Author Notes: So, this is my first shot at writing a fanfic! :D! It's probably not the best, but I like it well enough. :] Please be kind, if not constructive, in your reviews. And thanks for checking this out! :D! ~SC
Waking Up
Harry awoke to find himself warmer than usual. He didn't think about it much, because he was riding on the waves of his dying dream. Harry couldn't quite remember what he'd dreamed about, but he assumed it was something lovely by the carefree and happy feelings it gave him. For some reason, he felt the need to smile like a loon, but he didn't quite give in to the notion. Instead, he concentrated on the warmth.
He contemplated the sensations as he drifted back into consciousness. He was holding something, something warm and lovely, but he didn't think it was his pillow. Not unless his pillow had taken to breathing during his sleep…. Wait? Breathing?
Harry tensed as his eyes shot open. In his arms lay a figure, a surprisingly soft figure, with undeniable hardness as well, curved in all the right places…. Harry was getting sidetracked. There was a figure in his room, in his bed, in his arms, …and now that he was analyzing the situation, Harry wasn't sure the figure was wearing many clothes, if any at all. The way the body curved to him, he was inclined to think the latter. Upon further investigation, cataloguing the sensations running throughout himself, Harry concluded he was likewise unclothed.
Now this was new. Harry was no longer a virgin, but he hadn't had many bed partners and he rarely took them casually. Further, he really wasn't quite sure who lay so snug against him. He took to examining his supposed lover. The line of the back and the firmness of the body beneath the soft skin told him his lover was male.
This did not bother Harry. He had long ago discovered his attraction for the male specimen. The bodies of some of his fellow Quidditch players. Mmm! …Harry was getting distracted again. He allowed his eyes to travel up the back of his assumed lover (the rather pale back, paler than usual…) until he reached his hair. The white-blond hair fell to a short cut just below the ears, falling forward and hiding his lover's face. But by this point, Harry didn't think he needed to see it.
Male? Pale body? White-blond hair? Harry's body went from tense to outright frozen shock as the name and image of the only Hogwarts student who fit that description flashed into his head.
Malfoy? MALFOY?! Malfoy was in his bed? This was really too much. Now, admittedly, Harry has dreamt about such an occurrence. He was allowed fantasies, wasn't he? I mean, Malfoy WAS nice to look at. But to actually ACT on such a daydream? Never.
Harry wasn't sure how he'd ended up in this predicament. Actually, he couldn't remember a lot of anything from last night. What had he been doing? It had been Guy's Night with his dorm mates- Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus. They'd goofed and clowned around and played Exploding Snap and let Ron thrash them all at Wizard's Chess until… Seamus. Seamus had heard about a Slytherin party and suggested they crash it.
By this point, they were all a bit hyped up on sweets and a bit tipsy from some smuggled in Fire Whiskey that Seamus, of course, had brought. (Never come between an Irish man and his drink. You're bound to lose.) So of course crashing a Slytherin party had sounded like great fun. They'd snuck out of the dorm and out of the common room through the portrait hole. It was after hours so the Fat Lady had been asleep and was none the wiser. They'd tip-toed through the hallways and corridors to avoid any teachers or Prefects on duty and then… then it all got a bit blurry.
Harry wasn't quite sure what happened after that, but they'd clearly found their way to the dungeons and the party. Either that or they'd run into Malfoy on the way and Harry had accosted him, but that seemed less likely. Thinking of Malfoy, Harry glanced down at his blond bed companion. He wondered what the boy was doing there. If Harry had been tipsy to the point of silliness, the blond had to have been drunk beyond belief for them to have ended up how they currently were.
All the while Harry lay thinking, Malfoy slept on. Harry watched him for awhile. Malfoy's back rose and fell rhythmically, up and down, up and down. Suddenly, the blond let out a strange little moaning sound before snuggling back into Harry. Harry's over-tense body tightened his hold on Malfoy instinctively. He'd think about such a reaction later. But for now he saw an opportunity. Harry let his eyes roam the Slytherin.
Harry had admired Malfoy from afar for years. Even through the hate, he could not deny that Malfoy was attractive. The long, sinewy body. The hair that fell in light wisps now that the git had stopped adding that horrible gel to it. Those muscles that being the Slytherin team's Seeker had helped to define. Those eyes that caught and pinned you with one look. And that air of confidence that was just this side of arrogance. Oh, who was he kidding? It was completely arrogant. But for some reason, it worked for the Slytherin. All in all, Malfoy made for a nice package. Sinfully nice, if Harry was being honest.
Speaking of sin, Harry got out of his head and focused back on Malfoy. Harry seemed to be zoning out a lot this morning. Wonder why. Harry let his eyes continue roaming his target. Malfoy looked incredibly good with the sheet bunched at his waist and his hair sleep-tousled. His back ran wide and long, tapering off teasingly at the sheet. Harry was half-tempted to raise the sheet and discover what other treasures awaited him beneath. But his resisted the urge. He'd stick with torso, at least for now.
Experimentally, Harry leaned forward a bit to take a whiff of Malfoy. He closed his eyes briefly at the smell. Malfoy's aroma was some heady mix of pine and fresh air (perhaps the Slytherin had been outside recently), and a hint of something dank (Harry attributed this to the Slytherins living in the dungeons), and something so inherently Malfoy that Harry had no name for it. But the combination was intoxicating.
Harry was so enthralled by the smell that he wanted to touch next. This time he gave in to the temptation. Lightly withdrawing the arm that was on top of Malfoy from the sleeping one underneath, Harry pulled it towards Malfoy's back, not missing the chance to skim the skin of Malfoy's chest as he did so. These initial touches shot sparks of something up Harry's arm, but Harry assumed that it was a result of his sleeping limbs reawaking. No matter. Harry lightly traced patterns onto Malfoy's back.
After several minutes of such ministrations, Malfoy made a soft sound in his throat, making Harry think he was close to waking. Harry made the touches even lighter, barely ghosting over the Slytherin's skin. He didn't want to risk waking Malfoy and losing this opportunity. Realizing time was running short, for surely when Malfoy became awake and coherent, he wouldn't be there three seconds longer, Harry gave into another desire and leaned forward and touched his lips to the Slytherin. It was electrifying. Harry felt his eyes close again at the sensations that pulsed through him. Why had he never felt such feelings before?
One was not enough. Harry withdrew to press another soft kiss to a different part of Malfoy's back and was swept away by the same magical sensations as before. He was hooked. Without so much as a thought, Harry made Malfoy's skin his new practice pillow (because really, how else does a preadolescent boy learn to kiss?). He pressed infinitely soft kisses all over Malfoy's skin. Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Dip in the middle and everywhere else in between. Harry would have gone for the dip at the base of Malfoy's spine if it would not have compromised their current position. Malfoy might have released a quiet moan or small shiver somewhere between Harry's attentions, but either Harry was too oblivious to hear or simply no longer cared.
Harry had to taste. He HAD to. He let his tongue flick out to swipe the skin before him and had to bite back the tail end of a deep-chested moan. The start of it was beyond him. Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head as Malfoy's flavor exploded on his tongue. Harry had never tasted the like. He thought to himself that if he was a starving man, he could live on this taste alone forever. That was it. He needed more.
Heedless to the sleeping boy in his arms, Harry placed his tongue on the lowest part of Malfoy's back he could reach in this position and let himself indulge in one long swipe up the back. This action elicited a long moan from the boy he was wrapped around. The sound made some part of Harry's brain not bothered with logical thinking purr in appreciation. Logical? Let's be real. Higher brain function deserted Harry sometime around him first deciding to touch the sleeping Dragon in his arms.
Harry's brain was no longer with us. His body shifted slightly with his increasingly growing arousal as his tongue continued to slowly explore all the skin it could possibly reach of the Slytherin. Harry never noticed the slight movements of the body beneath his or the not quite silent whimpers coming from his bed partner's throat.
Suddenly, Draco turned in his arms and all at once Harry had a very hungry Slytherin attached to his mouth. Harry could only moan and hang on when an extremely insistent tongue demanded entrance into his mouth. God! Draco's mouth tasted better than his skin and Harry was swamped. The sensations flooded all of his senses and he could no longer tell up from down. His own bloody name was some insignificant fact that he was sure he could try to remember later.
When Draco dragged his lips from Harry's mouth and chose to devour his jaw and throat instead, Harry's panting allowed some much-needed oxygen to return to his brain. With it, he was able to take a short inventory of his situation. Besides the Slytherin Dragon attacking his skin with a fervor Harry had only seen on the Quidditch pitch before, and this thought alone was almost enough to drive the Gryffindor to distraction, Harry also noted the now over-heated body pressed solidly against him and a very hard something pushed up against his thigh. Harry belatedly wondered just how long Draco had been awake.
A growl in his ear alerted Harry to Draco's …er, Malfoy's notice of his wandering attention. (When had he become Draco?) Malfoy continued to growl at him.
"Potter! I don't know what the hell you're doing here, but there better be a damn good reason." Contrary to his words, though, Malfoy went back to kissing him almost immediately. Harry's head swam as the sensations chased away every rational thought that tried to enter his head. He could only assume Malfoy was similarly afflicted for the blond to be behaving thus. Not that he really cared. If they had to fight it out, they could do it later. For now, this… tryst was feeling too good.
They broke away when the need for oxygen again became too much, and both flopped to their backs dragging in huge gulps of air. Staring up at the ceiling, Harry took in details he'd somehow missed in his initial waking shock at the situation and then his assault… er, perusal of Malfoy's person. Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. Eyes flickering around the room, he discovered he was not, in fact, in his room in Gryffindor Tower, but in what he could only assume was Malfoy's Prefect room in the Slytherin's dorms.
"Oh, shit," he said.
"Too, right," was Malfoy's only response.