Harry Potter had absolutely wonderful eyes. This wasn�t a new realisation, it wasn�t as if he�d woken up that morning and suddenly seen the beauty of the deep green irises that stared across the Great Hall at him over breakfast. No, Draco had known for a while that Potter�s eyes were startlingly intense. As was every other part of him, from the slender calves in their faded, slightly-too-tight jeans to the lightly muscled shoulders and the messy shock of black hair that made Draco�s fingers itch for a comb. And he knew that his own eyes were equally startlingly coloured, equally intense.
Draco bit viciously into his sandwich, trying to ignore the insistent pull of those eyes on him. No. No, no, no. He mentally thumbed his nose at Harry, even knowing it was a childish impulse. You�re not getting me that easily. I can ignore you. He could, he told himself, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, luxuriating in its cool shade. He didn�t need to look at Potter, because he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys simply didn�t have such needs. Likewise, he couldn�t possibly want to do� anything else to Potter. Malfoys did not have relationships with those of a lesser class, and certainly did not have anything at all to do with Harry Potter. Any possibility of friendship between them had vanished in their first year, after Harry had refused him and Draco had lashed out in anger and humiliation. After that� well, any possibility of reconciliation had been voided by the return of Lord Voldemort in their fourth year, when Harry Potter became the Enemy.
So Draco refused to let himself watch Potter, refused to acknowledge those wonderful eyes, tried to pretend the Gryffindor simply didn�t exist. It was a vicious, biting irony, then, that Harry Potter had become the one thing Draco most wanted to look at. That Draco simply couldn�t stop thinking about what it might be like to run his hands through that windswept hair, to hold Harry�s head and take that grave, smiling mouth with his own.
A burst of laughter rang through the still, heat-laden summer air, and Draco looked up, absently licking the crumbs of his sandwich from his fingers. Potter was laughing at something the Weasel had said, his head thrown back to expose the clean, pale line of his throat. Even at this distance Draco could see the sheen of sweat on Harry�s skin, and his eyes narrowed as he imagined what it would taste like if he ran his tongue over the hollow between the other boy�s collarbones� His teeth grazed the skin of his knuckle, bringing him back to the present even as it sent a tiny shiver of arousal through him.
Potter had twisted to one side now, listening to something that Granger Mudblood was saying, and the motion pulled the damp fabric of his summer T-shirt tightly against his body, limning the muscles of his arms and chest in Gryffindor red. Draco swallowed and shifted, feeling his stomach tingle and his crotch tighten. Hastily he rearranged his Potions textbook on his lap to hide any signs of his incipient arousal, throwing a mental curse at whoever decided to make Potter look so bloody good today.
Draco shook his head hard, wishing such un-Malfoy-like thoughts away. The heat made his scalp prickle; it had been near-constant for the past week as students toiled away at revision and exams, and quickly everyone had gone from basking in the summery warmth to feeling sticky and tired and wishing that the humidity would turn to rain. Draco could almost feel the tension in the air; there would be an almighty storm when the weather finally broke. He usually rather liked storms. There was something about the sheer raging power of the elements that made who he was and what he wanted and all the little inevitabilities of his life utterly and completely insignificant. It had a magic all its own.
A careless hand ruffled his hair, and he turned, scowling at Pansy. �Don�t touch me, Parkinson.�
�Excuse me, I�m sure,� she sniffed, dropping down beside him and pulling her own Potions revision notes out of her bag. They had had all their other exams already (Draco thought he had done quite well, and was quietly confident), but Snape had rescheduled their Potions practical for tomorrow morning, as he had been away for the last week. He wasn�t particularly looking forward to being trapped in the dungeon for three hours with fires burning and cauldrons bubbling. Not when even outdoors held no hint of a breeze.
�Was there something you wanted, Parkinson?� Potter and his Muggle-loving cronies were still giggling together out in the sunshine. Draco wondered how they could stand the heat, and why they didn�t burn. Weasley might be a mass of freckles, but Potter�s skin was almost as fine and pale as Draco�s own. He imagined touching it, running his hands across Harry�s chest, marking him with his fingernails, making him gasp.
�We�re supposed to be studying together, remember, Draco?� Pansy followed his glance and sniffed audibly. �My goodness, they�re a disgrace, aren�t they? Look at them, not even wearing proper robes. They might as well be Muggles.�
�They practically are,� Draco murmured, indecent visions of Harry�s naked chest draped in the loose crimson of his Quidditch robes playing before his mind�s eye. He could feel himself hardening in response, and hoped Pansy hadn�t noticed his sharp intake of breath as Potter bounded suddenly to his feet. There was no excuse for these kinds of thoughts. He was a Malfoy, he told himself as he watched Harry walk away, back into the castle, fixing in his mind the way those faded jeans clung to the planes of his thighs, the curves of his arse. A Malfoy, and therefore he could not be thinking this.
Harry sits quietly in the Gryffindor common room after the Potions exam, listening as Hermione frets about the tiny mistakes she has made, which Snape will surely have noticed and penalised her for. Ron is trying to reassure her, but all of them are too hot and sticky now to make much of an effort at anything. It is almost noon, and by now the heat of the sun has dispelled any lingering coolness the night has left behind, warming the air to an almost unbearable humidity.
Harry isn�t really worried about the exam; he knows that Snape will mark him down as much as is possible without forcing Dumbledore to step in, but Hermione has overseen his revision this year, and managed to cram most of the pertinent facts into his head. Instead, he thinks about the heat, and the storm which must surely be approaching in Professor Trelawney�s crystal ball, and the strange moment yesterday when he had looked up from his dinner and seen Draco Malfoy staring back at him from the Slytherin table.
Of course, Harry thinks, being stared at by Malfoy is nothing new. Nor, really, is the intensity that had pervaded that shared glance for the long seconds that Malfoy�s eyes held his own, before the blond boy looked away. What surprised Harry then, and troubles him still, is that there seemed to be something else besides hatred in that intensity, something strange and different and shockingly familiar. And Harry doesn�t know what it is. It has distracted him all day; his first thought had been that Malfoy knew something, some new plan of Voldemort�s to strike at Harry, at Dumbledore, at the school. Yet it had seemed so personal, somehow. And surely, surely, he thinks, Malfoy would be his usual sneering, triumphant self over something like that.
It makes Harry feel peculiar. Earlier, in the midst of the exam, he had felt those silver eyes on him again, and had hunched his shoulders against the gaze that seemed to strip the clothes from his body, leave him naked and exposed to the world. He wonders what Malfoy means by it. He knows too much about the boy, about his family and loyalties, to let himself hope that it was anything other than humiliation that Draco intended. Harry knows that Draco Malfoy hates him, despises him, sees him as the Enemy. There is no room in their interaction for the burning dreams that sometimes wake him, the half-shameful fantasies that he keeps hidden in the darkness behind his bed-curtains.
Harry doesn�t know when it began, when he started to actually enjoy the strange, intense thing that twists between the two of them. He hates Malfoy with a passion, hates the way he sneers at the world, hates the way he puts Ron and Hermione down, hates him for going out of his way so often to bring trouble down on Harry. And yet, inevitably, that hot hate-filled gaze can turn him on like nothing else. Harry thinks that he must be some kind of pervert, getting off on hatred like this, but he can�t seem to help it. Since Christmas last year he has avoided getting into physical fights with Draco for fear of his hated enemy discovering exactly how much it arouses him.
Even the thought of it heats Harry up now. Half of his private fantasies begin with fights, with tumbling across the floor with Malfoy in a tangle of flailing limbs and flying fists that turn as easily as breathing into kisses and bites and fumbling, grasping hands. Too many nights Harry dreams of being shoved viciously up against a wall by Draco, of being taken, hard and quick and panting, by his enemy. Inevitably he awakens trembling and ashamed, the stains of his illicit pleasure sticky on his stomach and sheets as though he were still a confused child of thirteen.
But Malfoy is just that, a Malfoy, and Harry knows that his fantasies are unrealistic, has long since resigned himself to leaving that peculiar hatred be. Still, sometimes he cannot help but glance across at the pale, slender Slytherin boy, wondering what that fine blond hair would feel like pulled taut between his fingers.
He stands now, telling Ron and Hermione that he�s going out in search of air. They let him, knowing that since the tragic events of two years ago Harry sometimes needs time alone, space to think. He goes out of the common room, wandering down through the heat sink that is Hogwarts, heading perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not, for the exit to the grounds and the tree under which he had watched Draco and Pansy studying together yesterday.
Halfway there, something catches his eye and he stops, peering through a cracked-open door into a small, high-ceilinged room off the entranceway. It is the shimmer of light on silver-blond hair that has attracted his notice, and Harry watches, entranced, as Draco Malfoy bends his head and presses his forehead against the cool stone of the wall. His hands are splayed out against it as if in protest, and from this angle Harry can trace the clean lines of his neck and shoulders with his eyes. The sight sends a shiver through him, and he bites his lip as Malfoy wraps one arm around himself, imagining his own in its place.
Draco sighs quietly, and plucks absently at the front of his T-shirt; he has removed his black school robe and is standing there in Slytherin green and black trousers that Harry thinks are too tight to be decent, too achingly erotic to be permissible, as Malfoy shifts slightly, his hand moving slowly downwards, and the material pulls against him. In his mind Harry has already pushed his hands beneath the hem of that sweat-damp T-shirt, marked that pale slender throat with his teeth, and as Malfoy mutters �God damn you, Potter,� he cannot help but gasp.
Instantly Malfoy turns towards the door, eyes wide and frantic and hair falling into his eyes. Retreating hastily, Harry turns the corner and makes a dash for the stairs back up to the common room, deciding that he doesn�t want to go outside right now after all.
That night, heat and arousal combine to banish sleep from Harry�s bed, thoughts of Draco�s hair and skin and limbs and mouth swirling about him in the stifling darkness until he cannot help but wrap his trembling fingers around himself and try to imagine that it is anyone else but Draco.
Draco shivered in the thick dungeon air, biting his lip out of five years of shared-dormitory habits as his hands moved over his own body. Staring into the shadowy depths of the green velvet hangings above his bed, the memory of Harry�s eyes meeting his filled his mind and his fingers closed, agonisingly slowly, about his own cock.
Slowly, he admonished himself, tightening his grip with a bitten-off moan and rubbing his other hand flat across his nipple. This is all you�re allowed� He had kicked off even the light cotton sheet during the night, and divested himself of the thin silk of his pyjamas sometime towards morning. Now, naked in the thin light that spilled through the high, barred windows, Draco stroked his hand up and down slowly, imagining Harry Potter�s warmth surrounding him and fighting to keep from thrusting his hips upwards.
Harry�s eyes, dilated in lust � Harry�s skin silken against his own � Harry�s hands rough in his hair � Harry�s body, trim and taut and pressed against his own � Harry�s teeth scraping his skin � Draco raked his fingernails across his chest, groaning � Harry�s mouth wrapped around him, taking him�
A strangled groan escaped him as he came in a hot, sticky flood across his hand and stomach, and Draco collapsed limply back onto the bed, tears of bitter shame and fury prickling at the corners of his eyes.
Eventually he pulled himself together enough to shower and joined the other Slytherins in the common room when they came back from breakfast. The weather hadn�t broken yet and it was still horribly stifling down in the dungeons; soon enough Draco�s T-shirt was stuck to his back with sweat as he listened to the seventh-years swapping inflated stories of what they were going to be doing next year. Draco didn�t pay them much attention, caught between wishing that the storm would break and wishing that he didn�t always have to be a Malfoy. Wishing that just for once he could act on impulse, without the sickening knowledge of his own weakness.
When he wandered out of the common room, muttering some excuse to Pansy, no one followed him. Draco headed outside, thinking that perhaps it might be a little cooler down by the lake. As soon as he stepped out of the doors he could feel the electric pressure in the air, crackling like lightning along his bones. It wouldn�t be long now, he thought in satisfaction, wandering down the path to the lake and making straight for a grove of willows that screened him from the castle as well as offering his fair skin some protection from the sun. Along the horizon, a few pale clouds were massing, hazing and smudging the clear air at the limits of the world. Draco imagined them as a thin veil drawn about the magical world, dividing the school and village from the mundane outside existence of the Muggles.
Sprawling out on the bank of the lake, Draco dipped one absent hand into the water, watching as it swirled dark and murky against his skin. It felt like his thoughts, cold and chill and endlessly in motion. He shivered, staring into the water�s depths, watching half-obscured strands of pond-weed undulating gently in the unseen currents.
It would be all right, he told himself. Just one more year, and he would never have to look at Potter again � if Voldemort didn�t finish him first. Just two more weeks, and school would finish for the summer, giving Draco two months when he would not have to be tormented by the other boy�s constant presence. And perhaps in his absence the dreams and fantasies might ease their stranglehold on his subconscious. He just had to be strong for a little longer.
The lake water was lapping idly at the bank; the air was close and still with no hint of a breeze to cool Draco�s prickling skin. He wondered whether Potter felt the heat in this kind of itchy way, whether he would welcome sweaty summer tangling atop silken sheets or seek solace in the cool of frequent showers. No. I am a Malfoy, and this is unsuitable. Draco tried to banish the image of Potter stretched out naked and rumpled atop his bed, instead picturing the fury and disappointment that would cross his father�s face if Lucius could see inside his son�s head. This is unsuitable, he repeated to himself as if the words could banish his attraction or desire. Therefore it is impossible.
Draco knew that he was a dutiful son to his father, his family. He was careful to uphold the principles that the Malfoys stood for, he adhered rigidly to the family Code. He abhorred those of less-than-pure Wizarding blood, clung fiercely to the privilege of birth and old money, embraced the Dark Arts with delight. He was a good Malfoy, he knew, a credit to his name. His father had doled out such words for sparing praise ever since Draco had been old enough to understand them. He was in all respects a Malfoy, but he had one weakness, and he knew it.
Draco rolled over in the dry grass, sighing as he stared up through the still silvery leaves at the hot pale blue of the sky. Green eyes glared at him in his mind; hot, sharply focused and full of furious promise. Angrily, he stilled his hand, which had been creeping up his leg towards his crotch, flinging it away and ripping up a vicious handful of dying grass. Sitting up, he clenched his fist, digging his nails through the stems and into the flesh of his palm, then pulled himself to his feet, opening his fingers and scattering the grass behind him as he walked back up to the castle.
Harry wanders along the lake path, staring into the waters and wishing that they were less filled with mermen and Grindylows and giant squid, and more welcoming to swimmers. The heat and humidity are palpable presences, pressing in on him from all sides, and he thinks that if the storm doesn�t break soon he will go mad from the sheer level of electric tension in the air. Clouds have started forming overhead this evening, the sky pressing down on the landscape, but still the rain is holding off. Harry tilts his head, looking consideringly up at the darkening clouds above him. Despite the lack of sunshine now, it is still unbearably hot and sticky, but he knows it won�t be too much longer.
The tension about him feels strung out through his own body, and Harry worries his teeth into his lip, refusing to let his mind linger on any half-glimpsed images of blond hair and pale skin and deep, deep silvery eyes� He lifts a curtain of willow fronds, ducking into the shade of the weeping canopy. A hiss of shock and guilty pleasure escapes him as he straightens up and sees Draco Malfoy sprawled elegantly on the dry grass at his feet. Harry�s mind insists on systematically stripping the clothes from Malfoy�s slender limbs, and he feels his face heat and his pupils dilate even as he thinks irrelevantly that the tight T-shirt and jeans that the other boy wears leave very little to the imagination anyway. His eyes follow the clean lines of Malfoy�s thighs upwards to his denim-clad crotch before Harry can help himself; he squeezes them shut and prays to God and every saint he has ever heard of that Malfoy won�t decide to make an issue out of this unfortunate meeting.
�Potter.� Malfoy scrambles to his feet, and in the small, remote part of his mind that is not overwhelmed with sheer indecent arousal, Harry wonders absently why he seems slightly breathless. They stare silently into each others� faces for long moments while Harry tries desperately to think of something to say that is not completely inane and Draco arches a slow, lazy eyebrow. Harry is overwhelmed by a sudden urge to pound that sneering, pointed face into a bloody mess, an equally strong urge to taste that sweaty skin hot on the tip of his tongue.
�Why is it,� Malfoy asks in a tone of disinterested curiosity, �that you seem to turn up everywhere, Potter?� He sneers, and curls his lip, and Harry just wants to bite him hard enough to draw blood. �Kind of like an uninvited guest,� Malfoy adds calculatedly. �Of course, you�d be used to being unwanted, wouldn�t you?�
The tension between them is thick and heavy, echoing the approaching storm, and Harry can feel it so clearly that it seems like he could reach out and touch it. He stares into those icy, furious eyes, not letting himself wonder why Malfoy is angry this time. �Oh, shut up Malfoy, you bastard,� he grits out between his teeth, afraid of how Draco can make him feel.
�Oh?� Draco looks him up and down ostentatiously, smirking a little, and Harry feels the trail of his gaze like a physical touch caressing him. No longer able to control his physical reaction to the other boy�s closeness, he can feel a tingling knot tightening in the pit of his stomach, a hot pulse beating through his stirring flesh. Oh God, he thinks muzzily, fixated on the sheen of sweat wrapping Draco�s pale throat.
�Shut up, Malfoy,� he manages to choke out, feeling his own assurance beginning to slip even as Draco�s seems to mount. �Or I�ll��
�Oh?� Draco�s hot gaze pinned him like a butterfly to a board; Harry was trapped in those eyes, unable and unwilling to move. �What are you going to do to me, Potter?�
And it all cracks. Dimly, as the world contracts about him, centring firmly somewhere between their two bodies, Harry is aware of the first splintering crackle of lightning overhead. The silver flash that splits the heavens in two seems mirrored in Draco�s gaze as Harry closes the slight distance between them, reaching out his cupped hand and settling it firmly on the crotch of Draco�s too-tight jeans.
�I thought I�d do this.� Harry keeps his eyes locked with Draco�s as he squeezes gently, and is rewarded with a harsh gasp and a noticeable hardening beneath his fingers even as Draco freezes like a wild animal confronted with a trap.
His own arousal is almost painful, his erection pressing against the rough fabric of his trousers as he fumbles with Draco�s fly buttons, yanking down his zip. Draco makes no move of protest, but neither does he indicate any willingness � until Harry shoves his hand inside his jeans and wraps his fingers tightly around Draco�s erection. Then Draco hisses involuntarily and collapses forward with a ripped-out groan onto Harry, grabbing at his shoulders for support and pushing helplessly forward into his enveloping hand. �God � God,� Draco chokes against Harry�s ear, and Harry holds him up with one hand, the other stroking rhythmically up and down Draco�s thrusting cock. Draco is leaning against him, his chest pressed against Harry�s and his hips moving spasmodically as he loses himself in Harry�s deft manipulation of his body.
Harry lifts his free hand, tangling it in Draco�s baby-fine hair and yanking his head back, seeking his mouth with a blind intensity as thunder rolls above them shivering through the humid air. The wet slap of the first fat drops against the willow leaves goes unnoticed as their lips and tongues meet in a frantic, messy kiss that is pure perfection and goes on and on as they possess each others mouths utterly. Harry shifts his grip, panting against Draco�s open mouth as his own body pushes insistently towards the aching heat of the other, rubbing his thumb across the damp head as he increases his strokes up and down Draco�s straining length.
Draco tips his head back with a shuddering moan, pushing himself further into Harry�s grip, and Harry leans in and runs his tongue across the smooth pale expanse of his bared throat, tasting sweat and musk and arousal. Thunder cracks deafeningly as he sets his teeth bruisingly into the moist skin, biting down as he strokes harder, harder, and Draco comes with a hoarse incoherent cry as the heavens finally open, knees buckling as he spills himself into Harry�s hand and the rain hits them like a sweeping curtain. The storm has finally broken.
Draco�s knees buckled as completion hit him with the force of the Killing Curse, and he slumped to the ground, pulling Harry down with him as lightening flickered overhead and the rain crashed down. Utterly without thought, Draco buried his face in Harry�s neck, fumbling one-handed at the bulge in his trousers even as he greedily licked the trickling raindrops from the flushed skin. Harry panted into his hair, pushing upwards against Draco�s hand with a desperate sort of motion and a hoarse moan from the back of his throat.
Shoving his hand beneath Harry�s damp waistband with an utter lack of finesse, Draco closed his fingers hard about Harry�s straining cock and stroked once, twice� It was enough for Harry, who convulsed against him with a strangled yell, hot fluid pulsing against Draco�s wrist briefly before being washed away by the cleansing rains. They clung together, twin jumbles of scarecrow limbs and soaked-through clothing and heavy breathing, dreams come true and broken in an instant�s loss of control.
Slowly, calculatedly, Draco contemplated the situation that had overtaken him. If ignoring Harry had been hard before, it was about to become sheer impossibility now that he knew the feel of Harry�s hands on him, Harry�s mouth on his skin and tongue inside his mouth. Already he wanted more; he couldn�t even bring himself to loosen his death-grip on the other boy�s shirt or lift his head from Harry�s shoulder. A choking sort of feeling rose within his chest, and Draco bit savagely down on it. He had thrown away everything he had ever been taught to believe for one illicit moment of stolen pleasure, and now would have to live with the consequences of his actions. Dully, he waited for Harry to laugh at him, to mock him, to threaten and vilify and abandon him.
Instead, Harry groaned into Draco�s ear, pulling himself upright and wincing as a cascade of water rolled off his saturated hair and down the back of his neck. Draco shivered; the rain was turning chill, and without the consolation of Harry�s borrowed warmth he was getting very cold very quickly.
Harry blinked owlishly at him from behind the droplets that coated his glasses. �Can we maybe go inside now?�
�Huh?� Draco stared at him. Harry was actually wearing a lazy little smile along with his attractive flush.
�Indoors?� Harry repeated. �It�s a bit wet out here.� That smile ought to be outlawed, Draco thought fuzzily as Harry leaned over and helped him fasten his trousers. The closeness of his hands continued what the expression had begun, sending pulsing thrills through Draco�s chilled flesh.
�OK.� Draco staggered to his feet, shaking his head like a dog and scattering water from his rat-tailed hair. �I � I�ve got my own room�� he trailed off, wondering how far Harry was willing to take this.
At least as far as Draco himself, it seemed, because Harry flashed him that wonderfully naughty grin, the one that made Draco wonder where the prissy, prudish Gryffindor he�d thought he knew had gone, and whispered �I was counting on it.�
As they dripped their way through the Entrance Hall, carefully walking a few feet apart despite the ache for contact that was burning in Draco�s stomach, he could hear the sounds of the school at dinner coming from the Great Hall. When he pulled Harry after him into the Slytherin common room, Draco was glad of the emptiness, but as he slammed the door of his room behind them and shoved Harry up against it, meeting his lips open-mouthed and hungry, he forgot to care.
Suddenly desperate for more, for as much contact as possible, Draco yanked at Harry�s T-shirt, dragging it over his head and tossing it still sopping onto the floor. He ran his hands roughly across Harry�s naked chest, pleased by the hiss that escaped the other boy, and licked a hot, hasty trail down his throat to his nipples, raking his teeth over them. Harry fell back against the support of the door, hands coming to rest on Draco�s shoulders and tightening as Draco sucked at his flesh, leaving a hopscotch trail of messy red love bites snaking down Harry�s torso.
Draco�s cold fingers were already fumbling with the fastenings of Harry�s trousers; he knew exactly what he wanted, had dreamed of doing this every night for months. Harry was already hard as Draco dragged his wet trousers and boxers down to his knees, fell to his own despite his wet clothes and the cold of the stone floor. Harry moaned as Draco breathed softly across his crotch, then yelped and clutched hold of his head, startled fingers digging into Draco�s hair as he leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around Harry�s cock.
Harry seemed to forget to breathe for minutes at a time as Draco sucked on him, teasing with his tongue; he alternated between tiny, panting moans and choking gasps as he writhed helplessly beneath Draco�s lips. Draco was enjoying himself immensely, filled to bursting with the giddy taste of Harry and memorising exactly where to suck and lick to elicit the best reactions. Harry�s fingernails were digging into his scalp, but he didn�t care; he got rougher, raking his nails down Harry�s thighs and scraping delicately along the hard flesh in his mouth with his teeth, his own body reacting inevitably to the eroticism of the moment and the tiny helpless noises Harry was making.
Caught in a moment of clarity, Harry manages to pull himself away from Draco�s warm enveloping mouth, panting out �No � wait, not yet...�
Draco looks ravishably confused, eyes wide and dilated and mouth red and swollen, and Harry tugs gently on his hair, pulling him upwards and thrusting his tongue hard between those parted lips. Draco pushes back into the kiss, his own tongue curling hot and wet around Harry�s, and Harry can taste himself in Draco�s mouth. It is the most arousing experience of his life, and he pushes Draco back towards the bed, stepping out of his remaining clothing as he goes and tugging at the hem of Draco�s T-shirt.
�What� you want�� Draco manages to pant out when Harry has pushed him down on the bed and is busy shucking him out of his trousers, mouth busy leaving half-moon toothmarks on those pale, pale shoulders.
Harry flicks his tongue around a nipple, then bites down roughly as Draco arches up to meet him. �I want you in me,� he gasps out as Draco�s talented hands find his cock again, swinging one leg over so that he is straddling Draco�s hips, their hypersensitive bodies rubbing agonisingly against each other.
�Fine with me,� Draco gasps out, letting him go to rummage for something in the jumble on the bedside table. Harry presses his erection down against Draco�s, bends to nip at his throat as he grinds their crotches together.
Draco�s hands, slick with some spicily-scented oil, curve around Harry�s arse and slip into new territory. Harry gasps, setting his teeth into Draco�s shoulder as one slender finger presses slowly inside of him, unable to decide between pushing back onto the invader or pressing forward against the rigidity of Draco�s erection between his thighs. The finger moves, exerting a twisting pressure, and Harry bucks forward, biting down so hard that Draco hisses, caught between pleasure and pain.
A brief withdrawal, more oil, and the finger is joined by another, pushing slowly into and out of him. Harry groans, hips moving spasmodically as Draco skilfully brings him to the edge. Just as he thinks that it is becoming too much for him, the probing digits withdraw and Draco pushes him upright, squirming out from beneath him into a kneeling position.
�Here, turn around,� he whispers, and his throaty voice sends pre-climactic shivers down Harry�s spine. He does as he is instructed, sitting back with a moan as Draco rubs his erection slowly up and down against Harry�s arse, then lifts him a little, pressing tantalisingly at his entrance.
When he speaks, his voice is tight and shaking with lust, his hands clutching at Harry�s hips almost painfully. �Ready?� he asks, but Harry makes the decision for him, pressing himself down and onto him. Draco slides slickly into him with a delicious friction, a groan echoing in Harry�s ear as he clenches his fingers so hard that his nails dig painfully into Harry�s sides. Harry breathes deeply, easing himself past the first few burning moments, then shifts his hips experimentally, moving within the circle of Draco�s arms.
Draco bucks against him, thrusting hard and biting down viciously on Harry�s shoulder, one hand coming to rest on Harry�s aching cock. They settle into a pitching, gasping rhythm, Harry rocking forwards into Draco�s enveloping hand and backwards onto his impaling erection. Climax builds swiftly in him, tugged inevitably onward with each tiny motion Draco makes within him until it is all too much and Harry explodes in a dizzying whirlwind of pulsing colour. His orgasm tips Draco headlong over the edge, and Harry feels the sharp little teeth embedded in his shoulder break through skin even as the hot flood of Draco�s release pulses within him. They collapse together into a sticky, sweaty tangle of limbs and gasps and trembling aftershocks.
Breath and coherence returned slowly. Draco shifted a little, attempting to disentangle his limbs from Harry�s before they went completely numb, but desisted at a sleepy sound of protest from Harry. Their skins were glued together anyway; there was a plastic, tearing sound as Draco lifted one arm and repositioned it, curling his fingers into the soft hair at Harry�s nape.
The strength of Harry�s reaction to him had surprised Draco utterly, as had the Gryffindor�s complete lack of inhibitions with him. The two combined had managed to completely destroy any remaining shreds of Malfoy honour that he possessed. Draco wondered what his father would think of him now, tangled around Harry Potter in a mess of sweaty, sticky sheets, both of them covered in bruises and bite marks, but he was too tired to really make much of an effort at sorting out the situation now.
Harry yawned, pulling away and sitting up. Draco watched, lazy and amused, as he ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up like an extremely disgruntled hedgehog. The green eyes widened as they washed like water over Draco�s body, and he wondered absently at what point Harry had discarded his glasses. Without the lenses, he seemed much more vulnerable, an impression enhanced by his generally messy state.
�Shit, Draco�� Harry began, trailing off into silence and gesturing at Draco�s naked chest. Draco glanced down at himself, slightly surprised not by the livid red of the bite marks but by their sheer profusion. His chest and shoulders were covered in the marks of Harry�s teeth, and a hand rubbed across his neck disclosed more tender spots. He shrugged complacently.
�I bruise easily. Besides, look at you.� He brushed a finger across Harry�s shoulder, careful not to press too hard on the bloodied crescent that was already purpling up. �We were perhaps a little vehement. It�s nothing a quick healing spell won�t cure.�
�I don�t know,� Harry mused wickedly, �I think I kind of like them, although what Ron and Hermione would say� Besides, I know you, if I get rid of them you�ll just give me more.�
�If you ask me nicely, Potter.� They both laughed, but Harry sobered quickly, squinting into his eyes short-sightedly.
�What are we going to do about this?�
Draco knew what he meant, of course � how could he not? �Repeat it, of course,� he smirked up at Harry, who grinned back. �No, really � I have no idea, but I do want to. Repeat it, I mean.� The Malfoy Honour can wait until tomorrow, he thought sleepily as he settled back into a comfortable doze, pressed against Harry�s side. I�ll sort it all out later�