Like Vonnegut said, "All this happened. More or less." However, he's also said, "All of the true things I'm about to tell you are shameless lies."
You can take it for what it's worth.
Warning: If you're looking for something close to the books, look elsewhere. I claim nothing other than using forms of Harry and Draco for my own perverted purposes.
Good luck.
Ps: a second chapter has been added as a more concrete conclusion. Cheers.
'O' For Effort
And his eyes are on me again…
Draco needn't look from his text to envision the sight that was Professor Potter leering over his own noted lecture with strangely wide eyes and a trepid arch to his brow. The blond was hardly daft in these situations. He'd seen this look on countless occasions. It was one of unadulterated lust and regret for feeling such criminal atrocities.
The man was married, after all. To another professor no less! So, the following glare wasn't out of hostility for Draco, he assumed, but more so towards himself. The famous Harry Potter was, in a word, infallible. How could he possibly look at a student with such hungry eyes?
And for quite some time, Draco felt his insinuations to be supremely ludicrous. His mind must have been blowing things well out of proportion. For whatever reason, the teacher respected Draco. The Slytherin could speak to this professor without feeling hard-pressed to leave the room and could hold more than a superficial conversation for much longer than necessary. But, Professor Potter could relate to nearly any student. He spoke to every student and remembered funny little tidbits about their lives that they could hardly remember themselves.
He was easily a favorite amongst the later years. The man elected to only teach advanced levels of magic. The students appearing for an eighth or ninth year in magic were taught solely by Harry Potter in whatever aspect of magic they wanted to master in. Draco, oddly enough, wanted to master in history. Perhaps it was the gore of the past that intrigued him, or perhaps it was the knowledge and certainty that he would one day read about himself in the history books drawing him to the topic.
Either way, he excelled in the subject and was currently finishing his ninth year- aspiring to teach the subject at Hogwarts after graduation.
And he could very well do so if it weren't for those ruddy green orbs boring holes through his thick school robes. Draco could feel every stare in whatever spot it was specifically aimed at. Currently, the professor's eyes were alternating between the blond's hair and the tip of his nose. Glancing upwards from the text opened randomly to a chapter the class wasn't at all focused on, Draco's grays were met with mortified emeralds that fell back to their work with a remarkable speed. His face blushed crimson and the Slytherin couldn't prevent the smirk forming on his lip at his accuracy.
Everyday, it was the same routine. Professor Potter would welcome the group individually and pause uncomfortably with a cough as Draco entered. Throughout his ramblings, he would scan the classroom and, without fail, land on Draco's seat every twelve and a half seconds. However, the blond took these occurrences as innocent coincidences.
Well, that was until Potter asked him to be his guest for a history convention's dinner being held in the Hogwarts castle.
"I was wondering if you would like to join me for the dinner, Draco. The staff are asked to bring a student they think may be particularly interested in the subject to meet some of the higher ups of today and I think you'll really enjoy it."
All the while, Professor Potter fiddled with his hands and pulled a bit at his hair. The whole ordeal could have easily equated to a bumbling fool asking someone on a date of sorts. And at the time, Draco shrugged the thought away and accepted the offer.
"Sure, Professor Potter. Thank-you for considering me."
The man flushed at the comment and cleared his throat before bidding Draco goodnight.
Draco could have kicked himself for second guessing his original thoughts of Potter's behavior.
"Draco's absolutely brilliant in class, Professor Binns. One of the brightest of his time." The blond reddened something terrible and smiled along with the compliment. Potter looked dreadfully handsome in a suit without his heinous glasses. Why he hadn't charmed his eyes completely was far beyond anything Draco could begin to understand.
The Slytherin could possibly melt completely if that gaze weren't guarded by the thin bit of glass sitting atop of his professor's nose. In that sense, it was probably a great thing Potter kept the ruddy things on his face. The man was attractive- despite the frames and horribly chaotic mop atop his head. Any gender could appreciate that.
It most certainly wasn't a crush developing.
Malfoys weren't the kind to crush. It was far beneath their stature.
Even the dinner confused Draco's assumptions. Every professor there thought his or her student was the best and brightest. And the man hadn't cornered him in the midst of all the commotion and alcohol to burst forth with declarations of love.
Granted, his wife was present, but that hardly mattered.
Still, though, those eyes sat focused on him every twelve and a half seconds. This time, Draco wasn't shielded with heavy school robes and that definitely increased his level of vulnerability and visibility.
Again, he threw aside the nagging voice in his head and opted to ignore Potter's strange tendencies.
"Draco, could you stay after class for a moment?" the professor requested bashfully after classes ended one Friday afternoon.
Making certain the other students were gone from the classroom, Potter leaned carefully against his desk and studied his student silently. A moment of tension passed before the man remembered why he'd kept the Slytherin behind.
"Something you needed, Sir?" Draco asked, interrupting wherever Potter had drifted to and not bothering to mask the annoyance his aristocratic upbringing had enhanced in him.
"Y-yes," he stuttered and winced with embarrassment before clearing his throat again. "I'm head of the Department of Dark Magic here and we were hoping to include a student representative considering it's usually a rebellious student in practice of the art. I hoped you would consider being a part of the group. It would look wonderful on a resume and you would have experience in the Dark Arts without actually performing them."
"Sir, with all due respect, I've done quite a bit of Dark Magic already." This confession seemed to churn something uncomfortable within Potter's stomach as his face paled and flushed all at once. "But, I wouldn't mind being a part of the department."
Since then, there had been five cases pertaining to the magic in question. All of which Draco felt unnecessary. He didn't have much of a say and was only present for legality purposes. And yet, each time a case opened and closed, Professor Potter would comment on how professional Draco seemed and how helpful he was to have within the judging process. And every time the blond would modestly disagree with the statement, Harry would grip his shoulder, look him seriously in the eye and mutter, "You're every bit as brilliant as I say. Probably more so. And it's important you see that. You're destined for marvelous things."
After the first few instances where the monologue was uttered, Draco was finally able to calmly take the uncomfortable sentiment in stride.
Simply another little quirk to the Man Who Lived.
"Professor, could I-."
"Draco, I wanted-."
In the midst of the room clearing, Draco felt the need to request Potter's assistance on a project he'd been having a particularly difficult time with.
It seemed they both had something pressing to discuss.
"Sorry, Draco," Potter apologized quickly and gestured for him to proceed.
"I'm looking to have a theory of mine published. About the War- and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind hammering out some of the details when I was finished. I haven't the slightest as to where I can send it for publication and I'm quite certain that your credentials would be more than enough coercing for any agency."
The Slytherin spoke as coolly as he felt. His professor, however, seemed wound all too tightly. With an awed expression, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water and he shook his head dramatically.
"Oh," Draco breathed, disappointed in rejection. "That's quite all right. I'm sure it's a sore subject and I-."
"No! No, Draco!" Potter laughed awkwardly while his voice's volume disturbed the air and placed a shaking hand on the blond's shoulder. "I'd be thrilled to help you in any way that I could."
"Thank-you," he returned with genuine sincerity. "Now, did you have something you needed me for, Sir?"
"Ah, yes," he began, toying with an old book in his free hand. "I wanted to give you this."
And suddenly, his own hand was full of the aging book. "Oh. Thank-you."
"It's the Tales of Beedle the Bard," Potter enlightened. "Have you ever read it?"
Draco shook his head and examined the binding. It was indeed an old and very used text. Whoever took care of it, though, loved it dearly. It was in remarkable condition for its age.
"It happens to be the book that made me want to teach history. They're all fairytales, of course. But, all tales come from some truth- some point in history. And it happened that one of those stories was true." The man trailed off onto a memory Draco couldn't follow and he marveled at the bizarre intimacy of the moment.
"Thank-you, Professor. I'll definitely read it when I have the opportunity."
Potter smiled warmly and kept his hand firmly in place. "I think you'll make an excellent professor. If you ever need any recommendation letter or vouch for your character, I'd be happy to provide it for you."
Feeling too weighted down by the touch, Draco stepped backwards and screamed inwardly at the look of dejection crossing his teacher's features.
"Actually, Sir, I'm graduating in the next few months and was wondering if you'd prepare something for me, so I can apply for a position right away. I doubt they'd go against the word of Harry Potter." The blond laughed lightly to attempt disengaging from the overwrought position he found himself in.
The words caused Potter's smile to falter into a sad sort of smirk and his eyes dimmed significantly. "I'll get started on it right away."
Since that conversation, the thickness of rigidity only worsened between professor and pupil. And Draco, for reasons too complicated to delve into alone, grew tired of the atmosphere. He understood the message this man had been attempting to send. He understood the hidden agenda behind the books and invitations. He understood the undeserved praise and gratitude.
And even more so, he understood the feeling of rejection and how being forced to interact with the source of your rejection could actually make living almost unbearable.
Feeling unusually guilty for the position Potter was in, Draco desired to make amends. If not for the good of his conscience, the good of his grade sufficed as motivation enough. Finals would begin after the weekend and his history degree would absolutely be pending according to this class.
"All right, class. I'm letting you out early for the studying you won't do for finals." Collectively, the class laughed at the truth behind the statement and made way for the door. "Draco, stay back for a moment, will you?" With a tad more attitude than he wished, Draco subserviently complied with a huff.
"Can I help you, Professor Potter?" Fishing through his briefcase, the Man Who Lived pulled out a few pieces of parchment and handed them to the blond who was sporting a rather confused arch in his eyebrow. "What's this?" he asked before reading the beginning lines and answering his own question.
"It's your recommendation letter," Potter said with a shrug. "Can't promise it's exactly perfect, but it's something."
Carefully, he read. Each new sentence spoke of a genuine respect Draco was in no way qualified to accept. He was the hero in this story written by one of the greatest heroes in history. The words flowed in a manner of absolute effortlessness and enthusiasm. Its author obviously felt a strong force of emotion towards the subject.
Draco desperately attempted to ignore the fluttering in his stomach and nerves clouding his throat. His chest constricted painfully as the third page concluded. Something between shame and awe with a touch of concern and befuddlement.
"It'll suffice?"
Glancing from the pages, to Potter, to the pages, and then to Potter again, Draco scrunched his nose in misdirected anger. "What is this, Professor?"
"The letter you asked-."
"No," he insisted, raising his hand to cease the explanation. "What is this?" Draco gestured through the air between them and watched the color drain from his professor's face. "I'm not completely inept, Sir." Feeling bold, he continued. "I see the way you look at me in class. The way you write of me. The way you speak to me. Professor, it isn't exactly normal behavior."
"I'm not sure I'm following," the man answered innocently enough.
Feeling a rush of dreadful frustration, the Slytherin squeezed his eyes tightly and hissed a staggered breath. "With all due respect, please don't condescend to tell me I'm mistaken."
"Draco, I'm married. I wouldn't-."
"Forget it, Professor," the blond conceded reluctantly for his own sanity. "Have a great weekend. Thank-you for the letter. I'll see you for finals."
The blond stalked from the room, pacing with heavy feet towards the chill of the dungeons, never bothering to notice the students passing by or the waft of dinner's scent. His blood boiled in embarrassment. Originally, there were doubts. Of course there were doubts. There were those moments in which Draco had reason to believe these strange occurrences were all projection of his own fantasy or misunderstanding. They were fleeting, though. Draco's reason and good sense had always been in question, but he was fairly certain of himself in this scenario. Potter simply had to be mindlessly attracted to him.
There was no other plausible explanation.
Or, it's wishful thinking.
Immediately, the blond mentally reprimanded his mind for having the audacity to argue with emotion.
Removing his school robes and discarding them across his private, ninth year dormitory, Draco paced grudgingly about his common room before deciding a shower may do his overexcited and tensed muscles some good. Ridding himself of the last of his clothing, the Slytherin closed his bathroom door and twisted the knobs of his shower to produce scalding water. He winced as the first few drops burned his skin, creating a red glow emanating from his normally porcelain skin.
Mechanically, he followed his normal cleaning routine of shampooing, conditioning, and paying mind to his more private areas. The stress trickled from his shoulders in waves and he eased slowly into comfort and peace of mind. Deciding his pruned fingers were enough incentive to exit the warmth of the showers, Draco turned the knobs in the opposite direction and stepped onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor. He took a towel from the rack near his mirror and ran it haphazardly over his fine, dampened hair before wrapping it around his slender waist and walking back towards his common room.
Living alone had its advantages, Draco thought after settling snugly into one of the couches with a book pertinent to his finals. The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
Or, perhaps not so pertinent.
Early on in his magical career, the blond could have never paraded around nearly naked in the presence of his roommates. Now, though, clothes rarely graced his body whilst away from the public. They itched and always felt so constricting.
Losing himself within the text, Draco unconsciously began to think of his professor again. He was absolutely bonkers for believing something as silly as the man having sexual feelings towards him. Not only was Potter married, he was as old as the blond's father. They'd gone to school together, even. Granted, Lucius never cared much for the Savior of the Wizarding World. But, that hardly mattered to Draco. Lucius had passed a few years earlier after receiving a well-deserved Kiss. His opinions didn't exist anymore.
And Professor Potter had tried to comfort him after that ordeal as well…
No.
Shaking his head from its wanderings, Draco was interrupted by a light tapping at his door. His gaze whipped quickly towards the faint sound and unknowingly rose to his feet.
"Who's there?" he asked cautiously. The knocking silenced.
A cleared throat answered. "P-professor Potter," he stuttered. "May I come in, Draco?"
Forgetting his state of dress- or lack there of- the Slytherin wandlessly undid the locks and opened the door to meet with a wavered gaze and hot blush. "Oh, shit," he cursed without meaning to. "C-come in, Professor. Erm, sit down and let me put something on." Frantically, he made a beeline for his bedroom and dawned a robe- wishing he'd invested in a mask to hide the heart stopping and dreadfully mortified twist in his face. "Sorry about that," he said upon returning, hoping his voice didn't give way to interpretation.
"It's fine, Draco." Still, though, those viridian orbs steered clear of the blond. Potter hadn't sat as Draco advised. Instead, he stood rigidly at the entrance with his hands tucked securely beneath his arms while he worried his lip to the point of breakage. "About what happened in class. I didn't mean to upset you, it's just-."
Uncommonly fast, the Slytherin raised a hand in disruption. "No, Professor. I am terribly sorry. I let my imagination get the better of me and I had no right to assume such things of you. You're just a good teacher and I misinterpreted your kindness."
"The thing is," he began with a careful step, eyes downcast to his feet. "The thing is, Draco, you're not exactly wrong." A shaking hand raked through the raven colored hair at the nape of Potter's neck and an audible swallow settled deep within the blond's eardrums. "I-I don't quite know how to put this."
So, Draco waited on baited breath.
What would matter about this answer? It wasn't as if the student could feasibly feel something for his teacher. They were otherwise from other dimensions of the galaxy. The amount of wrongness in the situation not only far exceeded any and all wrongdoing Draco had done before, but it was also comical to an extent.
Hilarious, actually.
"You're a brilliant student. And you're witty and charming and handsome." The blond couldn't be entirely certain, but he would bet his wand Potter was dying in embarrassment at the last utterance. Again, he cleared his throat with a raspy gargle and lifted his guarded and reserved eyes from his feet to Draco's face. "You're nothing like your father. You're kind and ambitious. You're brave and so bloody intuitive." Finally, the man seemed to lighten in mood and at least manage a half smile and airy laugh.
Draco witnessed an odd sort of relief wash over his teacher's face. His posture slumped into a more comfortable position- as though the weight of this secret was affecting his stance. His smile became more natural and lighthearted.
"Professor, I don't know what to say." In random fortune, the Slytherin caught sight of Harry's left hand. On his ring finger, a lighter band of skin shone- otherwise, there was no ring in sight. An indent still upset the tender flesh and Draco reasoned it must have been recently removed. "Where's your ring?"
"My what?" the man asked, taking a labored step towards the blond with a slightly untamed gleam in his eye.
Reflexively, Draco stepped back and gulped nervously- inconspicuously searching for his wand and remembering he'd tossed it on the floor of the bathroom.
Shit.
"Y-your ring, P-professor." Inwardly, he cursed his stutter for weakening his speech. Malfoys weren't bumbling fools. "The ring your wife gave you." Oh, you know, when you got married?
"Oh, she's no longer-."
His brain completed the phrase with, with us, and Draco nearly tumbled over in shock and blinding fear. "What the hell, Potter? I just saw her today! You killed her?" His voice rose to a decibel heard only by a creature's ears as he searched the room for weapons and places of hiding.
"For Merlin's sake, Draco- no! I didn't kill my wife. 'She's no longer seeing me' would have been the sentence you rudely interrupted me from completing."
Stilling the heart threatening to leap from his chest, the blond found some control of his breathing and laughed nervously. "What happened?"
Potter shrugged indifferently. "I haven't been very attentive since the start of the year and she may have seen me with some questionable contraband involving members of my own kind- if you catch my drift."
"Ah, so you're a poof?"
Again, he shrugged. "Makes it sound so emasculate. But, I suppose I've been interested in men for most of my life. And you're not so different."
Unfortunately, Draco knew of the precise moment he was referring to. Two years previous, he'd been quite the willing participant of a rather hot session of groping with Hufflepuff's star player, Cedric Diggory. Not his finest choice if he was looking specifically at the quality of Houses, but as far as looks were concerned and status of popularity at Hogwarts, Cedric was nowhere near his worst option. And in his defense, he'd spent quite a bit of time drinking that evening before claiming Potter's new office.
The room had been abandoned. And most certainly was still abandoned to Draco's supremely intoxicated mind. So, needless to say he was quite surprised when the office door swung open to reveal a relatively humiliated history teacher. Draco could have potentially died when he learned of who would be his next instructor. In fact, he hardly made any contact with the man for the first year of his higher education. It wasn't until his ninth year that he could speak to Potter, let alone look at him.
Reminiscing of a not so proud moment, the Slytherin was startled to find his Professor had moved terribly close to him, not half a yard from his person. His pulse thudded in his ears at a volume he was certain could be heard and from the concerned look on the Man Who Lived's face, Draco must have looked ill as well.
"Are you feeling all right?" he whispered and placed the backs of his fingers over the Slytherin's forehead to assess the warmth. "You're pale as death and burning up. Maybe you should sit down."
What a brilliant idea.
Adhering to the man's advice, the blond stumbled back to his original seat and sank into the cushions. Professor Potter sat closer than necessary- his hands twitching with what looked like indecisiveness.
"Stop fidgeting, Professor. It's making me queasy," Draco mumbled from within his hands. "If whatever you're stopping yourself from doing might help me, do it. I might vomit all over the floor otherwise."
Tentatively, Potter touched the young Malfoy's back and a flicker of magic fluttered through his spine and covered the entirety of his body. The sickness and stress melted to a nearly nonexistent level and a drugged tranquility replaced it. Feeling his eyes roll to the back of his head, Draco made a small moan of appreciation and felt the hand on his back disappear abruptly.
"Thanks," he croaked, straightening his posture and feeling the haze come down. "What can I help you with?" Turning to meet the man's eyes, Draco was able to study every detail of his face. The worry lines wrinkling his skin very minutely, the depth of green circling the pupils of his eyes, the small flush growing against his cheeks, his chiseled chin decorated with a hint of scruff, and a barely noticeable dimple on the right corner of his mouth. Potter was indeed an attractive man. Potter was an experienced and attractive man. Potter was a hero who was also an experienced and attractive man.
And this hero was very much interested in Draco- if his dilated pupils were any sign.
The silence proceeding his question was deafening. Suddenly, fingertips grazed the skin at Draco's jaw in answer. Taking a firmer grip, the blond followed the hand's pull and sat wide-eyed as Potter's lips crashed against his in a gentle press. The moment was fleeting and a shy test. When his professor pulled away, the Slytherin fell forward and licked his lips to be certain he'd observed accurately.
Not thinking, Draco launched himself at Potter and shoved the man into the corners of his couch, attacking his mouth with much more fervor than originally offered. Only a moment of hesitation held before the man began to participate with a very appeased and muffled whimper against Draco's lips. The almost weak sound spurred the blond further in a sense of raw power over the older man beneath him. Wrenching his mouth from the abused lips of his counter, Draco made move to latch onto the delicate skin between the edge of Potter's jaw and ear- sucking forcefully enough to leave a bruise.
What the fuck are you doing? This is your teacher!
Shut up, brain. I'm a little busy for common sense right now!
Fortunately, for Draco's conscience, Potter took hold of his face and brought his eyes to a level where the blond could clearly make out his own reflection in the man's lenses.
"What we're doing, I don't know if it's legal," he breathed raggedly- another surge of pride swelling in Draco's chest at the knowledge that he'd disheveled this hero.
With his lower half in control, the Slytherin untied the knot at his robe and thrust his hand atop the heat radiating from his teacher's trousers. Professor Potter gasped in surprise as his eyes scanned what was revealed of Draco's body. "Frankly, Professor, I don't give a damn."
And perhaps that was the key to Potter's last shred of control since Draco was then lifted from the sofa and carried towards his bedroom. For a sliver of time, the blond wondered how he knew of its location, but the hungry look in the Man Who Lived's eyes after he'd cast the Slytherin onto the bed shut out any sort of logical thought.
The man seemed to be studying him- deciding what he would do first. And to be perfectly honest, Draco would have let him do anything. It absolutely made the situation easier with Potter's appearance, but there was much more to it. He was intelligent and a master at the trade Draco wanted to master. He was quick-witted and so enthusiastic about his passion.
There was a respect built for Harry Potter before an attraction. An attraction built from respect.
"I want to tie you up," he said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his chin on a closed fist.
The picture of studious.
Draco could only nod never having experienced anything like this type of sex. His mouth was entirely too dry and his tongue felt terribly thick.
Without warning, invisible restraints found his wrists and ankles so that he was lying spread-eagle across the length of the bed.
Not one to exhibit trepidation, Draco boldly raised an eyebrow as if to say, is that all?
He immediately regretted the decision to tempt the man as he watched Potter undo the tie around his neck and smirk with a sly sort of style.
The fabric magically found its way around Draco's eyes and all the student could think about was the simple fact that Gryffindor colors were touching his face.
But, bloody hell, was this type of treatment stirring his nether regions. The Draco the public knew him to be was the epitome of arrogance and confidence. He commanded attention without so much as a word. He carried himself with an air of mystery none felt brave enough to explore. And yet, here he was, helplessly at the mercy of another. Enjoying it, even.
"Fuck," he heard hissed at the foot of his bed and an idea struck him.
"P-professor, I heard you speak parseltongue." His answer was a slew of hisses to add melody to his hip's gyration. The blond whined at the lack of friction and heard a rumbled chuckle so different than the kind of innocent laughs he'd heard from this very same man.
"What can I help you with, Draco?" Potter mused from the Slytherin's earlier question. In another burst of magic, his robe disappeared and a slight chill sent tremors through his entirety. He couldn't be sure, but either his name rolling off of Potter's tongue so dangerously or the sheer power the man possessed caused another tremor far from cold to race over his skin and through to his bones.
"Touch me, Sir. P-please?"
Pride be damned- I think I'm dying here.
"Call me Harry, will you?" There was an undertone of authority dressing the plea, but it was still a request. A request Draco had every intention on disinclining. One defiant shake of his head caused another series of chuckles to erupt from Potter's chest- churning another pleasantly erotic sensation in Draco's groin. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breathing came in harsh blows.
All without the bastard even touching me!
"Submissive type?" Potter- no, Harry wondered. The Slytherin didn't respond in fear of shouting in aggravation if he were to open his mouth. And until now, that answer would have been a resounding no.
He heard the sound of zippers and fabric pooling onto the carpet before a dip formed at the edge of his bed. Knees knocked into his own as Harry straddled his thighs and raked his nails up and over the taut muscle of Draco's stomach. He groaned pitifully at how the slight pain morphed in his mind to pleasure and curiosity. Soon, a single nail scratched at a feather's sweep over the underside of his cock and Draco inhaled sharply.
Strong, nimble fingers wrapped around his entirety. The blond held his breath as his professor began to pump at a leisurely pace and canted his hips forward when the teasing became too much.
"You said you knew, Draco. You knew I'd been watching you. Would you like to know what I was thinking of while I watched you?"
In truth, he didn't know whether or not he could handle imagination when reality was so unbelievable, but still under the influence of his libido, he nodded in earnest.
Potter hummed thoughtfully, still pulling and running his free hand up and down the planes of Draco's chest before offering the digits to the blond's lips. The Slytherin knew to suck and began to lap at the fingers- sucking and coating them as generously as he could.
Harry growled possessively and seemed to move his hand in time with Draco's mouth.
"I suppose I've thought about keeping you after for some disrespectful behavior. If you would ever misbehave." He sighed regrettably and continued. "I'd charm the doors shut and you'd ask about your punishment. I'd have you brace yourself against the desk and forbid you to look anywhere but ahead. Then, your pants would vanish- finally uncovering that perfectly milky white arse of yours."
Draco bit harshly into his lip and breathed heavily, noting that he was not alone in his ragged state by the sound of rushed panting above him.
"I'd use my hand to spank you- wanting that skin contact and to know that those handprints came from me. You're a twisted man, though. No doubt you'd take far more than you should. Not to worry. I wouldn't stop until you asked." A strangely devious tone spilled thickly over his words and Draco shivered in anticipation for the remainder of the story- hardly noticing the fingers being drawn from his mouth and their appearance at his entrance.
Steadily, Potter coaxed the muscles into lax and inserted one finger. Draco winced at the intrusion, but tried desperately to focus on the hand making slow love to his member.
Easier said than done. Luckily, Potter began speaking again and the blond couldn't decide which affected him more: the hand or voice. It was lower now, tainted by lust and primitive drive. "Finally, you beg me to stop and I'd fix you," he promised- leaning forward to plant a sloppy kiss to Draco's abused lips- forcing his tongue inside and tasting each crevice and cavern available. Ripping away none too gently, the Man Who Lived bit the edge of Draco's lobe and dragged the length of his tongue against the shell.
"I'd kiss everything and make it better," he whispered- another finger accompanying the first. The blond arched upward, unexpectedly meeting the hardened cock of his professor for the first time and gasping at the very real prospect of that incredibly thick male anatomy filling him completely. "Fuck," he warned more than swore and tightened his hold at the base of Draco's length.
"Keep going, Sir. What happens next?" Draco breathed hoarsely- stilling his hips from stalling Potter's fantasies.
"Well, once your body practically collapses from the need to come, I'd pull away and," emphasizing his next point, he added a third and final finger- working and stretching the muscles to nearly no resistance. "I'd fuck you raw. It's punishment, after all."
"All talk, Potter," Draco taunted- impaling himself on the fingers wriggling inside of him. "You're all talk."
With a burst of raw, animalistic power, Harry aligned himself with the Slytherin's entrance and pushed forward- ignoring the silent whimpers and disapproving ring of muscles clenching in protest. The heat radiating from the man above him moved closer until their bodies fell perfectly in sync. Draco's knees bent nearly to his ears as Harry pummeled into him with abandon. His member became trapped between their slickened torsos and the blond bit back a choked sob as his professor nipped at his bottom lip and sucked the bit of flesh to tend to the sting.
"Harder, Professor! I'm not made of glass."
"We'll see about that," he muttered in challenge, thrusting at an angle lined at Draco's prostate. Never in his life had he experienced pleasure to the point of pain and having his sight retracted only added to his senses.
Suddenly, his bonds were cut and he made to batter Potter's back with lines upon lines of angry red scratches to match the scratches most likely decorating his chest. Harry howled in appreciative discomfort and pushed forward- nearly tearing Draco in half. A hand moved to the blond's face and removed the tie across his eyes.
After adjusting to sight again, he was met with the black, slightly emerald orbs of his professor staring seriously into his hazy grays.
"I want to see your eyes when you come. Don't you dare look away, got it?"
But, Draco couldn't answer. He was already well on the brink of ecstasy and at the precise moment Harry reached for his leaking length, the blond exploded in a rush of stars and whitened vision.
And then all went black.
Coming to, Draco felt a light tickle against his lower stomach. Potter was still there- lapping at the mess across his navel. Cursing his boyish hormones, he willed his lower half not to grow excited.
Blacking out again wasn't exactly becoming of a Malfoy.
"Don't worry. You were only out for a minute or two. Figured I'd clean you up." The cavalier drawl of the Man Who Lived was so new to the Slytherin's ears that he almost wanted to take a polyjuice test. His breathing was still short and unsteady, but his body hadn't felt so spent and relaxed in quite some time.
"Thanks, I think."
Scratching the back of his head, Draco raised himself to his elbows and studied the man between his legs. Glasses askew, mussed hair, reddened cheeks and a cheeky grin.
Well, fuck me.
"Don't mention it," he said lightly before standing to his feet and collecting his clothing from the floor. Draco could easily appreciate the man's strong back and lithe features. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and fought the urge to groan as the muscles of Harry's sculpted body moved so effortlessly beneath his olive skin. "I have to grade a few more of your classmate's essays. S'pose I'll see you next week for finals."
And Draco could do nothing but nod, understanding the previous events, but feeling strangely used and cold.
"If you'd like, you could stay after the exam for a bit of an extra credit assignment?" Professor Potter offered with a wink and leaned across the bed to leave Draco with one last kiss.
The chill once settled in the pit of his stomach disappeared completely and he could feel a warmness cascade from the center of his being to every inch of his body.
This was nowhere near over.
The following Monday, Draco sat in his usual seat, smirking as Potter flushed at his entrance. When the class was ready, the Man Who Lived passed out a written exam to each student.
Upon receiving his test, the blond smiled at what was already written in the space left for an essay.
"Don't bother, Draco. You've already an 'O' for effort. See me after the exam for details."
S'pose it's a good thing I'm not wearing pants today.
Author's Note:
Huh. First attempt at 'dirty' smut. Not my usual lovemaking fluff.
That's Fanfiction for you- opening doors to unexplored territory.
Thanks for reading, folks. Hopefully you're not too petrified/disgusted/mortified/queasy