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mildlunacyI've had a lot of angst about this bit of porn, you understand. Angst! Angst, I tell you!! Aaaaaugh I hate editing. Hate, hate, hate, hate, HATE. If it sucks... I'm really sorry. And. I'm still not working on it anymore. Because I suck.
Disclaimer: not mine, Valentine.
Author's Note: This bit of pointless H/D porn excused by the unbirthday of the Artist Formerly Known As Rothik <3
- the plot -
I am what I want you to want
- Linkin Park
Malfoy's bloodless, pinched visage indeed dogged Harry's steps, though not in the way he'd meant. Currently, a high blush made him look a something like a luridly colored doll.
"Bloody hell!" Malfoy snapped his fingers in front of Harry's face, probably not for the first time. "Are you deaf or merely off it?"
Harry wasn't deaf. Possibly, he was a tad tired.
Malfoy had apparently been trying to get his attention for a while now. He was vaguely aware of this the same way he knew that Malfoy must hate him more than ever. If it mattered, he supposed he hated Malfoy right back. If Malfoy fell off the face of the earth tomorrow, at least, the DA meetings might be fun again.
It all came back to Snape. It was all his fault Malfoy was here, and it was all his fault that... lots of other things happened. Yes, disappearance wasn't nearly good enough for Snape. Malfoy, on the other hand, could just drop dead. Maybe if Harry finally glared at him hard enough, Malfoy would oblige him one day soon.
It wasn't that Malfoy disrupted the meetings; not after the first time, when they'd taught him a little lesson. No, it was just that his presence was... irritating. Harry had never enjoyed 'teaching' his fellow DA members, precisely, but this was something else. Lately he'd been counting down the minutes till the end, and somehow Malfoy always managed to leave last, just in time for a parting shot at Harry. It was tiresome if nothing else.
Ron and Hermione were probably waiting for Harry to catch up. Ron must have been distracted, to go without a dig at Malfoy, or maybe they were all getting to the point where they couldn't be bothered.
At the moment, however, Malfoy was blocking his way.
"This'll only take a minute," he drawled, lip curled as per usual. "There won't be any need to overexert yourself, if that's what you're worried about."
"Too bad I have no time for whatever this is, Malfoy. Or for you, at that, so get out of my way before I make you." That was more words than the prat warranted, but Malfoy had a way about him.
Harry tried to brush by him, but Malfoy stepped to the side with agility. After a quick mental calculation, Harry came to one conclusion: dinner was waiting. He sighed. Malfoy was like a goat: once he bit down.... "Fine. What is it," he said flatly.
"This," Malfoy spat, and a second later, Harry's eyes widened comically; he didn't see the fist coming.
Harry wheezed and doubled over, clutching his stomach as Malfoy laughed thinly. "Turnabout is fair play, eh Potter? How does it feel? A little of my superior command of potions, and I'm as strong as you are! Stronger!" He laughed and laughed until Harry's ears were ringing with it. I'm going to kill him, Harry thought. Slowly and painfully, and--
Between one second and another, something snapped.
"You fucker!" Harry snarled, tackling Malfoy to the ground blindly.
Malfoy went down easily under his meager weight; the other's own frame was all sharp bone covered by whipcord-thin muscle and skin. In a way, it felt almost rubbery. Harry got in a few good kicks, but it was frustrating. It was difficult to get a good grip, since Malfoy struggled and kicked and spit and hissed with no particular pattern but lots of furious energy.
And then there was something else: something sharp and hot that poked painfully into Harry's thigh.
Harry froze, and Malfoy immediately took advantage of this to roll Harry onto his back. Before he quite knew what happened, Malfoy was pinning him to the floor, panting, but all Harry noticed was a single fact: Malfoy was hard.
It was odd: like gears shifting drastically in Harry's mind, just like that.
Well. That made things a bit different.
--
He was almost seventeen and he was a virgin. It was awful; that weight. All (or most) of his closer acquaintances seemed to be in the same boat as far as Harry could tell, but it was the principle of the thing. He might die like this, and it would be both too pathetic and somehow fitting. He realized he could do something about it, but there was -no one- and he didn't have time, and supposedly he was a healthy teenage boy, so why wasn't he attracted to more girls?
They were all... off, somehow. There was always something that went horribly sideways, and he didn't know what to do, and how did -anyone- know? How were these things supposed to work?
Harry knew he was supposed to have become confident by this point, but the only thing he was sure of was that he was no good at any of it.
He wished he could forget the latest disaster altogether. Nothing ever went the way he imagined it, not even with a boy. He may as well have tried to snog Hermione, and he might have if not for Ron. What could he have been thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid, -stupid-. It had been a last resort for him, of course, though he couldn't say what it had been for Neville. He'd been pretending it never happened ever since then, but Harry remembered all too well.
Neville's mouth had been so dry-- too dry. He'd been so gentle and patient, too; holding on to Harry's hand and keeping his eyes open, apparently willing him to relax. Neville! Harry had pressed back only slightly and felt a bit nauseous. Nerves, probably.
Harry pulled away as soon as it became clear it was a mistake, barely moments later, but the damage had been done. Neville had asked him if he was all right in a faltering sort of voice, and he'd mumbled something about a stomachache, but Harry doubted he'd bought it. He certainly wouldn't have, but Neville was always good to him. He hadn't deserved that.
He tried not to think about it, and most of the time he succeeded. These days, there was no shortage of distractions. Besides, there were worse things, weren't there?
And now Malfoy was sitting on top of him like he was king of the world, and Harry knew he could do this much. Malfoy, he could control. It didn't even matter if Harry actually wanted anything to happen, or whether he knew what that was supposed to be in the first place; it struck Harry that he had the power to make it happen if he wanted it to. Malfoy could be his, and somewhere amid the expected light nausea, the thought intrigued him.
--
"Get off me," Harry said evenly.
"W-what?" That funny blush was back.
The beginnings of a sharp smile curled the corners of his mouth. "You heard me, Malfoy. Or are you waiting for me to--" He arched an eyebrow, gaze lowering pointedly.
"G-god!" Malfoy was up in a flash, looking horrified. "Potter! You-- don't-- no!" He took a few hasty steps away, hands flitting in front of his distended crotch before they clenched by his sides.
The exit was now clear, but Harry had other things on his mind.
"Yeah, suppose I'm not the dense prat you took me for. Funny, that."
Malfoy's pointy face looked pinched, and there were already bruises forming on his jaw. At the back of his mind, Harry still wanted to leave a few more, maybe down his lily-white neck. He had time, though; Malfoy wasn't going anywhere, and neither was Harry, for now.
"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Malfoy's voice broke a bit. Not so arrogant, standing around with a huge bloody stiffy, is he, Harry thought. Seconds later, it occurred to him that this couldn't be the first time, either, and he grinned wildly. Any semi-normal bloke would've lost it in a situation like this, but Malfoy was in a class by himself, it seemed. He likes it, the sick bastard. Harry's nostrils flared, and he got up slowly, brushing nonexistent dust off his trousers.
"Have you considered your choices here, Malfoy?" Harry gave Malfoy's slight frame a blatant once-over, just for effect.
Malfoy's mouth twitched in an attempt at a sneer. "I don't know--"
"Should I break it down for you?" Harry smirked. "You'll agree I have some pull at this point, yeah?"
"What?! Are you raving bloody-- mad--"
Harry shook his head. Time to skip to the punch-line. "Drop your trousers now and I'll pretend this never happened. That's fair, isn't it?" He watched with some fascination as Malfoy paled right before he flushed with rage once again.
"You're dead, Potter!" Malfoy took a single jerky step forward before he seemed to reconsider. "You think I'm kidding?! I don't care what you think you can do to me, I'll-- I'll--" His eyes were spitting venom and Harry felt a sort of buzzing begin all the way down at his toes. Yeah. This, he could handle. No bloody problem.
"Fancy my having a bit of a chat with say, oh, Parkinson, do you?" Harry grinned. "Even better! I imagine she'd like to know, wouldn't you?"
"Where do you sodding--" he sputtered. "Where do you think you get off?!"
"Tsk tsk. Shouldn't I be asking you that, Malfoy?"
"You can't do this to me," Malfoy whispered harshly, licking his lips. He had a surprisingly red tongue for such pink, bloodless lips. "I have rights, I'm--"
"I can," Harry said confidently, crossing his arms. "I am. So get to it."
"No way in hell, Scarhead." Malfoy's eyes were brighter than usual. Or maybe Harry never noticed how fetching Malfoy looked when he was trapped.
"Stop waffling, Malfoy. Just do it."
Harry's fingernails dug into the inside of his arms through his t-shirt. Some dark little voice in him kept whispering that Malfoy just needed a push and he'd do what Harry told him to. Only a little bit more, and he'd have him.
In theory, Harry was sure they could probably have this little staring contest go on forever. In practice, Ron and Hermione would probably remember to wonder where he was pretty soon.
"You think it's that easy, Potter?" His whole face was flushed an awful sort of red, but he didn't back down. "What are you even after?"
Harry cocked his head, eyes slitted behind his glasses. "It's simple. I don't have to explain-- you just have to deliver. Naturally, it's your choice."
"You-- you think I'd-- why you-- fucking cunt!"
Harry snorted. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he said reasonably. "Why are you still here? Tell me."
There was a brief, charged silence.
Malfoy sneered viciously, his narrow chin jutting out. Like a goat, Harry thought. "Here because you are, Scarhead."
His mouth twisted open, and Harry could see the tip of Malfoy's tongue pressed between his teeth; his own teeth gritted in response. Harry wondered if Malfoy's mouth would bruise if a finger pressed hard enough.
"So?" Harry croaked.
Malfoy's left eye twitched wildly, but he moved. His bony fists were white-knuckled as he hooked his thumbs into the waist of his trousers. His head was bowed, and the pale yellow fringe fell into his eyes so Harry couldn't see his expression, but he didn't need to. "So."
He pulled slowly, and for a few too many seconds, all Harry could see was the ribbed, improbably white edge of Malfoy's underpants. There was a trail of barely visible whitish hair curling down Malfoy's nearly concave stomach. Then he saw the triangle of darker blond curls right below, between Malfoy's curled thumbs. He was holding his pants down almost tauntingly; just enough for Harry to get the barest glimpse of semi-hard prick. It seemed his hard-on finally lost some steam.
Harry stared, not blinking; he wasn't going to lick his lips though his mouth was a touch too dry. He knew Malfoy was looking, ready to laugh at him.
There was just something damning about that tiny bared sliver; he'd never really -looked- before, of course. Now, he couldn't look away from that awful bulge and that small, rosy patch of skin at the base of Malfoy's prick, darker than his stomach.
"Hurry up already," Harry said in a thick voice. He bit the inside of his lip; maybe this wasn't the greatest idea....
"Fuck you," Malfoy hissed and gave a harsh yank. Malfoy's cock sprang free from two layers of fabric, vibrating slightly. It stood, pointing straight at him.
Harry moaned. Loudly.
It was the sound of a deeply wounded animal. Harry flushed, biting his lip harder, but it was too late. In the empty room, the sound had almost echoed. Malfoy's eyes snapped up, narrowed, and Harry's stomach sank.
He'd messed up again.
There was no reason for Malfoy's cock to be any more impressive than the rest of him; it wasn't especially thick or long, and it was unmistakably pink. Harry thrust his hands into his pockets to hide the awful trembling. He had to do something now, before.... God, before he thought about things like -licking-, which was just-- wrong--
Malfoy was staring at him and there was no mistaking it: the tables had turned, and Harry felt decidedly trapped. Some rather inventive curses blasted through Harry's mind in a hot rush. Bloody buggering hell, he was now hard enough one could probably see it from somewhere in southern Ireland.
"Like what you see, Potter?"
"N-no," Harry tried, wincing a bit. Fuck, he had to get out of here fast. There must be a way to do it without looking even more like a poncey virgin. "Sod off, Malfoy!" he snarled.
"Oh, I don't think so, Potty," Malfoy drawled with some relish. "Looks like someone doesn't have a leg to stand on, wouldn't you say so? It's just too good to miss."
Bugger this! The fucking arsehole-- he should've known! Harry's ears were starting to burn. Malfoy was still talking, but it didn't matter. All Harry had to do was lower his eyes and he lost the plot completely. God. He wanted to....
"You-- just-- shut your gob before I--" his eyes lowered "--fuckit--" Harry said, unable to process that the ragged -thing- was his voice, saying-- that.
He'd have expected Malfoy to flinch or possibly recoil. Instead there was that twitchy half-sneer again. "Not a chance," Malfoy said softly, eyes glittering. "You first, or no deal."
Malfoy stood with his trousers halfway to his knees by now, and he looked more comfortable than Harry felt fully dressed.
The 'no' was burning the tip of Harry's tongue. There were several ways to say it, anything from 'no' to 'no fucking way in hell' to just slamming the door behind him, since he wasn't the one with his cock out and dripping clear fluid, was he?
"You're--" Harry coughed. "You're so full of it, Malfoy. There is no 'deal'." Okay, this wasn't coming out right. At all. His feet almost itched, needing to move (just leave-- just hex him-- fast and easy) but Malfoy was smirking like he knew what Harry was thinking. Not that he didn't set himself up, there.
"Don't play this game with me, Potter. You're so rubbish it hurts. Why don't you give up while you're behind?" He grinned slowly. "Unless that's where you want to be." Harry immediately decided this was his least favorite expression to see. Malfoy should simply never be allowed to grin.
Malfoy couldn't make him feel like this. It couldn't happen. "I-- unlike you-- have somewhere else to be, so--"
"And I-- unlike you-- am a Prefect," Malfoy tittered with a sort of manic glee. "Weren't you listening? On your knees, Potter."
The seconds passed slowly; Harry's heart thudded while his body froze. One. (beat) Two. (beat) Three. (beat) Four. (beat) Five--
This was so wrong.
Six. (beat) Seven. (beat) Eight. (beat) Nine--
This was never going to happen.
Ten. (beat) Eleven. (beat) Twelve--
Harry closed his eyes, and Malfoy sniggered gratingly.
What was he doing? No. This was insane. No. Never. No.
(beat)
"Well? It's now or never." Malfoy's cock was dripping. (drip) He stood with his hips jutting forward, arrogant as a god. (drip) He was looking at Harry like he knew he was winning. (drip)
Harry hit his knees.
(beat)
"You'll pay for this."
(beat)
Malfoy said nothing. There was nothing to say; they'd said it all before, haven't they?
(beat)
Harry had nothing to undo, nothing to pull down; Malfoy's bare cock was glistening at him. So smooth; sleek; wet. Harry's mouth was dry as a bone.
It was ugly. Malfoy. Was. Ugly.
(beat)
"Who's on his knees?" The breathy voice was the same old Malfoy, though: that same old poncey whiny drawl. All pointy-faced Slytherin git. Harry wouldn't touch-- that-- with a ten-foot pole.
(fuck)
His jaw cracked open without conscious volition. (beat) He swallowed. (beat) His neck bent forward stiffly. It was going to take forever, he knew. (beat)
Malfoy's hips didn't move an inch. So silent. It was too silent; Harry could hear his breath catch.
(beat)
His palms hit the stone floor in front of him with a smack; both landed splayed next to Malfoy's feet. (fuck)
It was still too silent. (beat) There was a price for everything; what was this paying for?
(beat)
Harry's mouth was too wet; at the last second, Malfoy pushed forward.
(fuck)
His lips were parted softly, easily, as if in slow motion; stretched further than ever before. (So-- so wrong.) Malfoy's breath almost whistled above him.
(god)
Words fled.
Malfoy's cock hit the back of his throat like a velvet hammer; Harry swallowed, trying not to choke on his saliva. His teeth scraped a bit and Malfoy yowled as his cock twitched violently, but didn't pull out. His grip on Harry's hair grew harsh, and he gave a vicious yank in retaliation.
"You bloody-- oaf! Bite an' I'll tear off your fucking bol--" Harry felt awkward, and wriggled his tongue along the leaky slit before he thought better of it. "Yeah, alright," Malfoy slurred, hissing.
Harry gurgled; now there was an annoying bitter-sour taste along with all the saliva. Bloody brilliant, he thought fiercely, before Malfoy's knees wobbled and he lurched backwards, cursing when he slammed into a wall. Harry was too disoriented to react immediately, but he didn't pause to think before scrabbling to follow. Malfoy's tiny whimper was all he needed to hear. Harry gave a faint hitching moan and fastened his mouth onto Malfoy's cock blindly, without second thought.
Harry clutched at Malfoy's thighs, his nails digging into pale flesh. Malfoy hadn't pried his fingers loose yet for some reason; Harry dug deeper. The first thrust had almost been slow, so Harry was caught completely unprepared when Malfoy began to really move. He grunted loudly with every jerk of his hips, whimpering inarticulately whenever his cock hit the roof of Harry's mouth, skidding past his teeth, ramming into his cheek. Most of Harry's instincts screamed at him to pull away already, but some streak of stubbornness refused to give Malfoy any ammunition. If Malfoy ever found out this was his first time, he'd--
"Fuck!" he chanted with every halting panting breath. "Fuck! Yeah! P-potter! Nnnn-- you're! F-fucking! B-born! For! This! Aaaaaannghhh-- f-f-fuck!"
Why couldn't the stupid arse shut up? What was it going to take?! Harry's frantic thoughts barely connected with each other as he made an effort to actually suck. This running commentary was just too much. "Shut your-- mmph--" he snarled as best he could with a mouth full of cock.
Malfoy moaned loudly at this, and his hips pistoned so fast it strained Harry's upper limit of endurance, but he could take it. There was nothing Malfoy could throw at him that he couldn't take.
"That's-- it! T-t-take-- it! F-ffuuuccck! Ssssso-- you're-- so-- fuckin' g-gghhhhh-- nnnn-- g-god!"
Harry's lips felt scraped raw, but Malfoy kept going. He clutched at Malfoy's hips and held on. He had to concentrate so he wouldn't mess up again, though the urge to do it on purpose remained. He couldn't give in. He couldn't stop.
Malfoy was moaning and swearing disconnectedly; most of it made no real sense, but Harry knew exactly what it meant.
"You're-- m-mnnn-- aah-- nn-m-mine!"
For once, Harry wasn't listening to what Malfoy was saying, though. He was listening to other things. Every tiny little sound Malfoy made, the wobble in his bony knees, the quivering skin between his narrow thighs. Malfoy's skin was covered in goosebumps beneath Harry's fingers, and Harry listened. He was going to get all of it. This was his. Malfoy owed him this and more, now, and Harry wasn't going to stop until he'd had everything.
He was moaning so softly, Malfoy couldn't possibly hear. The sound was trapped against Malfoy's cock, and it was a secret Harry refused to share.
Malfoy was screaming. ("POTTER!") He couldn't be listening; he was screaming.
Malfoy's nails dug into his skull and he pulled at clumps of his hair, but the pain helped. Harry tugged in the opposite direction, groaning, trapping his cock mercilessly between his thighs. He wasn't going to give in. He wasn't going to come.
Harry grabbed his balls in a painful grip, nearly hyperventilating.
Malfoy shot repeatedly; thin jets of bitter come, turning Harry mute. He couldn't have kept moaning as Malfoy came, but he kept his mouth glued to Malfoy's cock, sealing it. Malfoy kept coming for what seemed like ages, his cock ramming past Harry's jaw like he was still trying to punch him. Harry was almost past caring-- swallowing took too much effort, and most of the fluid leaked from the corners of his mouth, but it was almost over.
Not yet, though.
--
He didn't notice the exact moment he fell back and stopped. His ears were ringing, and stopping meant-- stopping meant-- things were real.
Malfoy might have been trying to get his attention again.
Harry lay motionless on the floor; his head was propped up on a practice pillow now. He wasn't waiting for anything. His cock ached, trapped in his underwear, but the sheer white noise in his mind made that almost irrelevant. The only clear thought was that he was going to get up soon; in a second. It felt like he might be getting a headache.
Dispassionately, he noticed that Malfoy was on his knees next to him. He'd done up his trousers, though that stupid-looking purple shirt wasn't tucked in yet. Malfoy seemed to have an odd light in his eyes, which Harry couldn't be bothered to interpret. He supposed Malfoy thought he'd won.
Maybe he had.
Harry tracked the descent of Malfoy's head as it bent towards him, lower and lower. His glasses had been knocked off earlier, and his right hand made a half-hearted circle in search of them. It wasn't as if he wanted to know what Malfoy looked like right now.
Malfoy's mouth was too soft, warm and slippery against Harry's lips. He was barely moving and he definitely wasn't trying to get Harry to open up. He was just -there-, trickling a tiny bit of saliva into the corner of Harry's mouth and allowing him to grow almost used to his presense. Harry's eyes drifted closed slowly; he was very tired. Then without warning, Malfoy licked at him, swiping a neatly pointed tongue into Harry's parted mouth with its remaining traces of slimy bitterness.
Malfoy tasted slightly sour and somewhat unsavory, but as soon as the intrusion fully registered, Harry's whole body jolted back to life. Malfoy was trying to-- taste him.
He might have made some noise, or it could have been Malfoy, and then the other's mouth was gone and Harry's eyes squinted open to witness the blurry top of a white-blond head moving down his torso in a sort of slow motion.
He couldn't see it, but he could imagine Malfoy's malicious little smile quite clearly. He knew what that git was thinking, and more than anything, he wished he didn't.
"No," Harry whispered, but it was a lie. He wished Malfoy would say something; gloat, maybe. This awful new tentative attitude was somehow stifling. If nothing else, it would've helped if Malfoy stopped trailing his fingers down his arm like that. So lightly, like Harry would break if Malfoy pushed too hard.
"Oh yes," Malfoy hissed, his bony fingers fumbling with Harry's trouser fastenings. Harry whimpered, nearly shameless by now, trying not to thrust upwards. He wasn't-- going to-- say it--
And then Malfoy's mouth was all over him, clamped around his cock like a vise. His head barely had time to move; all he did was suck gently, once, twice, his pale cheeks hollowing slightly.
Harry's whole body tightened past bearing. His too-stiff nipples hurt; his spit stuck in his throat; his mouth was open but no sound escaped. Then Malfoy's palm was cupping his balls gently, barely squeezing, and soft, tapered fingertips pressed up ever so lightly right behind them.
Within three seconds, Harry's hips bucked violently off the ground, his neck arching at an extreme angle as he emptied himself in long streams down Malfoy's throat.
It felt like he'd never come before and he was probably never going to do it again.
He stared up into the ceiling for some time when it was over, ignoring everything; his whole body thrummed with the aftereffects.
Without saying a word, Malfoy pushed him aside roughly and laid down, turning his back to Harry even as his head was less than an inch away from Harry's mouth.
Their bodies weren't touching at any point, and Malfoy was actually starting to snore a bit, but Harry's heart wouldn't slow down and his eyes seemed glued open.
All he could see was Malfoy, even without his glasses.
Malfoy's shirtless, narrow back was filling his eyes. The matted blond hair curling around Malfoy's ears. The sharp hip sticking up in the air; it looked like the skin would bruise where Harry's fingers clenched too hard. Malfoy's arse, merely inches from Harry's exhausted cock. The even, rhythmic breaths: Malfoy was asleep with his skinny white back to him. The sharply protruding shoulder-blades were almost an invitation. Malfoy was sleeping next to him after fucking (with) him. In the Room of Requirement, no less. Malfoy slept unprotected, lying next to Harry like everything-- like he trusted-- like he thought--
This was mad.
He could still taste Malfoy in his mouth.
The smarmy git was silent for once, but the shallow breaths seemed louder than any taunt ever managed. For once, he wasn't demanding any attention; Harry had no excuse. Except... Malfoy wasn't the same like this, and that bothered him. A sort of nameless anxiety made Harry's hands clench into fists, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.
This was so wrong. So wrong. Malfoy was... wrong.
Harry's eyes turned slightly heavy-lidded as they traced the sleek curve of the other's spine. Maybe he should wake Malfoy up and give him a good punch to the stomach; that was what the git deserved, wasn't it? He shouldn't forget it. He didn't think he could get away with hurting him, did he? Malfoy couldn't hurt him, really. Harry knew he should just stop thinking about this-- about Malfoy-- but he didn't want to think. He could think later. He wanted to look his fill for now. Later, he could fix this.
Harry exhaled, and raised his hand. It hovered painfully above the bruises on Malfoy's hip, restless.
After a second, he lowered it, but he didn't move away.
Not yet.
~~
Disclaimer: not mine, Valentine.
Author's Note: This bit of pointless H/D porn excused by the unbirthday of the Artist Formerly Known As Rothik <3
- the plot -
I am what I want you to want
- Linkin Park
Malfoy's bloodless, pinched visage indeed dogged Harry's steps, though not in the way he'd meant. Currently, a high blush made him look a something like a luridly colored doll.
"Bloody hell!" Malfoy snapped his fingers in front of Harry's face, probably not for the first time. "Are you deaf or merely off it?"
Harry wasn't deaf. Possibly, he was a tad tired.
Malfoy had apparently been trying to get his attention for a while now. He was vaguely aware of this the same way he knew that Malfoy must hate him more than ever. If it mattered, he supposed he hated Malfoy right back. If Malfoy fell off the face of the earth tomorrow, at least, the DA meetings might be fun again.
It all came back to Snape. It was all his fault Malfoy was here, and it was all his fault that... lots of other things happened. Yes, disappearance wasn't nearly good enough for Snape. Malfoy, on the other hand, could just drop dead. Maybe if Harry finally glared at him hard enough, Malfoy would oblige him one day soon.
It wasn't that Malfoy disrupted the meetings; not after the first time, when they'd taught him a little lesson. No, it was just that his presence was... irritating. Harry had never enjoyed 'teaching' his fellow DA members, precisely, but this was something else. Lately he'd been counting down the minutes till the end, and somehow Malfoy always managed to leave last, just in time for a parting shot at Harry. It was tiresome if nothing else.
Ron and Hermione were probably waiting for Harry to catch up. Ron must have been distracted, to go without a dig at Malfoy, or maybe they were all getting to the point where they couldn't be bothered.
At the moment, however, Malfoy was blocking his way.
"This'll only take a minute," he drawled, lip curled as per usual. "There won't be any need to overexert yourself, if that's what you're worried about."
"Too bad I have no time for whatever this is, Malfoy. Or for you, at that, so get out of my way before I make you." That was more words than the prat warranted, but Malfoy had a way about him.
Harry tried to brush by him, but Malfoy stepped to the side with agility. After a quick mental calculation, Harry came to one conclusion: dinner was waiting. He sighed. Malfoy was like a goat: once he bit down.... "Fine. What is it," he said flatly.
"This," Malfoy spat, and a second later, Harry's eyes widened comically; he didn't see the fist coming.
Harry wheezed and doubled over, clutching his stomach as Malfoy laughed thinly. "Turnabout is fair play, eh Potter? How does it feel? A little of my superior command of potions, and I'm as strong as you are! Stronger!" He laughed and laughed until Harry's ears were ringing with it. I'm going to kill him, Harry thought. Slowly and painfully, and--
Between one second and another, something snapped.
"You fucker!" Harry snarled, tackling Malfoy to the ground blindly.
Malfoy went down easily under his meager weight; the other's own frame was all sharp bone covered by whipcord-thin muscle and skin. In a way, it felt almost rubbery. Harry got in a few good kicks, but it was frustrating. It was difficult to get a good grip, since Malfoy struggled and kicked and spit and hissed with no particular pattern but lots of furious energy.
And then there was something else: something sharp and hot that poked painfully into Harry's thigh.
Harry froze, and Malfoy immediately took advantage of this to roll Harry onto his back. Before he quite knew what happened, Malfoy was pinning him to the floor, panting, but all Harry noticed was a single fact: Malfoy was hard.
It was odd: like gears shifting drastically in Harry's mind, just like that.
Well. That made things a bit different.
--
He was almost seventeen and he was a virgin. It was awful; that weight. All (or most) of his closer acquaintances seemed to be in the same boat as far as Harry could tell, but it was the principle of the thing. He might die like this, and it would be both too pathetic and somehow fitting. He realized he could do something about it, but there was -no one- and he didn't have time, and supposedly he was a healthy teenage boy, so why wasn't he attracted to more girls?
They were all... off, somehow. There was always something that went horribly sideways, and he didn't know what to do, and how did -anyone- know? How were these things supposed to work?
Harry knew he was supposed to have become confident by this point, but the only thing he was sure of was that he was no good at any of it.
He wished he could forget the latest disaster altogether. Nothing ever went the way he imagined it, not even with a boy. He may as well have tried to snog Hermione, and he might have if not for Ron. What could he have been thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid, -stupid-. It had been a last resort for him, of course, though he couldn't say what it had been for Neville. He'd been pretending it never happened ever since then, but Harry remembered all too well.
Neville's mouth had been so dry-- too dry. He'd been so gentle and patient, too; holding on to Harry's hand and keeping his eyes open, apparently willing him to relax. Neville! Harry had pressed back only slightly and felt a bit nauseous. Nerves, probably.
Harry pulled away as soon as it became clear it was a mistake, barely moments later, but the damage had been done. Neville had asked him if he was all right in a faltering sort of voice, and he'd mumbled something about a stomachache, but Harry doubted he'd bought it. He certainly wouldn't have, but Neville was always good to him. He hadn't deserved that.
He tried not to think about it, and most of the time he succeeded. These days, there was no shortage of distractions. Besides, there were worse things, weren't there?
And now Malfoy was sitting on top of him like he was king of the world, and Harry knew he could do this much. Malfoy, he could control. It didn't even matter if Harry actually wanted anything to happen, or whether he knew what that was supposed to be in the first place; it struck Harry that he had the power to make it happen if he wanted it to. Malfoy could be his, and somewhere amid the expected light nausea, the thought intrigued him.
--
"Get off me," Harry said evenly.
"W-what?" That funny blush was back.
The beginnings of a sharp smile curled the corners of his mouth. "You heard me, Malfoy. Or are you waiting for me to--" He arched an eyebrow, gaze lowering pointedly.
"G-god!" Malfoy was up in a flash, looking horrified. "Potter! You-- don't-- no!" He took a few hasty steps away, hands flitting in front of his distended crotch before they clenched by his sides.
The exit was now clear, but Harry had other things on his mind.
"Yeah, suppose I'm not the dense prat you took me for. Funny, that."
Malfoy's pointy face looked pinched, and there were already bruises forming on his jaw. At the back of his mind, Harry still wanted to leave a few more, maybe down his lily-white neck. He had time, though; Malfoy wasn't going anywhere, and neither was Harry, for now.
"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Malfoy's voice broke a bit. Not so arrogant, standing around with a huge bloody stiffy, is he, Harry thought. Seconds later, it occurred to him that this couldn't be the first time, either, and he grinned wildly. Any semi-normal bloke would've lost it in a situation like this, but Malfoy was in a class by himself, it seemed. He likes it, the sick bastard. Harry's nostrils flared, and he got up slowly, brushing nonexistent dust off his trousers.
"Have you considered your choices here, Malfoy?" Harry gave Malfoy's slight frame a blatant once-over, just for effect.
Malfoy's mouth twitched in an attempt at a sneer. "I don't know--"
"Should I break it down for you?" Harry smirked. "You'll agree I have some pull at this point, yeah?"
"What?! Are you raving bloody-- mad--"
Harry shook his head. Time to skip to the punch-line. "Drop your trousers now and I'll pretend this never happened. That's fair, isn't it?" He watched with some fascination as Malfoy paled right before he flushed with rage once again.
"You're dead, Potter!" Malfoy took a single jerky step forward before he seemed to reconsider. "You think I'm kidding?! I don't care what you think you can do to me, I'll-- I'll--" His eyes were spitting venom and Harry felt a sort of buzzing begin all the way down at his toes. Yeah. This, he could handle. No bloody problem.
"Fancy my having a bit of a chat with say, oh, Parkinson, do you?" Harry grinned. "Even better! I imagine she'd like to know, wouldn't you?"
"Where do you sodding--" he sputtered. "Where do you think you get off?!"
"Tsk tsk. Shouldn't I be asking you that, Malfoy?"
"You can't do this to me," Malfoy whispered harshly, licking his lips. He had a surprisingly red tongue for such pink, bloodless lips. "I have rights, I'm--"
"I can," Harry said confidently, crossing his arms. "I am. So get to it."
"No way in hell, Scarhead." Malfoy's eyes were brighter than usual. Or maybe Harry never noticed how fetching Malfoy looked when he was trapped.
"Stop waffling, Malfoy. Just do it."
Harry's fingernails dug into the inside of his arms through his t-shirt. Some dark little voice in him kept whispering that Malfoy just needed a push and he'd do what Harry told him to. Only a little bit more, and he'd have him.
In theory, Harry was sure they could probably have this little staring contest go on forever. In practice, Ron and Hermione would probably remember to wonder where he was pretty soon.
"You think it's that easy, Potter?" His whole face was flushed an awful sort of red, but he didn't back down. "What are you even after?"
Harry cocked his head, eyes slitted behind his glasses. "It's simple. I don't have to explain-- you just have to deliver. Naturally, it's your choice."
"You-- you think I'd-- why you-- fucking cunt!"
Harry snorted. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he said reasonably. "Why are you still here? Tell me."
There was a brief, charged silence.
Malfoy sneered viciously, his narrow chin jutting out. Like a goat, Harry thought. "Here because you are, Scarhead."
His mouth twisted open, and Harry could see the tip of Malfoy's tongue pressed between his teeth; his own teeth gritted in response. Harry wondered if Malfoy's mouth would bruise if a finger pressed hard enough.
"So?" Harry croaked.
Malfoy's left eye twitched wildly, but he moved. His bony fists were white-knuckled as he hooked his thumbs into the waist of his trousers. His head was bowed, and the pale yellow fringe fell into his eyes so Harry couldn't see his expression, but he didn't need to. "So."
He pulled slowly, and for a few too many seconds, all Harry could see was the ribbed, improbably white edge of Malfoy's underpants. There was a trail of barely visible whitish hair curling down Malfoy's nearly concave stomach. Then he saw the triangle of darker blond curls right below, between Malfoy's curled thumbs. He was holding his pants down almost tauntingly; just enough for Harry to get the barest glimpse of semi-hard prick. It seemed his hard-on finally lost some steam.
Harry stared, not blinking; he wasn't going to lick his lips though his mouth was a touch too dry. He knew Malfoy was looking, ready to laugh at him.
There was just something damning about that tiny bared sliver; he'd never really -looked- before, of course. Now, he couldn't look away from that awful bulge and that small, rosy patch of skin at the base of Malfoy's prick, darker than his stomach.
"Hurry up already," Harry said in a thick voice. He bit the inside of his lip; maybe this wasn't the greatest idea....
"Fuck you," Malfoy hissed and gave a harsh yank. Malfoy's cock sprang free from two layers of fabric, vibrating slightly. It stood, pointing straight at him.
Harry moaned. Loudly.
It was the sound of a deeply wounded animal. Harry flushed, biting his lip harder, but it was too late. In the empty room, the sound had almost echoed. Malfoy's eyes snapped up, narrowed, and Harry's stomach sank.
He'd messed up again.
There was no reason for Malfoy's cock to be any more impressive than the rest of him; it wasn't especially thick or long, and it was unmistakably pink. Harry thrust his hands into his pockets to hide the awful trembling. He had to do something now, before.... God, before he thought about things like -licking-, which was just-- wrong--
Malfoy was staring at him and there was no mistaking it: the tables had turned, and Harry felt decidedly trapped. Some rather inventive curses blasted through Harry's mind in a hot rush. Bloody buggering hell, he was now hard enough one could probably see it from somewhere in southern Ireland.
"Like what you see, Potter?"
"N-no," Harry tried, wincing a bit. Fuck, he had to get out of here fast. There must be a way to do it without looking even more like a poncey virgin. "Sod off, Malfoy!" he snarled.
"Oh, I don't think so, Potty," Malfoy drawled with some relish. "Looks like someone doesn't have a leg to stand on, wouldn't you say so? It's just too good to miss."
Bugger this! The fucking arsehole-- he should've known! Harry's ears were starting to burn. Malfoy was still talking, but it didn't matter. All Harry had to do was lower his eyes and he lost the plot completely. God. He wanted to....
"You-- just-- shut your gob before I--" his eyes lowered "--fuckit--" Harry said, unable to process that the ragged -thing- was his voice, saying-- that.
He'd have expected Malfoy to flinch or possibly recoil. Instead there was that twitchy half-sneer again. "Not a chance," Malfoy said softly, eyes glittering. "You first, or no deal."
Malfoy stood with his trousers halfway to his knees by now, and he looked more comfortable than Harry felt fully dressed.
The 'no' was burning the tip of Harry's tongue. There were several ways to say it, anything from 'no' to 'no fucking way in hell' to just slamming the door behind him, since he wasn't the one with his cock out and dripping clear fluid, was he?
"You're--" Harry coughed. "You're so full of it, Malfoy. There is no 'deal'." Okay, this wasn't coming out right. At all. His feet almost itched, needing to move (just leave-- just hex him-- fast and easy) but Malfoy was smirking like he knew what Harry was thinking. Not that he didn't set himself up, there.
"Don't play this game with me, Potter. You're so rubbish it hurts. Why don't you give up while you're behind?" He grinned slowly. "Unless that's where you want to be." Harry immediately decided this was his least favorite expression to see. Malfoy should simply never be allowed to grin.
Malfoy couldn't make him feel like this. It couldn't happen. "I-- unlike you-- have somewhere else to be, so--"
"And I-- unlike you-- am a Prefect," Malfoy tittered with a sort of manic glee. "Weren't you listening? On your knees, Potter."
The seconds passed slowly; Harry's heart thudded while his body froze. One. (beat) Two. (beat) Three. (beat) Four. (beat) Five--
This was so wrong.
Six. (beat) Seven. (beat) Eight. (beat) Nine--
This was never going to happen.
Ten. (beat) Eleven. (beat) Twelve--
Harry closed his eyes, and Malfoy sniggered gratingly.
What was he doing? No. This was insane. No. Never. No.
(beat)
"Well? It's now or never." Malfoy's cock was dripping. (drip) He stood with his hips jutting forward, arrogant as a god. (drip) He was looking at Harry like he knew he was winning. (drip)
Harry hit his knees.
(beat)
"You'll pay for this."
(beat)
Malfoy said nothing. There was nothing to say; they'd said it all before, haven't they?
(beat)
Harry had nothing to undo, nothing to pull down; Malfoy's bare cock was glistening at him. So smooth; sleek; wet. Harry's mouth was dry as a bone.
It was ugly. Malfoy. Was. Ugly.
(beat)
"Who's on his knees?" The breathy voice was the same old Malfoy, though: that same old poncey whiny drawl. All pointy-faced Slytherin git. Harry wouldn't touch-- that-- with a ten-foot pole.
(fuck)
His jaw cracked open without conscious volition. (beat) He swallowed. (beat) His neck bent forward stiffly. It was going to take forever, he knew. (beat)
Malfoy's hips didn't move an inch. So silent. It was too silent; Harry could hear his breath catch.
(beat)
His palms hit the stone floor in front of him with a smack; both landed splayed next to Malfoy's feet. (fuck)
It was still too silent. (beat) There was a price for everything; what was this paying for?
(beat)
Harry's mouth was too wet; at the last second, Malfoy pushed forward.
(fuck)
His lips were parted softly, easily, as if in slow motion; stretched further than ever before. (So-- so wrong.) Malfoy's breath almost whistled above him.
(god)
Words fled.
Malfoy's cock hit the back of his throat like a velvet hammer; Harry swallowed, trying not to choke on his saliva. His teeth scraped a bit and Malfoy yowled as his cock twitched violently, but didn't pull out. His grip on Harry's hair grew harsh, and he gave a vicious yank in retaliation.
"You bloody-- oaf! Bite an' I'll tear off your fucking bol--" Harry felt awkward, and wriggled his tongue along the leaky slit before he thought better of it. "Yeah, alright," Malfoy slurred, hissing.
Harry gurgled; now there was an annoying bitter-sour taste along with all the saliva. Bloody brilliant, he thought fiercely, before Malfoy's knees wobbled and he lurched backwards, cursing when he slammed into a wall. Harry was too disoriented to react immediately, but he didn't pause to think before scrabbling to follow. Malfoy's tiny whimper was all he needed to hear. Harry gave a faint hitching moan and fastened his mouth onto Malfoy's cock blindly, without second thought.
Harry clutched at Malfoy's thighs, his nails digging into pale flesh. Malfoy hadn't pried his fingers loose yet for some reason; Harry dug deeper. The first thrust had almost been slow, so Harry was caught completely unprepared when Malfoy began to really move. He grunted loudly with every jerk of his hips, whimpering inarticulately whenever his cock hit the roof of Harry's mouth, skidding past his teeth, ramming into his cheek. Most of Harry's instincts screamed at him to pull away already, but some streak of stubbornness refused to give Malfoy any ammunition. If Malfoy ever found out this was his first time, he'd--
"Fuck!" he chanted with every halting panting breath. "Fuck! Yeah! P-potter! Nnnn-- you're! F-fucking! B-born! For! This! Aaaaaannghhh-- f-f-fuck!"
Why couldn't the stupid arse shut up? What was it going to take?! Harry's frantic thoughts barely connected with each other as he made an effort to actually suck. This running commentary was just too much. "Shut your-- mmph--" he snarled as best he could with a mouth full of cock.
Malfoy moaned loudly at this, and his hips pistoned so fast it strained Harry's upper limit of endurance, but he could take it. There was nothing Malfoy could throw at him that he couldn't take.
"That's-- it! T-t-take-- it! F-ffuuuccck! Ssssso-- you're-- so-- fuckin' g-gghhhhh-- nnnn-- g-god!"
Harry's lips felt scraped raw, but Malfoy kept going. He clutched at Malfoy's hips and held on. He had to concentrate so he wouldn't mess up again, though the urge to do it on purpose remained. He couldn't give in. He couldn't stop.
Malfoy was moaning and swearing disconnectedly; most of it made no real sense, but Harry knew exactly what it meant.
"You're-- m-mnnn-- aah-- nn-m-mine!"
For once, Harry wasn't listening to what Malfoy was saying, though. He was listening to other things. Every tiny little sound Malfoy made, the wobble in his bony knees, the quivering skin between his narrow thighs. Malfoy's skin was covered in goosebumps beneath Harry's fingers, and Harry listened. He was going to get all of it. This was his. Malfoy owed him this and more, now, and Harry wasn't going to stop until he'd had everything.
He was moaning so softly, Malfoy couldn't possibly hear. The sound was trapped against Malfoy's cock, and it was a secret Harry refused to share.
Malfoy was screaming. ("POTTER!") He couldn't be listening; he was screaming.
Malfoy's nails dug into his skull and he pulled at clumps of his hair, but the pain helped. Harry tugged in the opposite direction, groaning, trapping his cock mercilessly between his thighs. He wasn't going to give in. He wasn't going to come.
Harry grabbed his balls in a painful grip, nearly hyperventilating.
Malfoy shot repeatedly; thin jets of bitter come, turning Harry mute. He couldn't have kept moaning as Malfoy came, but he kept his mouth glued to Malfoy's cock, sealing it. Malfoy kept coming for what seemed like ages, his cock ramming past Harry's jaw like he was still trying to punch him. Harry was almost past caring-- swallowing took too much effort, and most of the fluid leaked from the corners of his mouth, but it was almost over.
Not yet, though.
--
He didn't notice the exact moment he fell back and stopped. His ears were ringing, and stopping meant-- stopping meant-- things were real.
Malfoy might have been trying to get his attention again.
Harry lay motionless on the floor; his head was propped up on a practice pillow now. He wasn't waiting for anything. His cock ached, trapped in his underwear, but the sheer white noise in his mind made that almost irrelevant. The only clear thought was that he was going to get up soon; in a second. It felt like he might be getting a headache.
Dispassionately, he noticed that Malfoy was on his knees next to him. He'd done up his trousers, though that stupid-looking purple shirt wasn't tucked in yet. Malfoy seemed to have an odd light in his eyes, which Harry couldn't be bothered to interpret. He supposed Malfoy thought he'd won.
Maybe he had.
Harry tracked the descent of Malfoy's head as it bent towards him, lower and lower. His glasses had been knocked off earlier, and his right hand made a half-hearted circle in search of them. It wasn't as if he wanted to know what Malfoy looked like right now.
Malfoy's mouth was too soft, warm and slippery against Harry's lips. He was barely moving and he definitely wasn't trying to get Harry to open up. He was just -there-, trickling a tiny bit of saliva into the corner of Harry's mouth and allowing him to grow almost used to his presense. Harry's eyes drifted closed slowly; he was very tired. Then without warning, Malfoy licked at him, swiping a neatly pointed tongue into Harry's parted mouth with its remaining traces of slimy bitterness.
Malfoy tasted slightly sour and somewhat unsavory, but as soon as the intrusion fully registered, Harry's whole body jolted back to life. Malfoy was trying to-- taste him.
He might have made some noise, or it could have been Malfoy, and then the other's mouth was gone and Harry's eyes squinted open to witness the blurry top of a white-blond head moving down his torso in a sort of slow motion.
He couldn't see it, but he could imagine Malfoy's malicious little smile quite clearly. He knew what that git was thinking, and more than anything, he wished he didn't.
"No," Harry whispered, but it was a lie. He wished Malfoy would say something; gloat, maybe. This awful new tentative attitude was somehow stifling. If nothing else, it would've helped if Malfoy stopped trailing his fingers down his arm like that. So lightly, like Harry would break if Malfoy pushed too hard.
"Oh yes," Malfoy hissed, his bony fingers fumbling with Harry's trouser fastenings. Harry whimpered, nearly shameless by now, trying not to thrust upwards. He wasn't-- going to-- say it--
And then Malfoy's mouth was all over him, clamped around his cock like a vise. His head barely had time to move; all he did was suck gently, once, twice, his pale cheeks hollowing slightly.
Harry's whole body tightened past bearing. His too-stiff nipples hurt; his spit stuck in his throat; his mouth was open but no sound escaped. Then Malfoy's palm was cupping his balls gently, barely squeezing, and soft, tapered fingertips pressed up ever so lightly right behind them.
Within three seconds, Harry's hips bucked violently off the ground, his neck arching at an extreme angle as he emptied himself in long streams down Malfoy's throat.
It felt like he'd never come before and he was probably never going to do it again.
He stared up into the ceiling for some time when it was over, ignoring everything; his whole body thrummed with the aftereffects.
Without saying a word, Malfoy pushed him aside roughly and laid down, turning his back to Harry even as his head was less than an inch away from Harry's mouth.
Their bodies weren't touching at any point, and Malfoy was actually starting to snore a bit, but Harry's heart wouldn't slow down and his eyes seemed glued open.
All he could see was Malfoy, even without his glasses.
Malfoy's shirtless, narrow back was filling his eyes. The matted blond hair curling around Malfoy's ears. The sharp hip sticking up in the air; it looked like the skin would bruise where Harry's fingers clenched too hard. Malfoy's arse, merely inches from Harry's exhausted cock. The even, rhythmic breaths: Malfoy was asleep with his skinny white back to him. The sharply protruding shoulder-blades were almost an invitation. Malfoy was sleeping next to him after fucking (with) him. In the Room of Requirement, no less. Malfoy slept unprotected, lying next to Harry like everything-- like he trusted-- like he thought--
This was mad.
He could still taste Malfoy in his mouth.
The smarmy git was silent for once, but the shallow breaths seemed louder than any taunt ever managed. For once, he wasn't demanding any attention; Harry had no excuse. Except... Malfoy wasn't the same like this, and that bothered him. A sort of nameless anxiety made Harry's hands clench into fists, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.
This was so wrong. So wrong. Malfoy was... wrong.
Harry's eyes turned slightly heavy-lidded as they traced the sleek curve of the other's spine. Maybe he should wake Malfoy up and give him a good punch to the stomach; that was what the git deserved, wasn't it? He shouldn't forget it. He didn't think he could get away with hurting him, did he? Malfoy couldn't hurt him, really. Harry knew he should just stop thinking about this-- about Malfoy-- but he didn't want to think. He could think later. He wanted to look his fill for now. Later, he could fix this.
Harry exhaled, and raised his hand. It hovered painfully above the bruises on Malfoy's hip, restless.
After a second, he lowered it, but he didn't move away.
Not yet.
~~