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dysonrulesWOOT! I've been so productive today. Too bad I can't bottle this and use it on the days I spent 9 hours watching You Tube instead of writing.
BUT I DIGRESS. This was supposed to have been done by my birthday, but I was busy with Smoochfest for a few months. DOH. But I don't mind extending my birthday into another month, so here it is, finally, Part Four. And no, it's not over. This series might never end. LOL!
Harry lay in bed and touched his fingers to the painful bite mark on his throat. He wondered how he was going to explain it to Ron and Hermione and then scowled at himself for even considering the idea of keeping the lesion. He needed to heal the fucking thing and be done with it.
He groped on the bed for his wand and closed his hand around it, fully intending to do just that. The tip of his wand poked into his tender flesh when he pressed it against the wound, making him wince. It really hurt, and yet… Harry’s breath caught when he remembered Malfoy biting him, thrusting into him with a combination of pleasure and pain, fisting Harry’s cock with every movement.
Harry dropped his hand back to the bed with a groan and released his wand. He would keep it only for the night. Just for the memory, which should have been disturbing. Harry should have felt ashamed. He should have been bloody mortified at offering himself to Draco Malfoy, of all people, like an idiotic sacrifice. Harry had begged to be fucked, for the love of Godric.
He shoved himself back against the pillows, half-sitting, and banging his head against the headboard with the motion. He frowned as a minor headache joined the throbbing pain in his neck. It should have helped to distract him from memories of Malfoy, but apparently nothing could accomplish that. Harry’s cock was already stiffening.
His arse ached every time he moved, but he didn’t bother to heal the raw flesh there, either. He deserved to be tortured for being obsessed with Malfoy. It was definitely an obsession—there was no other word for it. Harry thought about him constantly, dreamed about him at night, fantasized about being touched and licked and fucked— He banged his head against the headboard harder with a growl of frustration.
None of his dorm mates awakened. Harry had cast a Silencing Charm when he’d climbed into bed, sensing he would need it for the verbal tongue-lashing he planned to give himself for succumbing to utter stupidity. Malfoy was probably bragging to Blaise Zabini right now, explaining in graphic detail how he had…
Harry’s legs fell open and he moaned, arsehole throbbing as he remembered Malfoy’s fingers deep inside him, knowing exactly what to do to make Harry fall apart. Harry should have been sated, but his cock pushed hot and heavy against his pyjama bottoms, quivering at the memory of Malfoy’s hand on it, stroking and twisting.
Harry shoved his hand past the waistband and took his prick in hand, thinking of the way Malfoy had dragged his fingers over Harry’s testicles, teasing them before finger-fucking him, and then fucking him in earnest, hard and fast and almost brutally.
Harry stroked himself twice and came, arching off the bed and feeling his toes curl at the force of it. He sagged against the pillows and splayed his hand over the mess with another groan.
“That’s it, then,” he muttered. “I’ve gone mad. I’ll spend the rest of my life doing nothing but thinking of Malfoy and wanking.”
Then again, his life could end tomorrow, when he would find out whether or not Malfoy had kept their little secret, or whether Harry would have to kill himself.
XXX
Draco poked at the sausage on his plate, nudging it against his toast. Potter was late. Granger and the Weasel were already well into their respective breakfasts and there was no sign of their leader. Draco pushed down a burst of anxiety. Was Potter all right? Had the idiot been set upon in the forest after Draco had left him?
He shoved the thought away. Of course Potter was fine. Weasley would have noticed if his best friend had gone missing during the night, wouldn’t he? Draco’s eyes drifted from the Gryffindor table back to his own and he caught Pansy watching him with a speculative look. Damn her and her pesky knack for noticing everything, or at least noticing everything associated with Draco.
“You’re not eating,” she commented.
“Not hungry,” he replied, which was true. The memory of the night before was doing odd things to his insides, causing him to feel alternately hot and cold, and altogether out of sorts. He had barely slept, replaying the scene over and over, and reliving key portions that he did not want to forget, such as Potter straddling him, pants shoved down to expose his miraculous cock, and the look in his eyes when he begged—begged—Draco to fuck him.
“Are you all right?” Pansy asked sharply.
Draco nearly knocked over his glass of juice reaching for it. He took a gulp, knowing it would be useless against the fire burning in the pit of his stomach, but it gave him a moment to try to collect himself. He set the glass down, taking extra care so ensure his hand did not shake.
“I’m fine,” he said. He meant to elaborate, but at that moment, Harry Potter walked into the room and Draco’s thoughts scattered to the four winds.
Potter should have looked as ragged as Draco felt. He should have looked wrecked, damn it all. Instead, Potter looked amazing. His hair was still damp from an evident shower or bath—Draco tried valiantly not to picture either scenario—and he wore his school robes with a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck.
Wrapped around his neck.
The green eyes shot immediately to his, which was gratifying, especially when a delicate blush tinted Potter’s cheeks, something that must have annoyed him, because Potter looked away and marched to his usual place at the Gryffindor table next to the Weasel.
Draco could not take his eyes away from Potter’s scarf. It was not a typical look for the Gryffindor hero. If Potter wore it at all, it was usually draped casually over his shoulders. One of his minions must have said something about it, for Potter raised a hand to touch the portion at his throat, lips moving as he spoke, and his eyes shot to Draco’s once more.
Salazar, it could only mean one thing. Potter had not healed Draco’s bite mark. A rush of something primal surged through Draco’s blood, causing his fists to clench in his lap. His short nails dug into his palms as he tried to process the stunning knowledge that Potter still wore Draco’s mark of ownership. Why?
Draco’s cock was half-hard and he could barely breathe. He remembered sinking his teeth into Potter’s throat and coming, coming, coming… Merlin.
Something painful gouged into Draco’s ribs and he turned with an oath on his lips to see Pansy glaring at him. She leaned close to him and hissed, “All right, Draco, you will tell me what is going on with you and Potter and you will tell me everything. ”
Draco could not even form coherent words to deny her accusation.
Fuck.
XXX
Muscle by muscle, Harry relaxed. There had been no catcalls when he entered the Great Hall, and no out-of-the-ordinary behaviour from the Slytherin table. Harry had been unable to keep his eyes from Malfoy, whose gaze fixed on him with such rapt intensity that it nearly stopped him in his tracks. Only the knowledge that doing so would draw unwanted attention kept Harry’s feet moving toward the Gryffindor table.
Hermione had glanced curiously at him as he sat down and he had lifted a hand lamely to the scarf around his neck. “Um… cold.”
He glanced back at the Slytherin table to find Malfoy still watching him. Harry felt his cheeks heat—again—and looked at Hermione from the corner of his eye to see if she had noticed, because she generally noticed everything. Luckily, Ron had dragged a sleeve through the butter and she was chastising him and paying Harry no mind.
Harry tried to put the blond prat out of his mind by filling his plate with food, but he could not stop a quick glance in Malfoy’s direction, only to find the Slytherin scowling while Pansy Parkinson leaned close to natter in his ear. She glared at Harry, who quickly looked away and busied himself building a sandwich with toast and bacon. He was not particularly hungry, but the knots formerly wrapped around his stomach had loosened slightly and he felt he could eat without experiencing nausea.
Harry made it through breakfast with only a few more furtive looks toward the Slytherin table. Malfoy seemed to have occupied himself, and Harry did not catch the blond watching him again.
Harry’s first class was History of Magic and he spent most of class reliving his last encounter with Malfoy, until the tightness in his trousers reminded him why that was a very bad idea. The next class was Care of Magical Creatures and Harry was alternately excited and panicked at the thought of being so close to Malfoy, even though the distance between them would be relatively great—the Slytherins might well have been on another planet, so far they stayed from the Gryffindor group.
On the way to the place chosen by Hagrid for their latest lesson—a shrub-infested patch of woods near the lake—Harry lagged behind Ron and Hermione, only half-listening as they argued about whether or not the marble in the Great Hall had been imported from France or native quarries. Harry knew Ron was only arguing for the sake of doing so; they both knew Hermione had read Hogwarts, A History more than once.
A sudden, bizarre compulsion forced Harry off the path and into the woods. He walked several long strides, trying to stop himself, before seizing up against a familiar, hard chest. His fingers instinctively clutched at the figure to steady himself, twisting in dark Hogwarts robes as his eyes met stormy silver.
“Malfoy,” he breathed and then mentally kicked himself for the breathless quality of his voice.
Harry felt a sting as the scarf was wrenched away from his neck.
“I thought I told you not to cover it up,” Malfoy said roughly as his eyes went to the bruise on Harry’s throat.
Harry actually felt a moment of guilt before he scowled and forced it away. He pushed Malfoy roughly, not loosening his grip on the robes, shoving the blond off balance. Malfoy’s back hit a tree trunk, drawing a surprised wince from the Slytherin.
“You don’t own me, Malfoy,” Harry said and then sprang forward and kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss and he half-expected Malfoy to heave him back in a fit of anger. Harry’s mouth devoured Malfoy’s and, despite everything, the taste of him was blissful.
Malfoy wrenched his mouth away, although it took far longer than Harry had anticipated.
“Fuck you, Potter,” he said, but his voice was rough and he lowered his head to press his lips against the mark on Harry’s throat. A fresh twinge of pain shot through Harry… all the way to his cock. He gasped and pushed his hips forward, ramming their pelvises together. Harry hoped the rough bark of the tree scraped Malfoy’s back.
Malfoy grunted, but only opened his mouth to bite down on the wound even as his hands clenched around Harry’s arse, fingers digging in painfully.
Harry moaned at the renewed sensation and ground himself against Malfoy, whose erection was a welcome pressure upon his own. The fact that Malfoy was just as turned on, just as ready for it, made it difficult for Harry to regain control. He wanted nothing more than to… His fingers slid downward and tore at Malfoy’s shirt, pulling it from his trousers. Harry needed to touch him.
Malfoy only gasped a little when Harry’s cold hands reached beneath the fabric to touch the bare skin of his midriff. Harry dragged the shirt upward roughly, higher and higher, exposing Malfoy’s torso until his pink nipples were visible. He felt Malfoy’s cock twitch; obviously the Slytherin anticipated what was to come.
Harry smirked a little as he lowered his head and bent his knees, regretting the loss of pressure against his cock, but delighting in Malfoy’s response when Harry finally closed his mouth around one of his nipples.
A groan tore from Malfoy’s throat and his hands convulsed. Fuck, but his sensitive nipples were a source of endless delight for Harry, even when he wasn’t wearing them by benefit of Polyjuice Potion.
Harry’s thumb trailed over Malfoy’s firm abdomen and then he slid his hand down until his palm pressed against Malfoy’s erection. Harry looked up at Malfoy, who watched him through half-lidded grey eyes. Harry considered opening his trousers to swallow him down. There was nothing more erotic than the thought of Draco Malfoy coming undone in broad daylight.
The sound of voices froze their tableau and then Harry straightened to plaster himself against Malfoy and brush his lips over Mafloy’s ear. “Not here. Come inside with me.”
Malfoy pushed at him, but ineffectively, as if it were only a reflex. “What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you, Potter?” he murmured. His voice contained its customary sneer.
Harry’s teeth nipped at Malfoy’s earlobe and tugged. “The fact that you spelled me over here was a clue.”
“I—” Malfoy’s probable denial was cut off when Harry squeezed his cock gently, reminding him what lay in store inside. Malfoy made a breathy noise and then said, “Fuck, let’s go.”
Harry regretfully pushed away from his blond nemesis, took a shaky step toward the path, and then halted.
“What?” Malfoy snapped.
“Here,” Harry said and slung his book bag onto the ground. He reached in and pulled out his invisibility cloak before straightening and draping it over Malfoy’s shoulders. “We can’t be seen together.”
“Of course not,” Malfoy snarled. Harry frowned, wondering if he had imagined the hint of regret in Malfoy’s voice and decided he had. It was impossible to tell now that Malfoy was invisible.
“Come on,” Harry said and picked up his bag before pushing back through the undergrowth. He reached the path and nearly ran straight into Ron.
“Oi, there you are. Hermione sent me to find you. What are you up to and will it get us out of this class?”
Harry was glad he still held his bag; he used it as a shield to hide his quickly diminishing, but still evident, erection.
“Actually, I don’t feel well,” Harry said, listening intently to hear if Malfoy was still nearby. He had been close enough to bump into Harry while they walked, but now there was no sign of him. Harry hoped the blond hadn’t abandoned him in order to utilize the invisibility cloak for his own nefarious purpose. Merlin, he should never have given Malfoy the cloak. How could he have been so stupid? He concentrated on Ron. “I think I’ll go back to the dorm and lie down. Might be something I ate. Hope it’s not a stomach bug.”
Ron had seemed about to offer to escort Harry, but at the mention of possible contagion, he took a quick step back, hands raised.
“Yeah, you might want to go lie down. Or go to the hospital wing. If it’s catching, you don’t want to take it back to the dorm, you know?”
Harry nodded, trying to look faint. “Good idea. Tell Hermione and Hagrid, yeah?”
Ron’s head jerked affirmative and then he turned away. “Good luck, mate.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and quickly turned around. He took two steps, intending to hurry to his room and grab the Marauder’s Map in order to locate Malfoy.
“Merlin, Potter! Watch where you’re going!” Malfoy hissed as Harry walked straight into his invisible form and nearly sent himself sprawling. He straightened and glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed him walking into something invisible. To his relief, no one was in sight other than Ron, who hadn’t stopped his trek back to class.
“I can’t watch where I’m going when you’re invisible!” Harry muttered. “You’ll have to do the watching!”
“Fine. Lead the way, then, so I’ll at least have something interesting to look at.”
Harry stepped around the spot from which Malfoy’s voice emanated and asked, “Was that a compliment?”
“I’m only suggesting that your arse is the best part of you,” Malfoy said dryly.
Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. “You’re such a tosser,” he managed to say without venom.
“A tosser you’d like to fuck,” Malfoy retorted.
Harry sucked in a breath and had to force himself to keep walking. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, I would, at that.”
To his surprise, Malfoy said nothing. Harry concentrated on the sound of his footfalls crunching on the gravel as they neared the castle. There was only one place he could take Malfoy at this time of day. He could only hope it wasn’t presently occupied.
Harry walked without stopping, despite several students greeting him when they passed. He climbed to the seventh floor, cursing the distance and hoping Malfoy didn’t give up and leave by the time they got there. He paused before the blank wall that hid the magical portal.
“Wait here,” Harry said.
“The Room of Hidden Things?” Malfoy’s voice scoffed. “We can barely move in there, Potter.”
“Just wait,” Harry said, unable to stop a smirk from forming at the knowledge that Malfoy did not know the full extent of the room’s abilities. He walked back and forth three times, concentrating hard. He had a difficult time believing that Malfoy was here, with him, willing to do… what they were about to do. It made it hard for him to focus. And hell, it just made him hard.
The door appeared and Harry sighed with relief before stepping forward and turning the handle. After a quick glance inside, he opened the door and made a grandiose gesture with one hand. “After you.”
He heard a rustle of sound as Malfoy went inside, and then a gasp. Malfoy’s blond head appeared, and then the rest of him as he removed Harry’s cloak. Harry shut the door with finality and cast an absent Locking Charm on it, just in case the Room decided to allow the door to appear to anyone seeking a similar chamber.
“How did you know this was here? What happened to the Room of Hidden Things?”
“The room actually provides whatever you need. You only see it as a secret storage closet, so that is what you think about in order to open the door. In actuality, the room can become whatever you want.” Harry admitted to sounding a bit smug at knowing something Malfoy didn’t know.
“Interesting boudoir, Potter,” Malfoy allowed after taking it in.
Harry was rather proud of it, himself. He had based it on a photo he had stared at a thousand times as a child, found in a book his Aunt Petunia left prominently displayed on the tea table in the Dursleys’ living room. As far as Harry knew, he was the only one that had ever looked at the book.
Harry’s recreation of a bedchamber from the famous Kensington Palace was probably not historically accurate, but it would do for his purpose, which was to get Draco Malfoy naked. Harry strode forward with determination and stopped just behind Malfoy, almost touching, but not quite.
“I don’t really care about our surroundings,” Harry said. “And I doubt you do, either.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s waist and pulled him back until their bodies were flush against each other. Malfoy tensed, but Harry pressed a kiss against the side of his neck, then another, and another, moving slowly and teasingly until Malfoy relaxed and actually leaned back against him.
Harry’s hands had been slowly caressing Malfoy’s torso, moving in long, slow strokes from his collarbone to his waistband and back again, gliding over Malfoy’s sensitive nipples until they were hard peaks. Harry’s cock was hard against Malfoy’s arse and he barely resisted the urge to rut against him.
His hands moved back to Malfoy’s collar once more and then stopped there in order to tease open the buttons of his shirt, moving from one to the next until the white material gaped open. Harry’s fingers touched bare skin and he repeated his previous motions, sliding up and down over Malfoy’s flesh this time and plucking at his nipples when his fingers passed over them. A soft moan tore from Malfoy’s throat, making the blood surge to Harry’s cock, which was suddenly aching with the need to be touched.
“Take your shoes off,” Harry murmured against Malfoy’s ear.
Malfoy immediately put more weight against Harry as he balanced on one heel to nudge off his shoes. The movement caused his arse to grind against Harry’s cock and he braced himself to keep them from falling backward. When Malfoy’s shoes were off, Harry reached for his waistband and quickly unfastened his school trousers, absently noting that they were much easier to remove from this angle because it was just like taking off his own.
They fell to the floor and Harry placed his palm over Malfoy’s cock, pushing lightly to give him a taste of the torture Harry had been feeling. At the touch, combined with Malfoy’s breathy gasp, Harry forgot everything but his need to have Malfoy naked against him. His other hand dove into Malfoy’s pants and touched the velvety heat of Malfoy’s cock, feeling wetness streak over his palm. His fingers curled around it and pulled.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Harry said through clenched teeth. It was wretchedly unfair that no one but Malfoy made him feel so electrified, so alive, and so fucking whole. He stroked again, and then again, wanting nothing more than to make Malfoy come undone beneath his hands.
Except that he did want something more.
“Bed,” he rasped, barely able to speak. “Get on the bed.”
Malfoy hesitated for only a moment, but Harry hadn’t released his prick and gave it a teasing squeeze that seemed to decide the Slytherin. He stepped out of his trousers and allowed his pants to fall to the floor as he took the last few strides to the bed. He sprawled on it and rolled over to face Harry, still wearing his unbuttoned white shirt and Slytherin tie.
Harry tore off his own clothing with record speed, possibly destroying some of the seams in his haste. His eyes never left Malfoy and he wondered how the bastard managed to look so cool and collected even while mostly naked with his cock jutting from a tangle of blond curls. Harry salivated at the sight, wanting it in his mouth, which was all sorts of wrong.
“Leave the tie on,” Malfoy said as Harry was about to wrench it free. He hesitated and then shrugged and let his shirt fall to the floor, quickly joined by his briefs. He flushed for only a moment as Malfoy’s eyes went to his cock. He hadn’t bothered to change the lighting in the room, so the windows simulated the conditions outside and lit the room with sunlight.
Harry did not wait for Malfoy to speak, but instead strode forward and launched himself at the Slytherin, knocking him flat and then snogging him breathless. The feel of Malfoy’s hot skin against his was incredible. Memories of the previous night assaulted him and he allowed his hands to roam over the flesh he had thought he’d never touch again. He wanted to know why Malfoy had sought him out, but he was terrified to ask, knowing such a foolish question would likely drive him away, if he even knew the answer. After all, Harry had no idea why he wanted Malfoy. He only knew that he did.
Harry’s hands touched and Malfoy’s did the same, raking his short nails over Harry’s back and drawing a startled shout from him as he raised his head to stare down at the smirking Slytherin.
Harry glared. “What was that for?”
Instead of replying, Malfoy moved his hands downward until he cupped Harry’s arse. His fingers slipped into the gap and two digits pushed against Harry’s raw hole, which quivered. His cock twitched and Malfoy chuckled. “Ready for more, Potter?”
Harry was, even though he made an irritated sound. “I thought I was fucking you.”
“Malfoys don’t—” He didn’t finish the statement and Harry thought he heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Harry kissed him and then said, “I don’t plan to take an ad out in the Daily Prophet.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, it would sully your reputation, wouldn’t it? Fucking a Death Eater.”
Harry sat back on his haunches, genuinely annoyed. He grabbed both of Malfoy’s wrists, dragging his hands away from his arse. He lifted them and pretended to study them, even though he knew Malfoy’s body as well as his own. Malfoy tried to jerk away, but Harry held fast. “I don’t see any Dark Mark.”
Malfoy’s mouth twisted. “You know what I mean.” He yanked again and Harry let go. Malfoy’s hands fell on the bed to land on either side of his head.
“What about you?” Harry asked. “I’m surprised you haven’t told everyone in your house.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” Malfoy’s gaze was challenging.
Harry rolled his eyes. “You Slytherins like to think you’re good at keeping secrets, but something like this? No way could Zabini keep from looking smug and making rude comments. And Parkinson isn’t much better.” In truth, he wasn’t sure how close Malfoy was to the girl. It was possible he had told her.
“Something like this?” Malfoy repeated with a sneer. “You have a high opinion of yourself, Potter. It’s just a fuck.”
Harry’s jaw clenched as he bit back a retort. It stung, even though he knew it was true. His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, and you fucked the number one target of your precious Dark Lord. Did you send him an owl? Think he’ll give you a bonus? Or will you get your evil tattoo that much faster?”
Malfoy’s eyes flashed fire and his legs moved as he swung them over Harry angrily and sat up, obviously preparing to leave. Harry shoved him back against the bed and sprawled over him, grabbing at the thrashing arms that were trying to hit him.
“Wait!” Harry cried. He caught Malfoy’s wrists again and slammed them onto the bed. Malfoy bucked beneath him and Harry used his legs to lever himself over until Malfoy was trapped, feet on the floor and back flat on the bed with Harry half-crushing him. “Wait,” Harry repeated in a softer tone.
Malfoy stilled, glaring with thinly veiled rage.
“We should have known better than to talk,” Harry said quietly and kissed him again.
Malfoy’s teeth sank into his lip, drawing blood. Harry winced, but did not pull away. He deepened the kiss and loosened his grip on Malfoy’s arms. When Malfoy’s thrashing was not renewed, he let go and tucked his hands into the blond hair, massaging gently, as though trying to calm a raging beast.
Malfoy lay still, not returning Harry’s coppery-tasting kisses. Stubborn, Harry thought with near-amusement, and took one hand from Malfoy’s hair to slide it down his neck and over a ridged collarbone, heading for a sensitive nipple. Before he reached it, Malfoy’s hands curled in Harry’s hair and jerked his head upright with a sharp tug.
The grey eyes were still storm-filled. “I top,” he said firmly.
Harry chuckled. “All right.” It really didn’t matter. He wondered if arguing with Malfoy would always be a reflex.
The hands in his hair relaxed. “Get off me, you oaf.”
Harry obliged, rolling over and sprawling in the centre of the huge bed. In the opulent surroundings, when Malfoy crawled between his legs, Harry suddenly felt like royalty of centuries past, being serviced by his stableboy. He decided to keep that particular fantasy to himself, doubting Malfoy would be at all amused by the comparison.
“Why such a smug expression, Potter?”
Harry raised a hand and cupped Malfoy’s face. “Because you’re here.”
Malfoy’s features flushed and his pale lashes dropped to hide his eyes as his lips narrowed. “God, you’re annoying.” Harry stared at him in bemusement for a moment and wondered what was going on in that Slytherin brain of his. There were so many more facets to Malfoy than he had ever dreamed.
“I know. Need your wand?”
Malfoy shot a glance at the floor and Harry wondered if he had broken some cardinal rule by allowing himself to be parted from his wand while in the presence of his “enemy”. Harry pursed his lips—wincing at the painful reminder of Malfoy’s bite—and knew he would received the verbal thrashing of his life if any of his friends, or members of the Order, knew where he was right now, with his own wand trapped in his jeans several feet away.
Malfoy climbed off the bed and retrieved his dark wand—hawthorn, Harry remembered—and then returned.
“Still eager, I see,” Malfoy commented, looking at Harry’s erection, which twitched beneath the perusal.
“Yeah, so get on with it,” Harry replied.
As if to be contrary, Malfoy slipped his fingers beneath Harry’s cock and lifted it with his left hand almost gingerly, as though the very act of touching another man’s prick was anathema, which it probably was, and then he tapped it with the tip of his wand.
Harry should have been frightened—or at least concerned—at the very idea of allowing Draco Malfoy anywhere near his private parts with a wand, but for some reason he barely felt a twinge of unease. Perhaps it had something to do with Malfoy’s expression, intense and filled with something that was definitely not malice.
His lack of anxiety seemed justified when thick, cool liquid trickled from the end of the wand and covered Harry’s cock and Malfoy’s fingers. Malfoy rubbed the lubricant over Harry’s cock, seeming determined to cover all of it and send Harry back to the brink of orgasm with the sensation. He bit his ravaged lip to cover a moan.
Malfoy smirked and moved his hand lower, to perform the same treatment on Harry’s overly sensitive testicles. Fucking hell, it was brilliant. Malfoy cupped and rolled them in his hand and Harry arched beneath him, legs falling open wider. Slick fingers moved even lower and another jet of lubricant shot out to sooth his receptive hole. It stung for a moment, and then Harry gasped as Malfoy’s finger circled it once before plunging inside.
Harry shut his eyes, both to concentrate on the sensation and shut out Malfoy’s potentially smug expression. A second finger followed, and then a third before Harry was quite ready for it. He jerked at the burn, but Malfoy’s impatience was something he would have to get accustomed to if he planned to keep it up—and he had no intention of following that idea any farther at the moment.
His hips rose involuntarily as Malfoy’s fingers moved in and out, seeking something, and Harry could not hold back a sharp cry when a fourth finger joined the others—it was too much, too soon—his hands convulsed on the spread, gripping the material.
“Shhh,” Malfoy said gently, “You can take it. Relax.”
Harry tried, but his body tried to expel Malfoy’s fingers, which felt like burning coals and Harry wished they would just stop moving for a moment. “Fuck you,” he said, knowing to ask would make no difference.
Malfoy’s fingers, so deep now, brushed something inside and Harry remembered it from the previous night. He quivered and cried out, amazed that Malfoy knew his body so much better than he knew it himself.
“That’s it,” Malfoy crooned. His other hand wrapped around Harry’s cock, increasing the sensation tenfold as the pain diminished. Malfoy’s fingers rocked in and out, brushing over that wonderful place in tandem with each upstroke of Malfoy’s fist on his cock.
Harry nearly cried out again when Malfoy’s fingers withdrew, because he was getting so close, but he felt the head of Malfoy’s cock nudge the tender flesh instead, and then slide easily inside.
Malfoy’s slippery hand rolled over his hip and clung there as Malfoy moved closer, fitting his thighs beneath Harry’s. Harry lifted his hips to assist. Once positioned, Malfoy began to move.
Harry used his grip on the bed to push himself downward with each of Malfoy’s thrusts, which grew more violent with every gasp and quiver. Malfoy’s hand on Harry’s cock tightened, barely moving at all, but it didn’t matter, because his length dragged over that place inside Harry with each motion, sending him closer and closer to the brink.
“Potter,” Malfoy said, so quietly Harry barely heard it. Harry watched him through eyes half-closed, amazed at the way the Malfoy façade crumbled to nothing in the face of passion. He was entirely here, now, hair mussed, eyes fixed on Harry, lips parted and lightly smeared with Harry’s blood, with sweat beginning to bead on his brow and curl the fine blond hair. Malfoy was undeniably gorgeous.
Harry let go of the bed and reached up to touch him, holding his shoulders lightly. Malfoy stroked once more and Harry arched, trying to keep his eyes open as he came, watching Malfoy watching him.
Malfoy’s thrusts grew stronger for a moment or two, and then he tossed his head and bit his lip to stifle a cry. His entire body quivered and Harry felt it in his hands and his thighs, but mostly in the parts of him gripped around Malfoy’s cock, melding them together. It was brilliant.
Malfoy fell atop him, jaw landing on the bite mark and making Harry wince, even as he wrapped his arms around the spent Slytherin.
Just a fuck, Harry thought and tried to make himself believe it.
Oh yeah, and here is the link to the others, since no one will remember WTF was happening... :D
POLYJUICE PASTIME SERIES
BUT I DIGRESS. This was supposed to have been done by my birthday, but I was busy with Smoochfest for a few months. DOH. But I don't mind extending my birthday into another month, so here it is, finally, Part Four. And no, it's not over. This series might never end. LOL!
Harry lay in bed and touched his fingers to the painful bite mark on his throat. He wondered how he was going to explain it to Ron and Hermione and then scowled at himself for even considering the idea of keeping the lesion. He needed to heal the fucking thing and be done with it.
He groped on the bed for his wand and closed his hand around it, fully intending to do just that. The tip of his wand poked into his tender flesh when he pressed it against the wound, making him wince. It really hurt, and yet… Harry’s breath caught when he remembered Malfoy biting him, thrusting into him with a combination of pleasure and pain, fisting Harry’s cock with every movement.
Harry dropped his hand back to the bed with a groan and released his wand. He would keep it only for the night. Just for the memory, which should have been disturbing. Harry should have felt ashamed. He should have been bloody mortified at offering himself to Draco Malfoy, of all people, like an idiotic sacrifice. Harry had begged to be fucked, for the love of Godric.
He shoved himself back against the pillows, half-sitting, and banging his head against the headboard with the motion. He frowned as a minor headache joined the throbbing pain in his neck. It should have helped to distract him from memories of Malfoy, but apparently nothing could accomplish that. Harry’s cock was already stiffening.
His arse ached every time he moved, but he didn’t bother to heal the raw flesh there, either. He deserved to be tortured for being obsessed with Malfoy. It was definitely an obsession—there was no other word for it. Harry thought about him constantly, dreamed about him at night, fantasized about being touched and licked and fucked— He banged his head against the headboard harder with a growl of frustration.
None of his dorm mates awakened. Harry had cast a Silencing Charm when he’d climbed into bed, sensing he would need it for the verbal tongue-lashing he planned to give himself for succumbing to utter stupidity. Malfoy was probably bragging to Blaise Zabini right now, explaining in graphic detail how he had…
Harry’s legs fell open and he moaned, arsehole throbbing as he remembered Malfoy’s fingers deep inside him, knowing exactly what to do to make Harry fall apart. Harry should have been sated, but his cock pushed hot and heavy against his pyjama bottoms, quivering at the memory of Malfoy’s hand on it, stroking and twisting.
Harry shoved his hand past the waistband and took his prick in hand, thinking of the way Malfoy had dragged his fingers over Harry’s testicles, teasing them before finger-fucking him, and then fucking him in earnest, hard and fast and almost brutally.
Harry stroked himself twice and came, arching off the bed and feeling his toes curl at the force of it. He sagged against the pillows and splayed his hand over the mess with another groan.
“That’s it, then,” he muttered. “I’ve gone mad. I’ll spend the rest of my life doing nothing but thinking of Malfoy and wanking.”
Then again, his life could end tomorrow, when he would find out whether or not Malfoy had kept their little secret, or whether Harry would have to kill himself.
Draco poked at the sausage on his plate, nudging it against his toast. Potter was late. Granger and the Weasel were already well into their respective breakfasts and there was no sign of their leader. Draco pushed down a burst of anxiety. Was Potter all right? Had the idiot been set upon in the forest after Draco had left him?
He shoved the thought away. Of course Potter was fine. Weasley would have noticed if his best friend had gone missing during the night, wouldn’t he? Draco’s eyes drifted from the Gryffindor table back to his own and he caught Pansy watching him with a speculative look. Damn her and her pesky knack for noticing everything, or at least noticing everything associated with Draco.
“You’re not eating,” she commented.
“Not hungry,” he replied, which was true. The memory of the night before was doing odd things to his insides, causing him to feel alternately hot and cold, and altogether out of sorts. He had barely slept, replaying the scene over and over, and reliving key portions that he did not want to forget, such as Potter straddling him, pants shoved down to expose his miraculous cock, and the look in his eyes when he begged—begged—Draco to fuck him.
“Are you all right?” Pansy asked sharply.
Draco nearly knocked over his glass of juice reaching for it. He took a gulp, knowing it would be useless against the fire burning in the pit of his stomach, but it gave him a moment to try to collect himself. He set the glass down, taking extra care so ensure his hand did not shake.
“I’m fine,” he said. He meant to elaborate, but at that moment, Harry Potter walked into the room and Draco’s thoughts scattered to the four winds.
Potter should have looked as ragged as Draco felt. He should have looked wrecked, damn it all. Instead, Potter looked amazing. His hair was still damp from an evident shower or bath—Draco tried valiantly not to picture either scenario—and he wore his school robes with a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck.
Wrapped around his neck.
The green eyes shot immediately to his, which was gratifying, especially when a delicate blush tinted Potter’s cheeks, something that must have annoyed him, because Potter looked away and marched to his usual place at the Gryffindor table next to the Weasel.
Draco could not take his eyes away from Potter’s scarf. It was not a typical look for the Gryffindor hero. If Potter wore it at all, it was usually draped casually over his shoulders. One of his minions must have said something about it, for Potter raised a hand to touch the portion at his throat, lips moving as he spoke, and his eyes shot to Draco’s once more.
Salazar, it could only mean one thing. Potter had not healed Draco’s bite mark. A rush of something primal surged through Draco’s blood, causing his fists to clench in his lap. His short nails dug into his palms as he tried to process the stunning knowledge that Potter still wore Draco’s mark of ownership. Why?
Draco’s cock was half-hard and he could barely breathe. He remembered sinking his teeth into Potter’s throat and coming, coming, coming… Merlin.
Something painful gouged into Draco’s ribs and he turned with an oath on his lips to see Pansy glaring at him. She leaned close to him and hissed, “All right, Draco, you will tell me what is going on with you and Potter and you will tell me everything. ”
Draco could not even form coherent words to deny her accusation.
Fuck.
XXX
Muscle by muscle, Harry relaxed. There had been no catcalls when he entered the Great Hall, and no out-of-the-ordinary behaviour from the Slytherin table. Harry had been unable to keep his eyes from Malfoy, whose gaze fixed on him with such rapt intensity that it nearly stopped him in his tracks. Only the knowledge that doing so would draw unwanted attention kept Harry’s feet moving toward the Gryffindor table.
Hermione had glanced curiously at him as he sat down and he had lifted a hand lamely to the scarf around his neck. “Um… cold.”
He glanced back at the Slytherin table to find Malfoy still watching him. Harry felt his cheeks heat—again—and looked at Hermione from the corner of his eye to see if she had noticed, because she generally noticed everything. Luckily, Ron had dragged a sleeve through the butter and she was chastising him and paying Harry no mind.
Harry tried to put the blond prat out of his mind by filling his plate with food, but he could not stop a quick glance in Malfoy’s direction, only to find the Slytherin scowling while Pansy Parkinson leaned close to natter in his ear. She glared at Harry, who quickly looked away and busied himself building a sandwich with toast and bacon. He was not particularly hungry, but the knots formerly wrapped around his stomach had loosened slightly and he felt he could eat without experiencing nausea.
Harry made it through breakfast with only a few more furtive looks toward the Slytherin table. Malfoy seemed to have occupied himself, and Harry did not catch the blond watching him again.
Harry’s first class was History of Magic and he spent most of class reliving his last encounter with Malfoy, until the tightness in his trousers reminded him why that was a very bad idea. The next class was Care of Magical Creatures and Harry was alternately excited and panicked at the thought of being so close to Malfoy, even though the distance between them would be relatively great—the Slytherins might well have been on another planet, so far they stayed from the Gryffindor group.
On the way to the place chosen by Hagrid for their latest lesson—a shrub-infested patch of woods near the lake—Harry lagged behind Ron and Hermione, only half-listening as they argued about whether or not the marble in the Great Hall had been imported from France or native quarries. Harry knew Ron was only arguing for the sake of doing so; they both knew Hermione had read Hogwarts, A History more than once.
A sudden, bizarre compulsion forced Harry off the path and into the woods. He walked several long strides, trying to stop himself, before seizing up against a familiar, hard chest. His fingers instinctively clutched at the figure to steady himself, twisting in dark Hogwarts robes as his eyes met stormy silver.
“Malfoy,” he breathed and then mentally kicked himself for the breathless quality of his voice.
Harry felt a sting as the scarf was wrenched away from his neck.
“I thought I told you not to cover it up,” Malfoy said roughly as his eyes went to the bruise on Harry’s throat.
Harry actually felt a moment of guilt before he scowled and forced it away. He pushed Malfoy roughly, not loosening his grip on the robes, shoving the blond off balance. Malfoy’s back hit a tree trunk, drawing a surprised wince from the Slytherin.
“You don’t own me, Malfoy,” Harry said and then sprang forward and kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss and he half-expected Malfoy to heave him back in a fit of anger. Harry’s mouth devoured Malfoy’s and, despite everything, the taste of him was blissful.
Malfoy wrenched his mouth away, although it took far longer than Harry had anticipated.
“Fuck you, Potter,” he said, but his voice was rough and he lowered his head to press his lips against the mark on Harry’s throat. A fresh twinge of pain shot through Harry… all the way to his cock. He gasped and pushed his hips forward, ramming their pelvises together. Harry hoped the rough bark of the tree scraped Malfoy’s back.
Malfoy grunted, but only opened his mouth to bite down on the wound even as his hands clenched around Harry’s arse, fingers digging in painfully.
Harry moaned at the renewed sensation and ground himself against Malfoy, whose erection was a welcome pressure upon his own. The fact that Malfoy was just as turned on, just as ready for it, made it difficult for Harry to regain control. He wanted nothing more than to… His fingers slid downward and tore at Malfoy’s shirt, pulling it from his trousers. Harry needed to touch him.
Malfoy only gasped a little when Harry’s cold hands reached beneath the fabric to touch the bare skin of his midriff. Harry dragged the shirt upward roughly, higher and higher, exposing Malfoy’s torso until his pink nipples were visible. He felt Malfoy’s cock twitch; obviously the Slytherin anticipated what was to come.
Harry smirked a little as he lowered his head and bent his knees, regretting the loss of pressure against his cock, but delighting in Malfoy’s response when Harry finally closed his mouth around one of his nipples.
A groan tore from Malfoy’s throat and his hands convulsed. Fuck, but his sensitive nipples were a source of endless delight for Harry, even when he wasn’t wearing them by benefit of Polyjuice Potion.
Harry’s thumb trailed over Malfoy’s firm abdomen and then he slid his hand down until his palm pressed against Malfoy’s erection. Harry looked up at Malfoy, who watched him through half-lidded grey eyes. Harry considered opening his trousers to swallow him down. There was nothing more erotic than the thought of Draco Malfoy coming undone in broad daylight.
The sound of voices froze their tableau and then Harry straightened to plaster himself against Malfoy and brush his lips over Mafloy’s ear. “Not here. Come inside with me.”
Malfoy pushed at him, but ineffectively, as if it were only a reflex. “What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you, Potter?” he murmured. His voice contained its customary sneer.
Harry’s teeth nipped at Malfoy’s earlobe and tugged. “The fact that you spelled me over here was a clue.”
“I—” Malfoy’s probable denial was cut off when Harry squeezed his cock gently, reminding him what lay in store inside. Malfoy made a breathy noise and then said, “Fuck, let’s go.”
Harry regretfully pushed away from his blond nemesis, took a shaky step toward the path, and then halted.
“What?” Malfoy snapped.
“Here,” Harry said and slung his book bag onto the ground. He reached in and pulled out his invisibility cloak before straightening and draping it over Malfoy’s shoulders. “We can’t be seen together.”
“Of course not,” Malfoy snarled. Harry frowned, wondering if he had imagined the hint of regret in Malfoy’s voice and decided he had. It was impossible to tell now that Malfoy was invisible.
“Come on,” Harry said and picked up his bag before pushing back through the undergrowth. He reached the path and nearly ran straight into Ron.
“Oi, there you are. Hermione sent me to find you. What are you up to and will it get us out of this class?”
Harry was glad he still held his bag; he used it as a shield to hide his quickly diminishing, but still evident, erection.
“Actually, I don’t feel well,” Harry said, listening intently to hear if Malfoy was still nearby. He had been close enough to bump into Harry while they walked, but now there was no sign of him. Harry hoped the blond hadn’t abandoned him in order to utilize the invisibility cloak for his own nefarious purpose. Merlin, he should never have given Malfoy the cloak. How could he have been so stupid? He concentrated on Ron. “I think I’ll go back to the dorm and lie down. Might be something I ate. Hope it’s not a stomach bug.”
Ron had seemed about to offer to escort Harry, but at the mention of possible contagion, he took a quick step back, hands raised.
“Yeah, you might want to go lie down. Or go to the hospital wing. If it’s catching, you don’t want to take it back to the dorm, you know?”
Harry nodded, trying to look faint. “Good idea. Tell Hermione and Hagrid, yeah?”
Ron’s head jerked affirmative and then he turned away. “Good luck, mate.”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and quickly turned around. He took two steps, intending to hurry to his room and grab the Marauder’s Map in order to locate Malfoy.
“Merlin, Potter! Watch where you’re going!” Malfoy hissed as Harry walked straight into his invisible form and nearly sent himself sprawling. He straightened and glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed him walking into something invisible. To his relief, no one was in sight other than Ron, who hadn’t stopped his trek back to class.
“I can’t watch where I’m going when you’re invisible!” Harry muttered. “You’ll have to do the watching!”
“Fine. Lead the way, then, so I’ll at least have something interesting to look at.”
Harry stepped around the spot from which Malfoy’s voice emanated and asked, “Was that a compliment?”
“I’m only suggesting that your arse is the best part of you,” Malfoy said dryly.
Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. “You’re such a tosser,” he managed to say without venom.
“A tosser you’d like to fuck,” Malfoy retorted.
Harry sucked in a breath and had to force himself to keep walking. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, I would, at that.”
To his surprise, Malfoy said nothing. Harry concentrated on the sound of his footfalls crunching on the gravel as they neared the castle. There was only one place he could take Malfoy at this time of day. He could only hope it wasn’t presently occupied.
Harry walked without stopping, despite several students greeting him when they passed. He climbed to the seventh floor, cursing the distance and hoping Malfoy didn’t give up and leave by the time they got there. He paused before the blank wall that hid the magical portal.
“Wait here,” Harry said.
“The Room of Hidden Things?” Malfoy’s voice scoffed. “We can barely move in there, Potter.”
“Just wait,” Harry said, unable to stop a smirk from forming at the knowledge that Malfoy did not know the full extent of the room’s abilities. He walked back and forth three times, concentrating hard. He had a difficult time believing that Malfoy was here, with him, willing to do… what they were about to do. It made it hard for him to focus. And hell, it just made him hard.
The door appeared and Harry sighed with relief before stepping forward and turning the handle. After a quick glance inside, he opened the door and made a grandiose gesture with one hand. “After you.”
He heard a rustle of sound as Malfoy went inside, and then a gasp. Malfoy’s blond head appeared, and then the rest of him as he removed Harry’s cloak. Harry shut the door with finality and cast an absent Locking Charm on it, just in case the Room decided to allow the door to appear to anyone seeking a similar chamber.
“How did you know this was here? What happened to the Room of Hidden Things?”
“The room actually provides whatever you need. You only see it as a secret storage closet, so that is what you think about in order to open the door. In actuality, the room can become whatever you want.” Harry admitted to sounding a bit smug at knowing something Malfoy didn’t know.
“Interesting boudoir, Potter,” Malfoy allowed after taking it in.
Harry was rather proud of it, himself. He had based it on a photo he had stared at a thousand times as a child, found in a book his Aunt Petunia left prominently displayed on the tea table in the Dursleys’ living room. As far as Harry knew, he was the only one that had ever looked at the book.
Harry’s recreation of a bedchamber from the famous Kensington Palace was probably not historically accurate, but it would do for his purpose, which was to get Draco Malfoy naked. Harry strode forward with determination and stopped just behind Malfoy, almost touching, but not quite.
“I don’t really care about our surroundings,” Harry said. “And I doubt you do, either.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s waist and pulled him back until their bodies were flush against each other. Malfoy tensed, but Harry pressed a kiss against the side of his neck, then another, and another, moving slowly and teasingly until Malfoy relaxed and actually leaned back against him.
Harry’s hands had been slowly caressing Malfoy’s torso, moving in long, slow strokes from his collarbone to his waistband and back again, gliding over Malfoy’s sensitive nipples until they were hard peaks. Harry’s cock was hard against Malfoy’s arse and he barely resisted the urge to rut against him.
His hands moved back to Malfoy’s collar once more and then stopped there in order to tease open the buttons of his shirt, moving from one to the next until the white material gaped open. Harry’s fingers touched bare skin and he repeated his previous motions, sliding up and down over Malfoy’s flesh this time and plucking at his nipples when his fingers passed over them. A soft moan tore from Malfoy’s throat, making the blood surge to Harry’s cock, which was suddenly aching with the need to be touched.
“Take your shoes off,” Harry murmured against Malfoy’s ear.
Malfoy immediately put more weight against Harry as he balanced on one heel to nudge off his shoes. The movement caused his arse to grind against Harry’s cock and he braced himself to keep them from falling backward. When Malfoy’s shoes were off, Harry reached for his waistband and quickly unfastened his school trousers, absently noting that they were much easier to remove from this angle because it was just like taking off his own.
They fell to the floor and Harry placed his palm over Malfoy’s cock, pushing lightly to give him a taste of the torture Harry had been feeling. At the touch, combined with Malfoy’s breathy gasp, Harry forgot everything but his need to have Malfoy naked against him. His other hand dove into Malfoy’s pants and touched the velvety heat of Malfoy’s cock, feeling wetness streak over his palm. His fingers curled around it and pulled.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Harry said through clenched teeth. It was wretchedly unfair that no one but Malfoy made him feel so electrified, so alive, and so fucking whole. He stroked again, and then again, wanting nothing more than to make Malfoy come undone beneath his hands.
Except that he did want something more.
“Bed,” he rasped, barely able to speak. “Get on the bed.”
Malfoy hesitated for only a moment, but Harry hadn’t released his prick and gave it a teasing squeeze that seemed to decide the Slytherin. He stepped out of his trousers and allowed his pants to fall to the floor as he took the last few strides to the bed. He sprawled on it and rolled over to face Harry, still wearing his unbuttoned white shirt and Slytherin tie.
Harry tore off his own clothing with record speed, possibly destroying some of the seams in his haste. His eyes never left Malfoy and he wondered how the bastard managed to look so cool and collected even while mostly naked with his cock jutting from a tangle of blond curls. Harry salivated at the sight, wanting it in his mouth, which was all sorts of wrong.
“Leave the tie on,” Malfoy said as Harry was about to wrench it free. He hesitated and then shrugged and let his shirt fall to the floor, quickly joined by his briefs. He flushed for only a moment as Malfoy’s eyes went to his cock. He hadn’t bothered to change the lighting in the room, so the windows simulated the conditions outside and lit the room with sunlight.
Harry did not wait for Malfoy to speak, but instead strode forward and launched himself at the Slytherin, knocking him flat and then snogging him breathless. The feel of Malfoy’s hot skin against his was incredible. Memories of the previous night assaulted him and he allowed his hands to roam over the flesh he had thought he’d never touch again. He wanted to know why Malfoy had sought him out, but he was terrified to ask, knowing such a foolish question would likely drive him away, if he even knew the answer. After all, Harry had no idea why he wanted Malfoy. He only knew that he did.
Harry’s hands touched and Malfoy’s did the same, raking his short nails over Harry’s back and drawing a startled shout from him as he raised his head to stare down at the smirking Slytherin.
Harry glared. “What was that for?”
Instead of replying, Malfoy moved his hands downward until he cupped Harry’s arse. His fingers slipped into the gap and two digits pushed against Harry’s raw hole, which quivered. His cock twitched and Malfoy chuckled. “Ready for more, Potter?”
Harry was, even though he made an irritated sound. “I thought I was fucking you.”
“Malfoys don’t—” He didn’t finish the statement and Harry thought he heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Harry kissed him and then said, “I don’t plan to take an ad out in the Daily Prophet.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, it would sully your reputation, wouldn’t it? Fucking a Death Eater.”
Harry sat back on his haunches, genuinely annoyed. He grabbed both of Malfoy’s wrists, dragging his hands away from his arse. He lifted them and pretended to study them, even though he knew Malfoy’s body as well as his own. Malfoy tried to jerk away, but Harry held fast. “I don’t see any Dark Mark.”
Malfoy’s mouth twisted. “You know what I mean.” He yanked again and Harry let go. Malfoy’s hands fell on the bed to land on either side of his head.
“What about you?” Harry asked. “I’m surprised you haven’t told everyone in your house.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” Malfoy’s gaze was challenging.
Harry rolled his eyes. “You Slytherins like to think you’re good at keeping secrets, but something like this? No way could Zabini keep from looking smug and making rude comments. And Parkinson isn’t much better.” In truth, he wasn’t sure how close Malfoy was to the girl. It was possible he had told her.
“Something like this?” Malfoy repeated with a sneer. “You have a high opinion of yourself, Potter. It’s just a fuck.”
Harry’s jaw clenched as he bit back a retort. It stung, even though he knew it was true. His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, and you fucked the number one target of your precious Dark Lord. Did you send him an owl? Think he’ll give you a bonus? Or will you get your evil tattoo that much faster?”
Malfoy’s eyes flashed fire and his legs moved as he swung them over Harry angrily and sat up, obviously preparing to leave. Harry shoved him back against the bed and sprawled over him, grabbing at the thrashing arms that were trying to hit him.
“Wait!” Harry cried. He caught Malfoy’s wrists again and slammed them onto the bed. Malfoy bucked beneath him and Harry used his legs to lever himself over until Malfoy was trapped, feet on the floor and back flat on the bed with Harry half-crushing him. “Wait,” Harry repeated in a softer tone.
Malfoy stilled, glaring with thinly veiled rage.
“We should have known better than to talk,” Harry said quietly and kissed him again.
Malfoy’s teeth sank into his lip, drawing blood. Harry winced, but did not pull away. He deepened the kiss and loosened his grip on Malfoy’s arms. When Malfoy’s thrashing was not renewed, he let go and tucked his hands into the blond hair, massaging gently, as though trying to calm a raging beast.
Malfoy lay still, not returning Harry’s coppery-tasting kisses. Stubborn, Harry thought with near-amusement, and took one hand from Malfoy’s hair to slide it down his neck and over a ridged collarbone, heading for a sensitive nipple. Before he reached it, Malfoy’s hands curled in Harry’s hair and jerked his head upright with a sharp tug.
The grey eyes were still storm-filled. “I top,” he said firmly.
Harry chuckled. “All right.” It really didn’t matter. He wondered if arguing with Malfoy would always be a reflex.
The hands in his hair relaxed. “Get off me, you oaf.”
Harry obliged, rolling over and sprawling in the centre of the huge bed. In the opulent surroundings, when Malfoy crawled between his legs, Harry suddenly felt like royalty of centuries past, being serviced by his stableboy. He decided to keep that particular fantasy to himself, doubting Malfoy would be at all amused by the comparison.
“Why such a smug expression, Potter?”
Harry raised a hand and cupped Malfoy’s face. “Because you’re here.”
Malfoy’s features flushed and his pale lashes dropped to hide his eyes as his lips narrowed. “God, you’re annoying.” Harry stared at him in bemusement for a moment and wondered what was going on in that Slytherin brain of his. There were so many more facets to Malfoy than he had ever dreamed.
“I know. Need your wand?”
Malfoy shot a glance at the floor and Harry wondered if he had broken some cardinal rule by allowing himself to be parted from his wand while in the presence of his “enemy”. Harry pursed his lips—wincing at the painful reminder of Malfoy’s bite—and knew he would received the verbal thrashing of his life if any of his friends, or members of the Order, knew where he was right now, with his own wand trapped in his jeans several feet away.
Malfoy climbed off the bed and retrieved his dark wand—hawthorn, Harry remembered—and then returned.
“Still eager, I see,” Malfoy commented, looking at Harry’s erection, which twitched beneath the perusal.
“Yeah, so get on with it,” Harry replied.
As if to be contrary, Malfoy slipped his fingers beneath Harry’s cock and lifted it with his left hand almost gingerly, as though the very act of touching another man’s prick was anathema, which it probably was, and then he tapped it with the tip of his wand.
Harry should have been frightened—or at least concerned—at the very idea of allowing Draco Malfoy anywhere near his private parts with a wand, but for some reason he barely felt a twinge of unease. Perhaps it had something to do with Malfoy’s expression, intense and filled with something that was definitely not malice.
His lack of anxiety seemed justified when thick, cool liquid trickled from the end of the wand and covered Harry’s cock and Malfoy’s fingers. Malfoy rubbed the lubricant over Harry’s cock, seeming determined to cover all of it and send Harry back to the brink of orgasm with the sensation. He bit his ravaged lip to cover a moan.
Malfoy smirked and moved his hand lower, to perform the same treatment on Harry’s overly sensitive testicles. Fucking hell, it was brilliant. Malfoy cupped and rolled them in his hand and Harry arched beneath him, legs falling open wider. Slick fingers moved even lower and another jet of lubricant shot out to sooth his receptive hole. It stung for a moment, and then Harry gasped as Malfoy’s finger circled it once before plunging inside.
Harry shut his eyes, both to concentrate on the sensation and shut out Malfoy’s potentially smug expression. A second finger followed, and then a third before Harry was quite ready for it. He jerked at the burn, but Malfoy’s impatience was something he would have to get accustomed to if he planned to keep it up—and he had no intention of following that idea any farther at the moment.
His hips rose involuntarily as Malfoy’s fingers moved in and out, seeking something, and Harry could not hold back a sharp cry when a fourth finger joined the others—it was too much, too soon—his hands convulsed on the spread, gripping the material.
“Shhh,” Malfoy said gently, “You can take it. Relax.”
Harry tried, but his body tried to expel Malfoy’s fingers, which felt like burning coals and Harry wished they would just stop moving for a moment. “Fuck you,” he said, knowing to ask would make no difference.
Malfoy’s fingers, so deep now, brushed something inside and Harry remembered it from the previous night. He quivered and cried out, amazed that Malfoy knew his body so much better than he knew it himself.
“That’s it,” Malfoy crooned. His other hand wrapped around Harry’s cock, increasing the sensation tenfold as the pain diminished. Malfoy’s fingers rocked in and out, brushing over that wonderful place in tandem with each upstroke of Malfoy’s fist on his cock.
Harry nearly cried out again when Malfoy’s fingers withdrew, because he was getting so close, but he felt the head of Malfoy’s cock nudge the tender flesh instead, and then slide easily inside.
Malfoy’s slippery hand rolled over his hip and clung there as Malfoy moved closer, fitting his thighs beneath Harry’s. Harry lifted his hips to assist. Once positioned, Malfoy began to move.
Harry used his grip on the bed to push himself downward with each of Malfoy’s thrusts, which grew more violent with every gasp and quiver. Malfoy’s hand on Harry’s cock tightened, barely moving at all, but it didn’t matter, because his length dragged over that place inside Harry with each motion, sending him closer and closer to the brink.
“Potter,” Malfoy said, so quietly Harry barely heard it. Harry watched him through eyes half-closed, amazed at the way the Malfoy façade crumbled to nothing in the face of passion. He was entirely here, now, hair mussed, eyes fixed on Harry, lips parted and lightly smeared with Harry’s blood, with sweat beginning to bead on his brow and curl the fine blond hair. Malfoy was undeniably gorgeous.
Harry let go of the bed and reached up to touch him, holding his shoulders lightly. Malfoy stroked once more and Harry arched, trying to keep his eyes open as he came, watching Malfoy watching him.
Malfoy’s thrusts grew stronger for a moment or two, and then he tossed his head and bit his lip to stifle a cry. His entire body quivered and Harry felt it in his hands and his thighs, but mostly in the parts of him gripped around Malfoy’s cock, melding them together. It was brilliant.
Malfoy fell atop him, jaw landing on the bite mark and making Harry wince, even as he wrapped his arms around the spent Slytherin.
Just a fuck, Harry thought and tried to make himself believe it.
Oh yeah, and here is the link to the others, since no one will remember WTF was happening... :D
POLYJUICE PASTIME SERIES