Greenhouse Lessons Part Three (Two of Two)

[dysonrules]

Title: Greenhouse Lessons Part Three
Author: dysonrules
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 7,355
Warnings:  If you've read the first two parts, you know all the warnings.  No semi-non-con in this one, though.
Summary:  The greenhouse saga concludes!
Disclaimer:  I own everything related to this story, except the Harry Potter stuff.  JKR owns that.  I do own the Rowena Ravenclaw's room, though.  JKR can have the Room of Requirement.  Since she burnt it up.

Second half.

Draco sat on his bed and waited.  Time seemed to be dragging with eternal slowness.  He mulled over Potter’s words, still amazed that the Gryffindor had sought him out.  He remembered their encounter by the broom shed.  “Not here,” Potter had said, which had not been a no, it had been a yes, with conditions.  Draco could live with conditions.  He just needed to know what they were.

And then Potter in the corridor…  God.  He had half-expected Potter to hex Pansy, by the look on his face.  And then Potter had kissed him, within spitting distance of Ron Weasley!  Draco’s jaw clenched and he cursed himself for the hundredth time.  He shot to his feet, realizing he was twisting his wand in his hands, and that it was slick with sweat.

What the fuck was he doing?  He should be laughing about his victory over Potter.  He should be publicizing the fact that he’d had the Chosen One writhing beneath him.  Damn it, the very memory of it made his stomach tighten almost painfully.

            Draco drew in a shuddering breath when he recalled Potter’s admission.  “I meant it.”  Goddamn it!  How could the Gryffindor Golden Boy possibly admit that in his right mind?  It had to be some sort of trick.  Potter was setting Draco up to look like an idiot.  Planning a meeting to which he would never appear.  But the kiss… fucking hell, the kiss had nearly caused Draco to shag him right there in the Hufflepuff courtyard.

Draco shook off his bewilderment angrily.  He needed to get back his Slytherin self-control.  Potter was nothing.  Potter was the enemy of his father, and therefore the enemy of Draco.  He sighed heavily and made a sudden, brilliant decision.  He wondered exactly how Potter planned to find him, because Draco had no intention of making it easy on him.  The Gryffindor could probably follow with his invisibility cloak, but that would mean hovering outside the Slytherin common room until Draco left… and if Draco left three hours early… well that would be Potter’s problem.  Perhaps he should have been a bit more precise instead of making stupid pronouncements such as, “I’ll find you.”

            “Going out,” Draco said, drawing attention from no one but Blaise, who smirked at him.  Those words always preceded an amorous assignation in Slytherin.

 

            Draco knew the perfect place.  He’d discovered it during his second year.  Truthfully, he’d gotten lost evading Filch one night after curfew and ended up wandering an unused portion of the castle in a near panic.  Discovery of the room had calmed him enough to get his bearings and return to the Slytherin common room.  Draco had been back several times since then, but he had never mentioned it to anyone.  It was his secret.

            Draco made several tricky maneuvers, and paused after slipping through doors just to make sure sneaky Gryffindors in invisibility cloaks were not following him.  Satisfied, he entered the long-unused section of the fifth floor and unlocked the door with a spell.  The room looked exactly as he’d left it months ago.

            The room had once been Rowena Ravenclaw’s quarters, a relic from the days when the Founders had resided at Hogwarts.  Salazar Slytherin’s rooms in the dungeons had been stripped and left barren.  Helga Hufflepuff’s first floor quarters had been turned into classrooms.  Godric Gryffindor’s became the Gryffindor common room.  Draco knew because he had researched them all after his find.

            But Rowena… for some reason her rooms were untouched, possibly because they were located in the least-used portion of the castle.  The bedchamber was huge, with three sets of French doors leading to the large balcony.  Draco opened them all.  The room was clean, of course; the house elves would never allow dust to settle at Hogwarts, but the stuffiness of disuse was heavy in the air.

            Draco stood on the balcony for a while, drinking in the cool breeze and the moonlight.  He returned to the bedchamber and his eyes went directly to the bed.  He groaned at the thought of Potter sprawled there for his pleasure.  Fuck.  Draco shook off the image and  looked at it more critically.  The bed was completely shadowed where it rested against one wall.  That would never do.  Draco Levitated the bed.  Damn, that was tougher than expected; it was heavy.  He moved it across the room until it stood directly before the center balcony doors.  Now the moonlight fell directly across the bed.  Much better.

            Draco returned to the balcony to wait, lounging in a chair with his feet upon the railing.  He wished heartily for a glass of wine, but the stupid house-elves were forbidden to give alcohol to the students.

            He checked the time.  Only 10:30; a long time to wait, and probably even longer, since Potter had no chance at all of finding him.  The thought nearly drove him to his feet, wanting to seek out the Gryffindor, but his pride kept him firmly planted in the chair.  Anywhere, Potter had said.  So anywhere it was.

            Draco dozed off, lulled by the warm night and his lack of proper sleep the night before.  He awoke with a start, and wondered how long he’d slept.  Draco gasped when he caught the unexpected sight of Potter leaning against the railing, smirking down at him.  Draco quelled the rush of warmth that drowned his surprise.

            “You’re awfully pretty when you sleep,” Potter said huskily, and Draco felt himself flush.

            “Gryffindor idiot,” he said.  “I’m not pretty.”

            Potter stepped forward and leaned close to him, causing Draco’s heart to give a happy leap.

            “Gorgeous then.  Beautiful.  Perfect,” Potter corrected and Draco shut him up with a kiss.

            “How did you find me?” Draco asked when Potter broke the molten kiss.

            “Map,” Potter said and leaned in for another, but Draco pushed him away and stood up.

            “Very funny.  Look, Potter, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here,” he said brusquely.  “You wanted me to meet you, and here I am, but on my terms.”

            Potter said nothing; he merely cocked a dark brow and waited.  Draco nodded, satisfied.

            “First of all, you should know that Malfoys bow to no one.”

“Except Voldemort,” Potter replied dryly.

Draco felt a rush of anger crackle through him like lightning igniting dry brush.  “Not even him!” he snarled.  How dared Potter bring up outside?  What was between them had nothing to do with Voldemort, or Lucius Malfoy, or Death Eaters and Muggles and politics.  Nothing.  This was between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.  Draco slowly unclenched his fists.  He wanted to punish Potter, but there were better ways than leaping on the Gryffindor and pummeling him with his fists.

“Get over there and take your clothes off,” Draco ordered.  He had meant it to sound imperious and commanding, but it came out with a husky timbre that surprised him.  Potter shrugged and walked to the bed.  He tugged his shirt off over his head.  The cloak Potter had worn was already a dark slash across one of the chairs, and his shoes were nearby.  Draco wondered how long Potter had stood, watching him sleep, but the thought dissipated and Draco’s mouth went suddenly dry.  Potter’s bare skin gleamed in the moonlight, just as delectable as Draco remembered.

            Potter’s eyes remained fixed on Draco’s as the Gryffindor unbuttoned, and then stepped out of, his jeans.  Potter waited the space of a few heartbeats, and then his pants joined the rest, leaving him naked for Draco’s perusal—for Draco’s pleasure.

            Draco drank in the sight, feeling strangely humbled.  Thankfully, Potter was obviously as aroused as Draco, who nearly couldn’t speak.  He had to try more than once.

            “Get on the bed,” he said finally.

            Potter walked obediently to the bed and sat down before moving to the center and lying down.  He looked both self-conscious and seductive, something that should have been a contradiction.

            Draco tore his own clothing off, striving for nonchalance, aware of the Gryffindor’s eyes on him.  When he was in the same state as Potter, nude and painfully aroused, he approached the bed.

            “Turn over,” Draco ordered.  The Gryffindor needed to have no doubt about who was in control.  Draco was going to own Potter before the night was out.

            Uncertainty crossed Potter’s features for a moment, but then he rolled over, exposing his smooth back and gorgeous arse to Draco’s appreciative eyes.  Draco moved forward and climbed onto the bed.

            “Kneel,” Draco said hoarsely, “And put your hands on the bars.”

            Potter pushed himself upward until he rested on his knees with both hands clenched on the bars of the wrought iron headboard.  Draco moved forward until he knelt between Potter’s spread legs.  Draco nudged them roughly.  “Wider,” he said.  Potter drew a harsh breath, but complied, giving Draco full access to the perfect rosebud visible between his pale arse cheeks.  Draco nearly reached out and touched Potter, wanting to caress that beautiful flesh with both hands and mouth, but he caught himself in time.  He was here to subjugate Potter and have a quick fuck.  Nothing more.

            Draco cast a lubricant spell that made Potter gasp from the sudden coldness.  Draco cast another and smeared his own throbbing cock before moving forward to press inexorably into the hot tightness.  His fingers clenched against Potter’s hipbones, and he ignored the slight sounds of protest Potter made.

            “Hold tight,” Draco said roughly, and watched as Potter’s fists tightened against the bars.  There was tension in every line of the Gryffindor’s body, and the dark head was bowed so low his forehead touched the mattress.

            Draco drove forward mercilessly and Potter cried out.  Draco nearly did as well at the feel of being fully sheathed in Potter, fuck, in hot, tight, gorgeous Potter.  Draco pulled out slightly and thrust back home, groaning in delight until he heard a sound that was not at all reminiscent of the sounds Potter had made the previous night.  Draco froze, wondering if he had hurt Potter.  His right hand released Potter’s hip and reached forward, sliding beneath Potter’s abdomen to grip the Gryffindor’s cock.  It was only partially erect.  He heard Potter’s ragged breathing.  Potter’s knuckles were bone white.  Oh god, this was not at all how it was supposed to be.

            Draco felt a chill as he realized he didn’t want an unwilling, robotic Potter.  He did not simply want a warm body to thrust into until he came.  He wanted the vibrant, amazing Potter that clung to Draco’s neck and pressed kisses into every part of Draco’s body he could reach.  He wanted the Potter that dragged him into secluded gardens and called him angel.

            Draco tilted forward, leaning his front side gently against Potter’s back, feeling the chill of the bare skin against his.  Draco’s hands moved upward, slipping along Potter’s sides to the shoulders, and down the slender arms to Potter’s clenched hands.  Draco’s fingers curled around Potter’s and his lips pressed into the back of Potter’s neck.  Draco kissed him gently once, twice, and again.

            I’m sorry, he thought, although he couldn’t say the words aloud.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  Draco pulled out carefully, and then tugged Potter’s hands away from the bars, linking their fingers when Potter released the metal.  Draco turned, pulling until Potter twisted completely and lay back on the mattress, facing him.  Leaving their fingers linked, though their hands were crossed over Potter’s head, Draco kissed him.

            Potter was stiff at first, as if tense with hurt and distrust, but he slowly warmed to Draco’s assault.  Malfoy felt a thrill of victory when Potter distinctly sighed, and then began to kiss Draco in earnest.  God, yes, the Boy Who Kissed Like a French Whore was back again.  Damn, I missed him.  Potter’s lips, tongue, and teeth worked mercilessly to devour Draco.

            It wasn’t long before their naked bodies began to writhe against each other and their hands were clenched painfully together, wet with sweat.  Potter began to make gasping, panting noises against Draco’s lips, fuck yes, those were the sounds he needed to hear.  Each one was like a caress over Draco’s nerve endings.

            Harry’s hands twisted in Draco’s.

            “Malfoy,” he gasped, tearing his mouth away.  “I need… oh please…”

            Shit.  This was a thousand, no, a billion times better than a mindless fuck.  This was a gift that Draco could not possibly deserve, could not possibly ever deserve.  This was better than every Christmas gift he would ever receive, especially when Potter continued, “I need you, Draco.”

            Draco could not leave those gorgeous lips alone, and he had to still the words spilling out, before Draco said something stupid in return.  Something stupid and sappy and completely un-Slytherin, un-Malfoy.

            He released Potter’s hands and moved his fingers back down Potter’s arms, teasing slowly, brushing the fine hair on the backs of Potter’s forearms, swirling over the sensitive skin where Potter’s arms bent, and down over shoulders and chest, to pinch lightly at hip stiff nipples.  He grinned when Potter nearly arched off the bed at the touch.

            “Like that?” Draco asked, and moved down to fasten his mouth over one.  He sucked at it lightly and Potter moaned aloud.  The Gryffindor’s hips arched, grinding Potter’s cock into Draco’s abdomen.  Draco moved his hand over to stroke the velvet shaft, squeezing lightly as his fingers caressed the tip and came away wet.  No fear of Potter losing his erection, now.  Draco thought he might come at any moment.  In fact…

            Draco moved down even farther with a wicked sense of glee.  Potter froze at the movement, and then he yelped loudly—a mixture of astonishment and tortured delight.  Draco heard Potter’s head slam backward into the pillow an instant after Draco’s mouth slid over the head of Potter’s erect cock.  Oh god, I can’t believe I have Harry Potter’s cock in my mouth, thought Draco, but then he opened his eyes and saw Potter’s beautifully arched body, shivering at the feel of Draco’s mouth, and it was with crystal clarity that Draco knew he’d been right.  He owned Potter.  And Potter seemed perfectly happy with that arrangement, judging from the whimpering noises he made.

            Potter’s hands moved down and dropped into Draco’s hair.  Draco’s tongue teased Potter’s cock while his hands roamed over Potter’s flanks, and dropped down to fondle his testicles, earning yet another tortured groan from the Gryffindor.

            Draco took his mouth away from its languid tease.  He blew slightly and chuckled at Potter’s response.

            “Don’t want you to come too soon,” Draco whispered and cast a spell.  Draco pushed a slick finger into the orifice he’d so recently abused, and felt Potter clench tightly with a hiss.  “Shhhh,” Draco said soothingly.  “Relax, I won’t hurt you.”  He punctuated his words with a slow lick up the length of Potter’s cock, not wanting him to lose that beautiful hardness.

            Potter relaxed with a suddenness that was startling.  Almost, Draco wanted to do something evil to punish him for being too trusting, but then Potter’s fingertips skated over his hair and brushed gently over his scalp.  Draco felt a rush of nameless emotion, and added a second finger.  Potter did not tense at all that time, although the pressure from his fingertips increased fractionally against Draco’s head.

            Draco moved his fingers experimentally before slipping a third inside, and then a fourth.  He moved his hand and reached, trying to find the spot he knew was there, and sucked lightly on the head of Potter’s cock, grimacing slightly at the taste of precome.

            “Oh, oh, oh oh,” Potter said, obviously struggling for coherence, and failing.

            Draco couldn’t wait any longer.  His own cock was hard to the point of pain.  He pulled his fingers out and levered himself upward before guiding his cock into the depths of Potter, willing and waiting this time.

            He took Potter’s sweet mouth in a kiss as he sheathed himself.  God, it was so much better this way, lying against the length of Potter while the Gryffindor sucked eagerly at Draco’s tongue and let his hands caress Draco’s head and the back of his neck…

            Potter’s hands pull away suddenly, and Draco’s head rose at the movement.  Potter’s hands once more wrapped around the bars, and then Potter pushed against Draco, who found himself buried deeper that he would have imagined.

            “Potter,” Draco murmured in wonder, and saw the Gryffindor smile at his voice.  Bloody hell.  Draco groaned and wrapped his arms around Potter’s body.  He began to move in earnest then, finding a rhythm that caused the blood to surge and tingle through his veins with every stroke.  Potter panted Draco’s name, and the sound made Draco clench his jaws to keep from answering.

            Potter’s hot mouth murmured against Draco’s neck, and his pressed his own lips to Potter’s throat, sucking gently and fighting not to bite as the sensation built to the point of explosion.  He needed Potter to come, and he needed it now.

            “Need—you—” he gasped, and the words seemed to trigger Potter’s release.  Draco lost it the instant Potter convulsed beneath him, clenching tightly—fuck that was incredible!  Their cries mingled and echoed in the large room.  Draco hoped to hell he hadn’t shouted anything stupid as he collapsed on Potter’s limp form, feeling more sated than he ever had before.  He felt Potter’s arms wrap around him, holding him tightly.  Draco thought he might stay where he was for a few millennia, lying on his sweat-slick, come-smeared Gryffindor, with his face buried in Potter’s damp hair.

            After long minutes, he felt Potter shift beneath him and decided his cushion might not be quite as comfortable as Draco.  He pulled out and sprawled next to Potter on the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling for a moment.

            “Hey, Potter, could you cast one of your…?”

            Potter Summoned his wand from wherever it had fallen, and cast his fabulous Cleaning Charm.  There was a long silence that stretched into the realm of discomfort.  Potter sat up.  Draco thought he might speak, but the Gryffindor moved as if to rise.  Draco snared his wrist.

            Potter looked at him quizzically, but Draco said nothing, he just tugged Potter toward him until he could taste Potter’s lips.  He kissed the Gryffindor gently—his own lips were bruised from the force of their earlier snogging.

            “Lie down,” Draco said.  “I’ll wake you before dawn, in time for you to get back to your common room.”

            Potter’s eyes searched his, and then the dark head nodded.  They dragged the blankets down enough to climb beneath them.  Draco dragged Potter close, tucking the Gryffindor’s back against his chest as he pressed his face into the heady softness of Potter’s hair.  He felt a hand slide into one of his, and allowed their fingers to link.  He felt stupidly happy.

            Potter chuckled; Draco felt more than heard the quiet sound.

            “What?” he asked.

            “Goodnight, angel,” Potter murmured.

            “Shut up.”  Draco squeezed the Gryffindor hard in punishment.  “Idiot.”  He was glad the darkness hid the smile buried in the black hair.  He waited until the Chosen One’s breathing was deep and even before he murmured, “Goodnight, Harry.”

Linkage to the beginning...
Greenhouse Lessons One and Two