A Not-So-Secret Pastime
Harry fell asleep wrapped around Draco Malfoy, as if allowing Malfoy to fuck him wasn't foolish enough.
He woke up alone.
Harry launched himself from the bed and snatched up his wand. A Tempus Charm revealed he had slept completely through Care of Magical Creatures and half of Herbology. He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed with Malfoy for not waking him up or grateful for the extra sleep—he had got little enough the night before.
Harry sank back on the bed, wincing at the feel of the fabric against his bruised arsehole. He wondered why Malfoy had to be so fucking rough. Because you like it. The memory of Malfoy's voice was smug. Harry licked at the dried blood over the tender spot on his lip. Evil prat, he thought even as his cock stirred at the memory of being bitten and savaged and taken.
He sprawled back against the bed with a groan, perfectly ready for another round with Malfoy and his wicked hands and bitey mouth and hard, thrusting cock.
"There has to be an end to this," Harry muttered. He couldn't spend the rest of his school days doing nothing but having sex with Malfoy or fantasizing about having sex with Malfoy. Harry had an evil undead wizard to deal with. And schoolwork. And his future to think about.
But first he had to contend with his never-ending erection. He sighed and wrapped his hand around his cock to bring himself off. It didn't take long once he thought about Malfoy's body hovering over him, thrusting forcefully into him, dragging his nails down Harry's back in long scratches…
Harry came over his own abdomen, still sticky from their previous encounter, and then cleaned himself up and put his clothing back on. He sneaked back into Gryffindor Tower with the invisibility and dozed on his bed until Ron appeared. They played Exploding Snap until dinner time after Harry assured him he felt fine. "Must have been something I ate."
Harry hardly thought of Malfoy at all.
At dinnertime, Harry walked into the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, laughing at Ron's retelling of Dean Thomas receiving a face full of neon green sap from a Shivering Inkblossom during Herbology. Apparently the dye effects would last for days, much to the amusement of the entirety of Gryffindor House. Despite Harry's interest in the story, his eyes went straight to the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy was already seated, listening with a bored mien to an apparent argument between Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. His gaze sharpened when he saw Harry and one brow rose in surprise when Harry's mouth curved in a smile. Parkinson turned her sharp stare towards Harry; he quickly looked away and made a jesting comment about Dean.
Harry fought a blush as he sat down and focussed on his food. When he glanced up again, he caught Pansy Parkinson watching him. Her dark eyes flashed with something that looked dangerous and feral. Harry nearly lifted a hand to tug the collar of his poloneck higher, just to verify that Malfoy's spectacular bite mark was covered. No one else at the Slytherin table seemed interested. Zabini was sneering at Goyle, and Crabbe was shovelling sausages into his mouth.
Malfoy glanced up and stared at him expressionlessly for a moment. Harry's cheeks filled with heat and he dragged his eyes away, but he noticed Parkinson's lips draw into a thin line.
Harry fixed his attention firmly on his plate after that, until Hermione mumbled something about needing to talk to Angelina. She moved farther down the table and Hermione's spot was taken by Ginny Weasley, who gave him a shy smile and then reached over to pluck an orange slice from his plate.
"Hi, Harry," she said. "Can't wait until the grudge match with Slytherin tomorrow. I'm sure you'll kick Slytherin's arse."
Harry blinked at her. "What?"
At his other side, Ron coughed. "Oh, sorry, mate. I forgot about that. We sort of got into it with the Slytherins during Care of Magical Creatures. Crabbe insulted Angelina, who nearly hexed him, but then Neville suggested a grudge match. It starts at eight, tomorrow night."
Harry glanced down the table at Hermione, who vehemently disapproved of grudge matches, since they were held after hours and without the consent—or knowledge—of the teaching staff. They also tended to get violent.
"Yeah, we didn't tell her, either," Ron said quietly. Ginny giggled.
Harry chanced another glance at Malfoy and met his intense stare. Harry tried to ignore the way his heart jumped. Fucking Slytherins. He resolutely dug into his food.
Sleep was a long time coming. Harry tossed and turned, haunted with images of Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, Malfoy in the Forest, and Malfoy in the Room of Requirement. When Harry finally slept, his dreams were peppered with even more tantalising visions—Malfoy's hot mouth and firm fingers, his smooth skin and warm breath. Harry woke hard and needy, and stroked himself off to the memory of Malfoy buried deeply in his arse, quivering against Harry's back and biting savagely into his skin.
Wednesday was a horrible day for classes, starting with Divination, which seemed interminable. Harry was too tired to spend much time thinking up gruesome ways for them to die, so he left it to Ron while he caught a few extra winks.
Transfiguration was also dreadful, as they were just beginning to learn Un-transfiguration, which meant studying an object and trying to cast a spell that would return it to its original shape, despite having no idea what the original shape was.
Harry spent the entire class period trying to restore his teacup to its original state, which he had somewhat stubbornly decided had been a book, and succeeded only in cracking it. Ron had even less luck, shattering his teacup into bits so small a Reparo had little success returning it to a useable form.
In order to avoid Slytherins of all sorts, Harry snatched food from the kitchen and ate lunch in his room, telling Ron and Hermione that he wanted to get an early start on his Transfiguration essay. Ron decided to join him after giving him a suspicious look.
"Why are we really eating in here?" Ron asked through a mouthful of sandwich.
"So the Slytherins don't tempt us into a brawl in order to get out of the match tonight," Harry said and grinned at his own cleverness when Ron nodded.
"Wouldn't put it past them," he said darkly. "Bloody hell. It's snowing."
Harry turned to look out the window. Thick, bright flakes drifted past. He shook his head. "It was sunny just yesterday. Think Slytherin will call the match off?"
"Not likely." Harry sighed. He would need to bundle up for a frigid game.
Herbology went smoothly, for the most part. Professor Sprout kept all troublemakers separated and busy spelling nearly invisible mites from Biting Hydrangea. The task took concentration to avoid nasty bites from the plants, whose leaves were serrated and could move quickly when they sensed an easy target.
Malfoy was on the other side of the greenhouse, barely visible, so Harry only gained three nips whilst glancing over at him. Pansy Parkinson had not left his side all day, from what Harry could see.
Professor Sprout walked over. "Very good, boys," she said. "A bit of murtlap essence will take the sting out of those bites. Harry, it's over on that table if you wouldn't mind fetching it for me."
Harry nodded and walked towards the indicated table, passing Malfoy and Parkinson on the way. They said nothing and neither of them even glanced at Harry, but on his return trip he met Parkinson's dark glare.
She stepped out and blocked his path. "You'd better watch yourself, Potter," she said, "or you'll find yourself missing a couple of vital objects."
"Like what?" he asked as his gaze shot to Draco, who watched them without expression.
"Your balls," she hissed and jabbed his lower abdomen with her wand.
"What are you talking about?" Harry stepped away and thought about drawing his own wand on the crazy bint.
"I think you know," she said. "So unless you want your little gay secret spread far and wide, you'll stay the fuck away from Draco."
Harry swallowed and glanced around swiftly. They were, thankfully, out of earshot of the other students.
"He's not interested," Pansy added.
"Oh, really?" Harry asked with a glare at Draco. He wondered why Malfoy had made her his little mouthpiece. "Maybe he should tell me that, himself."
"I'm not interested, Potter," Malfoy said and shrugged. He turned back to his hydrangea. "You were an amusing toy, but I'm finished with you. Run along, now."
Parkinson stepped aside. "And prepare to lose tonight."
"Whatever," Harry said. His hands clenched tightly around the murtlap essence. He forced himself to relax his fingers before the jar cracked. Fucking Malfoy. Not only had he spilled his guts to Parkinson, but now he acted like what had happened between them was nothing.
Of course, it was nothing. Right?
Harry's stomach hurt. He handed the jar to Professor Sprout and made no sound when she touched up his stinging bites.
"How did you get that on your neck?" she asked. "That isn't from one of my plants, is it?"
Harry clapped a hand to his neck. Ron looked at him curiously. Harry tugged the fold of his shirt back into place, hiding Malfoy's mark as he tried to bury the memory. "No," he said quickly. "It's nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing," Sprout said and shook her head. "You should see Madam Pomfrey about that one. Mr Weasley, your turn."
Ron hissed and complained as she touched up his hydrangea wounds. Harry risked a glance at Malfoy. Both he and Parkinson concentrated on their plants.
An amusing toy. Fucking arsehole.
To Harry and Ron's dismay, Hermione seemed to sense that they were up to something and she refused to leave their dormitory.
"We all need to get a good start on this essay," she said. "I am determined that both of you are going to get good marks this time."
"But, Hermione, I'm really tired." Ron faked a yawn.
"It's barely 7:30."
"I'm pretty tired, too," Harry added when Ron gave him a look.
Hermione crossed her arms. "All right. What is going on?"
"Can't a bloke be tired?" Ron countered.
She got to her feet and angrily snatched up her books and scrolls. "Fine. Don't tell me. Be secretive all you want. But when you get into trouble, do not come crying to me asking for help." With that, she stormed out and slammed the door behind her.
"Bloody hell," Ron said.
"Maybe we should have told her."
"And suffer hours of endless nagging?" Ron shook his head. "Trust me, this is better."
Harry supposed he was right. He spent the next few minutes bundling up. Extra socks, two shirts, his warmest trousers, and large mittens over his gloves. He was sweating by the time he finished getting dressed.
"We'll have to use the cloak to get past Hermione," Harry said.
"Yeah, and a distraction probably wouldn't hurt."
A distraction was provided for them in the form of Ginny. She was already at the portrait hole when Hermione, seated in a chair before the fire, barked, "Where do you think you're going?"
"To get some pumpkin juice!" Ginny protested. "Merlin, do we need passes for that, now?"
"Well… no, but it's nearly curfew."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'll be back before then."
"All right," Hermione said.
Ginny turned and went through the portrait hole with Ron and Harry close on her heels. They let her get well ahead of them before taking off the cloak. "Let's hurry."
The pitch was dimly lit with strategic glowing areas. The light was too faint to be seen from the castle, but low-flying players would be able to see the pitch and the goal hoops. Each of the balls had been given a different coloured glow—purple for Bludgers, orange for the Quaffle, and gold for the Snitch. Even with the colours, Harry wondered if anything would be visible through the curtain of snowflakes.
"This is ridiculous," Ron said as they walked onto the pitch. One of the assembled Slytherins heard him.
"Giving up, then, Gryffindor?"
"No!" Ron spat.
"Good. Then let's do this."
Harry looked at his team-mates: the Weasley twins, Ron, and Angelina. Ginny had agreed to play Keeper. The Slytherin team had Crabbe and Goyle, Miles Bletchley, Montague and Warrington and, of course, Draco Malfoy. Except for Malfoy and Bletchley, all of the Slytherin players looked enormous and much warmer than Harry felt.
A handful of students had gathered as spectators, among them Pansy Parkinson and Lee Jordan.
"I'll release the Snitch," said Parkinson.
"No. How do we know you won't hex it?"
"I'll do it!" said Lee.
"How do we know you won't hex it?" Parkinson demanded.
Malfoy snorted. Harry glanced over, but Draco wasn't looking at him.
"Do we have any Hufflepuffs here?" Ginny asked. "They are impartial."
"I'll do it." Luna Lovegood stepped closer to the wooden case that held the assorted balls.
"You're a Ravenclaw. And why are you even here, Loony?" Parkinson asked with a sneer.
"Don't call her that." Harry stepped forward, fists clenching.
"What are you going to do about it, poncey boy?" Parkinson's hands were propped on her hips and an ugly smile twisted her face.
Harry saw red. He might have done something unforgivable, but a sharp crack across his forehead sent him sprawling into the snow. Stars swam before his eyes and he heard a roar that could only have come from Ron.
"Go, Draco, go!" Parkinson yelled.
A hand gripped Harry's and helped him to his feet. He blinked away the dark spots that threatened to pull him into unconsciousness. "What happened?"
"Draco hit you with his broom." The voice was Luna's and after a moment Harry was able to focus on her.
"He hit me?" Harry lifted a hand and sucked in a breath when his gloved fingers prodded at a tender spot on his head, just left of his scar. He looked over at the others, but only a handful of students remained.
"Ron went after him, but Draco took to the air." She lifted her head and scanned the sky. "I don't think he'll catch him. The others joined the pursuit, I think. Should I release the Snitch?"
"You might as well," Harry growled. He bent down and picked up his broom, shaking off the accumulated snow. It was ankle-deep now and the wind seemed to be picking up. He wasn't sure if they would be able to play at all, but it didn't seem to matter. What Harry wanted now was to punch Malfoy in the face.
"I'll show him an amusing toy," Harry growled and hopped onto his broom. He was twenty feet up before he found his proper seat and shot forwards. Muffled shouts drew his attention; he could hardly see at all through the falling snow.
A dark shape appeared before him and he pulled his broom up sharply to avoid collision.
"Harry! You all right?" Fred Weasley asked.
"I'm fine." Harry's his head pounded something fierce. "Where is Malfoy?"
"Dunno. Can't see in this—oh hey, there's a goal! I wonder who has the Quaffle?"
Another shout drew Harry's attention and he angled away from Fred. He had cast an Impervius Charm, so at least his glasses were free from snow, but it was still nearly impossible to see.
A dark shape flashed by, followed by someone roaring insults. Harry dove after them and quickly caught up to Ron. Malfoy was a darting, dark blur before them.
"Harry! You okay?"
"I almost caught the bastard twice—look out!" Ron twisted away and Harry jerked his broom sideways into a spiralling roll, narrowly missing one of the Slytherins that had nearly ploughed straight into them. With a gasp, Harry forced his broom onward, trying to keep Malfoy in sight.
Putting on a burst of speed, Harry caught up to him. Their elbows jostled and Malfoy looked. He wore weatherproof goggles, so it was impossible to see his eyes. Harry jerked his broom sideways and shoved against him, hard.
"Is Potty angry?" Malfoy pushed back.
"Why did you do that?" Harry demanded.
Malfoy halted his broom so quickly that Harry had to pull a sharp manoeuvre and double-back. They glared at one another, breath fogging the air in clouds.
"I couldn't let you harm Pansy, old chap. Nothing personal."
Harry felt another surge of rage. "Nothing is ever personal with you, is it?"
Draco shrugged. The movement dislodged a bit of snow that was already building up on his shoulder.
Harry moved his broom closer, fighting the tangle of emotion that swirled within him. Part of him wanted to hex Malfoy, another part wanted to punch him in the nose, and yet another wanted to get closer still, and taste those lips just once more.
Malfoy took off. He nearly disappeared in a swirl of snow and Harry raced after him. Had the idiot seen the Snitch? Was anyone actually playing?
A booming voice, fuelled by a Sonorus Spell, reached Harry's ears. "Everyone come inside. This game is postponed!"
Not called off, but postponed. Harry would have breathed a sigh of relief, but he needed every breath of air to keep Malfoy in sight. He was giving no sign of heading towards the ground. Harry pushed onward, ducking low upon his broom to gain more speed. He drew even with Malfoy again.
"Did you hear that?" he called.
"Fuck those Sallies!" Malfoy spat. "Are you quitting?"
Harry gaped at him. "Are you fucking mental? We can't see anything in this!" A gust of wind pummelled him, coating his glasses before the Charm melted it away.
"Scared to play a Seeker's game in a little weather, Potter?"
"I hate you!" Harry knew he would never leave as long as Malfoy remained on the pitch. He scanned the falling snow, looking for any sign of gold. It was up to him to find the damned Snitch so they could quit this foolishness and go inside.
"That's been established!"
Harry's hands tightened on his broomstick and he fought another current that tried to pull him into Malfoy. Hate was a funny thing, he thought, because he certainly hated Malfoy, especially right now with his cheeks freezing and his forehead throbbing in pain, but there had been moments… There had been moments when maybe he hadn't hated Malfoy quite so much.
He remembered Malfoy sprawled on the bed, cock hard and leaking, waiting for Harry to touch him. He remembered Malfoy's hand stroking him gently, and he remembered them lying together, passion and anger spent, leaving nothing behind but… what?
Heat pooled in Harry's midsection, warring with the hot ball of rage already there. He wrenched his broom sideways, slamming into Malfoy.
"Potter!" Malfoy yelped. He veered to the right and Harry went after him, diving low and hard. He rammed Malfoy's shoulder with his knee. Anger had won; Harry wanted nothing more than to hurt him.
Malfoy cursed and yanked his broom into a loop, curving up and away from Harry, who followed. The tip of Harry's broom nearly brushed the bristles of Malfoy's as they spun, and then Malfoy dove towards the ground, gaining speed as he went.
Harry kept his broom directly behind Malfoy's until it became obvious he was gaining. "Catch the Snitch," Harry muttered and reached out a hand, intent on snaring Malfoy's bright hair, which was currently matted and wet, but still long enough for Harry to get a good grip.
"Scared, Malfoy?" Harry yelled and stretched, almost close enough. Almost…
Malfoy looked over his shoulder and then executed a barrel roll, spinning away from Harry's hand. His shouted epithet, torn away by the wind, made Harry chuckle. He could run, but he couldn't hide. Harry felt melded to his broom as he coaxed it downward, easing after Malfoy. He locked onto his target again.
Malfoy led him a merry chase, spinning and dipping, climbing upwards and then diving, pulling breakneck manoeuvres that impressed Harry, despite his growing determination.
"Potter!" Malfoy finally called when Harry's fingers had brushed the sodden fringe of blonde hair—so close. "Stop!"
"Seeker's game, Malfoy!" Harry taunted mercilessly. He felt possessed, half-crazed with the need to hurt Malfoy, to pay him back for making Harry feel things that he should never have felt, things that were far too dangerous to entertain.
They were better as enemies, Harry thought as he glared at Malfoy, who did not seem so cocky now. He was obviously tiring, and making foolish mistakes such as glancing over his shoulder time and again. His lips were twisted into a familiar angry line, but there was no superior sneer there, not now, not when—
The pole appeared out of the snow without warning, a tall, dark shape with the hoop of the goal lost in the white-dark far above. It was there and Malfoy had craned his neck again, wasn't watching; his eyes were on Harry and he didn't see—
"Look out!" Harry pushed his broom ahead to do something, anything—
Malfoy crashed; his broom hit the pole with a horrific cracking sound. Torn from his broom, Malfoy fell.
Harry dove, heart in his throat, watching as Draco fell with a swirl of dark robes and flailing limbs. The pain Harry had wished for him was suddenly an all-too-real possibility. He drove himself faster and snagged a hand in Draco's flapping robes—too late. They hit the ground.
Harry's shoulder took the brunt of the landing and his chin hit something with an explosion of pain. A familiar, coppery flavour filled his mouth and he tried not to swallow. His tongue throbbed where he had bitten it.
Everything hurt as he pushed himself up with both hands, dragging his face from the bank of snow that had partially cushioned his fall. Malfoy lay nearby, a dark, unmoving shape.
Harry tried to speak, spat a mouthful of blood, and tried again, crawling across the powdered snow. "Malfoy?"
Harry's shoulder ached and he wondered if anything were broken. He reached Malfoy, who lay spread-eagled on the ground. Malfoy groaned when Harry gave him a hard shake. His goggles were gone; lost in the fall. Harry thanked his stars that the Sticking Charm he'd applied to his glasses had held, or he'd be fumbling around half-blind.
"Malfoy!" he cried again.
"Fuckin'… hate you," Malfoy muttered.
Harry laughed weakly.
"Where's my broom?" Malfoy asked.
Harry shook his head. "Accio Malfoy's broom!" It slapped into his hand, surprisingly whole, and he tossed it atop Malfoy's chest. "There. Now let's go inside. I'm half-frozen." His feet felt numb, as did his face. A flurry of ice crystals stung his cheeks. It had grown colder and his breath fogged the air with every exhalation.
"Can't move," Malfoy said.
"What?" Harry turned and half-sprawled over him. "What did you say?" Bloody hell, had Malfoy broken something vital? His legs? His spine?
"Tired. Just gonna lie here."
"No, you are not going to just lie here." Aware that Malfoy might have a concussion, Harry needed to get him inside quickly. He ran his hands up both of Malfoy's legs, squeezing as hard as he could to elicit a reaction. Surely Malfoy would cry out if Harry touched a broken bone?
"Feeling me up now? Potter, you're… such a perv."
"Shut up. I'm trying to see if anything is broken."
Harry glanced towards the castle, which suddenly seemed very far away. It was pitch-dark and the snow was nearer to ice now. By the time he ran for help—or even flew on his broom—Malfoy might freeze.
"Come on," Harry said, levering him up by grabbing Malfoy's robes in both fists. "Let's get you somewhere warmer." The broom shed, he thought with a flash of inspiration. It was out of the elements and Harry could leave him there before going to find Pomfrey.
"Can't you just leave me?" Malfoy asked with a slur.
"No, I can't." Harry half-carried, half-dragged Malfoy across the snow. It seemed to take forever, plodding through the drifting, knee-high snow. Partway there, it seemed to get easier, as though Malfoy were taking more of his own weight. Hopefully he was regaining his wits.
Harry pushed in the door to the shed. The lights came on instantly and Malfoy cried out and lifted an arm to block them. Harry blinked against the brightness and tugged out his wand to dim the glow to more bearable levels. He shut the door with another spell, blocking out the howling wind. It was not exactly warm in the shed, but at least they were out of the icy snow.
Harry levered Malfoy onto a padded stool that rested against the wall. Malfoy sat heavily and then pulled Harry close with a grip on his collar. Harry's injured shoulder cramped in protest, but Malfoy put his lips next to Harry's ear.
"Brooms," he said softly.
Harry glanced at all the brooms that lined the walls and then Malfoy's meaning clicked. "Yeah, okay. You'll need to let go of me first."
Malfoy's grip loosened and Harry staggered back to the door. His teeth were beginning to chatter and he did not want to open the door and let in another blast of frigid air. Steeling himself, he stuck his head outside. "Accio broom!" he shouted. "Accio Malfoy's broom!"
A moment later, he shut the door again and propped both snow-coated brooms against the wall. He brushed at the snow; hoping the ice hadn't damaged his prized broom.
A small sound from Malfoy drew Harry's attention. Malfoy's head lolled against the wall. His eyes were closed.
"Don't go to sleep!" Harry hurried over to him. He cast a Warming Charm and nearly gasped when the backlash of heat hit him. Bloody hell, why hadn't he done that before? He cast another, sighing with pleasure when warmth seeped into his icy skin.
He stripped off his wet gloves and sodden outer robes, debating the feasibility of casting a Drying Charm on his clothing whilst wearing them.
"Don't sleep, Malfoy!" he warned again and pulled off Malfoy's gloves. "We need to get you out of those wet clothes." Harry needed to keep Malfoy falling asleep and going into shock. He wasn't exactly sure what happened when people went into shock, but Aunt Petunia had always screamed about it whenever Dudley got a scratch, so he assumed it was something bad. Hopefully the action would warm Harry enough to face the thought of returning to the cold without cringing.
"Always trying to get my clothes off, yeah, Potter?"
He sounded almost teasing and Harry snorted. "You know it, Malfoy." He worked at the fastenings of Malfoy's Quidditch robes, cursing when his fingers kept slipping off. They were numb and felt like lumps of clay, but he finally got the robes open. Malfoy's arms wrapped around him and crushed him close. Harry toppled forward and his legs splayed open; he found himself straddling Malfoy's lap.
Malfoy nuzzled Harry's neck, grazing over the bruise there that Harry still hadn't healed.
"Want you," Malfoy said breathily.
Harry pushed away. "That's not what you said earlier. 'An amusing toy,' remember?" The words were bitter.
"I had to say that. For Pansy." Malfoy's hands on Harry's hips prevented escape. "She suspected."
"She suspected what?" Malfoy was making far less sense than usual.
"Us, Potter. She suspected about us. I had to tell her something." Malfoy's hands moved up Harry's back and attempted to pull him down, possibly for a kiss. Harry braced his hands on the wall on either side of Malfoy's head and resisted.
"What did you tell her?" Harry's eyes bored into Malfoy's, even though looking into them was a dangerous endeavour. Even now, Harry felt weakness stealing over him, carried by Malfoy's hands and the feel of his hard thighs beneath Harry's.
Malfoy looked away and his lids fluttered shut. "No."
"Don't want to tell you."
Harry pursed his lips. Based on their conversation in the greenhouse, Harry could well imagine what Malfoy had told her. "Let me guess. You told her I was a… a shirt-lifter, and that I was gay for you and tried to get into your pants, so you humoured me once or twice. For laughs. Is that about right?"
"Something like that."
Harry pushed, angered. He had been stupid to initiate anything with Malfoy and now he was paying the price. Malfoy's grip tightened and Harry shoved harder. He wrenched away from Malfoy and stumbled backwards, but it did not work quite as well as planned. Malfoy refused to let go and fell with him. They toppled to the floor with Draco between Harry's legs. Pain coursed through Harry's shoulder and white sparks flickered before his eyes.
He struggled to breathe through the hurt. "Get off!"
"No. Wait," Malfoy said. "I want—"
"I don't care what you want." Words crowded Harry's mind and threatened to spill forth, insults and recriminations, but none of them seemed quite enough, or possibly too much. Instead, he sought to escape. Malfoy was in no danger or freezing to death or going into some sort of life-threatening coma, so Harry would go back to the castle and forget he existed.
"Potter." Malfoy's voice sounded strange; like nothing Harry had heard before. Pleading. Malfoy pressed his lips to Harry's, kissing him with an urgency that felt like desperation.
Harry kept his lips closed, determined not to give in. He had no idea what game Malfoy was playing now, but Harry needed to get away and clear his head. He lifted his hands, intending to grab Malfoy's hair and drag his lips away but he hitched a breath when his fingers encountered cold, wet hair, matted together with ice crystals. Harry felt a surge of remorse, remembering that he'd been trying to tear it from Malfoy's head earlier.
Malfoy stopped kissing him, but his lips slid over Harry's cheek and halted near the upper curve of his ear. "Harry," Malfoy said. The word jolted through him; he could not recall Malfoy ever saying it before.
I can't, he thought desperately, I can't, I. Can. Not.
"Harry," Malfoy said again and exhaled into Harry's ear. Warmth slithered down to his chest and settled there before radiating confusion back up to his brain. Rational thought departed and Harry could do nothing but hold tightly to Malfoy's wet hair and listen to the thudding sound of his own heart.
When Malfoy kissed him again, Harry shut his eyes and let himself feel the soft brush of Malfoy's lips, and the wet pressure of his tongue. He opened his mouth, lost, and a fleeting thought raced through his mind. This could be the last time. It hurt, kissing, from where Harry had bitten his tongue, and probably tasted of blood, but Malfoy didn't pause.
Harry groaned as Malfoy exploring places that belonged solely to him, spending extra time with anything that solicited a response, whether whimper, quiver, or tightening of hands in his tangled hair. Harry was hard in no time, desperately so, because it had been a terrible, anxiety-ridden day after long hours without Malfoy, and now he was here, warm and solid and calling him Harry and…
He surrendered completely. One moment he was tense and ready to fight, the next he was warm and pliable as taffy, ready to mould himself to whatever Malfoy desired.
"Clothes. Off," Malfoy said and tore at the fasteners of Harry's Quidditch robes. They were a bloody pain, Harry knew, and Draco would have a difficult time with them. Except that Draco drew his wand and muttered a spell that severed them free.
"What—?" Harry asked with a gasp.
"Shut up, I'll buy you new ones," Malfoy said and then his cold, cold hands were on Harry's warm skin, shoving the hem of his jumper up to his neck. Harry yelped.
"Sorry," Malfoy said and chuckled. "Warming Charm not quite warm enough? Don't worry; I'll heat you up." He snogged Harry again and then started downwards, kissing a path over his throat and down to lick at one nipple, and then the other. Harry arched and hissed, enjoying the sensation but needing Malfoy to get to the main event.
Malfoy obliged, hands tugging at the laces of his trousers, and Harry let go of Malfoy's hair to assist. The sooner he got his cock freed, the better.
The laces parted and Harry had only to moment to thank his lucky stars he hadn't worn pants before Malfoy's mouth closed over his cock. Harry's head banged against the floor and his mind went utterly, utterly blank. His ability to think was overcome by raw sensation; his world narrowed to Malfoy's hot mouth upon his cold cock.
Harry's hands clawed against the floor with every glide of Malfoy's tongue. His back arched with each movement, and an incoherent cry tore from his lips when Malfoy's fingers stroked over his sensitive balls.
"Please," Harry gasped, finally managing a single word. "Please, please."
Cool, slick fingers probed at Harry's hole and his legs fell open even wider. He no longer cared about being wanton, about lying upon the dirty floor of a broom shed, or about anything at all other than Draco Malfoy making him come by whatever means were necessary.
Malfoy's mouth pulled away with a popping sound and the cold air assaulted Harry's wet cock.
"Going to fuck you so hard you'll be tasting my come from the inside," Malfoy said roughly.
"Do it. Do it now."
Malfoy fumbled with hands and wand, words and spells, and then Harry's confining trousers were gone and Malfoy's slick fingers were where they belonged, teasing, coaxing Harry into opening wider, taking them all.
"Fuck me, Draco," Harry whispered.
"Yes. Yes, yes."
Malfoy's fingers pulled out and Harry opened his eyes to look at him. Malfoy's hair was a damp, tangled mess and his eyes were dark slits in the dim light. He still wore his jumper and Harry put his hands under it to fondle Malfoy's pert nipples.
"Hands are bloody cold," Malfoy muttered and his were not all that warm, either. They brushed against Harry's testicles as he lined up his cock. The tip was also cold and Harry realised his Warming Charm was wearing off. Malfoy's breath misted the air above him.
Harry cast about on the floor for his wand. He was far too lax about keeping it close to hand whenever Malfoy got amorous; he needed to work on that. The tip of his wand was caught beneath his hipbone. He lifted his arse to retrieve it just in time to meet Malfoy's initial thrust.
A guttural sound purred from Harry's throat and he shut his eyes as Malfoy plunged in, determined, as always, to fill Harry on the first stroke. Harry concentrated on breathing as his body adjusted; it was getting easier. The pain was overshadowed by the sensation of being claimed, underscored by the kiss Malfoy pressed against his lips. The kiss turned into a bite—can't have you being gentle, can we?—albeit not an unpleasant one. His teeth tugged at Harry's lower lip and then released as his mouth softened into another kiss.
Malfoy pulled out and thrust back in, but without his usual brutality. One hand reached for Harry's cock and stroked; Harry barely kept from wincing at his cold fingers.
Warming Charm, he remembered, and choked on the incantation when Malfoy's palm curved over the hood of his cock, gliding through the precome and destroying Harry's train of thought. He was more successful with a second attempt, and a cocoon of warmth enveloped them. Malfoy quirked him a half-smile.
Malfoy fucked him, but it was different this time, slow and almost languid, as though he didn't want it to end. His hand stroked in time with his thrusts, a maddeningly slow tease. Harry did not want to think about what it meant; there were too many variables and he understood nothing about Malfoy.
It was almost more tortuous this way, with Draco dragging his cock over Harry's sweet spot again and again, until Harry was shaking with the need for more. The sensations built slowly, agonizingly.
"What… oh." Harry gasped and arched, shoulders aching. His fingers dragged over Malfoy's ribcage, eliciting a shiver and answering gasp from above. Harry filed it away as a positive response and did it once more for verification. Malfoy quivered; he was ticklish. "What happened to tasting your come from the inside?"
Malfoy's half-closed eyes snapped open. A familiar smirk twisted his lips. "Almost forgot you like it rough." Harry wondered if mentioning it had been a mistake.
The next stroke pushed Harry several inches across the floor and Malfoy let go of his cock to grip his hips and hold him in place for the next three. Harry cried out and reached for something—anything—but Malfoy had reared back and fitted his thighs beneath Harry's, lifting and holding him tightly with hands like bands of iron. Each rhythmic pounding was like a hammer blow inside—and Harry loved every violent stroke of it.
"Like that, Chosen One?"
"Yes," Harry hissed. "Yes, yes, damn you." His cock was leaking, slapping against his abdomen with every movement, aching for another touch. Harry reached for it, but Malfoy slapped his hand away.
"That's mine," Malfoy snapped. "You'll touch it when I tell you to."
Harry nodded, and wondered how a few harsh words could be an even bigger turn-on. He was shaking with the need to come; every nerve ending felt electrified. A low, groaning cry tore from his throat when one of Malfoy's hands wrapped around his cock and drew slowly upwards, coaxing a drop of liquid from the tip. Malfoy's cock slipped wetly out of Harry as he moved back and arched down to lick the precome away. His tongue felt molten hot and so fucking good against the sensitised head of Harry's cock.
Quivers shook Harry's entire body and he struggled not to come. He needed to prolong this encounter, this strange dance between them, for as long as possible.
"Say it," Malfoy said. "Say 'my cock is yours, Draco.'"
Harry's breath caught. What game was Malfoy playing now?
"Say it." Malfoy squeezed and Harry bit back a moan. If he didn't say it, would Malfoy leave him, aching and half-begging for release? He couldn't risk it.
"My cock is yours, Draco."
Malfoy squeezed again, more gently, and then he licked a long, slow stripe up Harry's—or was it now his—cock. Harry shuddered and his hands fisted in the Quidditch robes beneath him.
Malfoy's fingers drew down and curled over Harry's sensitive balls. Harry hissed a breath.
"These are mine, too."
"Yours," Harry agreed and wondered how to get Malfoy back to the fucking.
"All of this is mine," Malfoy said. "All of it." His voice was rough, harsh, and his stare was suddenly intense. He was serious, Harry realised.
"All yours," Harry whispered.
Malfoy's teeth sank into sank into the soft flesh above Harry's hip. Harry shouted and thrashed at the sharp, unexpected pain. One hand clenched in Malfoy's damp hair.
"Ouch, you fucking prick!" He pulled at Malfoy's hair, but the gesture only seemed to make Malfoy more determined; he bit and sucked at Harry's skin, marking him yet again. Harry squirmed, but the movement caused his cock to drag over the wool of Malfoy's jumper, wrenching free a surprised moan. Bloody hell, he really did like it rough. Heat bloomed from the pain in his hip and seemed to travel straight to his cock, giving it yet another jolt.
Malfoy's teeth relented and he licked the spot until the sting faded. Harry's hand loosened in Malfoy's hair, but he did not let go. His fingers twitched in a not-quite caress. Malfoy moved his head and shifted his attention back to Harry's cock, wrapping his lips around the head in an erotic parody of a kiss. His tongue glided into the slit. Harry's toes curled inside his boots and he fought not to come. Malfoy's tongue flicked, flicked, and flicked, driving him wild.
"Stop," Harry gasped, near sobbing. "Stop."
Malfoy growled low in his throat as he launched himself upwards again, claiming Harry's lips in a kiss that tasted bitter-salty. In the same motion, he impaled Harry again, thrusting hard. He quickly regained his earlier, punishing rhythm.
Harry cried out when Malfoy's teeth bit into his tongue, digging into the spot Harry had earlier bitten. He tasted blood and bucked against Malfoy's hand, once again twisting on Harry's cock, and then he couldn't hold back any longer. Harry came with a scream that was muffled by Malfoy's mouth as he licked and bit at Harry's lips and tongue. His movements became more savage; his cock battered into Harry roughly.
Malfoy's long, hard thrusts become short, staccato jerks and his teeth clamped into Harry's lower lip. A low, moaning sound rumbled from his chest and he shuddered atop Harry for several rapid heartbeats—and then he relaxed. Everything seemed to go limp at once and Malfoy's full weight sagged onto Harry. His mouth—and his damned teeth—slid away and his cheek came to rest just above Harry's throbbing shoulder.
Harry ached everywhere; he wasn't sure what part of him hurt the most. And yet, a tingling heat still flickered through his nerve-endings and smeared it all into a jumbled mass of pain-pleasure. He was well and truly fucked up, a notion solidified by the hand splayed across Malfoy's lower back, lightly stroking the bare skin there.
His other hand was still tangled in Malfoy's hair.
They didn't move for what seemed ages. The Warming Charm slowly dissipated and Harry considered removing his hand from Malfoy's flesh long enough to renew it, but it seemed like far too much effort and he really didn't want to move, to break the soft, warm stasis that held them.
"My arse is turning into a block of ice," Malfoy said finally. His breath was hot against Harry's neck.
"We should get back."
Malfoy lifted his head and then lowered his mouth. Harry thought he was going to kiss him, but instead he felt Malfoy's tongue lap at his bottom lip. It stung.
"You're bleeding," Malfoy murmured and licked again.
Why is that? Harry was about to ask sardonically, but then Malfoy kissed him in earnest, a deep, possessive kiss that sent his pulse climbing again. Harry's chest ached more than all of his physical pains lumped together.
The door opened, letting in a blast of icy air and a flurry of snowflakes. Harry gasped and craned his neck, tearing free of the kiss.
Hermione stood in the doorway. She stared at them for long moments and then backed out and closed the door gently behind her. Harry was so stunned he couldn't move; he could barely breathe.
"Fuck," Malfoy said softly.
Harry had no idea what to say, or even how to feel.
Malfoy levered himself away, taking all warmth with him. Harry sat up and yanked his jumper down to cover the mess on his stomach and hide his softening cock. His cheeks flamed. His trousers were gone—Vanished.
Malfoy tucked himself into his trousers and straightened his jumper before picking up his Quidditch robes and shrugging into them. Harry's paralysis broke and he leaped to his feet. He put on his torn Quidditch robes and pulled them around himself as tightly as possible. He nearly gasped aloud when his knuckles dragged over the raw, bruised patch on his hip. Malfoy's new mark of ownership.
Harry took two steps towards the door, intent on fleeing, but he found himself suddenly slammed against it. Malfoy's solid length pressed against his back and his mouth nuzzled Harry's earlobe before nibbling at it gently.
"Don't forget," Malfoy said and then his mouth found the mark he'd made on Harry's neck. Harry tried to shake him off, but only managed to wrench his injured shoulder. He relaxed with a sigh and let Malfoy do his worst. It did not take long for Malfoy to renew his claim, but Harry felt weak in the knees all the same, and his cock was taking an interest in the proceedings.
There was a tap on the door. "Harry?" Hermione questioned.
"Coming!" Harry called.
"You already did that," Malfoy replied and released him.
Harry wrenched open the door, gripped his Quidditch robes more tightly around himself, and fled. He walked past Hermione without speaking and she joined him in his trek towards the castle. Harry did not look back.
After long, awkward minutes, he glanced at Hermione. "Just. Don't ask yet. Please?"
She gnawed her bottom lip for a moment. "All right."
A gust of wind blew Harry's robes and snowflakes stung his bare legs. Bloody Malfoy. He hoped Hermione hadn't noticed his lack of wardrobe.
"I was worried about you when you didn't come back with the others," she said. "You look, um. You look terrible."
Harry snorted. He could well imagine. Bloody, bruised, and vigorously fucked. He had to look an utter mess.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know." The silence grew between them for another minute or two and then Harry looked at her and quirked a rueful grin. "I feel pretty good, though."
And crazy as it seemed, he did.
~Author's Note: Yeah, I know it takes me forever to update this one, but I do update it, right? :D :D :D And no, it's probably not over yet.