Fic: Green [R]
Title: Green
Author: furiosity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Summary: Harry becomes obsessed with Malfoy, but it's different from how it was sixth year at Hogwarts.
Warnings: Non-con
Length: 940 words
Notes: Remixed from a queerditch_pub drabble for 20_claims. The rest of the table (20 H/D fics of various shapes and sizes) is here if interested.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Crossposted to serpentinelion
Green
Harry doesn't know how it happened, not even later, after. He doesn't know why he's got Malfoy bent over Lupin's worktable, the maps and papers shoved aside with impatient hands. Malfoy's skin is just like Ginny's -- pale and smooth, but there are no freckles dusting his upper back, and his shoulder blades are sharper, his muscles more defined beneath his skin.
There were words -- harsh, shouted ones; about Snape and Lucius Malfoy and duty. There were other words, spoken in a low, dangerous voice -- about Dumbledore and cowardice. Wands were drawn, but a simultaneous Disarming charm made them clatter uselessly in opposite corners. Harry's fist connected with Malfoy's pale face, sending him sprawling onto his back. He was so still. Harry thought he had killed him, but when he knelt and leant over Malfoy, he was pulled roughly down into an embrace and a kiss so wicked and spiteful it made Harry's brain switch off.
Then nothing, blank, nothing except the firm heat around his cock and Malfoy's knuckles, starkly white against the table's edges. Harry's frantic with need now, driving himself deeper and deeper in, biting his lip to keep from crying out. The blood drips onto Malfoy's back in a grotesque imitation of Ginny's freckles.
"You're mad," whimpers Malfoy, turning his tear-streaked face around. "You'll make me bleed."
"It's no more than you deserve," Harry says, his voice raspy. Malfoy's a thing to be used, nothing more.
"Fuck you."
Harry laughs, and tightens his hands on Malfoy's hips as he thrusts forward and up. Malfoy screams, but it isn't pain. Harry watches Malfoy's back muscles twitch, feels Malfoy tightening around him, and it's too hot, too tight, too good to be wrong. Harry doesn't cry out as he comes. He empties himself into Malfoy, who has given up the struggle and is no more than a rag doll in Harry's hands.
Later, Malfoy's curled up on the low camp bed in the corner, his back to Harry and the door, wrapped in the shabby blanket Lupin found for him. Harry feels a brief stab of something human, but tells himself it's nothing. Malfoy deserved every inch of Harry's cock up his arse, deserved every twinge of pain he'd feel for days after this.
Harry thinks he will forget this in a few weeks, but he never does. Malfoy's working for their side now, but he's never there when Harry visits Lupin for the briefings. Lupin reveals that Malfoy is working undercover, but he's surprisingly closed-mouthed about details, as though Harry isn't supposed to know. It makes Harry fill with seething rage; this is his war, he deserves to know who's doing what. Lupin merely smiles in that benign, placating way of his and diverts Harry's attention to a map of the London underground, labelled with strange Gothic lettering.
When Harry suggests doing "something new" in bed and tells Ginny what he wants, she looks almost aghast, and he quickly tells her to forget it. She is not tight enough for him anymore, and Harry hates himself for it. Ginny's post-coital embraces are so warm and soft they're stifling, and Harry thinks of Malfoy's bony shoulders, shaking under the flimsy blanket. Guilt consumes him when he finally realises what he has done. Malfoy told him to stop, but Harry demanded that he say please. Malfoy refused.
Harry becomes obsessed with Malfoy, but it's different from how it was sixth year at Hogwarts. Back then, it was dogged determination, the excitement of clues leading to solving a puzzling mystery. Now it's a flutter in his chest every time Malfoy is mentioned even in passing, a dark ache in his groin every time he closes his eyes and tries to imagine what Malfoy must be doing, where he must be, what he looks like, white-blond hair framing pale, slanted cheekbones. And it's insane, because he knows Malfoy must hate him even more now, hate him with every breath he takes. What kills Harry is that Malfoy has a right to hate him now.
When Lupin tells him that he has to meet Malfoy at a drop point, Harry can't sleep. He walks into the Hog's Head, disguised as always. They never tell Malfoy who it is he's meeting, in case Malfoy is caught -- or worse, in case he changes his mind. He sees Malfoy leaning back against the wall of a booth, his eyes closed, his head on the shoulder of a man Harry doesn't recognise. Malfoy looks peaceful and content. Something snaps inside Harry and he wants to make the other man -- whoever he is -- bleed from the inside, gut him with a Severing Charm and drag his entrails in the grime that covers the pub floor.
Instead, he walks up to the pair and slides into the seat opposite them. Malfoy is startled, and the man he's with gives Harry a reproachful glare. They make small talk about the past and the progress of the war. Harry has to make sure to keep his facts straight; Malfoy's consort has to believe he's a Death Eater. As they drink the Dark Lord's health, Harry feels something bump his knee -- the package. He takes it from Malfoy's hand, letting his fingers brush against Malfoy's for a second. It's weakness and it's a mistake, because somehow, Malfoy knows it's Harry, now. His eyes widen with unmistakable horror and Harry looks away, because he can't bear the thought of being feared, not like this.
Harry's shaking as he rises and flees. Only when he's Disapparated does he realise that instead of "Goodbye" he said, "I'm sorry".
[end]
Author: furiosity
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Summary: Harry becomes obsessed with Malfoy, but it's different from how it was sixth year at Hogwarts.
Warnings: Non-con
Length: 940 words
Notes: Remixed from a queerditch_pub drabble for 20_claims. The rest of the table (20 H/D fics of various shapes and sizes) is here if interested.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Crossposted to serpentinelion
Green
Harry doesn't know how it happened, not even later, after. He doesn't know why he's got Malfoy bent over Lupin's worktable, the maps and papers shoved aside with impatient hands. Malfoy's skin is just like Ginny's -- pale and smooth, but there are no freckles dusting his upper back, and his shoulder blades are sharper, his muscles more defined beneath his skin.
There were words -- harsh, shouted ones; about Snape and Lucius Malfoy and duty. There were other words, spoken in a low, dangerous voice -- about Dumbledore and cowardice. Wands were drawn, but a simultaneous Disarming charm made them clatter uselessly in opposite corners. Harry's fist connected with Malfoy's pale face, sending him sprawling onto his back. He was so still. Harry thought he had killed him, but when he knelt and leant over Malfoy, he was pulled roughly down into an embrace and a kiss so wicked and spiteful it made Harry's brain switch off.
Then nothing, blank, nothing except the firm heat around his cock and Malfoy's knuckles, starkly white against the table's edges. Harry's frantic with need now, driving himself deeper and deeper in, biting his lip to keep from crying out. The blood drips onto Malfoy's back in a grotesque imitation of Ginny's freckles.
"You're mad," whimpers Malfoy, turning his tear-streaked face around. "You'll make me bleed."
"It's no more than you deserve," Harry says, his voice raspy. Malfoy's a thing to be used, nothing more.
"Fuck you."
Harry laughs, and tightens his hands on Malfoy's hips as he thrusts forward and up. Malfoy screams, but it isn't pain. Harry watches Malfoy's back muscles twitch, feels Malfoy tightening around him, and it's too hot, too tight, too good to be wrong. Harry doesn't cry out as he comes. He empties himself into Malfoy, who has given up the struggle and is no more than a rag doll in Harry's hands.
Later, Malfoy's curled up on the low camp bed in the corner, his back to Harry and the door, wrapped in the shabby blanket Lupin found for him. Harry feels a brief stab of something human, but tells himself it's nothing. Malfoy deserved every inch of Harry's cock up his arse, deserved every twinge of pain he'd feel for days after this.
Harry thinks he will forget this in a few weeks, but he never does. Malfoy's working for their side now, but he's never there when Harry visits Lupin for the briefings. Lupin reveals that Malfoy is working undercover, but he's surprisingly closed-mouthed about details, as though Harry isn't supposed to know. It makes Harry fill with seething rage; this is his war, he deserves to know who's doing what. Lupin merely smiles in that benign, placating way of his and diverts Harry's attention to a map of the London underground, labelled with strange Gothic lettering.
When Harry suggests doing "something new" in bed and tells Ginny what he wants, she looks almost aghast, and he quickly tells her to forget it. She is not tight enough for him anymore, and Harry hates himself for it. Ginny's post-coital embraces are so warm and soft they're stifling, and Harry thinks of Malfoy's bony shoulders, shaking under the flimsy blanket. Guilt consumes him when he finally realises what he has done. Malfoy told him to stop, but Harry demanded that he say please. Malfoy refused.
Harry becomes obsessed with Malfoy, but it's different from how it was sixth year at Hogwarts. Back then, it was dogged determination, the excitement of clues leading to solving a puzzling mystery. Now it's a flutter in his chest every time Malfoy is mentioned even in passing, a dark ache in his groin every time he closes his eyes and tries to imagine what Malfoy must be doing, where he must be, what he looks like, white-blond hair framing pale, slanted cheekbones. And it's insane, because he knows Malfoy must hate him even more now, hate him with every breath he takes. What kills Harry is that Malfoy has a right to hate him now.
When Lupin tells him that he has to meet Malfoy at a drop point, Harry can't sleep. He walks into the Hog's Head, disguised as always. They never tell Malfoy who it is he's meeting, in case Malfoy is caught -- or worse, in case he changes his mind. He sees Malfoy leaning back against the wall of a booth, his eyes closed, his head on the shoulder of a man Harry doesn't recognise. Malfoy looks peaceful and content. Something snaps inside Harry and he wants to make the other man -- whoever he is -- bleed from the inside, gut him with a Severing Charm and drag his entrails in the grime that covers the pub floor.
Instead, he walks up to the pair and slides into the seat opposite them. Malfoy is startled, and the man he's with gives Harry a reproachful glare. They make small talk about the past and the progress of the war. Harry has to make sure to keep his facts straight; Malfoy's consort has to believe he's a Death Eater. As they drink the Dark Lord's health, Harry feels something bump his knee -- the package. He takes it from Malfoy's hand, letting his fingers brush against Malfoy's for a second. It's weakness and it's a mistake, because somehow, Malfoy knows it's Harry, now. His eyes widen with unmistakable horror and Harry looks away, because he can't bear the thought of being feared, not like this.
Harry's shaking as he rises and flees. Only when he's Disapparated does he realise that instead of "Goodbye" he said, "I'm sorry".
[end]