaring at me defiantly. “But I thought I could help you with your homework because you're a fucking lout and all. I won't do it for you—I don't cheat. But I'll help you learn, and, um... stuff.”
Right. So now I'm going to be walking him through the halls in my free time, and when not doing that, spending it studying with him. He's probably going to be dressing me too, by the time the week is out. “Malfoy, you're going to tell me you like when I kiss you, or you're going to find yourself another bodyguard. One that doesn't have my reputation for putting up with your shit.”
He smiles, all pearly white teeth and flushed cheeks. My stomach drops somewhere below my knees, everything going dizzy. “Nope. You're going to put up with my shit, Potter. So too fucking bad.”
God, he makes me so crazy.
I grab him by the elbow, pulling him close, watching as he blushes even more. “Don't play with me, Drake. It's really not nice. You know I'm messed up over you.”
“I believe I already said 'too fucking bad,'” he whispers, biting his lip while he stares at my mouth.
I dip forward, brushing the lightest of pressure to his lips, his mouth opening, body pushing against me as he tries to get me to kiss him hard. “Tell me. I know you, baby. Tell me what you like.”
“Fuck. Off.” He surges forward, sealing our lips together, dragging me down by the neck. I wrap around him, pulling him close, running my hands over his chill form. He gives an indignant cry when I pull away, his fingers tangling in my hair, trying to force me to come back to his very perfect lips. But I insist, standing taller until I'm just out of reach.
He glares challengingly, some sort of scheme flickering in his eyes. I ignore him, grabbing my wand from my back pocket. He has a moment to sneer when I draw it, only to then blink when I cast a warming spell on him. “You should have worn a coat. You're freezing.”
He gives me the longest, strangest look he's ever given me—And Malfoy has given me some funny looks. Then he wraps his fingers back in my hair and stands on tiptoes to whisper against my mouth. “I fucking love how you kiss me. Every time. It's like a jolt of magic, and nothing compares. When you kissed me that first time, looking like Nott, I fucking knew, Potter. He doesn't do that to me. No one has ever done that for me. You do. Every single time. Now shut the fuck up about it.”
I crush his lips to mine, wrapping my arms tight around his waist, feeling him fuse into me. He gasps, his hands tearing into my hair, clawing at my neck. Each kiss is a hot loss of air and thought, his teeth scraping my lower lip over and over, tongue laving mine in desperate strokes.
“Don't stop... just...” He grabs my shoulder, pulling my sweater by the collar so tight it makes a ripping sound. I cup the back of his head, nuzzling into his ear.
“What do you mean by 'you knew?' There's no way you knew.”
“God, just stop talking and kiss me.”
“You didn't know.”
He huffs, biting my ear, tongue hot and wet as he nips my neck. “I didn't know it was you the first time. But I knew it wasn't him. Eventually.”
“Before the second time?”
He growls, his fingers scratching the back of my neck again. He's lucky I really like that. I'm lucky. “Sort of.”
“Potter, is this really important?”
I pull back so I can see his face. He looks rather serious, even though his cheeks are flushed, lips swollen a beautiful red. “I... I want to know. You were... The second time, you were so open to me. So completely trusting. I just...” I can't explain it. I had fallen beyond in love with him in that moment, had ruined everything, and found the fucking universe in his eyes. It shouldn't matter, but it does.
Draco gives me a hard look, then relents. “He never called me baby. Never swore at me. Never, ever offered to do anything sexual without stuttering. He's very shy.” He shrugs, biting his bottom lip. “After the first time, and he never mentioned it, never seemed into doing something like that, I was pretty sure something was up. Right before the second time, I was yelling about you, pissed beyond belief about that fucking stick joke—You're a total douche, by the way. We had a huge fight. He thought I had some sort of unhealthy obsession. I have a fucking amazing memory, Potter, but he thought I was, like, totally fixated on everything about you. Whatever.” He gives me a look I refuse to respond to. He's totally fixated. I'm totally fixated. If he doesn't want to admit it, fine.
“So, you show up as him, but it's not his shoes. Or his jeans. I don't notice right away, just pissed about life and shit. But he pushes me back...” His eyes darken, a small grin forming on his lush lips. “And he's got that very handsome watch I remember you owning. And not soaked in that cologne he always insists on wearing. And the shoes, and the wrong jeans that have that hole in the left knee where I stabbed you with a pen that time. And the way he looks at me... like he wants to fucking kill me, or just fuck me. How you look at me. And I think, I'm totally out of my mind to even consider it's someone else, nevermind you. But I start mentioning things he should know. Like, he's never worried about hurting me. He'd have to fucking actually try to do something to me first to worry. And when he asks me to think of something to try, I pick something he'd never agree to because he's so shy. And well, when I said a rim job, and he reacted like, well... Let's just say, I was certain by then.”
I really don't know what to say. At all. My boy is fucking brilliant. And more, I'm also really damn oblivious. I probably should have observed them more together, but that would have meant having to see Nott all over him. “So you knew it was me... or at least, not him, and yet you still let someone rim you in the hallway? Drake, that's kind of—”
“Fuck off, Potter. I knew it was you. Not some fucking stranger. You're the only one fucked in the head enough.” He smacks my arm, then wraps his hand around it, holding tight and squeezing my bicep. “I thought you'd freak out when I suggested that. Thought you were just looking to get a fucking blow job out of me, and I wanted to make you do the most degrading goddamn thing I could think of at the time. But fuck, you messed me up so bad. I mean really, really, it was crazy good. You really seemed to want to do it, and when you tied my arms—You're really fucked up, Potter. But god, it's in a good way.”
He's panting as he looks at me, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. I brush my thumb across his lips, and he licks me. “So you knew. Let me walk around thinking I had gotten away with something, when you knew the whole time.”
“I wanted to fucking kill you,” he whispers, his eyes caught in mine. “For fucking me up so bad. For making me feel so goddamn good, while doing something so fucking wrong. I liked Theo. He was a good guy. A really good boyfriend. But he couldn't make me feel like that. I kept waiting, hoping you'd come back, not sure if I was going to confront you, beat you... Make you do it again. Then you fought Corner off, like you actually gave a fuck, which just made me fucking crazy trying to figure out what the hell you were up to. Everything was just going to shit around me, and you were fucking with my head every turn. Then you showed up, drunk off your fucking ass, covered in that damn glitter, and looking like you'd been shagging all night.”
“Just dancing. To get over you,” I say, pulling his chin back when he looks away. “To stop doing bad, messed up things because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Wanting you. Dreaming of you. I was supposed to go drink it all away. But I couldn't.”
“No. You had to come and fuck me up again. With your fucking face, and intense eyes. Your damn strong hands, and wild hair, and stupid, sexy smile.” He glares, accusing with every word. “You had to kiss my hand like you gave a fuck, and suck me so good I thought I was going to die. And damn, you looked so fucking sad when you left. Like you weren't just fucking around with me—Fuck, Potter, that was the worst damn part. Because maybe I could have been able to handle that, if you were just being a fucking terrible person to me. But you had to go and tell me you fucking loved me, like some idiot, and you just... God. You just ruined everything.”
He turns away, pulling from my arms, and the night suddenly feels dark and freezing. “I thought we were good, Malfoy? I thought, shit—You like me.” I run my hand through my hair, feeling desperate and hopeless. “Just like me, and be okay with it. Don't make some big deal about it all. You dumped your boyfriend.”
He whirls, glaring at me, and I shut my mouth. “I dumped Theo because he couldn't make me feel the way I knew it could feel. It doesn't mean I want you for a boyfriend, Potter. Doesn't mean you get a fucking shot with me, just because he's not good enough.”
Like fuck it doesn't. “Malfoy, you like me. You just admitted you knew I was the one with you that second night. That was the night I was certain you must really love Nott, because of how you looked at me in his skin. But you were looking at me. That was for me.”
“Whatever, scarhead. Build some fucking fantasy in your head that just because I let you touch me means I love you. I had planned on hexing the fucking shit out of you. You were supposed to back out. I would have confronted you, and then fucking destroyed you for thinking you could get away with laying a damn finger on me.”
“Yeah, well you didn't!” Shit, why is everything a fucking argument with him? “You let me touch you. You fucking begged me not to stop. No hexing, no yelling, no beating.”
He sticks his chin out, totally defensive. “I was curious.”
“Malfoy.” He's seriously going to drive me to murder. “You let me tie you up. I could have done anything to you. I could have left you there, hanging from the goddamn ceiling. You fucking trusted me.”
“God, just shut the fuck up!”
“I will when you get your fucking head out of your ass! You like me. Admit it!”
“Like fuck I do! I can't stand you!”
He really can't. Shit. This is the worst fucking love confession ever. I need to fix this. But really, he makes me so goddamn crazy, I can barely breathe.
“What do you need me to do?”
He looks at me like I've sprouted a horn. “What?”
“To make you stop yelling at me. What?”
“Uh, go fuck yourself?”
I know, he's so classy. He's going to be mine. It will be a cold fucking day in hell when I let him walk away from all this. He fucked me up and he's going to see it through. I get down on my knees and take his hands in mine. He, thankfully, doesn't punch me, but he's totally thinking of it.
“Will you be my boyfriend?”
Fuck. He's such an ass. But he's smirking, so he's also loving it. I pull him closer, ignoring just how cold the ground is, and press my face to the front of his shirt while I look up at him. “Let me take you out? Date me?”
His smile falters and he wraps fingers into my hair, pulling my head back roughly. It feels good. Everything he does either feels like hell or heaven to me. “Yeah. We can try that... If you can learn to keep your fucking foot out of your mouth.”
Definitely a heaven moment.
“Potter—Damn it!” I ignore his squawk, pulling him down, kissing him hard. He shudders under my hands, pushing back into me, kissing me ferociously. Because the little git likes me, is fucking crazy about me, and I'm done letting him pretend otherwise.
“Wait, just... slow down a sec...” He buries his face into my hair, breathing deep. “I just broke up with him the other day. I don't want to... He's really sad about it. Pissed, and sad.”
Draco Malfoy giving a fuck about anyone; it's a sight to see. “Whatever you want, baby.” Although, if he keeps pulling at my shirt like that, it's going to be hard to actually mean it. “You hungry?”
I pull him up, doing my best to keep my hands off him. I'd walk with him with my arms sewn to his shoulders, if I could. Or waist. Or ass. He has a really nice ass.
“Stop staring at me, Potter.”
“Sorry, Drake. Gotta know what I'm guarding.” I slap his very sexy ass, and he slugs me in the shoulder. It's completely worth it.
It's a good month before he even considers letting me be his boyfriend, and he sure as fuck won't let me call him it. Oh, don't get me wrong, I totally already am. He knows it. I know it. Every single student and professor in the school knows it. But Malfoy's fucked in the head, and stubborn as hell. It's two of his many sexy qualities that I can't live without.
His friends hate me. Passionately. It's awesome. Because now Malfoy's nicer to me to make up for it. I know, it's bizarre, but fucking adorable. They all feel like I fucked Nott over, and well, I sort of did. But I won, so tough shit.
“Potter, do you have to be here all the time? You're getting your fucking stupid everywhere.” Blaise Zabini gives me a scathing glare, burrowing down in his leather armchair and hiding behind his book when I walk into the Slytherin common room. Malfoy's in his dorm, taking a lifetime to get dressed, as usual.
If I didn't know Zabini was straight, I'd consider the possibility that he might have a crush on me. Slytherins bitching at me make me wonder now. Malfoy might have fucked up my head permanently. I sit down on the arm of Zabini's chair, making sure to be as annoying as possible. It works. His book is tossed aside, and he starts talking to me about Quidditch. Slytherins pretend to be complicated, but they're really not. Well, except the ones plotting to murder and take over the world. But that's any house, even Hufflepuff.
My boy finally shows up, looking amazing in his tailored slacks and creamy cashmere pullover. He's also glaring such an obvious warning at Zabini, I'm seriously wondering again about that bitchy Slytherin thing. Doesn't matter. No one's got anything on Drake. I get up, snagging him around the waist, pulling him in tight before he can make a fuss. He smells good, and I bury my face into his neck, loving the feel of his silky locks on my skin.
“Stop pawing.” He looks up at me through his lashes, that damn smirk of his in place as he rubs up against me. Fucking tease. “I just got my hair right.”
“Stop being a girl.”
He smacks me, hard. He is not a girl. He is a very sexy boy that likes to inflict pain.
“Could you guys go, like, jump off the astronomy tower or something?” Parkinson snarls, snapping gum as she walks past us. Malfoy glares her way, then pulls me down for a deep kiss. He's fucking sweet when his friends are giving us shit. Probably why I love picking him up at his dorm.
The noises of protest from the rest of the room are loud and exaggerated. Fuck them. “C'mon, baby. Before I start hexing people.”
He gives me a look as he pulls away, his lips a perfect swollen red. I want to kiss him again, but he ducks away. “Granger's going to kill me.”
“Nope, she's going to be rude, bossy, and ultimately leave you alone.” I wrap my fingers with his, his hand cool and firm in mine. It's Sunday, and he's agreed to hang out with Ron and Hermione for as long as it takes for them to want to beat the prat out of him. It'll be a short meet up, but after that, I'm taking him to Hogsmeade. He likes looking at stuff, sometimes buying stuff, usually just talking mean shit about things while we laugh. It's all good.
We're twenty feet from the Great Hall when they come at us. It's a daily thing now, and Drake just steps behind me so he doesn't get in the way. Except, today goes a little different, Corner and Ripper determined to take me out to get to my boy, instead of trying to get around me. It throws me, because I really don't want to hurt these idiots. They're angry, fucked up kids whose families got the raw end of a very bad deal. But that's not Draco's fault, and it sure as fuck isn't mine.
I'm bleeding pretty bad by the time I get them under control. Drake's extra quiet, giving me these quick side glances that just beg apology. He's being an idiot. I'd protect him even if he didn't ask. Fuck, I'd protect him even if he hexed me to stay the fuck away. This is so much better than finding him half dead, or worse.
“Get over here, Potter.” He pulls me down a side corridor and into a small room. While he heals my hands, he swears, hating on just about everyone he can name at the moment. It's damn cute, so I stay quiet.
“Let me see your face.”
He glares, grabs me by the hair, and pulls me down. “Shut up.” The burn from my cheek soon fades, along with the raw sting on my lip, the numbness relieving, the swelling gone. He hesitates as he presses his wand to the wound next to my eye, his cool fingers lightly running over my mouth. “You can really take a punch or twenty.”
He's damn beautiful. “You want to punch me, Drake?”
He considers it, my toes curling from that vicious smile of his. “I think you've had enough for today. Not even ten a.m., and you're already a mess.” He finishes healing me, slips his wand away, and waits expectantly.
“Yes. To be very late.”
Raising my brows, I look around the room barely large enough to fit five people. I spell the door shut and cast a silencing spell. He gives me his extra sexy smirk, pulling me to him by the collar of my hood. I press him back against the wall, kissing him slow, thoroughly. There's no rush anymore. He's mine. He's not going anywhere. Just, when he wraps his arms around me, moaning into my mouth, all my senses go nuts. Heat fills me. Crazy descends. He makes me a mad man.
I tear at his belt, pushing his shirt up, needing to feel every hard, smooth inch of him under my hands, against my skin.
“God, Harry... god.” He wrenches my hips against him, groaning from the contact of our hard dicks grinding together. He's just as crazed, pulling my hoodie off over my head, tearing my tee right after. He runs his hands through my hair, cupping my face, staring at me in his intense way that's as true to him saying he loves me as it's probably ever going to get.
I slide the hem of his sweater and undershirt up, careful not to stretch his clothes out, moving my palms over his sides and arms as I strip him. He's pure moonlight, pink tinting his cheeks, his nipples beaded and drawing my tongue.
“No,” he whispers when I move down his body, all ready to drink that beautiful cock of his down. “I want something else today. Different.”
I stare up at him, kissing his flat stomach, following the rise and fall of his chest. “What do you want, baby?” I bite my lip when he blushes, his eyes sliding away from mine. He's nervous, which could be a really good thing, or a yelling thing if I embarrass him about it. I stand, dipping my head and pulling his chin up so I can brush my lips to his. “Curious about something?”
“God, yes.” His fingers bite into the flesh of my back, holding me flush against him. He talks into my ear, hiding his face from mine. He's surprisingly shy sometimes, for all the many nasty things that come out of his mouth. “I want to know what it, uh, feels like.”
I smile against his cheek. He's as vague as fuck. “Is this something you do to me? Or something I do to you?”
“Um... You do to me.” His hands grab mine, pulling me to his zipper. I cup him through his trousers, his erection heavy and warm against my palm.
“And what, exactly, am I doing to you?” I murmur in his ear when he doesn't seem interested in furthering the conversation, his head thrown back as he pushes into my hand.
He gives a low growl in the back of his throat. Apparently I'm supposed to read his mind. “You know. That thing we've yet to actually do.” He sighs when I don't answer.
Yeah, I'm going to make him say it, because hell, I want to hear him say it. And I'm still not a hundred percent certain we're on the same page here. He asked me a week ago if I'd ever gotten a blood test, which makes me think he's got something very specific on his mind. I felt the need to prove I was clean, just in case. But I've been thinking about sex a lot, and he hasn't mentioned it yet, so who the fuck knows.
Pursing his lips, he leads my hands to his ass this time, down to the back of his thighs. He's tense, but damn hard muscle and perky butt. “Fuck me. I want to know what it's like.”
I have to close my eyes, because the room tilts at his answer, fire moving over my skin in a shudder of heat. Fuck yes. I spread my fingers wide, gripping his thighs through his pants, running up to caress the bottom of his ass. “Right now? In a closet? I can find you a nice bed, beautiful. A couch. Someplace warm. Candlelight. Fireplace. Sheets.”
He gives me a small smile, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “You keep me warm enough.”
“Drake, it's just... Do you really want your first time in some little dingy room? We can wait a couple of hours. I can take you to dinner and stuff. Steal one of the lounges for an hour.”
“Potter, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were stalling.” He fixes me with a hard glare, one that usually means I've said the wrong thing big time. “If you don't want to fuck me, I'm not going to force you to. I'm sure there are plenty of blokes out there that—”
God, he's a prat. “Did I say I didn't want to fuck you?” I pull him close, grinding his hips to mine. He feels amazing, and I have to stop myself from pushing his pants down. As snarky as he can be, he fucking deserves the best. I don't want him regretting that he let me shag him in a dank little closet for his first time. Mostly because I plan on being with him forever, and he's really good at dragging up old shit and ranting about it. “Drake, this can be a big deal.”
“Potter, I'm not a fucking chick. I let you rim me in a goddamn hallway for the first time. At least now we have four walls and a lock.”
He's probably going to punch me. Hell, I want to punch me right now. “But maybe, just maybe, I might want to lie you down on a bed? Be able to hold you after? Not worry about you falling to the dusty floor if it's too much for you?”
“Damn it!” He hits my shoulder. Ouch, but not full out 'kill you' ouch. “Just tie me up again so I won't fall. Why are you making this so fucking complicated? It's just sex.”
Tie him up? Is he trying to kill me?
“Drake, god, just give me a second to think about this.” I pull away, mind racing. I haven't actually done this much, and the idea that I'm going to be his first, and might really fuck it up, feels like this terrible weight on my chest. I love him and I really don't want to mess this up. A bed would help, at the very least.
“No.” He's pissed. “What the fuck's to think about? Either you fuck me or I go find someone that will.”
I turn my head back his way, glowering. Whatever he was going to say next, he doesn't, his mouth clicking shut as he meets my eyes. He's so full of shit and we both know it.
“You gonna call me your boyfriend?” I growl out, because I don't want him to think he's winning. Of course I'm going to fuck him. I'd be a goddamn idiot not to fuck him. That I'm not buried inside him already just shows how fucked in the head I am around him.
He smiles, knowing he's won. God, he's so fucking sexy when he's smug. “Depends how good a job you do.”
The little bastard.
I start shooting spells out, warming the room, padding the walls with something a shit ton softer than stone, and throwing a fluffy carpet on the floor so his feet don't freeze. The space is way too small to lie down in, but I can probably fit a chair if he wants.
“You want to sit or stand?” I turn back to him, finding that nervous expression on his face again before he immediately scoffs and looks away.
“Stand, of course.”
Of course. Like he even fucking knows. He yelps when I grab him and pull him hard against my chest. I find his eyes, and he's all defense. I keep my voice gentle, even though he infuriates the hell out of me. “'Cus I was thinking, if you want to sit, it would be really hot to have you ride me.” I hold his face, moving my thumb over his lips until his expression softens. “You could straddle me, and hold onto my shoulders. I could see your face, see how much you like it. And if it's too much, you can decide what to do. That way you only take as much as you like. You can have absolute control for how you want to do it.”
Licking his lips, he presses his cheek into my hand, his lids half closed as he sighs. He keeps his crystal clear eyes trained on me, his anger and anxiety drained away. “Harry, I want you to fuck me into the wall. If you want to do it the other way next time, fine. But this is what I want, I've been thinking about it for a while, and you need to stop arguing.”
My entire body jerks, air exploding out of me in a blast. Fucking hell. He's been thinking about this. Decided about this. Wants this.
Fine, I'm the biggest idiot ever.
The luckiest, stupidest idiot ever.
“Tell me what you want, and I'll give you it.” Because I'd be a goddamn fool to not give my boy everything he fucking wants.
He beams, pressing a kiss into my palm. “I want you to push me up against the wall. Hard. Really hard.”
He shakes his head, his smile widening. “Not yet. I still have clothes on. And someone ruined my perfectly good wall.”
I glance at the soft foam I had charmed to cover the wall. I immediately dispell it, then unzip his fly and tug his pants down his hips.
“Harder.” He's got a look in his eye, the one right before he's about to lose his mind. It's hot, and if I didn't know he'd kill me for making him come right now, I'd be sucking his dick. I yank his pants roughly the rest of the way down his long legs, tearing his shoes and socks off as he lifts each foot. The next time I stand, he gives me his arms, wrists together and facing inwards.
“Drake...” He's really going to kill me here.
“Don't argue. You can't even understand how hot it makes me.” He blushes, but he doesn't look away this time. “I like knowing you can do anything to me. That you set the pace, and make it so good, and... and when you're in control, I don't have to worry about anything.” He bites his lip. “I just feel.”
But he should worry, because I really haven't fucked a lot of guys, and never while they were tied up and—Shut up, Potter. Keep your mouth shut, and just give him what he wants. This is about him, not you, and just keep your mouth shut before you fuck everything up with your insecure bullshit.
I kiss him so he can't see the shit storm going on in my head. “You want to face me, or the wall?”
“Wall.” When he raises his arms again, I spell the leather wrap on them. His eyes go wide, as does his mouth. He's mentioned repeatedly just how fucking crazy he felt that second time, tied up and completely at my mercy. Half afraid I was going to do something terrible to him, half so fucking aroused by what I did do. But he hasn't asked me to do it again, and I think he's been waiting for this. Another moment where he's wondering if I'm going to do right by him, or go very, very wrong.
“You tell me if you feel any discomfort. The instant anything hurts or goes numb.”
“What if I don't want to stop?”
So fucking beautiful. “We won't, I'll just fix it so you're comfortable. You tell me if you want to stop, and we can stop that instant too.”
He nods, his eyes going sober again. He looks me up and down for a moment. “Keep the jeans on. I like how they feel.”
My god, he's going to be the death of me. Probably really soon. Probably before he cums. “Alright.”
He's nervous again, and when he says “Now,” I just want to reassure him I'm going to make it good for him, that I won't hurt him, or disgrace him, or use him. But he doesn't want to hear me talk, he wants me to move. So I slam him back against the wall, his bound arms between us.
And he's gone, just like that. My baby is really easy to please.
I push his arms up over his head. He arches into me, moaning, head back against the wall. I secure his arms above with something that will let him turn when I want to turn him. Which isn't now. No, right now I want to watch his face, because he is fucking gone, and beautiful. I run my palms over his sides, feeling every lithe muscle twitch under my hands. When I dig my fingers in, he groans, trying to push into me, his cock dripping and soon to be really sore if he keeps rubbing against my jeans.
“Harry... please.” He tries to reach me again, but I keep my hips back. He might be able to come three times in an hour, but I can't. I'm a slow burn kind of guy that can go long, but takes time to recharge, and he sets me off way too fucking easy.
He lifts his leg like he's going to try and wrap around me—He just can't take no for an answer. But he's tied up, and he really gets no say in the matter. I grab his leg, stroking my palm up the inside of his thigh. He bucks, whimpering when I avoid his dick. I sink down to my knees, his eyes opening to watch me. My boy is also, apparently, really fucking naïve if he thinks I'm about to suck him right now.
I hold his hips steady, take his knee and hook it over my shoulder. It gives me access to run my tongue over his creamy smooth thigh, not to mention, opens him up to me. I suck a large, beautiful bruise on the inside of his leg, listening to every hitch of breath he makes. His hips keep moving as he tries to grind his cock into my cheek. I glance up at him, smirking when I catch sight of his dazed expression. While watching him, I give a light lick to the throbbing head of his cock, and he nearly cums then and there.
God, he makes me want to be fucking terrible to him. He's panting up a storm by the time I finish spelling him clean and slick. I got a spell that can stretch him, let me fuck him in a perfect instant, but now is not the time for that. I want to stretch him. Slowly. I want to torture him until he's begging me to fuck him all better. And he will. I know him. He'll beg me before I'm done.
“Oh god... oh fuck!” He jerks at the touch of my finger against his pucker. Pretty sure he's going to be coming in under a minute. I brush my lips to the head of his dick, parting ever so slightly. He gasps, trying to hump me deeper. He really is so wonderfully helpless right now. I flick my tongue across his slit, tasting his precum, and at the same time I slowly work the edges of his hole, small little pushes that start to loosen him up. I give the slightest of suction, my wet lips contouring to the tip of his cock, suckling him until he cries out. His hot seed streams into my mouth, over my lips and chin with every jerk of his dick.
I find him staring at me, his stormy eyes drinking down every inch of my face and his cum. He likes me messy, and fuck, I like how he messes me up. I push my slick finger deeper into him and he moans, his head falling back against the wall. He's so tight inside, his muscles clamping down around my finger, offering resistance to every push in and every pull out. Crooking deep, I find his prostate, his body jolting when I give the spongy flesh a stroke. He clamps down on me, groaning, and the world gets dizzy. God, he's going to be fucking tight.
I'm suddenly considering that stretching spell, because I want to be in him right this instant. When I look up, finding his face twisted in absolute need, his arms far above him keeping him from arguing over the matter, the feeling becomes damn unbearable. I'm so hard, and he'll be fucking hot, and tight, and maybe even a little angry.
I plunge another finger in him before I completely lose my mind. I doesn't help things. He gets loud, frantic, rocking on my fingers with each push into his tightness. I try to focus on what I'm doing, and not the aching throb in my too tight pants and the heat moving over my body. He's slick inside, my fingers held painfully tight as I move in and out of his heat. I scissor him open carefully, my digits struggling against the strength of his inner muscles. I rest my face on his raised thigh, my breath bouncing back and making his drying cum itch on my skin.
God... Just fucking god... He wants me to fuck him. How long was he planning this? Did he choose the fucking room and everything? I'm so damn oblivious sometimes.
“Harry, please... God, I'm going to lose it...” He chokes on his next words, and I nearly stand, but his mouth is just wet, saliva dripping down his chin. I slow down though, because his legs are shaking pretty bad, and I don't want him fainting on me. I want him tormented, but fucking happy about it. He's already hard again, pressing hot and sticky against my neck with each sway of his body.
I'm on my feet before I realize it, something primitive and wild sparking in me from those two rasping words. “I got you, baby.” His hair's sweaty under my fingers, his lips clumsy and eager for my kisses. I crush him back against the wall, careful not to rub my jeans too hard against him. Everything about him is so sensitive. He's this wild contrast of fragile and strong that gets me crazy.
“Now, Harry... Fuck... I want you inside me,” he pleads roughly into my mouth, the world spinning with every word.
I need to keep it together. I need to not lose my shit because I might hurt him, or end up using him just to get off. He deserves fucking everything, and I need to keep it together.
God, but he wants it up against a wall. Tied up. Completely vulnerable and in my control. Fuck. It's true. He's trying to fucking kill me.
It's my boy; of course he's trying to kill me.
I summon more lube, pressing three fingers against his crack while making sure my hips only touch the side of him so I don't make his dick raw. He howls when I plunge into him, the chains rattling overhead, his body arching away and into my touch all at once. God.
“That's it, baby, loosen up for me. I want you to relax, and let me do all the work.”
“Please, I just... please, Harry... please...”
I really should have gagged him. He might as well be sucking my dick with that mouth of his. He's sweat and loud breath against me as I hold him still, driving my fingers into him to stretch, because god help me if I hurt him. He still feels so tight, so slick and hot, but I don't think he's going to get any looser.
“Give me a kiss, Drake,” I whisper, and he does, his tongue rubbing against mine, his lips raw and hungry. I let him go with a final wet smack, and he sees it in my eyes, feels it in the tension of my body, because he gives me the sexiest fucking grin ever.
“Come on, scarhead. Make me yours.”
Fucking hell. Right through the heart. Bullet to the brain. Dead as a doornail. My boy.
I turn him, too rough, but he whimpers for more. He gasps when his nipples hit the cool wall, but I can barely notice, my fingers a drunk fucking mess that have forgotten how to work a damn button and fly. I finally wrench my jeans down my thighs and pull him back against me, groaning from the feel of his smooth flesh against my burning hot cock.
“Yes, fuck, yes. Do it.”
“Baby, you need to shut the fuck up.” He really does, or I'm going to be inside him with no fucking kindness, no restraint, no control. I wrap my arms tight around his body, pushing flush against his back, resting my head on his raised, strong shoulder while I try to keep from losing my mind. He smells amazing, his skin damp, his breathing a damn serenade of desperation. “I'm gonna be gentle.”
“I don't care—Do it, and stop stalling.”
I know, such a fucking romantic. But once again, he's tied up and gets no say in the matter. I run a hand down his ass, squeezing, feeling him jump and grind back into me. Yeah, he's ready. Fucking dying for it, ready. I bite back a hiss as I lube my cock up, trying not to linger on my aching length. God, I want him. “You want this, baby?” I push my thumb between his tight cheeks, settling my dick into that deep, warm crevis. “You ready?”
“Hurry the fuck—Oh. Harry... god...” He trails off with a cry when I press the head of my cock to his hole.
Everything gets really dark. Hot, and dark, and fucking dizzy when he pushes back, urging me in. I bury my face into his damp hair, groaning, feeling the slightest yielding of firm flesh against my tip. Gotta go slow... Gotta be something more than the fucking crazy he makes me. For him... Gotta keep it together for him.
“Please... please... It's big... god, yes.”
He's tight. Slick, and unimaginably hot. With all the oil, I know I can just slide right in, but I hold back because he can't handle that. Gotta... go... slow... His muscles flex around my head, and I can feel his pulse with mine where we're joined, his flesh slowly opening to me, encasing me in scalding, clenching agony that's threatening to undo me.
He's sobbing, soft, frantic noises that pull me from the absolute consuming feel of his tightness. “Baby? Drake, what do you need?” I scrape my fingernails into his hair and down his neck, trying to ground him. His head is bent forward, and he won't let me see him when I try to turn his face.
“God... just, don't stop,” he begs, his hips pushing against my restraining arm, again trying to drive me in deep.
I never should have let him talk me into it this way, with his face hidden from me. When I finally do get a peek at his profile, he's completely undone, closed eyes steaming tears, bruised lips dripping clear fluid from his gasping mouth. Should have gotten him a bed. Satin sheets and lots of pillows. I run my hand over his throat, down his chest, soothing circles while he tries to adjust to his passage being stretched so wide by me. His thighs shake when I run my palms over them, and I tighten my other arm around his waist to keep him from falling.
He's bucking by the time I'm satisfied he's not going to collapse, his hips desperately trying to grind back. And fuck, he keeps clenching on me, squeeze, after mind shocking squeeze. I'm starting to worry I'm going to cum before I'm even in him all the way. I consider myself to have some fucking restraint and stamina, but he just fucks me up, makes me crazy. And I'm actually in him. My beautiful boy. My Drake.
Mine. Finally fucking mine.
“Oh god... oh god... oh... fuck.”
He's clenching, hips jerking in my grip, but I can't stop. I need to feel him, all of him, around every damn inch of me. I try to go slow. All I can feel is just how tight he is, the way he opens up, just to me... Only for me. He's making those noises again, broken cries, but he's still trying to drive me deeper at the same time. He's lost, just like I'm lost, but at least we're lost together.
I'm as deep as I can get, bottoming out, feeling his tight cheeks flush against balls. “I got you, Drake... You feel good... really, fucking good.”
“More—Move.” He sounds like I'm killing him, but I do as he says because I can't actually stop. His passage grips me when I start to pull out, clenching around me, trying to keep me inside. I exhale loudly, my balls feeling fucking tight. God, I'm not going to last. I reach down, tugging carefully on my sac, trying to slow the crazy need to pound into him and fill him so good. He pushes his ass back, and with a growl I surge forward, sheathing into his tight heat and making him scream.
It goes fuzzy after that, the dark heat stealing my brain again, stealing my senses until all I can hear are his cries and my gasps, feel his hot, tight passage around my aching length as he squeezes me, opens to me, surrenders to my every demanding thrust. The wall is cool and rough against my arm, his body a furnace of wet heat everywhere else I touch, and pull, and hold. I drive into him, and he begs for more, each time, each maddening time. Again. Harder. Harder. He howls when I slip, jarring into his prostate, his entire body jerking and clenching. I aim for it next time, and he gets louder, tighter.
God, I hope he's close, because I'm so fucking there. I fumble down his sleek body, finding his bobbing cock, pressing my palm to the hot flesh and wrapping my fingers loosely. He moves in my hand, all hard silken flesh, beautiful ridges and smooth thickness.
“Harry... God, I—Harry!”
I know, baby. Fuck, I know.
Every muscle in my body is screaming, hard, sweat soaked, and burning for him. He clenches so tight around me, and I slam forward a final time, wanting him to feel me filling him when he orgasms. God, so fucking tight. So fucking hot, and perfect, and my beautiful Drake.
He sobs when he comes, his cock twitching in my palm, his body bucking and writhing against mine. God, he came with me inside him. His passage clenches in pulse to his spurting streams of cum, and I let go, exploding inside him, coating his walls with my seed, making him mine the only way I know how.
God. My god.
The room is spinning, but I can't be arsed to care. I hold him tight, listening as his cries slowly fade. I remain buried deep inside him as we breath erratic together, feeling him clench, loving how wet he is now that he's dripping with my cum. He's perfect, fucking perfect, outside and in. And he's mine.
“Harry... my arms?” He sounds weak, exhausted, fucking ruined.
I dispell his bounds, catching his arms and pulling him back so all his weight is on me. He groans when my softened cock moves inside him, but doesn't pull away. He belongs like this, filled with me, boneless and content. My Drake. I run my hands over his torso, rubbing his flesh, slicking his cum into his skin with his cooling sweat, soothing any lasting pain from his muscles.
I want to tell him I love him, but having him scoff at me will totally ruin the moment. Should have done it when he was still tied up. Next time, when I can gag him from saying stupid shit. God, I love him.
“How do you feel?” I ask, wishing he'd look at me.
Not quite the raving praise I was hoping for. “You okay, Drake?” I duck my head, rubbing my cheek over his ear and cheek. “Was it... I didn't hurt you, did I?”
He shakes his head no, leaving me to wonder which question he's answering. My brilliant, fucking vague boy. I don't want to worry, don't want to be one of those clingy, insecure guys, but he's suddenly so quiet, and he still won't look at me.
I'm halfway to figuring out if I'm going to let him leave until he at least tells me he's okay, when he finally turns his head, his lip caught between his teeth.
I hold my breath, finding tears sparkling in his eyes. Fuck, how bad was it? “Baby?”
“I, uh... I... I think I, um...”
Is he breaking up with me? He hasn't even admitted we're officially together, but why the fuck is he near tears and stuttering at me, if he's not breaking up with me?
“Harry, can you kiss me?”
“Harry?” His eyes move over me, a tear slipping free. “I really want a kiss.”
I kiss him, my mind a whirl of confusing thoughts and emotions. He turns in my grasp, my dick slipping from his wet heat. He wraps his arms around my neck, sighing into my mouth, fingers tangling into my hair.
Lips teasing over mine, he pulls back to whisper softly. “I love you.”
I freeze, my brain stuttering to a slamming hault. Suddenly I have this terrible, insane thought that this isn't my boy at all. That I'm kissing someone polyjuiced as Draco, and unlike my brilliant boyfriend, I'm too fucking dense to notice.
Something must have gotten through on my face because he glares at me, and smacks me on the shoulder. Hard. Nope, this is Draco. Mean, nasty, beautiful Draco that just told me he loves me after mind blowing sex while nearly in tears, and I just stared at him like a slack-jawed idiot. Fucking up, Potter, once again.
“Sorry, Drake, just—Shit, I love you. I love you so much.” I hold him close before he can take another swing at me, pulling him up, his legs wrapping around my hips. “You can't understand how crazy it makes me to hear you say you love me back.” It does. The more I think about it, the fucking stranger and more amazing it gets. He loves me. He actually said it.
Draco Malfoy loves me.
“Yes... well... yes,” he grumbles into my neck, then sighs again, tightening around me, kissing my jaw while I run my palms over him and hold him by his thighs. “You're not the only one dealing with some fucking crazy. But god... god, can we do that again?”
I pull back to look at him, finding his eyes shining with desire. He's stunning. “Baby, I'm going to need, like, at least a half hour, but then—”
“You fucking—Stop being so dense!” He hits me again, but he's laughing at me. Apparently, I'm being funny. “Later. Shit, I'm sore, my legs feel like jelly, and my arms ache. And, well, I don't think I'll be sitting for a while, if you get my drift.”
I do, and it's fucking sexy to think about. “You don't need to sit. I think we've proven standing is a damn fine way for you to spend your time with me.”
“Harry.” He's giving me that warning look, but I don't care. 'Cus he's hot, he loves me, and he really takes my cock amazingly well.
“We can spend the rest of the day in the castle. I can find us a bed. Maybe something—”
“I want to go to Hogsmeade,” he says with a growl. “Stop being a dog. We can fuck whenever, but all the stores are going to be closed if we don't leave soon.”
I blink. We can fuck whenever? “Tonight?”
I'm pretty sure he's about to hit me again. It's okay, I can take a punch. He wiggles until I release his legs and he can stand on the floor. He gets dressed in silence, shooting me grumpy side glances. I watch him, because he's worth watching, and I'm not sure if I'm in trouble right now.
I'm probably in trouble. It's me, after all.
I pull my pants up, realizing I'm half dressed and hanging out. A cleaning spell takes care of the most of it, and my t shirt doesn't even stick once I pull it over my head. I throw my hoodie over my shoulder, still feeling sweaty and overheated. He's waiting for me once I'm done, his eyebrow arched in a too cool for life expression. Yup, I'm in trouble.
But my baby loves me, and I'm not letting anything get me down. I grab him by the arm, pulling him in tight, ignoring his scowl to kiss him deep. He's putty after a few minutes, groaning into my mouth, clinging to my shirt. “You were fucking heaven, Drake. Sorry I'm an idiot. It was fucking amazing—You are fucking amazing. Don't get angry. I don't want to ever let you go. I want you to be in my arms forever, even if you're just holding me.”
“Fucking sap,” he mutters against my cheek, and I roll my eyes. He loves it. He talks shit about it, but he fucking loves it. And me. He loves me. Which is why he's smiling, and no longer pissed off at me. I know my boy.
I strip the rest of the spells from the room, my arm around his waist and a beaming smile on my face when we leave.
Once we finally meet up with my friends, Ron giving me a mildly disgusted look after realizing why we're late, Draco calls me his boyfriend when answering a question of Hermione's. I grin like a fool for the rest of the day, no matter how many times he glares at me when he sees. I also manage to convince him to let me take him to a nice restaurant in Hogsmeade, even though I'm not dressed for it. Sure, I'm not the most romantic guy out there, but I'm determined to treat him right. That treating him right happens to be romantic is pure coincidence.