A/N: Eh, sorry for the title…it sounded waaay better in my head…but anywho, ANGST! *gasps* Sorry…don't know what happened. Pure angst is not my usual cup of tea, but when this idea popped into my head, it demanded my instant attention, whether I wanted to give it or not…But enough with the rambling…Enjoy =)
Love in a Time of Uncertainty
Draco Malfoy ducked into the Leaky Cauldron late one stormy evening. With the hood of his cloak still up, he surveyed the scene before him with narrowed eyes. Even before the War, he would have never graced such a sorry establishment with his presence; but this was the place the note had indicated…
Normally, he wouldn't have answered a mysterious note sent by Merlin knew who-there was just too high a risk that the sender was one of many who wanted Draco dead for his part in Dumbledore's death-but the Leaky Cauldron was a public enough place, and the handwriting…it had looked familiar to Draco, familiar enough to spark a rare fit of curiosity. Thus, he was here now.
Draco moved to the far side of the room, away from the only two patrons in the entire place-two scruffy-looking ruffians at the bar-throwing off his rain soaked hood as he went.
"Firewhisky, straight." He growled at a nearby waitress as he sat down. She scurried off, avoiding his eye like everyone else in the Wizarding World.
In the upper corner, behind the bar, was a muggle television set, a quaint little addition that had the War to thank for its presence in a wizard's pub. It was on but Draco ignored it, staring instead into his glass of firewhisky when it arrived.
That didn't last long. "Hey, Malfoy! MALFOY!" One of the ruffians shouted, though the place was not crowded, and Draco's hearing was perfectly fine. As Draco glanced up reluctantly, the man pointed at the television.
"Friends of yours?" He sneered. His completely inebriated companion laughed, as if he had said something extremely clever. Against his will, Draco found his eyes following the man's finger up to the television. He quickly lowered his eyes again when he saw what it was, feeling sick. Yes, he knew those faces. His former school friends, Crabbe and Goyle, had been captured by the Ministry. They had insisted on continuing their fathers' work, though the Dark Lord and their fathers had long since perished, the War they started long since lost…Draco drained the firewhisky in one go, hoping the burn would blot out the memory of the haunted looks in his former friends' eyes. It didn't.
Two firewhiskies later, and he still hadn't managed it. Before he could call for a fourth one, however, the barman appeared from wherever he had been lurking for the past few minutes, coming right up to Draco's table. He tensed, expecting to be told to leave, but he wasn't.
"Malfoy," The barman said curtly instead, jerking his head back toward the other far corner of the room, near the end of the bar. Draco could faintly see a door back there, half hidden by a gray curtain. As he stood up, instantly wary, the barman turned and walked away, towards the half-hidden door. Draco followed after, his fingers finding and lightly gripping the handle of his wand.
The barman opened the door, ushering Draco into the darkened room beyond. Draco reluctantly obeyed-the room practically oozed 'trap!' to him-and wasn't surprised in the least when the door was shut behind him.
What did surprise him, was who he saw when a light flared on.
"Potter." Draco spat. He seriously considered pulling his wand, but a closer look at his former rival sent a rare pang of pity through him.
The War had taken its toll on the Chosen One as well. He looked, quite frankly, like something hell had chewed up and promptly spat back out. His eyes, normally so perky and disgustingly self-righteous, were red-rimmed, the blue stare behind them fuzzy and haunted, speaking of many sleepless and nightmare-filled nights. His hair looked like several tornados had been through it, and his face had picked up some premature lines on his forehead and around his mouth.
"Sit down, Malfoy." Even his voice didn't sound the same. It was heavy, almost croaky, as if it was an effort for Potter to make himself speak. Draco let go of his wand-whatever he wanted, this pale shade of his former enemy posed no threat. He sat at the small table, directly in front of Potter. He leaned back slightly, arms automatically crossing over his chest.
"What did you want, Potter?"
Potter rubbed his eyes, one hand running distractedly through his disaster zone hair, mussing it up even more. "To make peace, Malfoy."
That drew a loud, bitter laugh from Draco. "Bull shite, Potter. If that was what you really wanted, you would be meeting me out in the open, where all of your precious followers could see, not here, in this dank little closet." Draco stood up. He was done here. It was a mistake to come-a stupid, stupid mistake.
He turned to leave. "Malfoy, stop." He ignored him, reaching for the door knob. Quick as a flash of lightning, Potter yanked Draco's hand off the knob, yanking him around to face him and shoving him violently against the door.
As Draco tensed for a fight-cursing his stupidity for letting his guard down around Potter, the man who had defeated the most feared villain in the history of the Wizarding World multiple times-the Boy Who Lived shocked him once more. For, instead of hitting him, as Draco expected, Potter's chapped lips found his as he crowded Draco against the door. It wasn't a nice, chaste kiss. It was hot, desperate and angry, an unwanted and unasked for invasion of Draco's mouth and personal space.
But Draco didn't push him away. Why? Because he understood this. He understood that this was what Potter had really wanted when he invited him here-something dangerous, risky, insane. Something that would punish, instead of understand, ridicule instead of praise. That, and the sexual tension that had burned between them since school-fueling their hatred of one another-made Draco the perfect antithesis to Potter's seemingly perfect life, his perfect family.
Well, if Potter wanted punishment for some perceived sin, he came to the right man-the perfect man to oblige him.
Draco growled, low and predatory, biting Potter's tongue. Potter gasped, and Draco took the opportunity to invade the other's mouth in return. He was a lot less kind about it than the former Gryffindor, but the other didn't shy away; in fact, he pressed harder into Draco's almost savage response with a small whimper-moan. Draco had read him right-he wanted this. Badly.
Draco smirked slightly. He was going to enjoy this.
He shoved his knee in between Potter's legs, jerking up. Potter's knees went weak, his fingernails digging painfully into Draco's shoulders in an effort to stay upright.
"Muh…Malfoy…" He moaned. Draco bit his sensitive, ruby red lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.
"Shut up." He hissed fiercely. The former Slytherin hooked his foot around one of Potter's legs, pulling. Potter yelped as his weakened knees gave way. Draco let him fall, following him down.
This wasn't much different from their fights in school, Draco found himself noticing dimly as Potter attacked his neck with ferocious, biting kisses, ripping at Draco's clothes. It was just as angry, just as violent…Potter arched urgently beneath him, grinding hard. Draco groaned, shoving back with his own hips, pleasure as sharp as pain spiking through his body.
Potter gasped. Draco ripped open Potter's shirt, not caring in the least that the thin fabric tore, squeezing with his legs as the former Gryffindor tried to buck again. Failing at that, Potter shoved at him, yanking at Draco's cloak and shirt. Draco let him tear both off of his shoulders, before attacking Potter's throat, biting as Potter had but with much more finesse, choosing to bite and suck only the spots that caused the most sensation, the most pleasure-pain. He kept at it until Potter was a whimpering, trembling mass of human-shaped jelly beneath him.
Draco slowed his kissing, turning the harsh biting into torturous, teasing nips on the raw flesh, dragging his nails down Potter's bare back, to the waistband of his slacks. Potter shuddered violently, his own nails clawing furrows along Draco's back as his head moved to Draco's chest. The former Slytherin half growled, half moaned, automatically pressing against Potter's ministrations as he yanked down Potter's slacks and underwear.
"Malfoy!" Potter gasped at the sudden shock of air. Though it felt like he was on fire, inside and out, Draco managed to pause, looking down at the trembling mess of his former enemy, leaning against his chest.
Potter wanted to be punished. Wouldn't it be the greatest, worst punishment of all to leave him like this, horny, desperate, ashamed by the knowledge that it was Draco, not his precious Weasley girl, that brought him to this point?
He might have decided to do just that, except Potter had a trick of his own. He didn't bother with pulling down Draco's pants; he plunged his hand right in, his desperate fingers curling around Draco's one weakness. Draco swore, responding in kind, just as Potter wanted.
He was not gentle. With no lubricant, not even of a magical kind, he pumped the other man hard, focused despite what Potter was doing to him in return.
Despite the pain, Potter was responding, rocking shamelessly with Draco's hand, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Draco groaned again, a low, reluctant sound beneath Potter's shuddering, whimpering moans, something hot and burning building inside him until-
He felt rather than saw Potter go first, shuddering against his hand, but it was only perhaps a second or two before the heat inside Draco, which had quickly grown to an unbearable level, exploded too.
It was rather like what Draco imagined being struck by lightning would be like. His vision went white; every one of his muscles seized up, as if he'd been hit with a Petrificus Totalus spell. And then, in what felt like both a minute and an eternity, the searing pleasure let him go. He slumped against one of the thick legs of the nearby table. The moans had silenced at last, leaving no other sounds except the sounds of their harsh breathing.
Draco, it turned out, managed to recover first. Feeling as if his arms and legs were weighted down with ten ton bags of sand, the former Slytherin dragged his unwilling, post-orgasm body to its feet, pulling out his wand and clearing up the mess on his pants with a quick wave.
As he pulled his shirt and cloak back on, he stared down at Potter, who lay limply on his back, half naked and totally vulnerable, with strangely mixed emotions.
Draco was well aware that he had just been used. It was a feeling he was very familiar with. He also knew, beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt, that he would let it happen again. The festering poison in both of their souls had been lanced out, but in its place an addiction had somehow been allowed to grow, an addiction that would need its fix again very, very soon. It was only a matter of time.
A/N: *reads back over it* Holy CRAP, I wrote THAT? *hides face in shock and embarrassment* …graphic naughtiness isn't normally my cup of tea, either. I don't know what's wrong with me…but as Draco knows, there's more to come. Hope you guys have the patience to put up with it. (The story has a better plot than just more random angry sex, I promise!) Reviews are love =).