drarry prompted by bluishtigers
prompt: I was thinking about how Draco would react if he saw suggestive marks on Harry's neck, that he didn't do himself… a sixth, or 8th year fic. As for their relationship, either casual one where they are in denial about the feels, or one where nothing has happened yet. Whatever flows best :)
Author's Note: Thank goodness for prompts or else I may not write at all! Going back to school has been rough, but I promise to find time for Drarry. If there's no time, well, I'll probably do it anyways.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and whatever they may or may not have on their necks.
Draco's back hit the wall, hard. A sharp pain ebbed throughout his body as Potter held him there with his knee propped up in between Draco's thighs. Draco's breath caught. The Gryffindor was dangerously close, his nose brushing Draco's, his warm breath ghosting over his mouth. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as Draco gazed into Potter's eyes—they were so intensely green—and he could almost taste the silent battle ensuing there. It was mad, heavy, delicious tension. And then, he smirked.
In one swift motion, he grabbed the back of Potter's neck and yanked him forward, their mouths crashing together with a rough clang. Lips, teeth, and tongues banged against one another, each fighting for dominance in sync with their pulsing bodies. Draco's heart was racing with adrenaline. He slammed his fists against Potter's chest, his teeth ripping at Potter's bottom lip, but groaned a little as Potter shoved him back against the wall as punishment.
"Fuck you, Malfoy," Potter hissed, his lips still pressed to Draco's, muffling his words. He ground his hips insistently; the sensation sent sparks through Draco's abdomen, causing him to moan and close his eyes with agony and pleasure. Potter persisted.
"Again?" Draco asked breathily, his mouth curving up against Potter's as the boy began to kiss him with renewed ferocity. By now, Potter had gotten used to Draco's dry remarks, but he never failed to react to them. Gods. Draco shoved him one more time. Potter tasted like blood. At the push, the aforementioned Gryffindor stopped and glared at him. Draco noticed that Potter's lip was indeed split and bleeding excessively from assault. He grinned.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" Potter muttered, his chest moving considerably as he took in great gulps of air. Draco's grin turned into a smirk again.
"Cleverer than you," he mused, now pushing away the Gryffindor for real. He could hardly move his upper body with Potter all pressed up against him like that—not that he usually minded, but it was nice to breathe. After being released from the wall, Draco sighed deeply and shot Potter a stinging glare. "And next time, Potter, you could be a bit gentler. I'm going to have massive bruises on my back."
Potter snorted, brushing off his school shirt and fixing the collar of his own robes. Somehow, he was still attractive like that. "Yeah, says the bloke who practically ripped my lip off," he retorted, pointedly wiping his hand across his bleeding mouth and uttering a quick wandless spell to heal it.
Draco rolled his eyes and fixed his own clothing as well. Potter had forgotten his stupid invisibility cloak today, so they had been forced to search out an unused classroom for their between-class activities. Draco hated doing it, but he hated even more not getting his daily dose of snogging Potter—though he still fully hated the git. Fully. Anyway, the point was, it was entirely inconvenient and Draco was more than a little annoyed with the Gryffindor today... Hence the excessive biting.
Potter had finished adjusting his tie now and began heading towards the door. "Let's go to the Tower tonight," he suggested, his hand resting on the door handle as he approached it. "Same time as usual. Ron and Hermione have got a project they're working on, so they won't look for me for hours after I leave them... I could bend you over the balcony and fuck you raw like last time. I know you love the breeze." He winked then. Draco rolled his eyes.
"I'm not bottoming this time," he argued.
"Yes you are," Potter said firmly.
"Don't I have any say in this relationship?" Draco demanded.
Potter shrugged flippantly. "What relationship?" he countered, shooting Draco a sly smile before flinging open the door and exiting the room.
Draco scowled to himself, grumbling. Some part of him hated that he had to rely on Potter for sexual release, but another part of him wished that there could be more of it—for the past couple of months, he and Potter had been meeting in secret almost every day. Ironically (or not so), their trysts had started out as a rare accident after a late night fight, but from then on, it had somehow become a silent agreement... No strings attached, no change in attitude. They still yelled insults across the Hall at each other, Draco still managed to trip Potter on his way to the pantry in Potions and Potter still had the audacity to punch Draco in the nose for it. Nothing was different except for the fact that they would probably suck each other off a few hours later.
Draco adjusted his robes one more time before straightening up and leaving the room himself. Unfortunately, he found himself thinking about it a lot—his non-relationship with Potter—and whenever he did, he always tried to think of something else. It was just something that he didn't want to ponder, because perhaps one day, it could turn into something else, something frightening. And that, of course, was not something that he wanted at all.
Anyway. He could *not* think of it later. Right now, he had a class to get to.
"Harry! Over here!"
Harry spun around at the sound of his own name and found Ron and Hermione sitting on the couch by the fire, both waving at him to join them. He frowned. The common room was nearly empty save his friends... which was odd, because the area was usually buzzing with activity by now. Harry shrugged. He figured that Seamus must've rallied people up to play games outside again; typically, after some of the more grueling days of classes, the Gryffindors liked to let loose and hang around on the grounds by the lake. Of course, Harry himself wasn't particularly wound up from school—his little activities with Malfoy were enough to keep him going. Not that he'd tell anyone that. Harry walked over to his friends.
"Hey," he said, plopping down next to Ron. "Where is everyone?"
"Outside," Ron said, predictably.
"Why aren't you guys with them?" Harry asked.
"We were waiting for you, Harry," Hermione remarked, putting down her book and smiling at him. Harry grinned back at her; his friends tended to stay back with him on most days. He figured that it might be less fun for them, but then again, Hermione often kept Ron busy during these times and neither seemed to mind. Ron gestured towards the table of wizard's chess in front of them and gazed at Harry hopefully.
"Fancy a game, mate?" he asked.
Harry nodded, reaching forward to pick up a piece, and Hermione's eyes flicked down at his wrist. "Harry, what's that?" she clucked, frowning at him.
Harry glanced down at his wrist; it bore a streak of his own dried blood on it from Malfoy's brutal abuse to his lip. Belatedly, Harry remembered that he had brushed his hand across his mouth before he'd cleaned up to get a rise out of Malfoy, but since it had been covered by his robes all day, Harry hadn't felt the need to wash it off. It had been a careless move on his own part, no doubt, but still... Damn it, Malfoy. Did the git really have to kiss him like that? Nevermind that Harry felt so good when he did...
"Um, it's nothing," Harry muttered now. "Ink, probably."
Hermione's eyes narrowed with suspicion, and she reached forward and snatched his hand from him to inspect it. "It's... blood." She gaped at him. "Harry! Did you fight with Malfoy again?"
"No, of course not," Harry said quickly. "Why do you always assume that?"
"Because it's Malfoy. You always fight with him," Ron piped up, wrinkling his nose with obvious distaste for the Slytherin. "Besides, he's got his uptight arse into a load of weird shit lately, have you noticed? Hanging around outside our classes? Lurking in and out of the Gryffindor corridor? He was at our Quidditch match the other day, for Merlin's sake! And Slytherin wasn't even playing against us."
Well, Harry distinctly remembered that Malfoy had shown up to the match only because Harry had promised pre-game locker-room sex, and to be perfectly honest, Harry hadn't minded the presence of Malfoy's uptight arse much lately... but Ron didn't have to know that. "Maybe he was just trying to jinx my broom," Harry said dully. "It doesn't matter anyways. I didn't fight with Malfoy, I got a bloody nose earlier. That's it."
"Oh. Why didn't you say that in the first place?" Hermione asked, her concerned frown disappearing for a moment as she inspected his wrist again, seemingly to make sure that it truly wasn't damaged. Then she glanced up and gave him a look. "You really should have washed your hands thoroughly. Don't you realise that exposed blood can be detrimental to your skin?"
Harry sighed. "Right, of course. I'll just go wash up now," he assured her tiredly, getting up to head for the restrooms. He was halfway across the room when he heard his name again.
Harry looked up and Ginny was bounding towards him, her beaming face lit up with apparent excitement. From what he could tell, she had just come from the girls' dormitories and she was waving around a letter in the air. He stopped and turned for her. "Hey Gin," he started to say, but was interrupted as she ran up and hugged him breathless.
"Guess what?" Ginny didn't wait for him to answer. "Mum says Dad's scored tickets to see Ireland play over the hols! Isn't that brilliant?"
Harry wrinkled his nose a bit, remembering the last time they'd seen that particular Quidditch team play, but Ginny shook her head, still grinning. "No really, it's going to be fantastic, and she's said we could take you with us…" She leaned in, her eyes glittering hopefully. "You will come, won't you?"
Harry smiled back at her. "Sure, sounds like fun. I love going over plays with you and Ron."
"Yeah, I love it too…" she agreed, before pausing. "Which reminds me, can we talk later? I have something to ask you."
Oblivious, Harry nodded. "When?"
"Tonight, after supper?"
Harry frowned. "Actually, I'm going over my last Potions essay with Hermione then... Ron too, but I'm not sure because we're getting food from the kitchens instead of the Hall and it's chicken tonight. You know how he feels about chicken. Dunno how long we'll be."
"Oh, right." Ginny's face fell momentarily, but she perked up again. "How about if I wait for you?"
"Perfect." Ginny leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, blushing. "See you later, Harry."
Harry watched her leave. It was odd; Ginny used to give him these crazy butterflies in his stomach, but as of recently, he hadn't felt them—even as she threw herself at him (which he was vaguely aware of), he couldn't remember why it was that he wanted her. Maybe it had been the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about Quidditch, or how she had pointedly snogged Dean in front of him, but for some reason, Harry didn't feel that spark anymore. Not since, well… he had begun fooling around with Malfoy.
Shaking his head, Harry entered the restrooms, immediately heading for the sinks and scrubbing his hands with vigor. As he rolled up his sleeves, he noticed that he also had a few other scattered spots of blood as well. He scowled and rolled his eyes. Malfoy had certainly kissed him rough—not that he was complaining, but still, it was rather inconvenient. Deciding that he didn't want to get his shirt all wet, Harry took out his wand and cast a quick muttered Tergeo to get rid of the blood. Malfoy would pay for his over-enthusiastic kissing later. Satisfied with his work, Harry left the bathroom, but Ron and Hermione had since moved and were now standing by the couches. Obviously hearing his return, Hermione called out to him.
"Harry, we're going to the library early, all right? Ron and I have to get started on our project before we can work on that essay later."
"Mate, don't let her take me," Ron whinged, although he was tugging his jumper over his head in preparation to leave. Hermione was already pulling on his arm. "We haven't even played yet!"
Harry shrugged, but neither of his friends were looking at him. Instead, he cleared his throat. "We'll play later Ron, I promise," he said. "I'll meet you guys after I clean up." He waved them off and turned around to go back up to dorms—at least now he had time to go shower before meeting up with Hermione, and then Ginny, and then lastly, Malfoy. Merlin, he had a full schedule tonight.
Draco paced the Astronomy Tower, his robes swirling around him as he turned. Where the hell was Potter? He scowled, scuffing his feet across the floor a bit as he stalked. The git knew that Draco hated when he was late, and now… Draco shivered belatedly, wishing that he'd worn a thicker jumper, but he'd been in a rush to get here and he hadn't thought of attire (mostly because it would be off in a matter of minutes once Potter arrived). Add that to Potter's lateness, and Draco was just the picture of joy.
A sudden noise at the door caused Draco to stop pacing, and he whirled around to find Potter creeping in with a sheepish look on his face. The Gryffindor was covered head to toe in a heavy-looking cloak, his hood propped up to cover his hair. Draco was instinctively jealous.
"What took you so long?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest. "It's bloody freezing and I've been here for ages."
Potter rolled his eyes, coming closer. "Liar, you've probably only been here for five minutes," he retorted. "Anyways, I had to discuss something with Ginny. It ran a bit late."
Draco tried not to make a face; Ginny Weasley was probably top on his list of his least favourite people in the world (well, after Potter, of course)—the girl was way too intent on Potter, and if Potter spontaneously decided to make her his girlfriend, he wouldn't continue his activities with Draco anymore; a Gryffindor would never cheat. Not that… Not that Draco cared or anything, he could find a new partner. It was just that it would probably be a bit more difficult. And Ginny Weasley just annoyed him. That was it.
"It was ten minutes," Draco muttered finally, frowning in spite of his resolve.
Potter stuck his lip out in mock-pity, now close enough to reach out for Draco. "Sorry, baby. Want me to warm you up?"
Draco couldn't help pulling another face at that one. "Ew, Potter, shut up," he complained.
Potter grinned. "Make me," he taunted.
Draco lunged at Potter then, kissing him so hard that his hood fell back immediately, and Potter laughed—his arms wound around Draco's neck, pulling him closer so that he actually was warming him up. Draco tried not to smile as he nipped at Potter's tender lip again. He just couldn't stay angry at Potter anymore. Bloody git.
"Ouch, watch it, prat," Potter murmured as he began wiggling Draco out of his jumper. "Hermione and Ron saw blood on my hand earlier and I had to tell them I had gotten a bloody nose."
Draco nipped again, despite Potter's warning. His hands began working at the clasp on Potter's cloak. "And whose fault was that?" he hissed, smirking a little. "You just had to push my buttons, didn't you?"
Potter narrowed his eyes and shoved Draco. "Yes," he whispered. "And it felt so good."
"As good as last week?" Draco asked, shoving Potter back before giving him The Look. "When I threw you on the floor and fucked you so hard that your entire back was raw and bleeding from the gravel?"
Potter growled, his breathing heavy, and ripped Draco's jumper from his body with one fluid movement. Impressive as it was, Draco stayed adamantly calm for a moment. Potter's eyes were so dark. "I'll let you discover that for yourself, Malfoy," he promised, an eerily seductive grin on his lips now. "Tonight, I'll have you raw and bleeding all over."
Draco shivered a little from the expression, and the cool air, but he stood his ground well. With slightly trembling fingers, he managed to throw open Potter's cloak and let it drop to the floor. Potter's eyes were gleaming at the prospect of their activities and Draco's heart pumped loudly as Potter's hands fluttered over his bare chest. Merlin. Draco closed his eyes and let out a ragged breath. He couldn't help but wonder why it was that he wasn't tired of all of this yet. Was it the sex? Was it the thrill? Either way, it had been months since they'd begun sneaking off like this, and not once had either one of them ever suggested that they should stop. To Draco, it always seemed that Potter had something new up his sleeve, always had something better to offer than anyone else could. Maybe that was it.
Draco grinned and opened his eyes again, reaching forward and kissing Potter more languidly now as he worked the buttons on the Gryffindor's school shirt. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally pushed the material off of Potter's shoulders and let it fall to the ground as well. Potter's eyes slid shut as Draco began to press hot kisses along his strong jaw line, moving down to his throat, and then…
Draco jumped back, frowning. What the fuck?
Potter's eyes fluttered open at the loss of contact. "What's the matter?" he asked, his voice thick with caged desire.
Draco didn't take his eyes off of Potter's throat—it was littered with large, red marks. Lovebites! Potter had lovebites, and Draco hadn't given them to him! Had Potter been fooling around with someone else? Who? Was Draco not enough? A strange feeling began to swell up in the pits of his stomach, and suddenly it was coming out as spitting rage.
"Whom have you been snogging with?" he demanded, pushing Potter away and placing his hands on his hips in accusation. "Tell me right now!"
Potter looked genuinely bewildered. His eyes were wide and innocent. "What? I haven't snogged anybody but you," he insisted.
Draco made a vicious growling noise and stormed over to the corner of the room for his bag, pulling out a small mirror and practically throwing it at Potter's head. Unfortunately, Potter caught it in his hands and peered at his reflection before gaping at what he saw. "What the hell?" he asked. "What happened to my neck?"
"Oh, don't play stupid, it doesn't work for you," Draco snarled. "Who was it then? Was it Granger? Was it Weasley?"
Potter dropped the mirror and balked. "I didn't snog Ron!"
Draco rolled his eyes. "I meant the other Weasel," he sneered.
Potter crossed his arms in defence. "I haven't snogged anybody but you," he repeated. "I don't even know where these came from. I've been with my friends for hours and they haven't said a word about it!"
"Liar!" Draco screamed. He was aware of the fact that his face was bright red and grotesquely contorted, but he didn't care. "It was the Weaslette, wasn't it? I know how that ginger bint feels about you! I see her mooning over you and giggling like a bloody idiot whenever you happen to look in her direction. It's so fucking pathetic! How is that appealing to you?"
Potter looked highly affronted at the jab. "Don't talk about her like that," he yelled. "Ginny is just a friend!" Then he seemed to realise something, as he bit his lip and looked away for a moment. "But I admit, we talked earlier, and she did kiss me, but she never even went near my—"
"She kissed you? You let her kiss you?" Draco shrieked. His chest felt like it was on fire; the rage was almost unbearably hot. Draco wanted to throw himself off the Tower. Gods, the fucking nerve of Ginny Weasley! And the fucking nerve of Potter! How could that bastard choose Weasley over Draco? She was an absolute leech! And she would be a dead one too, after Draco was finished with her.
"I see how it is," Draco sneered now. "You have us in schedules, don't you? Granger in the morning, Weasel in the afternoon, Weaslette after supper, and then maybe, if I'm lucky, you can squeeze me in for an hour or two before bed. And certainly, you should be allowed to fit members of your adoring fan club in at intervals during the day, shouldn't you? It would hardly be fair to the rest of them if you only gave out goods to a select few!"
Potter's mouth dropped open. "Are you fucking serious right now?"
"Does it matter? Do you really expect me to believe that Weasley didn't give you those fucking animal bites?" Draco snapped, trying not to sound so hurt.
"Fuck you, Potter!"
"She pecked me! It was only for a second!" Potter shouted. "Why are you acting like this?" The Gryffindor looked just as livid as Draco felt now, his fists clenching up at his sides and his eyes narrowing to slits.
Draco's anger bubbled up inside of him like sizzling acid; he couldn't control it. He knew that it seemed irrational and stupid, and Potter probably thought him mad, but the idea of someone else snogging Potter the way that he did just felt wrong. "I don't want you seeing her anymore," he snarled.
Potter gaped at him with disbelief. "You can't tell me what to do, Malfoy," he retorted. "We never agreed that we couldn't see other people."
"But!" Draco couldn't think coherently. "We never agreed that we could!"
Potter glared now. "You fuck me, I fuck you, that's it," he spat. "It's not like I've cheated on you or anything—we're not... we're not a goddamned couple!"
Draco's mind reeled. When Potter actually said it aloud, it sounded strange and weird and he didn't like it. For some reason, it didn't feel right. "Yeah, okay..." he said slowly, his eyes now starting to sting. Merlin, was he actually going blind with anger? "I can't do this with you anymore."
Potter's stance immediately became unguarded again and he eyed Draco with suspicion. "What?" he asked.
Draco paused and frowned. He hated all of these newfound emotions...For Potter, of all people—it didn't feel good at all. Why should Draco be submitted to such awful feelings when he could easily just drop Potter now and forget anything ever happened? Why couldn't things just go back to the way they were when Draco would kick Potter in the face and think nothing of it? Of course, Draco liked the way that Potter smelled and kissed and laughed and grinned; he even liked how Potter punched him and shoved him and gave him bruises all over his body. Draco got pleasure from the way that Potter hurt him... but not like this. Not while there was someone else who could have all of those things from Potter that should've only been Draco's.
"I don't want this," Draco muttered. "I can't. I'm done."
Potter's face twisted at that, clearly insulted. "I didn't snog her, Malfoy, I swear," he insisted. "Why are you so angry?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" Draco snapped, glaring at him. "I have every right to be angry!"
"No, you don't! You have every right to tell me what the hell your problem is!"
"You want to know what my fucking problem is?" Draco exclaimed. "My problem is that I have this stupid, revolting urge to take you out to Hogsmeade and listen to you complain about the weather and people's stares and the price of meals these days... and then, for some sick reason, I want to sit at your goddamned House table and have you sit at my House table so we can mess with all of our friends and laugh at them later! I want to snog you in the hallway without giving a fuck whether or not somebody could see us; I want to take you to my dorm and throw you on the bed and—and make love to you..." Draco choked and looked away now, glaring at the floor. "And the thought of anybody else doing any of that with you makes me want to find the nearest First Year and stab them in the gut... So that's my fucking problem, Potter. I'm a horrible, jealous, god-awful romantic."
Potter was quiet for a long while; the only sound was the scuffle of Draco's shoes as he shifted his weight from one side to another. Oh gods. At this point, Draco desperately wished that the floor would swallow him up. What had he been thinking? One minute Draco had been a snappy speech away from dumping Potter's arse, and the next, that had come out instead—and from where? Malfoys never fucked up like this, it just didn't happen! Potter obviously didn't want Draco like that—he had made it explicitly clear from the first moment that they'd begun this twisted agreement... and now, Draco had gone and fucked that up too. Did the madness ever end?
"You should know that I'm not a romantic, Malfoy," Potter said now. Draco stared at his own feet, annoyed.
"I understand that," he muttered. Of course, Draco was mortified—but from his own stupid rant, he had realised that he wasn't quite ready to let Potter go yet. He would do everything in his power to make sure that he could keep this little thing going with Potter... even if it meant lying about his own feelings. "Let's just forget that I ever said anything, all right?"
He moved forward to grab Potter again, but the other boy shook his head and backed up. "You didn't let me finish," Potter said. "You should know that I'm not a romantic... but for you... I'm willing to give it a try."
Draco frowned, confused. "Excuse me?"
"I want to be with you too," Potter reiterated.
"But... You said that you wanted to see Ginny Weasley. She kissed you."
Potter rolled his eyes. "I barely said anything, you did all of the talking," he pointed out. "Besides, after Ginny kissed me, I told her that I couldn't be with her because I was already with somebody else." He stepped forward and tentatively reached for Draco's hand. "And was I really lying?"
Draco glanced at Potter's marked throat again and pursed his lips. "It still doesn't explain the lovebites, Potter. 'Fess up."
Potter furrowed his brow. "I honestly don't know where those came from."
Draco studied him for a moment before moving in and inspecting the marks himself—they looked sort of... off, now that he really looked at them. Draco leaned in further and licked a long strip across Potter's throat, causing the other boy to shiver. Then he smacked his lips together and made a face. "What the hell?" he exclaimed. "That's ink, Potter. Smudged red ink." He ran his finger over the area; the smudges becoming larger with his touch. "Why is it on your throat?"
Potter's eyes widened with what must've been realisation and he smacked his forehead, smiling sheepishly. "Hermione, Ron and I were going over essays with red ink earlier," he remarked, shaking his head. "I must've got some on me while I was working... Gods, what horrible friends they are. I'm so not telling the next time either of them has something in their teeth."
It had all been a mistake! Draco snorted—half at the situation, half at himself for making such a big fuss. Potter and his friends were idiots. "Haven't I always told you that you're a careless, messy prat?" he teased. Potter shoved him and grinned beautifically.
"So... you and me?" Potter asked.
It was the first time Draco had ever seen him look like that—it was sort of nice. And it did strange, fluttery things to Draco's chest... at least it was a good thing that he had become a master at covering up his feelings in there. Maybe not when it came to Potter, but... Draco smirked. He didn't think that it would pose a problem any longer. Slowly, he reached down and began to unbutton his trousers.
"I believe we have some unfinished business to take care of," he murmured.
Potter's gaze immediately went down and his cheeks flushed. Despite his reaction, however, he pushed Draco's hands away and re-buttoned the clasp of his trousers, avoiding Draco's questioning gaze for a moment before responding. "You said that you wanted to make love to me in your bed," Potter explained. "So let's go."
Thank Merlin for sappy speeches. Draco grinned, grabbing Potter's hand and allowing the other to guide him towards the door. Immediately, Potter Summoned the rest of their things scattered about the room and pulled out his invisibility cloak, enveloping the two of them in complete darkness as he opened the door to leave.
"And now for the real fun, Draco, I'll let you give me some proper lovebites," Potter said playfully, tugging on Draco's arm to keep him close and under wraps.
Draco laughed. "Okay," he replied. "But if I see any unknown marks like that on you ever again, I'm going to hex Ginny Weasley into the next millennium. And that's a promise."