A Wicked Pastime

Harry jolted awake, panting and covered in sweat, tangled in his blankets. He kicked them off with an oath and sat up before he fumbled his way out of the bed curtains and reached for the water on his bedside stand.

Fuck. This was getting out of hand. It had been a week since he had seen Malfoy on the train and they had barely acknowledged each other's existence during that time. Granted, things were hectic with new classes, new teachers, and Quidditch tryouts, but Harry had hoped for something other than a return to their same old animosity.

Well, he had hoped for more sex, at any rate. He had wanked daily during the summer, usually clad in Draco Malfoy's skin. Their encounter on the train had fuelled his usual need into a raging inferno of desire; touching himself was no longer satisfying.

He gulped the water and sprawled back on his bed. His pants were damp and he knew he'd have to clean himself up from yet another wet dream involving Malfoy.

Something had to be done.

~~~o~~~

Perfect.

Malfoy sat on a low wall, looking perfectly comfortable and scribbling on a scroll. His goons were nearby, but they were practicing a simple Transfiguration Spell on a melon--something they should have learned as first years--while ignoring their overlord.

Hermione had persuaded Ron to join her in the library so she could help him with an assignment that Harry had miraculously finished, so he was on his own.

After a quick glance to ensure no teachers were about, Harry darted forward and pushed Malfoy as hard as he could. The Slytherin toppled off the wall and landed in the tall grass on the other side, flat on his back. Harry leaped over the wall and threw himself atop the blond, pinning him down.

"Potter!" Malfoy snarled. "What are you doing? You are crushing my scroll!"

Harry didn't give a flying fuck about the scroll. The entirety of his focus was wrapped up in the fact that he was on top of Draco Malfoy. The scent of the Slytherin flooded Harry's senses and the feel of him--Merlin, he hadn't expected Malfoy's legs to be open. Harry had settled quite nicely between them. If only they were both unclothed...

The very thought of it sent the blood rushing from all parts of Harry's body into his cock, which swelled so quickly it caused Malfoy to gasp.

"Potter!" Malfoy choked, not sounding half as cool and unaffected as a moment before. "Get off of me at once!"

Harry leaned down and took an earlobe into his mouth. He felt Malfoy shudder and then an answering hardness pushed into his erection, thank Merlin Malfoy was not unaffected. "Meet me in the Forest near the blasted oak north of Hagrid's cabin. Tonight. At 10 pm."

"The Forest?" Malfoy hissed. "Are you insane?"

"Afraid, Malfoy?" Harry asked in a taunting tone, pushing himself up to smirk at the captive Slytherin.

"Certainly not. But you had better be. Here come Crabbe and Goyle to push your face in."

"Don't be late," Harry ordered and then shoved himself to his feet and took off running with Malfoy's leg-breakers in hot pursuit.

~~~o~~~

Draco lay on his bed and cast a Tempus Charm for the sixth time. It was 10:05. Potter was bound to be pacing, irritated, and sending dark looks at the castle while he cursed Draco's name.

Draco chuckled, but it faltered when he realized the image of Harry Potter pacing the forest floor like an angry panther was rather... enticing.

He sat up, annoyed, and swung his feet off the bed. He was not going to meet the bloody Chosen One in the Forest. He hated the Forest. The Forest was filled with spiders and centaurs and bats and other disgusting creatures.

Still...

When Potter had knocked him off the wall, the Gryffindor had been hard before landing atop him. That knowledge alone had made Draco instantly, painfully erect. He thought back to their time in the baggage car when Potter had sucked him off.

Fuck, the Boy Who Lived had sucked him off. It would have been less thrilling if he had thought Potter had been lying about never having done it before. Draco was his first blow job.

With a silent oath, he flung himself toward the door and wrenched it open.

"Where... goin', Draco?" Goyle mumbled, half-sitting up.

"Go to sleep. I'm just going downstairs," Draco snapped.

"M'kay." Goyle's large head dropped and Draco closed the door. He snatched up someone's discarded cloak from the couch in the common room and slung it over his shoulders before exiting.

He slipped out the front doors and walked quickly, barely suppressing the urge to run across the grass. Was Potter still waiting? Draco intentionally slowed as he passed the Gamekeeper's cabin and continued on toward the lightning-scarred tree, stopping completely once he reached it.

Draco swallowed hard and stepped into the underbrush, feeling the Forest close around him like a suffocating fist. He took five short strides and halted to look over his shoulder, wondering if the castle would fade into nothingness and leave him stranded.

A sound made him snap his head back. His fingers clenched painfully around his wand and he peered into the darkness, alert to any threat.

"You're late," Potter said calmly.

Draco nearly sagged with relief. Potter. Draco opened his mouth to retort, but the words were swallowed in Potter’s kiss as he marched forward and dragged Draco against him with a fist twisted in his cloak.

Draco would have protested his manhandling if it didn’t feel so damned good. He relaxed slightly, leaning into Potter and returning the kiss. If Potter was feeling aggressive, then Draco would certainly rise to the challenge.

Potter broke the kiss and turned away before Draco was prepared. He nearly lost his balance and stumbled into the Gryffindor, but Potter didn’t seem to notice. He let go of Draco’s robes and grabbed his wrist instead.

“Come on,” Potter said. “I have something to show you.”

Draco debated the wisdom of following an obviously insane person into the depths of the Forest in the middle of the damned night, but the flirtatious grin Potter threw at him stoked Draco’s curiosity. He allowed himself to be led, although he glanced to his right often to make sure the castle was still in sight. It was, as they seemed to be sticking to the edge of the Forest rather then penetrating the terrifying wilderness.

Potter cast a spell that opened a large wall of thick brush, allowing passage. He tugged Draco through the hedge and then stopped expectantly, releasing Draco’s wrist.

Draco rolled his eyes to conceal the rush of excitement that shot through his veins at the sight of the small bed that rested incongruously in the centre of a small, flowered bower. Potter had most likely Transfigured it out of a fallen tree, judging from the splintered trunk acting as the headboard.

“What do you plan to do with that?” Draco asked.

For reply, Potter only smiled and dragged the black t-shirt he wore over his head. He tossed it aside and unfastened his jeans before shimmying out of them. Draco’s mouth went completely dry when Potter sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes before shaking off the jeans and kicking them aside. Clad in nothing but dark-coloured pants, he looked at Draco speculatively.

“Do you intend to join me, or are you only here to watch?”

Watch? His face must have revealed the query, because Potter shrugged and slid back onto the bed. When he was prone, he rubbed a hand over his crotch, which looked half-hard and grew rapidly under the attention.

Draco sat heavily on the nearest corner of the bed, unable to take his eyes from Potter’s stroking hand. After a tense moment, Potter pushed down the material to reveal the cock Draco was intimately familiar with. He itched to touch it.

Potter slowly slid his hand up and down the length. Draco glanced up and their eyes locked. Challenge was evident in Potter’s gaze—not green in the darkness, but black and fathomless.

Draco reached up and undid the clasp holding the cloak. He pushed it off and then unbuttoned his shirt before shrugging out of it. He hesitated before unfastening his trousers, glancing nervously into the darkness.

“I cast a Silencing Charm and a Warding Circle,” Potter commented softly.

Draco nodded and stood up in order to remove his shoes, socks, and trousers. He tried to do it quickly, but without appearing to hurry. He did not want to seem eager, but he definitely did not want Potter to bring himself off while he fiddled with his own wardrobe.

Clad only in silk boxers, Draco climbed back onto the bed and moved over to Potter like a stalking panther. He moved closer until he hovered over the Gryffindor without touching him.

"Why are you doing this?" Draco asked even though he had promised himself he would never ask any questions of the Chosen Prat. It simply made no sense--the Polyjuice Potion, the train, and now this.

In lieu of a reply, Potter reached up and pulled Draco down into a kiss. He surrendered with a sigh and went limp, stretching full-length upon the Gryffindor. It felt better than he would ever admit. Potter’s hardness pushed against his abdomen and a drop of precome smeared wetly between them. It was indescribably hot, as was the feel of Potter’s erection touching his. He rocked his hips experimentally; the friction was exquisite.

Their tongues battled, competing for dominance until Draco’s jaws began to ache, but it was a delicious pain, tempered with pleasure. Potter’s kisses were perfect, not too wet and definitely not passive.

Potter rolled them over in a swift movement and Draco found himself pinned with the smug Gryffindor staring down at him. He glared, resistance flooding to the forefront. It was not supposed to be this way.

“You’re overdressed, Malfoy,” Potter said casually and then sat back on his haunches and tugged Draco’s boxers over his hips. Draco thought about fighting him, but he definitely did not want to come across as a stupid girl who put herself in a compromising position and then cried rape. He had walked out here and then removed his clothing of his own free will, after all.

Therefore he moved his legs and allowed Potter to take off his pants and toss them aside, and the hungry expression on Potter’s face appeased Draco’s momentary embarrassment. Potter straddled him, thighs resting against Draco’s pelvis. His briefs were still wrapped around his hips, stretched where his exposed cock and balls pushed over the waistband.

Potter’s hand wrapped around Draco’s cock suddenly, squeezing hard at the base and then releasing slightly to slide up and cup the tip, palming it with a circular motion. At the same time, he leaned forward and took one of Draco’s nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue several times before sucking it almost harshly.

Draco felt an explosion of heat flood through him and he closed his eyes at the intensity of sensation.

Potter said, “I know exactly what this does to you.” He switched his attention to the other hard nub and Draco fought not to come, because it felt so bloody good and it would be so easy, but he wanted more.

Not to be outdone—or undone—Draco reached down and slid his hand into Potter’s pants to cup his testicles. He tugged gently and was rewarded with Potter’s moan.

“And I know what this does to you,” he whispered and then dragged his nails over the sensitive flesh. In truth, he almost missed the Polyjuice days when he wore Potter’s ridiculously sensitive balls. He rolled them in his fingers and grinned when Potter whimpered and opened his legs wider, inviting more. His breath panted against Draco’s chest.

Draco allowed his fingers to slide back, caressing the soft strip of flesh behind Potter’s testicles before circling the puckered flesh that met his questing fingertips. Potter’s breath hitched again and he shifted his hips forward, allowing even better access. Draco was not sure Potter was even aware of the action.

Draco used Potter’s distraction to roll them back over in a swift motion. The Gryffindor stared up at him through wide, green eyes and Draco saw that his glasses had gone missing. The loss made him look vulnerable for some reason. Draco pressed his advantage, kissing him deeply while his hands continued to wander up and back, driving Potter into a nearly mindless state.

To his credit, the Chosen One had not lost his grip on Draco’s cock and his hands were busy doing their own wandering. Draco’s breathing was rather uneven. He fumbled for his wand with his free hand and cast a Charm—a bit excessive due to his lack of concentration. Potter’s briefs, Draco’s hand, and most of Potter were suddenly dripping with lubrication.

Potter laughed against Draco’s mouth, but he silenced that nonsense by pushing a slick finger straight into Potter’s quivering hole and following it with a second.

Potter choked. “Bloody hell, Malfoy!”

“Don’t act like you can’t take it, Potter. I know you love this,” Draco replied and twisted his fingers just so. Potter gasped and squirmed beneath him and Draco smirked. Oh yes, that was the spot. He callously added a third and finger-fucked him until Potter was a thrashing mess, which did not take long.

The pants were suddenly in the way, so Draco cast another spell—more carefully this time—and wrenched them away when the seams split.

“Look at you, Potter,” Draco murmured. “Practically begging for it. You want me to fuck you, don’t you? You want my cock inside you.”

“Yes,” Potter moaned, thrusting against Draco’s motionless fingers.

“Beg me, Potter. Beg me to fuck you.”

“Please,” he said breathily, shocking Draco to stillness. “Please, fuck me.”

Draco stared down at him incredulously. What he wouldn’t give for a Pensieve later, in order to replay the scene over and over again. The Chosen One, begging for Draco’s cock. He and Blaise could laugh about it and ridicule the Gryffindor hero, except that Draco was just as culpable.

“Please,” Potter said again, shattering Draco’s brutal reverie. He snatched his fingers free and moved forward quickly, before Potter changed his mind. Using one hand to steady himself, he gripped his cock and held it before Potter’s waiting entrance.

He paused for a moment and locked eyes with the needy Gryffindor, sobered by the knowledge that he was about to lose his virginity to Harry Potter. The immensity of the thought was compounded by his belief that Potter was about to lose his, as well.

As if sensing his uncertainty, Potter reached down, found his wrist, and squeezed. Draco scowled. Stupid bloody Gryffindor. Draco did not need his reassurance. He was fine.

With that, Draco pushed forward and buried himself in brilliant heat.

Salazar, he thought in amazement. Salazar, Salazar, Salazar. It was almost beyond comprehension, the feel of it. He stared at Potter, whose eyes had gone just as wide. His grip had tightened almost painfully upon Draco’s wrist, but he showed no other sign of discomfort, though it had to hurt. It had to, because Draco could barely move.

“A moment,” Potter whispered. “Oh, Godric, just a moment.”

Draco’s lips twisted bitterly. He suddenly wanted to hurt Potter, to hurt him for making Draco feel everything he was feeling, for making him come to the damned Forest in the middle of the night and making him forget who he was and who his father served. For making him want this so badly that he would risk…

Draco pulled nearly out and thrust back home, deeper, without mercy. Potter cried out and arched his back. His fingernails dug into Draco’s flesh, breaking the skin.

“Fuck!” Potter yelled. “I said—”

Draco repeated the motion and Potter thrashed.

“You are such a bastard,” Potter snarled through clenched teeth.

“You wanted me to fuck you,” Draco purred and thrust again. Curious, he reached down to see if the Gryffindor had lost his erection, but he found Potter’s cock just as rock-hard and weeping as before. He stroked it teasingly and said, “I think you like it rough, don’t you?”

Potter moaned seductively, giving mute acknowledgement to Draco’s words, and Draco felt a ridiculous thrill at the sound. He repeated the motion and then set up a bruising pace, both thrusting and pulling at Potter’s cock. Potter began to rock against Draco, quivering and squirming, driving Draco deeper with every stroke, as though using him as punishment.

Sheer force of will prevented Draco from coming six times over. It was simply too amazing for him to allow it to end too soon, and it was imperative that Potter come first. Later he would wonder why he didn’t simply sate himself and leave the Chosen One an unsatisfied wreck, but in the heat of the moment he needed to see Potter come undone. He needed to conquer the Gryffindor… something not even the Dark Lord could do.

Potter’s every exhalation contained an “Oh!” and Draco knew he was close, even closer than Draco, whose need for release crackled through every nerve ending. Impulsively, Draco leaned down and sank his teeth into Potter’s neck, sucking harshly and biting nearly hard enough to tear the skin.

Potter shrieked and came, tightening even more around Draco’s aching cock, sending the world’s most brilliant orgasm ripping through Draco’s body. The intensity seemed compounded by the feel of Potter’s cock thrumming in Draco’s hand while he spilled himself into Potter’s shivering form. He wondered momentarily if magic was involved, because it was like nothing he’d ever experienced.

Draco collapsed atop Potter, beyond spent, feeling something like sparks dance through his nerve endings for long minutes. He panted harshly into Potter’s neck and finally realized his teeth were still locked tightly on the bit of skin he had claimed. Potter had said nothing.

Draco released his jaw and gently licked the spot.

“You bit me,” Potter rasped in a barely audible voice.

Draco closed his eyes and barely restrained a giggle. Compared to everything else they had done, complaining about a silly bite seemed ludicrous. Draco’s cock was still buried inside of him, for fuck’s sake.

He thought about removing it, but even that small motion seemed like too much effort, and it was a fascinating experience to have Potter beneath him, pinned and taken.

They lay unmoving and silent until their breathing returned to near normal levels. Draco became aware that one of Potter’s hands traced tiny circles over a small patch of flesh near his shoulder blade, which was somehow more disturbing than anything else. Such intimate touches were for boyfriends and girlfriends, not… whatever they were. Fuck-enemies?

The thought pushed Draco up and away. He pulled out of Potter, his flaccid prick sliding out wetly to slap against his thigh. He braced himself on his hands and looked down at Potter, whose brow wrinkled as though in confusion. Draco frowned and wondered if Potter already had regrets.

“Don’t heal that,” he growled and jerked his chin toward the livid red mark on Potter’s throat.

The Gryffindor scowled and lifted a hand to touch it, wincing.

“And don’t cover it up, either,” Draco added as he slid off the bed and cast a quick Cleaning Charm. He quickly located his boxers and pulled them on before donning the rest of his clothing. He heard Potter do the same. After a bit, Potter released the spell that kept the bed transformed. It turned back into a moss-covered log. Draco had to admit it was a good bit of magic, although he would never admit it aloud.

“Want me to… walk you back?” Potter asked quietly.

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Draco sneered. He pushed his way through the brush and stalked toward the clearing that housed the castle, walking slowly enough that Potter could assist him in the event of any last-minute danger that might spew from the Forest.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he left the last of the trees behind and stepped onto the grass. He glanced back only once, to see Potter lurking at the edge of the wood, leaning casually against a tree with his invisibility cloak slung over one arm, watching Draco leave.

Draco frowned wondering why he felt the stupid urge to go back and kiss the Gryffindor one last time.

Last time, he thought to himself as he shook off the insane idea and slipped into the castle. That was the last time.

It had to be.