Letting Go: Chapter Six
Title: Letting Go
Chapter: Six - Green Desire / (An Ode to Smut)
Authors: Vanilla Dear and Tangible Magic
Beta: Tangible Magic
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers: Half-Blood Prince
Disclaimer: Belongs to the wondeful JKR. No profit. Not mine. But if they were... *daydreams* Um, sorry? Where was I? Huh?
Summary: Dumbledore decides there must be a serious attempt at unifying Hogwarts' four Houses; chaos ensues.
Status: WIP
Warnings: Language. Sexual situations.
Categories: Humour, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, first time and romance.
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He moved cat-silent down the stone corridor. It was as dark as pitch, a few guttering torches on the walls only emphasising the thick cloak of night. A muttered imprecation was all the warning he received before Filch appeared, shuffling on filthy slippers, a lantern in his clawed grasp as he searched the night for anyone stupid or desperate enough to be up after curfew.
The yellow light of his lantern flowed over where Harry had been, and moved on. Harry hid in the alcove a moment longer, waiting for Filch to recede into the distance. His heart was pounding.
It wasn’t fear.
Harry had been waiting all day for tonight. He wanted to do more dirty things with Malfoy, and he wanted Malfoy naked.
But he’d had some time to think. About that potions incident. Harry had been almost discrete, in the Potions classroom. He had been quiet, and kept still, even though it was the absolute best thing he’d ever felt. But Malfoy hadn’t kept quiet, hadn’t been still. And Malfoy hadn’t been the one getting the hand job. He’d been giving it. Harry didn’t think Malfoy had reacted like that just because he was jerking someone off. Malfoy could have almost anyone he wanted, and he was shit at hiding his emotions, or maybe five and some years of angry mutual stalking had paid off, and Harry was just that good at reading his expressions. Because Harry knew that Malfoy had never wanted anyone or anything like he wanted Harry.
And Harry had known, ever since the end of the Ball, that Malfoy was Black and Black was Malfoy. And Black was all sorts of things he’d never seen in Malfoy. Black was sweet and thoughtful. Black was elegant and intense and smart. Harry knew it wasn’t a question of either or - Malfoy was both. Spoiled and sweet, bigoted and thoughtful, crass and sneering and yet elegant, intense and- Well, there had been no change in that characteristic. Just in whether Harry liked it, because anyone who would give him a hand job in class because he wasn’t paying proper attention to them - how could he not admire that?
But if Malfoy even thought of ever trying it again, Harry would make him stop. Either that or get incredibly aroused and come all over the underside of the desk.
Again.
Malfoy was still a prat. He’d probably always be a prat. And there was one more thing that Malfoy would be, and Harry had been trying not to think of it, because when he realised the first time, somewhere after supper, he had gotten so hard he’d been really worried he was going to come then and there.
He had been sitting in his armchair, vaguely aware that he was shaking all over and trembling like he’d just come in from the snow. But that didn’t really matter, that wasn’t really all that embarrassing, not compared to the fact that he was about to come. Which would have been bad. Because Harry had been in the Common Room, surrounded by his fellow Gryffindors. And though Harry may have finally discovered he had a penis, that knowledge hadn’t engendered attraction to any of his fellow Gryffindors. They were his family, so the mere fact he was with them should have kept him from feeling any arousal at all. And the Creevey brothers had been sitting together and whispering, looking over at Harry every so often with that combination of worship and avarice that they always reserved for him. It was not an environment conducive to spontaneous orgasms. And he’d had enough orgasms in public today, thank you.
But now that Harry knew, he couldn’t stop thinking of it.
Black was vulnerable.
So Draco Malfoy, Prefect of Slytherin House and Harry’s most irritating ex-enemy, Draco Malfoy, that boy who sneered and lied and was so bloody alive, the only one who came close to Harry’s Seeker skills at Hogwarts, the one boy who’d taken such delight in making as much of Harry’s time at Hogwarts as possible a morass of misery and embarrassment, the boy who was always making trouble for Harry and his friends, partly out of spite and partly out of some twisted form of ethics - that Draco Malfoy - he was vulnerable, too. What was more, what was better - he was vulnerable to Harry.
The thought of Malfoy being susceptible and weak and helpless against him, had made Harry suddenly really close to messing his robes, right there, in the bloody Common Room. And fucking hell, it was turning him on again.
When he got to the stretch of corridor near Binns’ office, he wasn’t at all surprised to find that Malfoy wasn’t there. It was still over twenty minutes to ten o’clock, after all. He stood against the chilly stone wall between the ghostly Professor’s office and a disused classroom, and looked curiously and somewhat nervously around the passageway. He had never had much cause to visit the History of Magic Professor in his daytime headquarters, so he hadn’t often been in this part of Hogwarts.
When Harry couldn’t sleep, or when he was feeling helpful - which often occurred at the same time - he’d sometimes accompany Ron or Hermione on their Prefect rounds.
They hardly ever came this way. And no wonder, because it was a lot darker here than the Astronomy Tower, or the outside gardens, or any of the other places where snogging couples tended to congregate. There were thick, grey cobwebs covering the handle of the door across from him. They glistened oddly in the light, and after Aragog, Harry was a little wary about strange spider webs. But Harry supposed if the web was still there, and maintained, he at least didn’t have to worry about any escaped giant serpents in this part of Hogwarts. Which was always nice to know.
He noticed an oddly shaped shadow just to the side of the door, very thick, and even blacker than all the other shadows. He pushed off from the wall, intrigued, hoping, just a bit, that it was Draco waiting for him. But as he got closer, and strained his eyes, he saw that it wasn’t - Malfoy at all, but a recessed alcove, a small statue taking up only a little of its wide space.
Harry couldn’t resist. He hopped up onto the pedestal, barking his shin against the rigid metal of the statue. On closer inspection it proved to be a child or a young man with long pointy ears and a terribly affronted expression. Perhaps, Harry thought, the model had suspected that his likeness would be shoved off in an unvisited corridor somewhere. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to be recreated in bronze at all and had been self-conscious about anyone seeing his unspeakably embarrassing appendages.
Harry let go of the statue to rub at his forehead. He could sympathise.
But he hadn’t jumped onto the pedestal to feel closer to a boy who had modelled for a statue. He turned around and sat down; letting his feet dangle over the edge. They almost touched the ground, but he couldn’t see them, or the stone floor beneath them. Which was why he’d decided to sit there, his back against the rather bumpy and uncomfortable sculpture. When Malfoy came, he wouldn’t be able to see Harry. And Harry wanted to see how his Slytherin would act if he didn’t know that Harry was there.
He sat, in silence, and he waited.
He checked his watch some minutes later, his eyes finally adjusted to the lack of proper light, and found it was a few minutes after ten o’clock. His stomach lurched, afraid for one impossibly long moment that Malfoy wasn’t coming, wasn’t even interested, was contemptuous of Harry, worse, had forgotten-
And then a blonde haired figure was sprinting down the hallway, streamers tangled about his neck and trailing from his shoulders, dark ribbons of the flimsy paper fluttering away with every hurried step. Malfoy stopped very abruptly just a few yards from Harry’s hiding place and stared about, the whites of his eyes standing out as brilliantly as his hair. Which, Harry noted, was somewhat less neat than usual. In fact, it sort of looked like someone had taken a scrubbing brush to it. Harry could smell firework smoke. ‘Fuckin’ Peeves!’ Malfoy hissed, eyes narrowing down to slits. He was very out of puff, breaths churning furiously in and out, and his narrow chest was heaving like an accordion. Malfoy’s eyes darted over every inch of the corridor again, and he raked a trembling hand through his hair, pushing it back off his wet face. ‘Fuckin’ Peeves,’ he muttered again, shoulders slumping slightly. He pulled one of the streamers off and bent his head to watch it flutter forlornly on the floor. ‘Fuckin’ Potter,’ he added, looking around, and the rage and disappointment in his expression shouldn’t have been making Harry’s balls tighten.
But it was. Nobody could blame him if he just hid for a little longer, right? Because Malfoy was flustered and damp faced and yummy like this. Harry wondered why he’d waited until he’d left his Invisibility Cloak in his dormitory to discover his apparently very well hidden voyeurism kink.
Malfoy’s fists were tight and stress-white as they peeked from the sleeves of his robes. He looked up and down the corridor again, and then he spun on his heel, wrenching his wand from its pocket and aiming it at the wall near Binns’ office door. ‘Stupefy!’ he shrieked. Sparks exploded out from the ancient stone. ‘Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!’ Flashes of fire swept over the wall. When it died away there was a black mark on the stone, and Malfoy was spinning about and slapping at the pinpricks of burning rock that covered the chest of his robes.
Malfoy’s face was furious. Harry’s eyes widened and he spread his legs a little, unconsciously, as Malfoy flicked away a few bits of stone and sneered in disgust at the holes in the fabric. ‘Fucking Potter,’ Malfoy said again, his jaw hard with determination. ‘Gryffindors are supposed to be brave. Argh! Stupefy!’ he repeated, aiming his wand at the wall above Harry’s hiding place. Cinders showered down, and Harry muffled a squeak against his hand. ‘Damn you, Potter, you think you can ignore me? We’ll see about that, you blind little shit,’ he muttered and turned to go.
Harry felt a great deal of panic. He’d wanted to watch Malfoy, not make him go away. So he did the only thing he could think of. He laughed.
The sound came out rather different than he had intended. It was low and dark and quiet, and it made Malfoy stop dead still. His shoulders were hunched high, and he turned, his face white, pointing his wand vaguely in Harry’s direction and shouting ‘Lumos!’
When the bright light flooded over Harry, Malfoy relaxed his shoulders, blushing. ‘Potter!’ he said disgustedly. ‘Honestly, you stupid boy, I could have hexed you.’ His eyes narrowed down to slits. ‘I still could. Why the hell were you hiding there?’
Instead of answering, Harry stood up. Malfoy watched him walk closer. His angular face was drawn tight, except for the area around his mouth, which was wet and slack and surprised. ‘Potter?’
‘What happened?’ Harry asked, stepping closer and fingering a bit of streamer that was wound tightly around Malfoy’s arm. He could feel the warmth of the flesh beneath, or perhaps that was from the sparks.
Malfoy shivered, and stared at Harry’s hand on his robed arm, and told him, snottily, ‘it was Peeves, Potter. You can’t tell me you didn’t hear me mention him.’
‘Oh, I heard,’ Harry said quietly, unwinding the streamer very slowly. Malfoy let him move his arm as he removed the wrinkled ribbon of paper, and Harry was very aware of how the slender flesh trembled. ‘I just thought I’d give you the opportunity to rant some more,’ he said, and let the streamer fall to the ground. Malfoy swallowed hard, and Harry smiled to himself, and said, moving around to Malfoy’s back, ‘you didn’t know I was listening the first time, so I’m sure it wasn’t quite as satisfying.’ He pulled gently at the streamers at the nape of his neck and added, belatedly, ‘for you.’
He felt Malfoy tense up even further at that, and Harry could tell he needed to turn around and look at Harry, but was trying to keep still. Harry leaned closer, the fronts of his thighs brushing against the back of Malfoy’s, his cock nestling happily against the cleft of the taller boy’s arse. Malfoy said something like, ‘Ack,’ and then, ‘Potter,’ and his voice was broken and shocked and grateful. ‘I thought… you weren’t here.’
‘I know,’ said Harry, pulling away a bit of streamer and pressing his lips against the creamy strip of skin it revealed.
‘Potter?’ Malfoy shifted against him, his back rubbing against Harry’s front. ‘What are you doing, you mad fucking-’ he broke off as Harry darted his tongue out at the sliver of skin, licking lightly at the sweet silk.
He rested his forehead on the nape of Malfoy’s neck. ‘You taste like fireworks.’
‘Oh,’ he said softly. ‘I-’
Harry was too impatient to unwind every last streamer; he held the bulk of them tight with one hand, his knuckles brushing against Malfoy’s skin, and then he brought his other hand up and tore them smoothly. Malfoy jumped a little at the shtick of ripping paper and Harry laid the palm of his hand against the hard vertebrae that stood out against the sleek muscles.
‘Peeves?’ Harry asked.
‘Oh, he was a bother,’ Malfoy told him, pressing back against Harry’s hand.
Harry could feel the fine, kitten-soft hairs that bridged the nape of Malfoy’s neck, and he brushed his fingers over them, fascinated. ‘A bother?’ he repeated, spreading his fingers so he could lick around the fine bones of his spine. The hot-dry taste of smoke mingled with the salt of boy on his tongue, and he sighed gently, his tongue pushing harder at the skin. He was very, very hard, and he wanted to come so badly.
‘A frickin’ nuisance. He made me late.’ Malfoy pushed his ass back, rubbing in tiny motions that made Harry’s cock throb in a mad, too fast rhythm.
‘Mm,’ agreed Harry. ‘I had to wait for ages.’
‘Why the hell were you hiding?’ Malfoy demanded, raising his hand to cover Harry’s where it rested on the back of his neck. He threaded his fingers between Harry’s, and it was a bit awkward, but Harry didn’t mind. Harry slid his other hand around Malfoy’s waist, and used it to grip Malfoy’s hip, and they were suddenly pressed together so hard that Harry could feel Malfoy’s shoulder blades against his collarbone and Harry’s cock was fast against Malfoy’s tailbone, squashed up, and it was uncomfortable, and it felt good. Malfoy groaned, and wriggled, making Harry’s hand flex on his hip, and Harry’s dick twitch against his arse. Malfoy was moaning softly, and Harry really wanted to speak but his throat was closed up. He could feel Malfoy's rapid heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest as his Slytherin gasped for air like he was drowning. Everything felt really, really good, until Malfoy was faltering for air, and stiffening against Harry’s chest, and telling him, thickly, ‘that's it. Stop.’
‘What?’ said Harry, and then he stepped away, bewildered, frightened, feeling his belly drop down to his feet. His hands were high in the air because he didn’t know where to put them if they weren’t on Malfoy, and he felt stupid with his hands in the air, so he let them drop. But then he still didn’t know what to do with them so he thrust them into his pockets. He raised his head tentatively to look at Malfoy.
Who snorted. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Potter.’ His cheeks were pink and his chin was pale and his eyes were very dark. He swallowed, and Harry tried really hard not to stare at the motion of his throat. But he looked down too far, and his eyes fixed on Malfoy’s hips, and the length that was distending the fabric between them. Harry breathed in sharply. ‘We have to talk, Potter.’
‘Uh huh,’ said Harry. He licked his lips.
‘Potter,’ Malfoy said, the exasperation in his voice not quite disguising his satisfaction, ‘I’m not down there.’ He waited several seconds. ‘Potter?’ he said at last, crossing his arms and sneering. ‘It is polite to pretend to look at a person’s face when you are mentally undressing them.’
Harry didn’t want to stop looking at Malfoy’s crotch. He liked the way it jerked and pulsed faster and faster the longer he looked at it. There was a patch of fabric veering up from his hips that was almost soaked, and he smelled really good, even through the fireworks. Like the sea, and Harry had only been in the water that one time with the Weasleys, but oh, god, it smelled fucking good. Like Malfoy right now, salty and musky and Harry took a deep breath, looking up. ‘Yeah?’
‘Why were you hiding, Potter?’ he demanded through gritted teeth. ‘Fuck!’ he spat. ‘Why did you even let me know you were there? Was it an accident? Did you not mean to laugh? I know you want me, Potter, why can’t you just-’
‘I didn’t mean to hide for that long,’ Harry said. He looked down. There were tiny pebbles like black Hundreds and Thousands on the ground, and it took him a dull moment of staring at them to realise that they were the bits of stone from Malfoy’s robes. ‘I just… wanted to watch you.’
There was thick silence, and Harry didn’t want to see Malfoy’s face. He crossed his arms, and if it was partly just to subdue the horridly sharp beating of his heart, no one would ever know.
‘Fucking hell, Malfoy, I’m weird. You should know that by now,’ he burst out, jerking his head up to glare at him.
But Malfoy wasn’t there. He was gone, goddamn it, the bastard, he hadn’t even let Harry explain properly-
There was a presence behind him, and he tried to turn, but there were suddenly two hands fast to the balls of his shoulders, and a long leg was coming in from the back, forcing itself in between his, making them spread wider. And then the hands at his shoulders pulled hard, and the leg angled up, sliding wonderfully against the underside of his balls, and Malfoy swore next to Harry’s ear, breath blowing fever warm against his skin, and said hoarsely, ‘that’s not weird, Potter, that’s fucking hot.’ And Malfoy’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his cock rubbed against Harry’s ass, and it was fucking brilliant. ‘Now Potter,’ Malfoy said breathlessly, ‘we’ve got to lay some basic rules out here because I-I-’ he stuttered when Harry pressed back hard. ‘Refuse to let you take the lead. Because, um,’ Harry wriggled slowly against Malfoy’s front because he knew how much he’d liked the springy feel of Malfoy’s ass against his cock and he wanted to be fair. Hell, he didn’t want to be fair, he just wanted Malfoy to go mental again, all gasping and thrusting and- he gasped himself, and pushed back in little circles against Malfoy’s cock, very aware of every place their bodies were connecting, touching, sliding. ‘Because, um,’ Malfoy whimpered, and his leg kept vibrating nervously under Harry’s balls, and Harry was going slowly mad, and he liked it. He thrust his hips back just a bit faster. ‘Um, it would send the wrong-’ Malfoy gurgled, and his hands gripped painfully tight on Harry’s shoulders, and he’d probably end up with bruises, and he didn’t care. ‘Principle, I mean, ah, message, ahhhhhm-’ he breathed wetly against Harry’s ear, ‘Gryff- Gryffin- dor isn’t, Slytherin’s more, um, do that, yes-’ Harry could feel the pressure building in his balls and he knew he was going to come soon, very soon. Malfoy’s hand suddenly slid along his arm, down his side, and was headed straight for Harry’s cock. Oh, no you don’t, Harry thought with vicious, frantic satisfaction. He whipped Malfoy’s hand away and pivoted in his one-armed grasp, forcing him back a step. Malfoy wasn’t going to get to make Harry come again, oh, no. It was Harry’s turn to do the making around here.
‘You wanted to talk,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Let’s talk.’
Malfoy’s pupil’s were wide and he panted, incredulously, ‘you fucking- tease!’
Harry inclined his head, raising his brows, ‘I’m not the one with trousers so tight that you can see the shape of the head of my cock.’
Malfoy glanced down reflexively, and then looked back up, already pink cheeks darkening. ‘They’re not usually this tight! Anyway, it’s good tailoring! Look at what you’re wearing, Potter, you look like you were raised in a sty - oh, wait-’ his eyes widened exaggeratedly. ‘You were.’
Harry snorted.
Malfoy waited.
Harry looked at him patiently. He was raised in a cage, or close enough, and if he could bear Ron getting jealous of his money and his bloody fame without blowing up every time it happened, he could bear Malfoy saying truthful things about his childhood. Because Malfoy was his. It was kind of like not minding too much when Hedwig pecked him - as long as he deserved it - and he usually did because he had misunderstood her or neglected her or been grumpy - except, um, less pets and more wizards.
Malfoy was staring at him, slightly open-mouthed. He apparently was still expecting Harry to retaliate. Harry rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t like the way I dress and I look like I was raised with pigs. Yes. I heard you. Now,’ he smiled brightly, ‘what did you want to talk about?’
Malfoy looked him warily, and his eyes suddenly widened and he pointed at Harry. ‘You don’t respect me anymore!’ he snarled.
Harry sputtered. ‘What!?’
‘You don’t care, normally you would be jumping at me by now! You- you let me jerk you off and you got what you wanted and you don’t want me anymore!’
Harry’s mouth fell wide open, and he didn’t have the spare energy to shut it. All his concentration was on trying to figure out why in hell Dra- Malfoy thought that and to get him to stop thinking it, right now. ‘Um, um- what!?’
Malfoy’s lips quivered and something was off, something was strange, but Harry was too worried about Malfoy to figure it out. Malfoy had obviously gone off his rocker and Harry would have to help him get back to normal. He took one step toward Malfoy, and then another, and Malfoy buried his head in Harry’s shoulder, shaking. ‘Malfoy,’ he said desperately, patting at his shoulder blades and trying not to notice how good he smelled. ‘It’s okay, really, I do respect you, I just didn’t want to fight, that’s all, really, I, um, don’t cry-’ he pleaded as Malfoy made a horrible choking noise. He had really thought that with a boy, with Malfoy, he wouldn’t have to worry about crying, but it seemed that crying was part of the package with Malfoy, and he would have to learn to look after him properly and keep him well when he felt like this because Malfoy was his and Harry didn’t want him to hurt and he felt so horrible, he wanted to cry too-
Malfoy made another choking noise into Harry’s neck, and Harry rubbed at his back soothingly, noticing, perturbed, that his Slytherin was still rock hard against Harry’s hip. He closed his eyes desperately and tried to ignore the beautiful solid length, and Malfoy rubbed his nose against Harry’s shirt collar, hiccupping as he sobbed harder. ‘There, Malfoy, it’s alright, I promise-’ he began gently, and Malfoy threw his head back, his whole body shaking, and he-
He screamed with laughter. Harry watched him, stunned, as Malfoy lent against the corridor wall, shaking and laughing hysterically and looking so incredibly smug. And yet through the laughter he still managed to taunt Harry, ‘Oh my god, Potter! So, bleeding perfect, fucking, should have seen your face!’
Harry thumped him. Hard. ‘You shit.’
‘Ha-’ he gasped, face red. ‘When you felt my cock, and you tensed up, and then went all, all relaxed like you didn’t notice- and when-’ Malfoy became incapable of completing his sentence as he was consumed with laughter. Again.
Harry regarded him sourly, lips twitching. ‘Your mind is a disturbing place, Malfoy.’
Malfoy flicked tears from his cheeks, but there were still sticky trails on his warm skin, and Harry wanted to lick them. ‘See, Potter, you’re gullible. Naïve. Innocent. Obviously I should take the lead.’
Harry gaped at him. He, Harry, had grown up as a cross beneath a house-elf and an emotional punching bag, had seen people being murdered, had witnessed torture in his dreams, undergone Crucio, been possessed by Voldemort, was training to kill him, and Malfoy, the spoilt little snot, thought he was innocent? He closed his mouth firmly. ‘You are a prat. And furthermore, you are an idiot.’
‘I’m not the one who gets Acceptables in most of his classes.’ Malfoy said smugly.
‘I do not! Besides, Acceptables are fine.’
‘Ha!’ Malfoy snorted, his pale, slightly rosy nose turning up.
‘I do better than you in Transfigurations and Charms and Care of Magical Creatures and Defense!’
Malfoy’s mouth fell open. ‘You do not! My marks are always better!’
‘But you have to try harder to get them,’ Harry pointed out with satisfaction.
‘That’s because you have Granger to help you!’ Malfoy stamped his foot, then looked surprised. He planted his feet very firmly and avoided Harry’s eyes.
Harry snickered. ‘You did shit in our Charms exam last year.’
Malfoy raised his eyes quickly. ‘That was your fault! You looked at me funny!’
‘I did not!’
‘You did too!’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘I did not.’ He smiled.
Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed, cheeks flushing darker. ‘You did too.’
Harry licked his lips. ‘Did not.’
Malfoy swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Did too,’ he said distractedly.
‘Did too,’ Harry said.
‘Did not-’ Malfoy blinked and showed his teeth. ‘Potter!’
Harry grinned. ‘Look who’s gullible.’
‘Shut up,’ Malfoy said. ‘It’s- Potter, you belong to me and I’m not going to let you go. People are eventually going to find out. And it might be… nice for you to occasionally show that you enjoy me having you, but you can’t go around initiating things because I know you, you’ll get into a habit of it and people will misconstrue it and think you’re the man. There’ll be enough of that with you being the fucking Boy who Lived, I’m not going to allow people to think I’m your fucktoy.’
Harry was trying really hard not to snigger. ‘Malfoy!’ he got out. ‘We’re boys. Men. Both of us. At least, I was pretty sure we were this morning, but you know, now that I think of it, I didn’t really get a good look at your cock. Or a look at all.’ He lowered his eyes to consider the tight shape that pressed against the fabric of Malfoy’s pants, and smiled slowly. ‘You know,’ he said quietly. ‘I really should rectify that.’
Malfoy’s face went slack, and his grey eyes turned dark and wet and invitingly shocked. ‘Potter-’ he said, and moved back a step.
Big mistake.
Harry took that step of space back, and then another, and Malfoy made a noise between a moan and a shriek, and back peddled faster. Harry herded him towards a door.
When Malfoy’s shoulder jarred against the handle, he stopped, and gasped, and stared at Harry.
And Harry sniffed at the smell of boy that was like Quidditch and coffee and tea with cream in it, so good and pure and making him hungry, and he licked at Malfoy’s collarbone, getting the fresh-laundered taste of shirt in with the silken salt of his, mine, now, and he twisted his hand around Malfoy’s perfect shoulder, warm and shaking, and turned the doorknob, and Malfoy went stumbling back, and Harry followed.
The room was all ancient desks and darkness, and Harry pushed Malfoy back until he collided with something hard, a desk, and Malfoy scrambled up, the backs of his knees banging painfully against the solid wood. There was panting, and harsh breaths, and Harry was pretty sure it was both of them making those desperate little sounds. He leaned into Malfoy for one soft, soothing moment, until all that was left was lust and need and now, now, now. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asked, and he was not sure what he was asking about.
‘What?’ said Malfoy breathlessly, neck rolling back uncontrollably. ‘What, no, my leg’s alright.’
Then Harry remembered, most of the more uncontrollable waves of lust disintegrating as he recalled the hard thunk of Malfoy’s flesh against the desk. ‘Fuck,’ he said hoarsely, and backed away.
He looked at Malfoy, who was all spread out, legs invitingly sprawled just like when Harry had got back with the ingredients in Potions class. But this time Malfoy didn’t straighten up when he opened his eyes and saw Harry looking at him. ‘Potter-’ he rasped out, and swallowed harshly, Adams apple bobbing on his exposed throat. Vulnerable.
And Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t hurt him. ‘We can’t.’
‘WHAT?! Malfoy reared up, staring at him incredulously. ‘Potter, you fucker!’ He gritted his teeth. ‘You fucking self-sacrificing, shitty, pissy, irritating-’
Harry frowned at him, trying to ignore the twitching in his groin. ‘I’m thinking of you here, you frickin’ berk.’ He turned toward another desk and fished out his wand.
‘If you try to Obliviate me I’m going to kill you with my bare hands!’ Malfoy snarled, spit flying just a bit, and Harry really shouldn’t have found that so hot.
‘Shut up,’ he muttered, and concentrated. A nice passion red would be good, appropriately sexy and also Gryffindor-ish. He swished his wand and performed the incantation, very aware of Malfoy at his exposed back. The desk promptly shifted into the cushiony, backless, armless piece of furniture he’d pictured. Only it wasn’t deep red.
It was green.
Slytherin green.
Harry felt a little embarrassed at this, but decided to pretend he’d meant it to be that colour. Stupid subconscious. He looked back at Malfoy. Who was gaping between Harry and the chair-y thing, looking bewildered. ‘What the fuck?’ he demanded, and Harry noticed his voice was slightly higher than usual.
Harry snorted and held his hand out to help Malfoy down. Malfoy ignored the offer and hopped neatly off the desk, apparently indifferent to his injury. Harry wavered between amusement, worry, and pure lust as he watched Malfoy fussily brushing dust off his robes. ‘Um, like I said,’ he swallowed hard, and the blonde head tilted enquiringly. ‘I mean, we’re not doing any sexy things on a desk. You hurt yourself.’
‘I didn’t hurt myself, you hurt me,’ Malfoy informed him, grabbing Harry’s hand. ‘And you made me think you didn’t want us to-’ he hesitated, and smirked, enunciating the words slowly, ‘do sexy things.’
Harry beamed, eyes lowering. ‘Well, now you know.’ He dragged Malfoy over to the inappropriately green chair, not that Malfoy protested all that much, and made him sit. Malfoy glared up at him, blonde hair mussed by whatever Peeves had done to him, and Harry’s grin threatened to split his face. ‘So cute,’ he couldn’t help muttering.
‘Potter,’ Malfoy said with a look of supreme distaste, blushing madly, ‘I am not cute. I am a tour de force of power, brilliance, and stunning good looks. You will remember that.’
‘Yes, Malfoy,’ Harry said fondly.
‘Don’t look at me like that. It’s disturbing. You look like a Hufflepuff. Why the hell did you Transfigure a desk into an ottoman?’
‘How are your knees?’ Harry demanded.
‘Fine,’ Malfoy told him, gritting his teeth and glaring at him with that look that meant, ‘I am going to pound you into the ground with my bare hands, you worthless excuse for a wizard.’ Only, now, there seemed to be other bare things involved. Like, um, cocks. And balls, and mouths, and hopefully, some point in the future, arses as well, but really very far in the future, Harry thought, because, um, ouch. And also, somewhat, yuck.
‘Are you sure?’ Harry asked doubtfully.
‘Yes,’ Malfoy began, grey eyes flashing as he stared up at Harry, ‘my knees are bloody wonderful, as are the backs of them, which is the part you actually hurt, you anatomically confused, dunderheaded, mental-’
Harry leaned down, and put his tongue in his mouth.
It was very wet, and Malfoy was frozen against him, his chest not even moving, chin poking at Harry’s, Harry’s glasses a little too close to Malfoy’s face. ‘What-’ Malfoy began, or tried to, all that came out was a weird sound like a wail, and the movement of his tongue and his lips felt very nice against Harry’s, but also terrifying, and the sound of Malfoy trying to say that one word made both of their mouths vibrate, and there was such a lot of saliva.
Malfoy drew in a breath, frantically, through his nose, and the warmth of his breath fluttered out over the top of Harry’s lip where the hair was so sparse that he only had to spell it gone once a week, and Harry’s back was sore and he had to move. He pulled his head back a little, and Malfoy gave an inquisitive sound, looking surprised and angry, and Harry tore off his glasses, put them down somewhere, and fell to his knees. It hurt, bones jarring with pain, but he paid no attention, shuffling his knees in between Malfoy’s well-shod feet, and putting one hand on his sleek shoulder, and tilting his head this time.
And this time, the kiss worked. Worked as what, worked how, Harry didn’t know, but it was so different. They were both moving their lips and their tongues, and Malfoy’s teeth were intriguingly hard, and Harry wanted to stay just like this, forever. The sound of their tongues lapping and curling against each other was loud and messy and Malfoy ran his tongue over the roof of Harry’s mouth, and it tickled and felt too sparse, tantalising, like just one spoonful of treacle tart, and he wanted to laugh and he wanted to scream. Malfoy nipped at Harry’s lower lip, and his skin felt like there was too much under it, too much blood, too frantic, and it suddenly wasn’t enough.
He reared back, gasping, and Malfoy was staring at him through glossy, heavily-lidded eyes, and Harry felt like he was going to come on the spot. ‘Ha- Pot-ter,’ Malfoy sighed, hands clutching empty air, a slick of blonde hair swinging over one eye as he lowered his head, and Harry was winging in, attacking his pale throat with fast licks and nips and Malfoy arched his neck, and Harry gripped the neck of his shirt and yanked, and Malfoy’s tie tightened uncomfortably and Harry couldn’t get it undone. Then Malfoy’s fingers were there, trembling and insistent and Harry let go to let him work at the knot, undoing the pearly buttons of Malfoy’s shirt instead and stroking and biting gently at his collarbone. He tasted charcoal and lemons and sea salt and Malfoy squirmed and Harry let out a noise that sounded very much like a moan. ‘Mine,’ he whispered, ‘mine, mine, mine.’
‘What?’ said Malfoy with eyes that were too clear, in control, troubled. Harry growled and took the very loose tie from him, yanking it over his elegant head.
Harry dragged both hands down the clear line from Malfoy’s neck, detouring them to stroke inquisitively at his nipples. They were pale and small and prickled, and Malfoy turned bright red when he tickled them. ‘I’m not a girl, Potter,’ he muttered, ‘and I’m not your dolly, either, so you can stop playing with me like I’m-’ Harry tugged, hard, and Malfoy’s eyes went blind and needy for one shining moment. Then the blindness was gone, and the need was sharper, and Harry left one hand cupped over a nipple and let the other splay, possessive and dark, against the centre of his Slytherin’s pale chest. Right where he wanted it. Malfoy’s heartbeat was fast and strong against the palm of his hand. And his skin was very warm and sleek and silk-soft.
‘You have calluses. I can feel them. You peasant,’ Malfoy whispered.
Harry chuckled. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ Both of his hands were slightly damp against Malfoy’s body, and Harry could see the wet all over Malfoy’s exposed chest, so it wasn’t just Harry who was sweaty and nervous. He leaned forward and licked at Malfoy’s sternum. It was very salty.
‘What is your obsession with licking?’ Malfoy squeaked.
‘I don’t know,’ Harry considered, and took his hands away from Malfoy’s skin.
‘I didn’t tell you to stop!’ Malfoy snarled.
Harry laughed. ‘Sorry,’ he said, but didn’t put his hands back. He settled them on Malfoy’s hips, instead.
‘You’re not a werewolf or something, are you?’
Harry looked down at the shape of Malfoy’s dick. It was straining hard at the cloth, and didn’t seem as concerned at the thought of Harry being a werewolf as Malfoy clearly was. ‘I’m not a werewolf,’ he said, smirking. ‘I do seem to have a bit of an oral fixation, though.’ He looked up, and he could feel his cheeks burning. He raised one eyebrow in challenge. ‘I really should find out if I do.’
‘Huh?’ Malfoy panted, with a stunning lack of his usual intelligence, licking at his swollen lips.
‘Have an oral fixation.’
Malfoy glared at him indignantly. ‘Look, Gryffindor, you can go suck an ice lolly some other time. I don’t have any sweets with me right now and I want to get off.’
Harry snickered and shoved Malfoy’s robes out of the way, undoing his belt. The buckle had a tiny engraving of a snake, and the leather was warm from Malfoy’s body heat. Malfoy gasped and rose up off the ‘ottoman’ and Harry just went with it because it was easier to get Malfoy’s button undone and his zipper- Hmm. No zipper, just a whole lot of covered buttons. Harry undid them patiently enough, and his hands weren’t trembling too badly, and above him Malfoy was making desperate, shocked, perfectly hot noises. Harry pulled down Malfoy’s pants and Malfoy sat down suddenly, and for one infuriating moment Harry couldn’t get rid of the underwear. He had time to notice they were pearl-white, and soft, and probably something more old-fashioned than boxers, but Harry wanted them off, bloody off, now. Malfoy babbled, ‘shit, fucking, shit, what, fucking, you, now,-’ and rose up slightly, and Harry managed to get them down. He gave a satisfied noise, and then he saw Malfoy’s cock for the first time, and he was pretty sure the noise was turning less satisfied and more shell-shocked and just a bit, um, sluttish. Malfoy’s cock wasn’t much different to Harry’s, a bit paler, a bit thinner, a bit longer, but it was Malfoy’s cock. Malfoy’s cock, for God’s sake, and Harry could feel his own prick seeping and jerking in a frantic, needy rhythm. He breathed in harshly, and if Malfoy smelt good before, right now he was better than Honeydukes.
And Harry leant down low, and curved one hand around Malfoy’s side, digging in to help him balance, and he curled his other hand around the base of Malfoy’s cock, fingertips brushing over palest gold ringlets. Malfoy went absolutely still for one frozen moment. Harry looked up, licking his lips, the solid weight in his hand almost familiar, definitely comforting, absurdly terrifying, and Malfoy was staring down at him, refined nostrils flaring with panic. ‘Potter,’ he pointed out, ‘you’re holding my prick.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said, lowering his head, still looking up, and Malfoy’s eyes fluttered. Harry lowered his head still more, and Malfoy swallowed hard, and Harry looked down long enough to note the glossy head and take aim, and then opened his mouth wide and the head slipped in and Harry had his eyes rolled up to see Malfoy’s reaction. Malfoy squeaked, which was nice, and jerked his hips up, which was a bit of a surprise. He didn’t choke, though, and he managed to lick a bit with the thick part of his tongue. It was more of a massage, really, because there wasn’t a lot of room in Harry’s mouth anymore. It was salty, less bitter than he’d expected, but he’d only ever tasted his own come. Not pre-come. His teeth touched Malfoy’s cock as he relaxed his mouth a bit, and Malfoy shrieked, and it didn’t sound like a good noise. His face looked closed off and pained. Harry slid his mouth off with a pop. ‘Teeth aren’t good, then?’ Malfoy shook his head adamantly and Harry winced apologetically. When he put his mouth back over Malfoy’s cock he had his lips curled over his teeth and it felt rather uncomfortable and awkward, but he wanted to do this, and he didn’t want to hurt him. Malfoy’s cock had shrunk a bit after the Teeth Incident and he got a third of it in before it swelled back to full hardness. The feeling of it expanding was strange and hot and Harry knew something that big wasn’t meant to fit in his mouth if he wasn’t chewing it, so he wasn’t surprised that he was salivating so much. He hoped Malfoy didn’t mind all the slobber. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling, trying not to squirm, trying not to come right away because God that would be embarrassing, and his throat relaxed and Malfoy’s cock was suddenly halfway down his throat, impossibly thick, throbbing, jerking uncontrollably, and Harry’s mouth was touching his knuckles. He panted through his nose, Malfoy was really musky, fuck, opening his eyes to watch Malfoy’s pubic hair tremble with the disturbed air, and he could feel drool dribbling out the sides of his mouth, and his jaw hurt, and it was good, and he rolled his eyes up, damn, yes. Malfoy was staring down at him, hands clutching hard at the green cushioning to keep from thrusting, short, high noises coming from his throat, face contorting, and Harry tightened his lips around his cock and swallowed, hard, feeling his muscles contract around the thickness. He flexed his fingers, the ones digging into Malfoy’s side, and the ones around his cock, and Malfoy groaned. Grey eyes were sliding closed and open rapidly, and that blonde head shook from side to side, and a whimper slid from that slack, pink mouth.
‘Oh, fuckin’ hell, Pot-’
Harry sucked really hard, and swallowed, and let his head ease back, cock sliding wetly out of his throat, licking at the quivering slit in the tip, and then he moved his head forward again, and Malfoy shook, and Harry swallowed around the constriction in his throat.
Malfoy shrieked, and Harry felt his balls shiver under his chin, and hot fluid was shooting down his throat. It felt very thick, like tomato soup, and Harry felt all warm and astonished and smug and tense. ‘Oh, crap, oh, crap,’ Malfoy panted, opening his eyes and staring down at Harry in a rather befuddled approximation of awe.
Harry slid Malfoy’s prick very carefully out of his mouth, licking most of the messiness off as he backed away. He skimmed his hand over his face, collecting the dribble and errant streak of come and shoving it all back on his tongue. He swallowed it, salt and bitter and water, hands shaking. Malfoy looked half-asleep, and Harry had absolutely no sense of common decency right now, so he yanked his jeans down and grabbed his own cock. It’d only take a stroke or two, and Malfoy would probably laugh, but oh, fuck, he had to come now.
Malfoy stared down at him, legs spread slack and wide, and then he growled low in his throat and launched himself at Harry. Harry was forced flat on the floor, stupid cock too happy that Malfoy was leaning on him to care that he was being attacked. Malfoy’s hand gripped Harry’s throat, and Harry was going to pass out, and Malfoy’s hand slid down to grip his shoulder. And Malfoy wriggled. ‘Fuck,’ Harry managed, and Malfoy slid down his body like a snake, hands finding holds on his chest, then his ribs, then his hips.
‘Mine,’ Malfoy muttered furiously, ‘mine, not yours,’ and who would have thought that Malfoy would have been jealous of Harry’s own hand? Not Harry, that was for sure. But he wasn’t complaining because Malfoy’s hand on his cock felt much nicer than his own, slick, and long fingered, and just a bit cooler than his flesh. And Harry knew Malfoy was good at this, knew he’d done it brilliantly the first time, but Malfoy didn’t seem content with his hand on Harry’s skin, grunting and wriggling down further. Harry thought about telling Malfoy he was one second from coming, but then Malfoy put his pale mouth on Harry’s too-dark cock, and Harry just about died. He shook, and he gasped, and Malfoy sucked him up like a bloody Hoover, and Harry felt the pressure building impossibly high, and he broke. He squirmed and he thrashed and he came in hot pulses against the back of Malfoy’s throat, whimpering uncontrollably.
Malfoy slid his mouth off Harry, teeth sliding against his cock, which was probably in revenge for before. But it didn’t hurt Harry at all, just felt really intense and good and too much. He sighed out a fascinated, shuddering breath. Malfoy stared along the length of his torso at him, smirking, and Harry managed to raise his eyebrows in return. Malfoy’s head flopped down bonelessly onto Harry’s naked hip. ‘Mine,’ he reminded hoarsely.
‘Eungh,’ Harry agreed.
They lay there until they got cold, Malfoy’s blonde head brushing needlessly and deliberately against Harry’s again-interested cock until Harry growled and Malfoy snickered at him. ‘We should get back to our dormitories,’ Malfoy said.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry.
Neither moved.
Malfoy shivered, and Harry pushed his head onto his leg so he could zip up his jeans. Malfoy squinted up at him with sleepy disgruntlement. ‘Fuck, Harry,’ he muttered, and Harry almost castrated himself. He zipped up more carefully and stared down at his Slytherin. Who was yawning and rubbing his hand along Harry’s leg and obviously hadn’t a clue that he’d just called Harry by his first name. Harry stood up reluctantly. He pulled Malfoy up and helped him with his trouser buttons. Malfoy slouched and leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder. ‘Where’s my tie?’ he demanded. Harry spotted it on the floor and bent to grab it and his glasses. Malfoy put a hand on his arse, which was incredibly shocking because he hadn’t been expecting it. ‘Very round, aren’t you?’ Malfoy asked him.
Harry chuckled and straightened. ‘I think it’s past someone’s bedtime.’ He turned to face Malfoy, who glared at him and tore his tie out of his hand.
‘Shut up, Potter.’
Harry slid his spectacles on, grinning, and Malfoy glowered as he efficiently knotted his tie. Harry turned and unTransfigured the desk to its original state. A warm, shivering body affixed itself to his back. Long, lean arms wound about his waist. ‘If you were a Slytherin you could come sleep in my bed.’
Harry leaned back into the taller form. ‘If I was a Slytherin you would be sleeping in my bed, Malfoy, and there would be no coulds about it.’
Malfoy stiffened against him and for a moment Harry thought he was royally pissed. Then he rose on tiptoes so he could tuck Harry’s head under his chin. ‘If you were a Slytherin your bed would be custom-made for you. It’d be too short for me, so you’d have to sleep in my bed.’
‘Unless I just made you bear the inconvenience,’ Harry told him softly. Malfoy snorted. ‘Or I could commandeer your bed as my own, and it would be plenty comfortable enough.’
‘It would still be my bed, though.’
‘Not if I made you beg me to take it.’
Malfoy shifted, prick full and hard at the small of Harry’s back, and then he slid down onto the balls of his feet, cock lowering with the rest of his body, dragging against Harry’s cleft in a way that was worrying and impossibly hot. ‘You couldn’t make me beg, Potter.’
‘Is that a bet, Malfoy?’ Harry asked, and grinned nervously into the darkness.
Malfoy made a quiet, strangled noise, and then he was spinning away. Harry turned to see him doing up the last of his shirt buttons and blushing madly.
‘You want me to make you beg, don’t you?’ he teased. He felt powerful; fragile. Malfoy looked at him then, and his eyes were dark and hard. Harry shivered. ‘Um, we should get back to our dormitories,’ he reminded.
Malfoy looked him up and down, and smirked deeply. ‘Yes,’ he said, and grabbed Harry by the hips, thrusting their bodies together. ‘We should get back to our dormitories,’ he agreed, and bit Harry’s lower lip, and slid his tongue over the hurt, and held Harry up when he felt like he was going to fall. ‘So we’ll go back to our dormitories,’ he smirked and looked down at the shape of Harry’s hard cock, ‘right now.’
‘Bastard,’ Harry said.
Malfoy snickered and let him go, and took his hand. They pushed open the door of the classroom, and they walked out into the hallway. There was a clump of streamers on the floor and the air still smelled like fireworks. Malfoy was going to walk Harry to his dormitory, but Harry said it was okay because he wanted to walk Malfoy to his door, and Harry reminded him that he was stubborn as fuck and they didn’t really have time to hang about in the corridor and discuss it.
Malfoy chose to think that Harry was walking him home because the Slytherin dormitories were further away than the Gryffindors’, thus giving them more time together.
Harry chose not to dissuade him.
After all, Malfoy didn’t really need to hear that if he got anywhere near the Fat Lady’s portrait, Harry was very likely to shove him through and force Malfoy to cuddle him in his warm, very Gryffindor-ish bed all night.
He didn’t want to leave him at the Slytherin dormitories. He didn’t want to go back to his own bed all by himself. He wanted to shove Malfoy up against that very handy wall and just rub. He was sure there’d be enough friction to keep them warm.
But Malfoy needed sleep. And Harry didn’t want to deprive him of anything. He let him go and turned away, not watching him whisper the password and creep in, because he didn’t want to tempt himself to do something stupid like creep in after him and hold him and never let him go.
It was too early for that.
He walked quickly up the stairs toward his own bed, biting his lip, ecstatic and nervous and wide awake. But he slipped into his bed and he closed his eyes, and he tried to sleep. But he couldn’t. He was too happy.
For now, Malfoy belonged to Harry, and Harry was going to make damned sure Malfoy knew it, and try his damnedest to wind himself and Malfoy so close together that Malfoy wouldn’t even think of being with anyone else. Harry needed all of Malfoy in his life, the sweet and the sour, and he was going to get him.
When Harry got through with him, the Slytherin was going to fucking hold his hand in public. And bitch about it, of course.
Because Malfoy was Harry’s, every last delectable, cruel, vulnerable part of him. Harry kept what belonged to him.
And he took good care of it, too.
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Chapter: Six - Green Desire / (An Ode to Smut)
Authors: Vanilla Dear and Tangible Magic
Beta: Tangible Magic
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers: Half-Blood Prince
Disclaimer: Belongs to the wondeful JKR. No profit. Not mine. But if they were... *daydreams* Um, sorry? Where was I? Huh?
Summary: Dumbledore decides there must be a serious attempt at unifying Hogwarts' four Houses; chaos ensues.
Status: WIP
Warnings: Language. Sexual situations.
Categories: Humour, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, first time and romance.
______________________________________________________________________________
He moved cat-silent down the stone corridor. It was as dark as pitch, a few guttering torches on the walls only emphasising the thick cloak of night. A muttered imprecation was all the warning he received before Filch appeared, shuffling on filthy slippers, a lantern in his clawed grasp as he searched the night for anyone stupid or desperate enough to be up after curfew.
The yellow light of his lantern flowed over where Harry had been, and moved on. Harry hid in the alcove a moment longer, waiting for Filch to recede into the distance. His heart was pounding.
It wasn’t fear.
Harry had been waiting all day for tonight. He wanted to do more dirty things with Malfoy, and he wanted Malfoy naked.
But he’d had some time to think. About that potions incident. Harry had been almost discrete, in the Potions classroom. He had been quiet, and kept still, even though it was the absolute best thing he’d ever felt. But Malfoy hadn’t kept quiet, hadn’t been still. And Malfoy hadn’t been the one getting the hand job. He’d been giving it. Harry didn’t think Malfoy had reacted like that just because he was jerking someone off. Malfoy could have almost anyone he wanted, and he was shit at hiding his emotions, or maybe five and some years of angry mutual stalking had paid off, and Harry was just that good at reading his expressions. Because Harry knew that Malfoy had never wanted anyone or anything like he wanted Harry.
And Harry had known, ever since the end of the Ball, that Malfoy was Black and Black was Malfoy. And Black was all sorts of things he’d never seen in Malfoy. Black was sweet and thoughtful. Black was elegant and intense and smart. Harry knew it wasn’t a question of either or - Malfoy was both. Spoiled and sweet, bigoted and thoughtful, crass and sneering and yet elegant, intense and- Well, there had been no change in that characteristic. Just in whether Harry liked it, because anyone who would give him a hand job in class because he wasn’t paying proper attention to them - how could he not admire that?
But if Malfoy even thought of ever trying it again, Harry would make him stop. Either that or get incredibly aroused and come all over the underside of the desk.
Again.
Malfoy was still a prat. He’d probably always be a prat. And there was one more thing that Malfoy would be, and Harry had been trying not to think of it, because when he realised the first time, somewhere after supper, he had gotten so hard he’d been really worried he was going to come then and there.
He had been sitting in his armchair, vaguely aware that he was shaking all over and trembling like he’d just come in from the snow. But that didn’t really matter, that wasn’t really all that embarrassing, not compared to the fact that he was about to come. Which would have been bad. Because Harry had been in the Common Room, surrounded by his fellow Gryffindors. And though Harry may have finally discovered he had a penis, that knowledge hadn’t engendered attraction to any of his fellow Gryffindors. They were his family, so the mere fact he was with them should have kept him from feeling any arousal at all. And the Creevey brothers had been sitting together and whispering, looking over at Harry every so often with that combination of worship and avarice that they always reserved for him. It was not an environment conducive to spontaneous orgasms. And he’d had enough orgasms in public today, thank you.
But now that Harry knew, he couldn’t stop thinking of it.
Black was vulnerable.
So Draco Malfoy, Prefect of Slytherin House and Harry’s most irritating ex-enemy, Draco Malfoy, that boy who sneered and lied and was so bloody alive, the only one who came close to Harry’s Seeker skills at Hogwarts, the one boy who’d taken such delight in making as much of Harry’s time at Hogwarts as possible a morass of misery and embarrassment, the boy who was always making trouble for Harry and his friends, partly out of spite and partly out of some twisted form of ethics - that Draco Malfoy - he was vulnerable, too. What was more, what was better - he was vulnerable to Harry.
The thought of Malfoy being susceptible and weak and helpless against him, had made Harry suddenly really close to messing his robes, right there, in the bloody Common Room. And fucking hell, it was turning him on again.
When he got to the stretch of corridor near Binns’ office, he wasn’t at all surprised to find that Malfoy wasn’t there. It was still over twenty minutes to ten o’clock, after all. He stood against the chilly stone wall between the ghostly Professor’s office and a disused classroom, and looked curiously and somewhat nervously around the passageway. He had never had much cause to visit the History of Magic Professor in his daytime headquarters, so he hadn’t often been in this part of Hogwarts.
When Harry couldn’t sleep, or when he was feeling helpful - which often occurred at the same time - he’d sometimes accompany Ron or Hermione on their Prefect rounds.
They hardly ever came this way. And no wonder, because it was a lot darker here than the Astronomy Tower, or the outside gardens, or any of the other places where snogging couples tended to congregate. There were thick, grey cobwebs covering the handle of the door across from him. They glistened oddly in the light, and after Aragog, Harry was a little wary about strange spider webs. But Harry supposed if the web was still there, and maintained, he at least didn’t have to worry about any escaped giant serpents in this part of Hogwarts. Which was always nice to know.
He noticed an oddly shaped shadow just to the side of the door, very thick, and even blacker than all the other shadows. He pushed off from the wall, intrigued, hoping, just a bit, that it was Draco waiting for him. But as he got closer, and strained his eyes, he saw that it wasn’t - Malfoy at all, but a recessed alcove, a small statue taking up only a little of its wide space.
Harry couldn’t resist. He hopped up onto the pedestal, barking his shin against the rigid metal of the statue. On closer inspection it proved to be a child or a young man with long pointy ears and a terribly affronted expression. Perhaps, Harry thought, the model had suspected that his likeness would be shoved off in an unvisited corridor somewhere. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to be recreated in bronze at all and had been self-conscious about anyone seeing his unspeakably embarrassing appendages.
Harry let go of the statue to rub at his forehead. He could sympathise.
But he hadn’t jumped onto the pedestal to feel closer to a boy who had modelled for a statue. He turned around and sat down; letting his feet dangle over the edge. They almost touched the ground, but he couldn’t see them, or the stone floor beneath them. Which was why he’d decided to sit there, his back against the rather bumpy and uncomfortable sculpture. When Malfoy came, he wouldn’t be able to see Harry. And Harry wanted to see how his Slytherin would act if he didn’t know that Harry was there.
He sat, in silence, and he waited.
He checked his watch some minutes later, his eyes finally adjusted to the lack of proper light, and found it was a few minutes after ten o’clock. His stomach lurched, afraid for one impossibly long moment that Malfoy wasn’t coming, wasn’t even interested, was contemptuous of Harry, worse, had forgotten-
And then a blonde haired figure was sprinting down the hallway, streamers tangled about his neck and trailing from his shoulders, dark ribbons of the flimsy paper fluttering away with every hurried step. Malfoy stopped very abruptly just a few yards from Harry’s hiding place and stared about, the whites of his eyes standing out as brilliantly as his hair. Which, Harry noted, was somewhat less neat than usual. In fact, it sort of looked like someone had taken a scrubbing brush to it. Harry could smell firework smoke. ‘Fuckin’ Peeves!’ Malfoy hissed, eyes narrowing down to slits. He was very out of puff, breaths churning furiously in and out, and his narrow chest was heaving like an accordion. Malfoy’s eyes darted over every inch of the corridor again, and he raked a trembling hand through his hair, pushing it back off his wet face. ‘Fuckin’ Peeves,’ he muttered again, shoulders slumping slightly. He pulled one of the streamers off and bent his head to watch it flutter forlornly on the floor. ‘Fuckin’ Potter,’ he added, looking around, and the rage and disappointment in his expression shouldn’t have been making Harry’s balls tighten.
But it was. Nobody could blame him if he just hid for a little longer, right? Because Malfoy was flustered and damp faced and yummy like this. Harry wondered why he’d waited until he’d left his Invisibility Cloak in his dormitory to discover his apparently very well hidden voyeurism kink.
Malfoy’s fists were tight and stress-white as they peeked from the sleeves of his robes. He looked up and down the corridor again, and then he spun on his heel, wrenching his wand from its pocket and aiming it at the wall near Binns’ office door. ‘Stupefy!’ he shrieked. Sparks exploded out from the ancient stone. ‘Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!’ Flashes of fire swept over the wall. When it died away there was a black mark on the stone, and Malfoy was spinning about and slapping at the pinpricks of burning rock that covered the chest of his robes.
Malfoy’s face was furious. Harry’s eyes widened and he spread his legs a little, unconsciously, as Malfoy flicked away a few bits of stone and sneered in disgust at the holes in the fabric. ‘Fucking Potter,’ Malfoy said again, his jaw hard with determination. ‘Gryffindors are supposed to be brave. Argh! Stupefy!’ he repeated, aiming his wand at the wall above Harry’s hiding place. Cinders showered down, and Harry muffled a squeak against his hand. ‘Damn you, Potter, you think you can ignore me? We’ll see about that, you blind little shit,’ he muttered and turned to go.
Harry felt a great deal of panic. He’d wanted to watch Malfoy, not make him go away. So he did the only thing he could think of. He laughed.
The sound came out rather different than he had intended. It was low and dark and quiet, and it made Malfoy stop dead still. His shoulders were hunched high, and he turned, his face white, pointing his wand vaguely in Harry’s direction and shouting ‘Lumos!’
When the bright light flooded over Harry, Malfoy relaxed his shoulders, blushing. ‘Potter!’ he said disgustedly. ‘Honestly, you stupid boy, I could have hexed you.’ His eyes narrowed down to slits. ‘I still could. Why the hell were you hiding there?’
Instead of answering, Harry stood up. Malfoy watched him walk closer. His angular face was drawn tight, except for the area around his mouth, which was wet and slack and surprised. ‘Potter?’
‘What happened?’ Harry asked, stepping closer and fingering a bit of streamer that was wound tightly around Malfoy’s arm. He could feel the warmth of the flesh beneath, or perhaps that was from the sparks.
Malfoy shivered, and stared at Harry’s hand on his robed arm, and told him, snottily, ‘it was Peeves, Potter. You can’t tell me you didn’t hear me mention him.’
‘Oh, I heard,’ Harry said quietly, unwinding the streamer very slowly. Malfoy let him move his arm as he removed the wrinkled ribbon of paper, and Harry was very aware of how the slender flesh trembled. ‘I just thought I’d give you the opportunity to rant some more,’ he said, and let the streamer fall to the ground. Malfoy swallowed hard, and Harry smiled to himself, and said, moving around to Malfoy’s back, ‘you didn’t know I was listening the first time, so I’m sure it wasn’t quite as satisfying.’ He pulled gently at the streamers at the nape of his neck and added, belatedly, ‘for you.’
He felt Malfoy tense up even further at that, and Harry could tell he needed to turn around and look at Harry, but was trying to keep still. Harry leaned closer, the fronts of his thighs brushing against the back of Malfoy’s, his cock nestling happily against the cleft of the taller boy’s arse. Malfoy said something like, ‘Ack,’ and then, ‘Potter,’ and his voice was broken and shocked and grateful. ‘I thought… you weren’t here.’
‘I know,’ said Harry, pulling away a bit of streamer and pressing his lips against the creamy strip of skin it revealed.
‘Potter?’ Malfoy shifted against him, his back rubbing against Harry’s front. ‘What are you doing, you mad fucking-’ he broke off as Harry darted his tongue out at the sliver of skin, licking lightly at the sweet silk.
He rested his forehead on the nape of Malfoy’s neck. ‘You taste like fireworks.’
‘Oh,’ he said softly. ‘I-’
Harry was too impatient to unwind every last streamer; he held the bulk of them tight with one hand, his knuckles brushing against Malfoy’s skin, and then he brought his other hand up and tore them smoothly. Malfoy jumped a little at the shtick of ripping paper and Harry laid the palm of his hand against the hard vertebrae that stood out against the sleek muscles.
‘Peeves?’ Harry asked.
‘Oh, he was a bother,’ Malfoy told him, pressing back against Harry’s hand.
Harry could feel the fine, kitten-soft hairs that bridged the nape of Malfoy’s neck, and he brushed his fingers over them, fascinated. ‘A bother?’ he repeated, spreading his fingers so he could lick around the fine bones of his spine. The hot-dry taste of smoke mingled with the salt of boy on his tongue, and he sighed gently, his tongue pushing harder at the skin. He was very, very hard, and he wanted to come so badly.
‘A frickin’ nuisance. He made me late.’ Malfoy pushed his ass back, rubbing in tiny motions that made Harry’s cock throb in a mad, too fast rhythm.
‘Mm,’ agreed Harry. ‘I had to wait for ages.’
‘Why the hell were you hiding?’ Malfoy demanded, raising his hand to cover Harry’s where it rested on the back of his neck. He threaded his fingers between Harry’s, and it was a bit awkward, but Harry didn’t mind. Harry slid his other hand around Malfoy’s waist, and used it to grip Malfoy’s hip, and they were suddenly pressed together so hard that Harry could feel Malfoy’s shoulder blades against his collarbone and Harry’s cock was fast against Malfoy’s tailbone, squashed up, and it was uncomfortable, and it felt good. Malfoy groaned, and wriggled, making Harry’s hand flex on his hip, and Harry’s dick twitch against his arse. Malfoy was moaning softly, and Harry really wanted to speak but his throat was closed up. He could feel Malfoy's rapid heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest as his Slytherin gasped for air like he was drowning. Everything felt really, really good, until Malfoy was faltering for air, and stiffening against Harry’s chest, and telling him, thickly, ‘that's it. Stop.’
‘What?’ said Harry, and then he stepped away, bewildered, frightened, feeling his belly drop down to his feet. His hands were high in the air because he didn’t know where to put them if they weren’t on Malfoy, and he felt stupid with his hands in the air, so he let them drop. But then he still didn’t know what to do with them so he thrust them into his pockets. He raised his head tentatively to look at Malfoy.
Who snorted. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Potter.’ His cheeks were pink and his chin was pale and his eyes were very dark. He swallowed, and Harry tried really hard not to stare at the motion of his throat. But he looked down too far, and his eyes fixed on Malfoy’s hips, and the length that was distending the fabric between them. Harry breathed in sharply. ‘We have to talk, Potter.’
‘Uh huh,’ said Harry. He licked his lips.
‘Potter,’ Malfoy said, the exasperation in his voice not quite disguising his satisfaction, ‘I’m not down there.’ He waited several seconds. ‘Potter?’ he said at last, crossing his arms and sneering. ‘It is polite to pretend to look at a person’s face when you are mentally undressing them.’
Harry didn’t want to stop looking at Malfoy’s crotch. He liked the way it jerked and pulsed faster and faster the longer he looked at it. There was a patch of fabric veering up from his hips that was almost soaked, and he smelled really good, even through the fireworks. Like the sea, and Harry had only been in the water that one time with the Weasleys, but oh, god, it smelled fucking good. Like Malfoy right now, salty and musky and Harry took a deep breath, looking up. ‘Yeah?’
‘Why were you hiding, Potter?’ he demanded through gritted teeth. ‘Fuck!’ he spat. ‘Why did you even let me know you were there? Was it an accident? Did you not mean to laugh? I know you want me, Potter, why can’t you just-’
‘I didn’t mean to hide for that long,’ Harry said. He looked down. There were tiny pebbles like black Hundreds and Thousands on the ground, and it took him a dull moment of staring at them to realise that they were the bits of stone from Malfoy’s robes. ‘I just… wanted to watch you.’
There was thick silence, and Harry didn’t want to see Malfoy’s face. He crossed his arms, and if it was partly just to subdue the horridly sharp beating of his heart, no one would ever know.
‘Fucking hell, Malfoy, I’m weird. You should know that by now,’ he burst out, jerking his head up to glare at him.
But Malfoy wasn’t there. He was gone, goddamn it, the bastard, he hadn’t even let Harry explain properly-
There was a presence behind him, and he tried to turn, but there were suddenly two hands fast to the balls of his shoulders, and a long leg was coming in from the back, forcing itself in between his, making them spread wider. And then the hands at his shoulders pulled hard, and the leg angled up, sliding wonderfully against the underside of his balls, and Malfoy swore next to Harry’s ear, breath blowing fever warm against his skin, and said hoarsely, ‘that’s not weird, Potter, that’s fucking hot.’ And Malfoy’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his cock rubbed against Harry’s ass, and it was fucking brilliant. ‘Now Potter,’ Malfoy said breathlessly, ‘we’ve got to lay some basic rules out here because I-I-’ he stuttered when Harry pressed back hard. ‘Refuse to let you take the lead. Because, um,’ Harry wriggled slowly against Malfoy’s front because he knew how much he’d liked the springy feel of Malfoy’s ass against his cock and he wanted to be fair. Hell, he didn’t want to be fair, he just wanted Malfoy to go mental again, all gasping and thrusting and- he gasped himself, and pushed back in little circles against Malfoy’s cock, very aware of every place their bodies were connecting, touching, sliding. ‘Because, um,’ Malfoy whimpered, and his leg kept vibrating nervously under Harry’s balls, and Harry was going slowly mad, and he liked it. He thrust his hips back just a bit faster. ‘Um, it would send the wrong-’ Malfoy gurgled, and his hands gripped painfully tight on Harry’s shoulders, and he’d probably end up with bruises, and he didn’t care. ‘Principle, I mean, ah, message, ahhhhhm-’ he breathed wetly against Harry’s ear, ‘Gryff- Gryffin- dor isn’t, Slytherin’s more, um, do that, yes-’ Harry could feel the pressure building in his balls and he knew he was going to come soon, very soon. Malfoy’s hand suddenly slid along his arm, down his side, and was headed straight for Harry’s cock. Oh, no you don’t, Harry thought with vicious, frantic satisfaction. He whipped Malfoy’s hand away and pivoted in his one-armed grasp, forcing him back a step. Malfoy wasn’t going to get to make Harry come again, oh, no. It was Harry’s turn to do the making around here.
‘You wanted to talk,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Let’s talk.’
Malfoy’s pupil’s were wide and he panted, incredulously, ‘you fucking- tease!’
Harry inclined his head, raising his brows, ‘I’m not the one with trousers so tight that you can see the shape of the head of my cock.’
Malfoy glanced down reflexively, and then looked back up, already pink cheeks darkening. ‘They’re not usually this tight! Anyway, it’s good tailoring! Look at what you’re wearing, Potter, you look like you were raised in a sty - oh, wait-’ his eyes widened exaggeratedly. ‘You were.’
Harry snorted.
Malfoy waited.
Harry looked at him patiently. He was raised in a cage, or close enough, and if he could bear Ron getting jealous of his money and his bloody fame without blowing up every time it happened, he could bear Malfoy saying truthful things about his childhood. Because Malfoy was his. It was kind of like not minding too much when Hedwig pecked him - as long as he deserved it - and he usually did because he had misunderstood her or neglected her or been grumpy - except, um, less pets and more wizards.
Malfoy was staring at him, slightly open-mouthed. He apparently was still expecting Harry to retaliate. Harry rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t like the way I dress and I look like I was raised with pigs. Yes. I heard you. Now,’ he smiled brightly, ‘what did you want to talk about?’
Malfoy looked him warily, and his eyes suddenly widened and he pointed at Harry. ‘You don’t respect me anymore!’ he snarled.
Harry sputtered. ‘What!?’
‘You don’t care, normally you would be jumping at me by now! You- you let me jerk you off and you got what you wanted and you don’t want me anymore!’
Harry’s mouth fell wide open, and he didn’t have the spare energy to shut it. All his concentration was on trying to figure out why in hell Dra- Malfoy thought that and to get him to stop thinking it, right now. ‘Um, um- what!?’
Malfoy’s lips quivered and something was off, something was strange, but Harry was too worried about Malfoy to figure it out. Malfoy had obviously gone off his rocker and Harry would have to help him get back to normal. He took one step toward Malfoy, and then another, and Malfoy buried his head in Harry’s shoulder, shaking. ‘Malfoy,’ he said desperately, patting at his shoulder blades and trying not to notice how good he smelled. ‘It’s okay, really, I do respect you, I just didn’t want to fight, that’s all, really, I, um, don’t cry-’ he pleaded as Malfoy made a horrible choking noise. He had really thought that with a boy, with Malfoy, he wouldn’t have to worry about crying, but it seemed that crying was part of the package with Malfoy, and he would have to learn to look after him properly and keep him well when he felt like this because Malfoy was his and Harry didn’t want him to hurt and he felt so horrible, he wanted to cry too-
Malfoy made another choking noise into Harry’s neck, and Harry rubbed at his back soothingly, noticing, perturbed, that his Slytherin was still rock hard against Harry’s hip. He closed his eyes desperately and tried to ignore the beautiful solid length, and Malfoy rubbed his nose against Harry’s shirt collar, hiccupping as he sobbed harder. ‘There, Malfoy, it’s alright, I promise-’ he began gently, and Malfoy threw his head back, his whole body shaking, and he-
He screamed with laughter. Harry watched him, stunned, as Malfoy lent against the corridor wall, shaking and laughing hysterically and looking so incredibly smug. And yet through the laughter he still managed to taunt Harry, ‘Oh my god, Potter! So, bleeding perfect, fucking, should have seen your face!’
Harry thumped him. Hard. ‘You shit.’
‘Ha-’ he gasped, face red. ‘When you felt my cock, and you tensed up, and then went all, all relaxed like you didn’t notice- and when-’ Malfoy became incapable of completing his sentence as he was consumed with laughter. Again.
Harry regarded him sourly, lips twitching. ‘Your mind is a disturbing place, Malfoy.’
Malfoy flicked tears from his cheeks, but there were still sticky trails on his warm skin, and Harry wanted to lick them. ‘See, Potter, you’re gullible. Naïve. Innocent. Obviously I should take the lead.’
Harry gaped at him. He, Harry, had grown up as a cross beneath a house-elf and an emotional punching bag, had seen people being murdered, had witnessed torture in his dreams, undergone Crucio, been possessed by Voldemort, was training to kill him, and Malfoy, the spoilt little snot, thought he was innocent? He closed his mouth firmly. ‘You are a prat. And furthermore, you are an idiot.’
‘I’m not the one who gets Acceptables in most of his classes.’ Malfoy said smugly.
‘I do not! Besides, Acceptables are fine.’
‘Ha!’ Malfoy snorted, his pale, slightly rosy nose turning up.
‘I do better than you in Transfigurations and Charms and Care of Magical Creatures and Defense!’
Malfoy’s mouth fell open. ‘You do not! My marks are always better!’
‘But you have to try harder to get them,’ Harry pointed out with satisfaction.
‘That’s because you have Granger to help you!’ Malfoy stamped his foot, then looked surprised. He planted his feet very firmly and avoided Harry’s eyes.
Harry snickered. ‘You did shit in our Charms exam last year.’
Malfoy raised his eyes quickly. ‘That was your fault! You looked at me funny!’
‘I did not!’
‘You did too!’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘I did not.’ He smiled.
Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed, cheeks flushing darker. ‘You did too.’
Harry licked his lips. ‘Did not.’
Malfoy swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Did too,’ he said distractedly.
‘Did too,’ Harry said.
‘Did not-’ Malfoy blinked and showed his teeth. ‘Potter!’
Harry grinned. ‘Look who’s gullible.’
‘Shut up,’ Malfoy said. ‘It’s- Potter, you belong to me and I’m not going to let you go. People are eventually going to find out. And it might be… nice for you to occasionally show that you enjoy me having you, but you can’t go around initiating things because I know you, you’ll get into a habit of it and people will misconstrue it and think you’re the man. There’ll be enough of that with you being the fucking Boy who Lived, I’m not going to allow people to think I’m your fucktoy.’
Harry was trying really hard not to snigger. ‘Malfoy!’ he got out. ‘We’re boys. Men. Both of us. At least, I was pretty sure we were this morning, but you know, now that I think of it, I didn’t really get a good look at your cock. Or a look at all.’ He lowered his eyes to consider the tight shape that pressed against the fabric of Malfoy’s pants, and smiled slowly. ‘You know,’ he said quietly. ‘I really should rectify that.’
Malfoy’s face went slack, and his grey eyes turned dark and wet and invitingly shocked. ‘Potter-’ he said, and moved back a step.
Big mistake.
Harry took that step of space back, and then another, and Malfoy made a noise between a moan and a shriek, and back peddled faster. Harry herded him towards a door.
When Malfoy’s shoulder jarred against the handle, he stopped, and gasped, and stared at Harry.
And Harry sniffed at the smell of boy that was like Quidditch and coffee and tea with cream in it, so good and pure and making him hungry, and he licked at Malfoy’s collarbone, getting the fresh-laundered taste of shirt in with the silken salt of his, mine, now, and he twisted his hand around Malfoy’s perfect shoulder, warm and shaking, and turned the doorknob, and Malfoy went stumbling back, and Harry followed.
The room was all ancient desks and darkness, and Harry pushed Malfoy back until he collided with something hard, a desk, and Malfoy scrambled up, the backs of his knees banging painfully against the solid wood. There was panting, and harsh breaths, and Harry was pretty sure it was both of them making those desperate little sounds. He leaned into Malfoy for one soft, soothing moment, until all that was left was lust and need and now, now, now. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asked, and he was not sure what he was asking about.
‘What?’ said Malfoy breathlessly, neck rolling back uncontrollably. ‘What, no, my leg’s alright.’
Then Harry remembered, most of the more uncontrollable waves of lust disintegrating as he recalled the hard thunk of Malfoy’s flesh against the desk. ‘Fuck,’ he said hoarsely, and backed away.
He looked at Malfoy, who was all spread out, legs invitingly sprawled just like when Harry had got back with the ingredients in Potions class. But this time Malfoy didn’t straighten up when he opened his eyes and saw Harry looking at him. ‘Potter-’ he rasped out, and swallowed harshly, Adams apple bobbing on his exposed throat. Vulnerable.
And Harry couldn’t, wouldn’t hurt him. ‘We can’t.’
‘WHAT?! Malfoy reared up, staring at him incredulously. ‘Potter, you fucker!’ He gritted his teeth. ‘You fucking self-sacrificing, shitty, pissy, irritating-’
Harry frowned at him, trying to ignore the twitching in his groin. ‘I’m thinking of you here, you frickin’ berk.’ He turned toward another desk and fished out his wand.
‘If you try to Obliviate me I’m going to kill you with my bare hands!’ Malfoy snarled, spit flying just a bit, and Harry really shouldn’t have found that so hot.
‘Shut up,’ he muttered, and concentrated. A nice passion red would be good, appropriately sexy and also Gryffindor-ish. He swished his wand and performed the incantation, very aware of Malfoy at his exposed back. The desk promptly shifted into the cushiony, backless, armless piece of furniture he’d pictured. Only it wasn’t deep red.
It was green.
Slytherin green.
Harry felt a little embarrassed at this, but decided to pretend he’d meant it to be that colour. Stupid subconscious. He looked back at Malfoy. Who was gaping between Harry and the chair-y thing, looking bewildered. ‘What the fuck?’ he demanded, and Harry noticed his voice was slightly higher than usual.
Harry snorted and held his hand out to help Malfoy down. Malfoy ignored the offer and hopped neatly off the desk, apparently indifferent to his injury. Harry wavered between amusement, worry, and pure lust as he watched Malfoy fussily brushing dust off his robes. ‘Um, like I said,’ he swallowed hard, and the blonde head tilted enquiringly. ‘I mean, we’re not doing any sexy things on a desk. You hurt yourself.’
‘I didn’t hurt myself, you hurt me,’ Malfoy informed him, grabbing Harry’s hand. ‘And you made me think you didn’t want us to-’ he hesitated, and smirked, enunciating the words slowly, ‘do sexy things.’
Harry beamed, eyes lowering. ‘Well, now you know.’ He dragged Malfoy over to the inappropriately green chair, not that Malfoy protested all that much, and made him sit. Malfoy glared up at him, blonde hair mussed by whatever Peeves had done to him, and Harry’s grin threatened to split his face. ‘So cute,’ he couldn’t help muttering.
‘Potter,’ Malfoy said with a look of supreme distaste, blushing madly, ‘I am not cute. I am a tour de force of power, brilliance, and stunning good looks. You will remember that.’
‘Yes, Malfoy,’ Harry said fondly.
‘Don’t look at me like that. It’s disturbing. You look like a Hufflepuff. Why the hell did you Transfigure a desk into an ottoman?’
‘How are your knees?’ Harry demanded.
‘Fine,’ Malfoy told him, gritting his teeth and glaring at him with that look that meant, ‘I am going to pound you into the ground with my bare hands, you worthless excuse for a wizard.’ Only, now, there seemed to be other bare things involved. Like, um, cocks. And balls, and mouths, and hopefully, some point in the future, arses as well, but really very far in the future, Harry thought, because, um, ouch. And also, somewhat, yuck.
‘Are you sure?’ Harry asked doubtfully.
‘Yes,’ Malfoy began, grey eyes flashing as he stared up at Harry, ‘my knees are bloody wonderful, as are the backs of them, which is the part you actually hurt, you anatomically confused, dunderheaded, mental-’
Harry leaned down, and put his tongue in his mouth.
It was very wet, and Malfoy was frozen against him, his chest not even moving, chin poking at Harry’s, Harry’s glasses a little too close to Malfoy’s face. ‘What-’ Malfoy began, or tried to, all that came out was a weird sound like a wail, and the movement of his tongue and his lips felt very nice against Harry’s, but also terrifying, and the sound of Malfoy trying to say that one word made both of their mouths vibrate, and there was such a lot of saliva.
Malfoy drew in a breath, frantically, through his nose, and the warmth of his breath fluttered out over the top of Harry’s lip where the hair was so sparse that he only had to spell it gone once a week, and Harry’s back was sore and he had to move. He pulled his head back a little, and Malfoy gave an inquisitive sound, looking surprised and angry, and Harry tore off his glasses, put them down somewhere, and fell to his knees. It hurt, bones jarring with pain, but he paid no attention, shuffling his knees in between Malfoy’s well-shod feet, and putting one hand on his sleek shoulder, and tilting his head this time.
And this time, the kiss worked. Worked as what, worked how, Harry didn’t know, but it was so different. They were both moving their lips and their tongues, and Malfoy’s teeth were intriguingly hard, and Harry wanted to stay just like this, forever. The sound of their tongues lapping and curling against each other was loud and messy and Malfoy ran his tongue over the roof of Harry’s mouth, and it tickled and felt too sparse, tantalising, like just one spoonful of treacle tart, and he wanted to laugh and he wanted to scream. Malfoy nipped at Harry’s lower lip, and his skin felt like there was too much under it, too much blood, too frantic, and it suddenly wasn’t enough.
He reared back, gasping, and Malfoy was staring at him through glossy, heavily-lidded eyes, and Harry felt like he was going to come on the spot. ‘Ha- Pot-ter,’ Malfoy sighed, hands clutching empty air, a slick of blonde hair swinging over one eye as he lowered his head, and Harry was winging in, attacking his pale throat with fast licks and nips and Malfoy arched his neck, and Harry gripped the neck of his shirt and yanked, and Malfoy’s tie tightened uncomfortably and Harry couldn’t get it undone. Then Malfoy’s fingers were there, trembling and insistent and Harry let go to let him work at the knot, undoing the pearly buttons of Malfoy’s shirt instead and stroking and biting gently at his collarbone. He tasted charcoal and lemons and sea salt and Malfoy squirmed and Harry let out a noise that sounded very much like a moan. ‘Mine,’ he whispered, ‘mine, mine, mine.’
‘What?’ said Malfoy with eyes that were too clear, in control, troubled. Harry growled and took the very loose tie from him, yanking it over his elegant head.
Harry dragged both hands down the clear line from Malfoy’s neck, detouring them to stroke inquisitively at his nipples. They were pale and small and prickled, and Malfoy turned bright red when he tickled them. ‘I’m not a girl, Potter,’ he muttered, ‘and I’m not your dolly, either, so you can stop playing with me like I’m-’ Harry tugged, hard, and Malfoy’s eyes went blind and needy for one shining moment. Then the blindness was gone, and the need was sharper, and Harry left one hand cupped over a nipple and let the other splay, possessive and dark, against the centre of his Slytherin’s pale chest. Right where he wanted it. Malfoy’s heartbeat was fast and strong against the palm of his hand. And his skin was very warm and sleek and silk-soft.
‘You have calluses. I can feel them. You peasant,’ Malfoy whispered.
Harry chuckled. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ Both of his hands were slightly damp against Malfoy’s body, and Harry could see the wet all over Malfoy’s exposed chest, so it wasn’t just Harry who was sweaty and nervous. He leaned forward and licked at Malfoy’s sternum. It was very salty.
‘What is your obsession with licking?’ Malfoy squeaked.
‘I don’t know,’ Harry considered, and took his hands away from Malfoy’s skin.
‘I didn’t tell you to stop!’ Malfoy snarled.
Harry laughed. ‘Sorry,’ he said, but didn’t put his hands back. He settled them on Malfoy’s hips, instead.
‘You’re not a werewolf or something, are you?’
Harry looked down at the shape of Malfoy’s dick. It was straining hard at the cloth, and didn’t seem as concerned at the thought of Harry being a werewolf as Malfoy clearly was. ‘I’m not a werewolf,’ he said, smirking. ‘I do seem to have a bit of an oral fixation, though.’ He looked up, and he could feel his cheeks burning. He raised one eyebrow in challenge. ‘I really should find out if I do.’
‘Huh?’ Malfoy panted, with a stunning lack of his usual intelligence, licking at his swollen lips.
‘Have an oral fixation.’
Malfoy glared at him indignantly. ‘Look, Gryffindor, you can go suck an ice lolly some other time. I don’t have any sweets with me right now and I want to get off.’
Harry snickered and shoved Malfoy’s robes out of the way, undoing his belt. The buckle had a tiny engraving of a snake, and the leather was warm from Malfoy’s body heat. Malfoy gasped and rose up off the ‘ottoman’ and Harry just went with it because it was easier to get Malfoy’s button undone and his zipper- Hmm. No zipper, just a whole lot of covered buttons. Harry undid them patiently enough, and his hands weren’t trembling too badly, and above him Malfoy was making desperate, shocked, perfectly hot noises. Harry pulled down Malfoy’s pants and Malfoy sat down suddenly, and for one infuriating moment Harry couldn’t get rid of the underwear. He had time to notice they were pearl-white, and soft, and probably something more old-fashioned than boxers, but Harry wanted them off, bloody off, now. Malfoy babbled, ‘shit, fucking, shit, what, fucking, you, now,-’ and rose up slightly, and Harry managed to get them down. He gave a satisfied noise, and then he saw Malfoy’s cock for the first time, and he was pretty sure the noise was turning less satisfied and more shell-shocked and just a bit, um, sluttish. Malfoy’s cock wasn’t much different to Harry’s, a bit paler, a bit thinner, a bit longer, but it was Malfoy’s cock. Malfoy’s cock, for God’s sake, and Harry could feel his own prick seeping and jerking in a frantic, needy rhythm. He breathed in harshly, and if Malfoy smelt good before, right now he was better than Honeydukes.
And Harry leant down low, and curved one hand around Malfoy’s side, digging in to help him balance, and he curled his other hand around the base of Malfoy’s cock, fingertips brushing over palest gold ringlets. Malfoy went absolutely still for one frozen moment. Harry looked up, licking his lips, the solid weight in his hand almost familiar, definitely comforting, absurdly terrifying, and Malfoy was staring down at him, refined nostrils flaring with panic. ‘Potter,’ he pointed out, ‘you’re holding my prick.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said, lowering his head, still looking up, and Malfoy’s eyes fluttered. Harry lowered his head still more, and Malfoy swallowed hard, and Harry looked down long enough to note the glossy head and take aim, and then opened his mouth wide and the head slipped in and Harry had his eyes rolled up to see Malfoy’s reaction. Malfoy squeaked, which was nice, and jerked his hips up, which was a bit of a surprise. He didn’t choke, though, and he managed to lick a bit with the thick part of his tongue. It was more of a massage, really, because there wasn’t a lot of room in Harry’s mouth anymore. It was salty, less bitter than he’d expected, but he’d only ever tasted his own come. Not pre-come. His teeth touched Malfoy’s cock as he relaxed his mouth a bit, and Malfoy shrieked, and it didn’t sound like a good noise. His face looked closed off and pained. Harry slid his mouth off with a pop. ‘Teeth aren’t good, then?’ Malfoy shook his head adamantly and Harry winced apologetically. When he put his mouth back over Malfoy’s cock he had his lips curled over his teeth and it felt rather uncomfortable and awkward, but he wanted to do this, and he didn’t want to hurt him. Malfoy’s cock had shrunk a bit after the Teeth Incident and he got a third of it in before it swelled back to full hardness. The feeling of it expanding was strange and hot and Harry knew something that big wasn’t meant to fit in his mouth if he wasn’t chewing it, so he wasn’t surprised that he was salivating so much. He hoped Malfoy didn’t mind all the slobber. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling, trying not to squirm, trying not to come right away because God that would be embarrassing, and his throat relaxed and Malfoy’s cock was suddenly halfway down his throat, impossibly thick, throbbing, jerking uncontrollably, and Harry’s mouth was touching his knuckles. He panted through his nose, Malfoy was really musky, fuck, opening his eyes to watch Malfoy’s pubic hair tremble with the disturbed air, and he could feel drool dribbling out the sides of his mouth, and his jaw hurt, and it was good, and he rolled his eyes up, damn, yes. Malfoy was staring down at him, hands clutching hard at the green cushioning to keep from thrusting, short, high noises coming from his throat, face contorting, and Harry tightened his lips around his cock and swallowed, hard, feeling his muscles contract around the thickness. He flexed his fingers, the ones digging into Malfoy’s side, and the ones around his cock, and Malfoy groaned. Grey eyes were sliding closed and open rapidly, and that blonde head shook from side to side, and a whimper slid from that slack, pink mouth.
‘Oh, fuckin’ hell, Pot-’
Harry sucked really hard, and swallowed, and let his head ease back, cock sliding wetly out of his throat, licking at the quivering slit in the tip, and then he moved his head forward again, and Malfoy shook, and Harry swallowed around the constriction in his throat.
Malfoy shrieked, and Harry felt his balls shiver under his chin, and hot fluid was shooting down his throat. It felt very thick, like tomato soup, and Harry felt all warm and astonished and smug and tense. ‘Oh, crap, oh, crap,’ Malfoy panted, opening his eyes and staring down at Harry in a rather befuddled approximation of awe.
Harry slid Malfoy’s prick very carefully out of his mouth, licking most of the messiness off as he backed away. He skimmed his hand over his face, collecting the dribble and errant streak of come and shoving it all back on his tongue. He swallowed it, salt and bitter and water, hands shaking. Malfoy looked half-asleep, and Harry had absolutely no sense of common decency right now, so he yanked his jeans down and grabbed his own cock. It’d only take a stroke or two, and Malfoy would probably laugh, but oh, fuck, he had to come now.
Malfoy stared down at him, legs spread slack and wide, and then he growled low in his throat and launched himself at Harry. Harry was forced flat on the floor, stupid cock too happy that Malfoy was leaning on him to care that he was being attacked. Malfoy’s hand gripped Harry’s throat, and Harry was going to pass out, and Malfoy’s hand slid down to grip his shoulder. And Malfoy wriggled. ‘Fuck,’ Harry managed, and Malfoy slid down his body like a snake, hands finding holds on his chest, then his ribs, then his hips.
‘Mine,’ Malfoy muttered furiously, ‘mine, not yours,’ and who would have thought that Malfoy would have been jealous of Harry’s own hand? Not Harry, that was for sure. But he wasn’t complaining because Malfoy’s hand on his cock felt much nicer than his own, slick, and long fingered, and just a bit cooler than his flesh. And Harry knew Malfoy was good at this, knew he’d done it brilliantly the first time, but Malfoy didn’t seem content with his hand on Harry’s skin, grunting and wriggling down further. Harry thought about telling Malfoy he was one second from coming, but then Malfoy put his pale mouth on Harry’s too-dark cock, and Harry just about died. He shook, and he gasped, and Malfoy sucked him up like a bloody Hoover, and Harry felt the pressure building impossibly high, and he broke. He squirmed and he thrashed and he came in hot pulses against the back of Malfoy’s throat, whimpering uncontrollably.
Malfoy slid his mouth off Harry, teeth sliding against his cock, which was probably in revenge for before. But it didn’t hurt Harry at all, just felt really intense and good and too much. He sighed out a fascinated, shuddering breath. Malfoy stared along the length of his torso at him, smirking, and Harry managed to raise his eyebrows in return. Malfoy’s head flopped down bonelessly onto Harry’s naked hip. ‘Mine,’ he reminded hoarsely.
‘Eungh,’ Harry agreed.
They lay there until they got cold, Malfoy’s blonde head brushing needlessly and deliberately against Harry’s again-interested cock until Harry growled and Malfoy snickered at him. ‘We should get back to our dormitories,’ Malfoy said.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry.
Neither moved.
Malfoy shivered, and Harry pushed his head onto his leg so he could zip up his jeans. Malfoy squinted up at him with sleepy disgruntlement. ‘Fuck, Harry,’ he muttered, and Harry almost castrated himself. He zipped up more carefully and stared down at his Slytherin. Who was yawning and rubbing his hand along Harry’s leg and obviously hadn’t a clue that he’d just called Harry by his first name. Harry stood up reluctantly. He pulled Malfoy up and helped him with his trouser buttons. Malfoy slouched and leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder. ‘Where’s my tie?’ he demanded. Harry spotted it on the floor and bent to grab it and his glasses. Malfoy put a hand on his arse, which was incredibly shocking because he hadn’t been expecting it. ‘Very round, aren’t you?’ Malfoy asked him.
Harry chuckled and straightened. ‘I think it’s past someone’s bedtime.’ He turned to face Malfoy, who glared at him and tore his tie out of his hand.
‘Shut up, Potter.’
Harry slid his spectacles on, grinning, and Malfoy glowered as he efficiently knotted his tie. Harry turned and unTransfigured the desk to its original state. A warm, shivering body affixed itself to his back. Long, lean arms wound about his waist. ‘If you were a Slytherin you could come sleep in my bed.’
Harry leaned back into the taller form. ‘If I was a Slytherin you would be sleeping in my bed, Malfoy, and there would be no coulds about it.’
Malfoy stiffened against him and for a moment Harry thought he was royally pissed. Then he rose on tiptoes so he could tuck Harry’s head under his chin. ‘If you were a Slytherin your bed would be custom-made for you. It’d be too short for me, so you’d have to sleep in my bed.’
‘Unless I just made you bear the inconvenience,’ Harry told him softly. Malfoy snorted. ‘Or I could commandeer your bed as my own, and it would be plenty comfortable enough.’
‘It would still be my bed, though.’
‘Not if I made you beg me to take it.’
Malfoy shifted, prick full and hard at the small of Harry’s back, and then he slid down onto the balls of his feet, cock lowering with the rest of his body, dragging against Harry’s cleft in a way that was worrying and impossibly hot. ‘You couldn’t make me beg, Potter.’
‘Is that a bet, Malfoy?’ Harry asked, and grinned nervously into the darkness.
Malfoy made a quiet, strangled noise, and then he was spinning away. Harry turned to see him doing up the last of his shirt buttons and blushing madly.
‘You want me to make you beg, don’t you?’ he teased. He felt powerful; fragile. Malfoy looked at him then, and his eyes were dark and hard. Harry shivered. ‘Um, we should get back to our dormitories,’ he reminded.
Malfoy looked him up and down, and smirked deeply. ‘Yes,’ he said, and grabbed Harry by the hips, thrusting their bodies together. ‘We should get back to our dormitories,’ he agreed, and bit Harry’s lower lip, and slid his tongue over the hurt, and held Harry up when he felt like he was going to fall. ‘So we’ll go back to our dormitories,’ he smirked and looked down at the shape of Harry’s hard cock, ‘right now.’
‘Bastard,’ Harry said.
Malfoy snickered and let him go, and took his hand. They pushed open the door of the classroom, and they walked out into the hallway. There was a clump of streamers on the floor and the air still smelled like fireworks. Malfoy was going to walk Harry to his dormitory, but Harry said it was okay because he wanted to walk Malfoy to his door, and Harry reminded him that he was stubborn as fuck and they didn’t really have time to hang about in the corridor and discuss it.
Malfoy chose to think that Harry was walking him home because the Slytherin dormitories were further away than the Gryffindors’, thus giving them more time together.
Harry chose not to dissuade him.
After all, Malfoy didn’t really need to hear that if he got anywhere near the Fat Lady’s portrait, Harry was very likely to shove him through and force Malfoy to cuddle him in his warm, very Gryffindor-ish bed all night.
He didn’t want to leave him at the Slytherin dormitories. He didn’t want to go back to his own bed all by himself. He wanted to shove Malfoy up against that very handy wall and just rub. He was sure there’d be enough friction to keep them warm.
But Malfoy needed sleep. And Harry didn’t want to deprive him of anything. He let him go and turned away, not watching him whisper the password and creep in, because he didn’t want to tempt himself to do something stupid like creep in after him and hold him and never let him go.
It was too early for that.
He walked quickly up the stairs toward his own bed, biting his lip, ecstatic and nervous and wide awake. But he slipped into his bed and he closed his eyes, and he tried to sleep. But he couldn’t. He was too happy.
For now, Malfoy belonged to Harry, and Harry was going to make damned sure Malfoy knew it, and try his damnedest to wind himself and Malfoy so close together that Malfoy wouldn’t even think of being with anyone else. Harry needed all of Malfoy in his life, the sweet and the sour, and he was going to get him.
When Harry got through with him, the Slytherin was going to fucking hold his hand in public. And bitch about it, of course.
Because Malfoy was Harry’s, every last delectable, cruel, vulnerable part of him. Harry kept what belonged to him.
And he took good care of it, too.
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