hand·cuff (hndkf)
n. A restraining device consisting of a pair of strong, connected hoops that can be tightened and locked about the wrists and used on one or both arms of a prisoner in custody; a manacle. Often used in the plural.
tr.v. hand·cuffed, hand·cuff·ing, hand·cuffs
1. To restrain with or as if with handcuffs.
2. To render ineffective or impotent.
"I'm tired of reading," said Draco Malfoy suddenly, tossing his novel onto the coffee table before him and sighing dramatically, as though pained by the boredom of the afternoon. Draco always hated Sunday afternoons and this one was no different. Winter was starting to give way to Spring, though the battle of the seasons still raged. Patches of snow dotted the muddy lawn, from which a lush green grass was beginning to emerge. Though the air was still chilly, the windows had been propped open very slightly in the Potter-Malfoy household, or the Malfoy-Potter household, as Draco preferred it to be known. A slight breeze circulated, ruffling the curtains gently and tickling Draco's hair.
"I said, I'm tired of reading," Draco repeated pointedly, looking over at Harry, who was sitting on his favourite chair with his legs tucked under him. "I hate the quiet. It's boring. Let's do something."
Without glancing up from his newspaper, Harry shrugged. "Like what?" He turned the page and continued reading. Lately, he had taken to reading the Daily Prophet front to back, searching for the tiniest detail of missing wizards or odd occurrences. Voldemort had been threatening an all out war for three years and as of yet had not struck. More then once, friends had attempted to soothe Harry's fears, promising the Order was pursuing the matter, but Harry had never been able to let go.
Heaving another dramatic sigh, Draco reached over and shook Harry's newspaper. "Are you under there or have you died? Honestly, Harry, you're so dull sometimes I think you must be channelling Binns!"
"What do you want to do?" Harry questioned patiently. It never did any good to get annoyed with Draco. Nothing stopped him from doing exactly what he wanted, and in any case Harry could never stay angry at him for very long. Something about those grey eyes, flashing like silver when he was angry, or turning thundercloud grey when he was sad made Harry weak in the knees.
"Nothing," Draco shot back crossly, his lower lip jutting out so very slightly no one but Harry, who knew him very well, could tell he was pouting. "Read your stupid paper."
The faintest smile appeared on Harry's lips. He raised an eyebrow. "That's what I was doing, before a miniature cyclone hit. All right then, I'll read. Aren't you going to finish your book? What's it all about?"
"Who cares?" Draco retorted bitterly.
For a moment they sat in silence. Harry was powerless to look away. Draco was not pretty precisely, it was more then that. His posture was ramrod straight, like a statue, and his chin was tilted ever so slightly upwards. Pale skin like porcelain further reminded Harry of statues he'd seen in Muggle museums, but none of them had anything like Draco's eyes. Rimmed in the darkest grey, they were very pale and silvery, flashing with suppressed rage.
Harry sighed. If anyone had ever reminded him of his godfather it was Draco. Draco had Sirius's restlessness, his desire for constant motion and movement and entertainment, as well as his effortless attractiveness, though Harry was more tactful then to share his observations with Draco, who hate a tendency to get upset whenever compared with anyone.
"All right, then," Harry murmured teasingly, knowing full well that Draco had no intention of letting him drift back to perusing the Daily Prophet. He didn't really want to keep browsing the articles anyway; no one had been declared missing and there was not so much as a vandalism to report.
The fresh smell of spring blew in, swirling the curtains and mussing Harry's hair, not that he noticed or particularly cared. The scent on the wind was refreshing, carrying all the smells Harry associated with spring born on the breeze; fresh grass, lilac and rain. After the long winter, he could hardly wait for the season of growth to emerge, if only so they could get out of the house more. Not, of course, that staying home with Draco was normally boring.
"I've got an idea," Draco said, very slowly. He peered at Harry from behind a lock of platinum hair, his eyes distrustful.
Harry smiled encouragingly. He had learned years ago how fragile Draco could be, despite the tough, cruel facade. The mere shadow of a slight or a few seconds of being ignored left Draco in a mysterious state for hours. "Yes?"
Silver flashed in Draco's eyes like lightning and the colour slowly took on a darker hue. "It might not be as fascinating as reading your life story as written by Rita Skeeter --"
" -- Screw Rita Skeeter," Harry declared. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of the woman and her acid green quill. "On the other hand, don't...but what's your idea? Tell me."
"All right." The grey eyes sparkled like tinsel as Draco reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out two small, silver hoops attached to one another with a very short linked chain. Draco's eyebrow rose slowly as the smirk spilled across his face. "What do you think?"
"That you read too much Playwizard," Harry decided, but his heart was already thrumming quicker in his chest and his stomach felt that familiar whoosh, like falling from a very high building. The handcuffs dangled temptingly from Draco's hand. Harry got to his feet, letting the paper fall to the floor. He hardly heard the crunch as he stepped on it.
Giddy as a child on Christmas morning, Harry followed Draco across the hall to their bedroom. Draco, however, looked calm and cool, thin ice over a frozen pond. That was his habit, of course; he could show the utmost restraint during the times when Harry was practically panting with want.
"Here," Harry said, taking a swipe and trying to snatch the handcuffs out of Draco's palm, but Draco had Seeker reflexes too, and drew back quickly, waggling one finger at Harry.
"Sit down," instructed Draco, smirking slightly but doing a very good job of maintaining his composure. "Not there," he snapped quickly, as Harry dropped into a chair. "The bed."
With a questioning look in his eye, Harry slowly settled himself onto the crisp white sheets of the bed he shared with his lover. Nervous and shivering with sudden desire, Harry peered up at Draco, asking silently for directions. He was surprised at how quickly the feelings of lust had risen within him; minutes before he'd been reading sales adverts and reports on Cornelius Fudge's latest dinner party. How that man remained in the Ministry at all is beyond me. Harry's inner dialogue was cut short as Draco clicked one handcuff closed.
The handcuff was surprisingly weighty, the metal cold against Harry's hand. Paying close attention to his work, Draco wound the small chain around the bars in the headboard, then snapped the other cuff around Harry's free wrist. Caught, Harry blinked up at Draco in anticipation as Draco smiled slightly, surveying his handiwork.
Those eyes, Draco thought to himself as Harry's glance met his own. No matter how sick and tired he was of hearing people comment on Harry's beautiful eyes Draco couldn'tee help but consider them gorgeous. That was a good thing, since Harry, though disarmingly cute in his boyish splendour -- messy mass of dark hair, distracted expression -- was hardly male model quality. Draco shivered inwardly. Harry's appearance triggered something deep within him. Conventional good looks or not, Harry drove Draco mad, but nothing pleased him quite so much as being in control.
Draco walked to the bedroom door and shut it carefully. They rarely had visitors, but one could never be too careful. None of their family members would dare come over -- Draco's wanted him dead for his betrayal and Harry hadn't spoken to the Dursleys in years -- but one never knew when Ron would bound in, puppyish with enthusiasm that prohibited him from knocking on doors like civilised people.
Turning back towards the bed, Draco was treated to the sight of Harry, arms stretched above his head and clasped to the headboard, writhing slightly. In his faded jeans and a grey tee-shirt, Harry looked delicious. Slowly, Draco dropped to his knees on the bed and sensuously moved forward on hands and knees, pulling himself up onto Harry and lowering his mouth to offer Harry the barest of kisses.
Underneath Draco, Harry moved, his body straining to close the small distance between them. Draco rested his cool hands against Harry's wrists, his eyes unblinking for a moment and peering down at Harry, their eyes meeting for a second. Then Draco lowered himself onto Harry, relishing the involuntary gasp that escaped Harry's lips when Draco slid his hands under Harry's tee-shirt.
Harry's skin was warm and Draco could feel Harry quiver as he ran his cold hands across Harry's firm stomach. Although he was not what anyone would call built, Harry had managed to develop a nice Quidditch body -- lean and tight, not at all bulky. Perfect for a Seeker, really; it allowed him to streak through the sky as though weightless and retain his flexibility. Draco smirked further at the thought. Flexibility indeed. It had been a year since they had left school and Draco considered his high time to test whether his lover had retained that feature.
Slowly, Draco moved forward just a bit, settling himself carefully on Harry's lap and pulling his own shirt over his head. He threw it carelessly onto the nearby chair, a gesture Harry did not miss. Draco was normally fastidious, a neat freak in Harry's term. Straining, Harry tugged against his bonds and lifted his head from the pillow, his lips puckered, seeking Draco for kisses, but Draco did not reciprocate.
Instead, Harry felt those cool, smooth hands sliding down his side, firmly testing his hips and then flying to his belt. Leaning back, Harry tried to concentrate on the patterns in the ceiling, but after two seconds he was stretching his neck, trying to see what Draco was doing.
"Oh...whoa," Harry murmured, catching sight of Draco. Hair in his eyes, Draco was bent over Harry, his teeth on Harry's trouser zipper. With a wink, Draco dragged the zipper down and then straightened up, fixing Harry with an amused look that would have looked appropriate on a cat with a trapped mouse. Shaking back the platinum strands, Draco crawled forward again, the edge of muscle visible under his smooth skin as he moved.
For a moment, Draco concentrated on trying to lift Harry's shirt without tangling it in the handcuffs, the next he ripped it open with one hard pull. Harry opened his mouth to tell him off -- it was his favourite tee-shirt -- but the next moment Draco had descended. A warm lick caught Harry by surprise. As he gasped happily, Draco twisted his tongue slowly into Harry's mouth, slipping past Harry's open lips. The kiss grew more intense, Harry once again struggling to move closer, wishing desperately for dominance. As Harry's eyes fluttered, Draco broke off contact.
"You torture me," Harry accused, his eyes open again and shining with so much desire that it was a little difficult for him to see clearly. "I hate this." He shook his wrists, rattling the cuffs. "I want to touch you."
"It's for your own good," Draco lectured in such a knowledgeable voice that Harry could only gape at him. The next moment, however, Draco was returning to the conquered trousers, sliding them down Harry's hips.
"Mmmm," Harry murmured. Draco's hands seemed to grow warmer, surprising considering his tendency to remain ice cold even when he sat beside the fire. More then once, Harry had speculated that Draco was cold blooded just like the mascot of his Hogwarts house, but Draco suddenly dipped his head down and Harry forgot to think about anything anymore.
Draco's mouth, so excellent for smirking and kissing, had always struck Harry as appearing quite prim and proper. The lips were a little more plump then some, but despite all evidence to the contrary from their school years, Draco did not have a big mouth. However, his talents extended further then tongue lashings. Delicately, completely absorbed in what he was doing, Draco slid his tongue across the head of Harry's penis, then lowered his mouth around it. Slowly, languidly almost, Draco took all of Harry into his mouth. The heat of his breath made Harry moan aloud as Draco wrapped one hand around the base and moved in quicker timing, his practised mouth increasing the pressure as he sucked harder.
Slippery with a faint sheen of sweat, Harry bucked and struggled, driven half mad by the steady pressure and the quickening motions. Draco slid his hands upward, skimming along Harry's hips and sides. The metal of the handcuffs were cutting welts into Harry's wrists and he was pretty sure there would be visible red marks when they were finally removed, but he did not care in the least. Let anyone in the Ministry ask what their star Auror had been up to over the weekend to get such welts and Harry would cheerfully answer.
"You -- are -- a -- God!" panted Harry breathlessly. Through a forest of lashes, his half-opened eyes accessed Draco, pleased to see a faint pink flush making its way across Draco's cheekbones. In payment for his compliment, Draco moved faster. His tongue traced Harry's shaft from base to tip, the heat of his rapid breathing raising the hairs on the back of Harry's neck. Harry was vaguely aware that the bed springs were creaking rhythmically and he smiled, intending to point that out to Draco, but he found himself unable to articulate a word and the thoughts fluttered out of his head like disinterested pixies. The next moment his hips arched and he fell into a swirling vortex of pleasure and craving as the orgasm took him.
Drawing back slowly, Draco smirked up at Harry, his lips glistening wetly and his cheeks slightly pink. He wiped his mouth on his arm and regarded Harry with eyes that were very shiny and amused.
"For your own good," Draco said again as he slid forward, one leg thrown casually over Harry's legs and a hand on Harry's chest. "Normally you always interfere."
There was little Harry could do but nod. Pleasure still tingled through him, leaving him feeling more relaxed then he'd felt in quite a while. "Thanks," he managed after a moment, smiling hugely.
Draco raised an eyebrow and slowly let himself smile. "Of course." A moment later he picked up his wand, which had fallen onto the floor in the commotion. Rubbing Harry's shoulder, Draco shifted, kissing Harry's neck. He raised the wand, his eyes full of lust and dark hope. "You're free," he added, whispering the charm to unlock the bonds. The handcuffs slipped free with a small clicking noise.
It took barely a second. Harry pulled himself out of the handcuffs as if they were the grip of death himself and flung himself on top of Draco, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the mattress. His face, devoid of smirks, was lit by a gigantic grin. Harry increased his crushing grip, rather liking the feel of Draco sliding beneath him. A brief wrestling match ensued, which ended rather rapidly as Draco admitted willing defeat and lay still on his stomach. The handcuffs snicked closed with a snap.