I really hated Harry Potter.
He was definitely the bane of my existence.
I finally worked up the nerve to kiss him and, of course, what happened? He ran off like a little girl. He seemed to be enjoying it at the time (a fact I thoroughly relished, by the way). But then what? Nothing! He just ignored me, once again, and ran off to Gryffindork tower.
Maybe he just didn't know he was gay yet.
Alright, I know it was a bit stuck-up of me to assume that I knew that he was gay while he was still in the dark. The dark closet, that is – ha! Well, how could he not have been bent? Really, he had never shown much interest in any girls.
There was that Cho bitch, but hey, I was gay and even I had to admit that she was slightly attractive. Not half as attractive as I was, of course, but I could see some small appeal to her. But from what I had heard, even when he did get the opportunity to hook up with the moron, he didn't follow through. Definitely queer, that boy.
But even without all that speculation, I knew he at least felt some attraction to me, because I had felt that attraction. Against my leg.
I must admit, I was quite pleased with myself. I had not expected my kiss to go over well with the boy. It had taken me the entire detention to finally summon the courage to do it. I wished that I had gained that courage earlier since he seemed to be going along with my desires and it would have been nice to continue without Filch's interruption.
But he had enjoyed it… right?
Well, the next day, I sure as hell didn't get that impression. He didn't glance my way once. All day. He kept his head down whenever possible, and even when he had to look up, he constantly averted his eyes from mine.
Was he ashamed? It was hard to tell what was going on in that idiotic head of his without having any access to his eyes and having only very limited access to his face. Even when I did catch a glance of his face it had little expression in it. It seemed impassive, bored even. He was pulling off a very good Malfoy indifference, to my dismay.
Only I had the right to feign indifference at the world around me.
By the time supper was served in the Great Hall, I was decidedly exasperated. I tried one last time to get a look at Potter, and unexpectedly, I got that look. His shockingly green eyes were staring, unabashed, right at me. It was uncomfortable. His gaze was so intent; it felt as though he was looking right into my core, my soul.
Then he looked away. As though nothing had happened, he went back to socializing with his friends.
I was done with this. I was finished with the nuisance that was Harry Potter. So I put down my fork, walked out of the Great Hall, and resigned myself to hours of ignoring Potter in our detention in the trophy room.
I was so caught up in my thoughts of hating Potter, I didn't even notice when I knocked into the Weaselette.
"Watch it!" I hissed at her.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," she shot back.
I glanced around and realised that it was only the two of us in the corridor. I also realised that this corridor was neither near the Great Hall, nor her own common room.
"Are you following me, little Weasel?" I mocked her with a tone of artificial politeness.
"And why would I ever want to do that?" she shot back, sounding disgusted.
It didn't go unnoticed that she hadn't answered my question.
"Sorry, sweetheart, but you aren't my type," I informed her.
She just sneered and walked away. I distinctly disliked that girl, I then concluded.
The rest of my walk to the trophy room was, thankfully, unremarkable. Neither Filch nor Potter were there when I arrived, but I didn't feel like loitering around, so when I noticed the rag still left out on the desk with Potter's lines, I started polishing trophies yet again.
When Potter arrived a few minutes later, he quietly asked, "Filch here yet?"
I simply answered, "No," and went back to my scrubbing.
Minute after minute ticked by and I – I was quite proud of myself about this, mind you – didn't look at Potter once. I kept my back to him and focused entirely on my work.
Due to this, I hadn't noticed when Potter was right behind me. He pushed my shoulder, and when I turned to see what had happened, he threw me against the trophy wall that I had been polishing moments before.
He didn't give me time to react: before I could register what was happening, his lips crashed onto mine. It definitely wasn't a sweet kiss. It was slightly violent, in fact. I was surprised at the Gryffindor, but didn't mind. I was in heaven either way; feeling his body against mine – of his own accord – was nirvana. I felt his hips grind into mine while he deepened our kiss.
I moved my hands down his abdomen and he whimpered into my mouth. He started nipping at my lips. It almost felt like a rebellious act.
I wasn't thinking enough to sort any of it out though. I couldn't think; all I could do was feel… and that I did!
I ran my fingers below his navel, then down, around his thigh, avoiding his crotch the entire time. He bucked against me in frustration. I loved being in control and I found that I especially loved being in control of Potter's body.
Don't get me wrong: I quite enjoyed his little display of dominance. But I wanted to take things into my own hands… literally.
I kissed my way down his jaw, then nibbled his earlobe. The slight moan I heard urged me on. I moved my lips to his neck and found a very tender spot on him.
He let out a loud, "Nng," as I kissed, licked, and bit where his neck met his shoulder.
I was becoming increasingly aroused, but contrary to my usual, selfish style, I kept my attentions on him.
I moved my hand underneath his shirt and gently ran my fingers over his stomach.
Before reaching his trousers, I looked up to his eyes to ensure that I had his permission to continue. I was surprised at myself. Since when did I ask anyone permission for anything? But, for some reason, I first had to see that he wanted me to go on.
He looked up at me from under his eyelids. His eyes shone with intensity and it startled me a bit. But I collected myself after realising that I was immobile, staring into Potter's eyes; and after seeing that he didn't want me to stop, I slowly unbuttoned his pants.
I ran my finger down the length of his shaft, teasing him with my light touches. He bit down into my shoulder, urging me on. I began gently, wanting to make him beg for more; but I got caught up in his moaning and then I was the one wanting more. So I moved my hand harder and faster over him.
I kneeled down in front of him – his eyes widened with his shock – and I took him into my mouth.
It sent him over the edge. He growled, "Ohh!" as I ran my tongue over his head.
It was a good thing that I was experienced with this, because Potter bucked himself deeper into my throat when he came. A less skillful lover would have choked, but I managed quite well.
After I licked his shaft clean of seed, I glanced up to find Potter looking quite ruffled and sexy. His breathing was still evening out.
But I was not even close to done with him. I wanted to strip off all his clothes, bend him over the desk, and –
And I heard someone outside the trophy room, someone who was walking toward us, someone who sounded suspiciously like Filch grumbling to his horrid cat, Mrs. Norris.
I stood and Potter's gaze met mine. He looked mortified.
He was obviously not acquainted with these sorts of situations, and had I not been worried about Filch myself, I would have felt quite pleased at his general lack of experience. To be perfectly honest, my enjoyment of Potter's innocence was downright sinful.
But I had to think quickly. Filch was about five seconds away from discovering Potter's body pressed flesh against mine. We didn't have enough time to make it look as though we had been working or even ignoring each other: our faces were flushed, our clothes askew, and our work had been ignored for quite a bit of time by that point.
So I had to come up with something right away. I yanked his pants up while demanding, "Potter, hit me."
"No!" he looked scandalized.
"Do it, you git!"
"I'm not going to hit you, Malfoy…"
"For fuck's sake!" I hissed at him, then did one of the hardest things a man can do: I balled my left fist, pulled back, and punched myself in the eye.
Potter's face sported a dumbfounded expression. I mused on how adorable it looked right before I pulled back my right fist, said, "I'm really sorry about this, Potter," and hit him square in his jaw.
Filch walked in right as I punched Potter in the face, and, while I can say it wasn't the best plan I'd ever concocted, at least I accomplished what I needed: no one would discover that I had just blown Potter when I was supposed to be scrubbing trophies.
Kind of cute?
Anyway, I felt bad for my extremely long delay in putting the last chapter up, so I figured I could maybe make up for that by putting this chapter up quickly.
Love you guys!