Disclaimer: I do not and will not ever unless I am heiress to some great fortune I have no knowledge of (I live in hope) ever own any of the Harry Potter characters. Feel free to sue, but know that all u will get is some cat fur, a hair tie and maybe a year old banana . . . if your lucky.
Feedback – is my oxygen, and you wouldn't want me to die of asphyxiation now would you? Offcourse not, then I wouldn't be able to keep writing.
A/N I havn't written in ages but I got inspired. dw this is going somewhere and I hope to get it finished asap. Thanx muchly
A/N2 I don't have a beta . . L poor me . . . so ne mistakes are unfortunate and all my own . . I appologise for each and every one . . =P
A/N3 heh I changed this for shade jag coz she/he was nice and I think (they) were right so um there u go. The next chapter should be soon – how Draco knew
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Draco Malfoy. Sophisticated, cool, controlled, a powerful boy who demanded the attention of all who knew him, well at least all who saw him, for no one truly knew Draco, how could anyone even attempt to understand such an ethereal, powerful, solitary being? Draco's tortured soul spoke volumes through his eyes even if Draco himself rarely spoke of his pain. And Gods, how Harry wished he could do something, anything to soothe his wounded dragon, but it was hopeless, pointless to hope for something more because Harry knew with every fibre of his being that his love was unrequited and could never be returned.
Draco was possibly the only person who hated him almost as much as he sometimes hated himself. Hated himself for his weaknesses, his cowardice and his uselessness. For Harry, except for the fact that he was a wizard (an average one at that), was just a normal boy. Granted, a boy hopelessly and eternally in love with his worst enemy, an exquisite, sensual boy as unattainable and distant as the stars that glittered coldly in the dark night sky, but still just a boy. A confused, lonely boy who had no idea how to handle the pressure of hiding a hopeless crush, let alone the day to day pressures of potions homework.
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Harry sat in his desk at the back of the cold, damp potions classroom, where he always sat, next to Ron and Hermione, who he always sat with, doing what he *always* did in potions class, staring soulfully at the back of one beautiful blonde head that belonged to one beautiful blonde Draco Malfoy. At first, Harry had tried to convince himself that his patented Draco stare was one of disgust and righteous rage but eventually, after one comment from a thoroughly annoyed Miss. Granger who had said he looked like some pinning poet, Harry had come to terms with the fact that maybe he was in love with Malfoy. Either that or he had a disturbing fetish for sleek moon-pale blonde hair. Later he realised that both were true.
This interesting little pearl had forced itself to be noticed during one of increasingly frequent, late night hand to man bonding sessions . . . he still remember *that* night . . .
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The room was silent but for the four identical contented snores coming form his roommates, who were obviously, and gratefully fast asleep. What would they say if they knew what Harry was up to alone in his enormous bed while they slept the sleep of the not so innocent? If Harry was honest with himself, they would probably just smirk and roll their eyes, but it still felt like something dirty, his own secret, which gave the whole experience that extra little edge. If tonight was a night for honesty, Harry really didn't want them to steel or "borrow" his dirty magazines either, but that was beside the point.
Checking one last time that his heavy red velvet drapes were tightly shut, Harry crawled through the darkness up to the head of the bed, before taking out his wand and muttering two spells. One, a silencing spell, to create a small force field around his bed, a bubble of privacy and the other to reveal the hidden compartment he had created in the headboard. Harry reached one hand into the secret compartment and pulled out the necessities, tissues, hand-lotion and a stack of magazines, some with titles like "Penthouse", and others with less reputable headings like "Chesty McBoobs goes Down Under". Hey, Harry was a teenage boy and as far as a horny Teenager is concerned, porn is porn.
Harry Lay down on his back, propped against the headboard with the ingenious use of a few pillows. Whispering another charm, causing his chosen magazine to float at the perfect hight just above his chest, before carefully placing his wand in the compartment now just above his head. Reaching up, Harry wasted no time in turning to the centrefold, settling back and getting comfortable, his boxer shorts already tented in anticipation.
She was Mexican or Spanish perhaps, a dark mysterious woman with long raven hued silky hair, wide liquid brown eyes and taut tanned skin. She was also conveniently naked with the exception of knee high black leather boots and a matching studded collar. Staring avidly at the page, Harry traced one hand along his throat, stroking the soft skin over his collarbone and to the hollow between, imagining himself in a collar similar to the one in front of him. Bound, marked . . . the thought caused an electric tingle in his groin and his cock to happily signal its interest, but that was about all it was interested in it seemed, something was just wrong with the picture in front of him, she was beautiful, sexy . . . but something was just . . off . . .missing.
Sighing in frustration, Harry cursed fickle appendages and reached above his head into the compartment once more, picking a magazine at random he replaced the one which had been unsuccessful. Once again, Harry turned to the centre, and his breath literally froze in his chest, his back arching and his cock leaping at the image presented. A slim woman, pale creamy skin like perfection, hair like white gold, posed enticingly, nude in the moonlight. Harry's awed eyes travelled rapidly over her face, her body, her hair like spun gold, focusing there as his mind managed to jump from reality to fantasy in an instant, the images scrolling across his minds eye as his hands joined in the fun.
Bringing the fingers of one hand to his mouth, he sucked in his fingers, laving them with his tongue, before trailing them once more down his neck, the image of the collar still causing a shiver of appreciation he played a moment with the delicate skin of his throat before moving on to his true goal. Harry circled his wet fingers around one exposed nipple, the tease of fingers barely brushing, the dampness in the cool night air causing his back to arch off the bed, panting and moaning he sharply twisted the tortured nub, vainly attempting to stifle his hoarse cry of pleasure before remembering the silencing charm.
Moaning his enjoyment, one of Harry's hand continued to play with his nipples, alternating between the two and attending to the one neglected, while his other hand teased and caressed its way down his chest, over his stomach before finally slipping a thumb under the elastic, his hips arching as he pulled his boxers down to his knees, sliding over his rigid staff and adding a new sound to the mix, his scream one of almost pained, surprised pleasure at the first touch to where he so badly needed it.
Harry opened his eyes to slits and was once again confronted with the image of the goddess in the moon light, he paused a moment to wish that this particular magazine was a *wizarding* publication, moaning longingly before his imagination took over and supplied exactly what he dreamed of, the woman on all fours above him, her hair brushing his face before she brought her lips to his, warm and soft, yet the kiss was anything but that, a hard, demanding, intrusive declaration of desire and Harry could do nothing but arch his hips and pump into his own fist as he submerged himself in fantasy.
The goddess above him smirked at his loss of control, strangely, the hair seemed shorter, and something else seemed wrong but Harry was just too far-gone to care. The fantasy lover stroked one delicate hand over cheek before tugging at something encircling its neck, which Harry realised was a collar, matching the one that suddenly appeared around his own neck, dark, studded leather, his fantasy played with them both, caressing before gently nipping at the skin beside the thick band that circled Harry's own neck.
Harry's fantasy lover settled back onto its ankles, ass pressed tightly to his stomach, bending nearly in half to lick and nibble at a nipple. And if the legs against his own seemed a little too muscled, if the mouth attacking his nipple had lost just a little of its feminine softness, who was he to care? It was one helluva fantasy, Harry responded to the increased fantasy stimulation by gripping his cock harder, all most roughly pumping into his fist, a thumb occasionally brushing over the leaking head, his sighs and moans rapidly turning to grunts and groans as he was assaulted with fantasy nips to his most tender and sensitive areas, wandering hands and wicked mouth.
His lover continued to shift back using full body caresses in addition to the all most overwhelming hands and mouth, until that perfect, round, muscular and desirable ass came into contact with the hot, hard evidence of his desire. Harry was now totally lost in his fantasy, which had taken on an awe inspiring life of its own, he was beyond the point where he needed an external symbol to represent his desires, his fantasy was now fuelled by pure subconscious needs and wants, his deepest darkest fantasies.
He was so close, so ready that when his imaginary lover lifted its head and displayed the face of Draco Malfoy, Harry could only accept it, accept it as he did the accompanying surge of arousal and the tightening in his balls. Harry screamed and writhed in frustration . . . so close . . . So incredibly close that Harry's eyes rolled back in his head from the knowledge of what would happen next, what did happen next as a moment later, Draco shifted that final inch, lifting up slightly before simultaneously clamping his mouth over Harry's, plunging his tongue deep inside and impaling himself in one smooth move, swallowing Harry to the root, holding him and caressing him. Of their own accord, Harry's hands moved to clutch at the moonbeam hair of his lover, pulling convulsively and never realising that he clutched at thin air instead of living silk.
And all that ran through Harry's lust fogged mind was "I'm fucking Draco . . . fucking *Draco* . . . I'm fuuuuuuuu . . . FUCK!" one last, almost surprised moan and the fantasy turning to dust around him, hips pumping wildly, his thick white essence covering his hand and chest, his bed and silent, burning tears rolling down his cheeks at a pleasure so vast, never known before and a pain that surpassed it.
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Shaking himself, Harry returned to the present, the end of class it seemed as everyone was rushing for the door as Snape shouted about homework and detention and other inconsequential things. Sighing in old pain, Harry once more locked away the memory of the night he had found love and desire or at least recognised it for the first time and slung his nag over his shoulder, heading out the corridor on his way to the great hall for yet another lonely lunch separated from his heart by more than just distance, but by confusion and despair and so many other things it seemed as if he sat a world away instead of just across the hall. A look of desperate love and hopeless despair shining from his clouded emerald eyes, Harry trudged onward.
If Harry's vision had not been obscured by his own clouds he might have noticed an almost identical expression from the last student left in the classroom, an emotional whirlpool seen clearly for a second in those ice blue eyes that followed his every move.
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A/N - stay tuned for the next edition of sensitive . . were still not quite into the plot . . this is turning out longer than I thought . . but I hope you all enjoyed my little attempt at a Harry self pleasuring scene =P . . .
A/N2 – plz r/r . .no one likes me L . . . oh and does ne one no where I can get definitions for the ratings? Like what makes something r rated, etc.
THANX MUCHLY!