Author's Note: My first and perhaps only Harry Potter fic, written to confuse friends in an anonymous contest at the LJ Comm Hentai-Contest. Also written for a fan of my fic who once asked me to write Harry/Draco. It's two years later, and I forgot the person's name. But here it is.
Warnings: angsty yaoi snog
Who Needed It More?
Ron keeps asking me what's wrong, and I don't know what to tell him. This isn't another mystery to be solved with magic and friendship. It isn't a crush on a girl and hiding my feelings. It isn't being popular or unpopular or failing exams. This is much worse, much darker. So much darker.
Could it have happened anywhere but in the empty Potions classroom? I doubt it. There, on a desk, my body over his, both of us sweating and swearing at each other and promising bodily harm…and giving it…and taking it. That white-blond head is all I see when I close my eyes now. The sound of his climax as I jerked him with my fist under my body? It might never leave my ears.
"You pathetic fool," he growled in my ear, aiming his wand between my eyes.
"Go on," I taunted, "just do it already." I knew he wouldn't. Not this time.
I watched the tiniest bead of sweat drip down his cheek. I licked my lips, hating myself for wanting to taste it. Then he launched himself at me.
It couldn't be called a kiss, what happened when we both dropped our wands and crushed our mouths together. It was too full of hate and fear and damnation. I'm not this person, my mind was screaming as I tasted him. I'm not doing this. I wondered if he was saying the same…and I hated myself for wondering.
Did he let me throw him over the desk? Did he want me to reach around and undo his trousers with one hand as I held him down with the other? My pale hand in the middle of his black-clad back, pressing and holding him there while he groaned and swore he'd kill me if it was the last thing he did? His cock was as hard as mine as I gripped it, stroked it like it was my own while I held him down down down. He didn't resist in body, just words. Spewed words of such loathing and hatred. Tears running down both of our faces as I got his pants to his ankles and spread him, spit down onto my cock and forced it inside him.
Who needed this more? Who suffered less?
My ears rang with the sound of our voices, our gasps and moans and cries. Surely someone would hear us, see us? We would be found, humiliated, expelled. Is that what we wanted, most of all? Relief from the pressure of being ourselves? I couldn't ask such a question then, I could only feel, feel the beast we made together as I fucked Draco Malfoy and pumped his cock until we both came, a mass of rumpled uniforms, slick bodies, and torn minds.
We didn't speak when I finally withdrew, put my slack, sticky prick back into my pants. We didn't speak as he panted there over the desk, unmoving for so long I thought maybe he never would. The silence was terrible. But eventually reality returned, Draco hissing as he pulled up his pants, grabbed his wand, and fled. I was left standing there, watching him go. Dazed and lost.
And now, days later, I am still dazed. He acts as if nothing happened, and he's so good at it that I begin to wonder if perhaps I imagined it all. And I want more.
No, Ron, I'm not all right, I want to say. Maybe I never will be.