Hey everyone! Thanks for your feedback – it's great to hear from you. I've decided to post this one chapter at a time, as much as it kills me to delete all those chapters. Here is the rewritten Chapter 1: enjoy!
I do not own any characters, setting, or plots found in the Harry Potter series.
Credit to my darling beta, Phedre, who helps me all the way 3
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Chapter 1: Facing Desire
A loosely shorn blonde head lowered to his navel, the man's tongue swirling over smooth muscle and following the trail of hair to the hem of his faded jeans-
Harry Potter woke himself from a not so deep sleep with a moan. To his misery, he saw exactly what he expected: the red curtains of his four-poster bed and a prominent tent in his burgundy sleep pants. "Dammit!" he murmured, his voice gravely with sleep and something else as his head slammed back into his pillows in frustration. It had been at least three weeks since he had seen them together in that empty classroom, and it had been every night since that he had slept little and poorly with only his own ministrations to sooth his desperate body. The sight of them was still burning behind his eyelids, determined to set him on fire from the inside out.
He was out past curfew, but for the Boy-Who-Lived, a certain invisibility cloak made rules of such a mediocre sort ignorable. He had woken up with that same nightmare about Surius that had been haunting him for months; Surius' face as he went through the veil, then a clammy hand around Harry's ankle, pulling him under to join his godfather. It made him feel like an utterly disgusting coward. If Surius had been forced o face that fate, Harry should be able to at least look it in the eye; but the terror that glided over his body at the very thought of the veils stole his breath and courage. He would wake to be covered in cold sweat and Surius' name on the tip of his tongue. Harry had chosen to take a walk rather than the options afforded to him by trying to sleep: he could toss and turn until just before breakfast or he could go back to the cold embrace of the veils.
He had been lost in his musings when a deep groan interrupted his train of thought. His wand automatically rose a little higher in his grip, but he took a few tentative steps forward. He could hear faint rustlings and whispers from a slightly open door up ahead. This was the moment when Harry realized he should be turning around and promptly forgetting everything he might have seen, but curiosity killed the cat, and he tended to be familiar with the line between life and death. Moving as silently a possible, both to avoid detection and hear every sound, he moved slowly until he was looking into what was an abandoned classroom. What he saw would quickly replace his nightmares with torturous dreams of an entirely different sort.
Blaise Zambini was sitting on the edge of a bench, supported by his forearms as he leaned back. His shirt was undone, revealing the well sculpted muscles of a man rather than a boy. Harry recognized the moans he had heard in the hallway as his, falling from Blaise's parted lips. Kneeling between his legs on the floor was the familiar icy blonde head of Draco Malfoy, his face hidden as he pumped Blaise with his mouth. Draco's hands traveled from Blaise's hips to his inner thighs in turns, drawing gasps from his lover as he worked. Blaise, motions jerky and fast, took Draco forcefully from his ministrations, dragging him up into a searing kiss. Harry could see the blonde's pale hands working through his lover's dark hair, tightening in it as his body gave in and bucked, trying instinctually to reach that which could give it release. Draco was taller than Blaise as he stood with Blaise on the bench, tilting Blaise's head up for better access.
The brunette's hands went to the front of Draco's unbuttoned shirt, sweeping it off Draco's body with one smooth motion. Draco removed his grip on Blaise's hair to allow the shirt to fall to the floor as Zambini's hands went to the front of his pants, unbuttoning them. A moment later Draco moaned, presumably as Blaise trailed his fingers over the blonde's member. Draco shoved Blaise's hands away roughly and Harry drew a sharp breath as the Draco pushed his pants and underwear from his hips until he was naked in the dark; Harry felt sure that had the pair not been so engrossed in each other, they would have heard him. Draco stepped over the bench on each side of Blaise's hips and lowered himself onto Blaise, his head thrown back in ecstasy –
Harry felt his mind go blank as he rocked with unexpected climax. He gritted his teeth against the cry in his throat, the covers bunching under his fists as the last of his climax was spent. He fell back, his body loose and languid, while his mind cursed him; not because he was dreaming of another man – Harry had recognized his mixed sexual tastes years ago – but because of whom he was dreaming about. Draco bloody Malfoy, his long-time enemy, hater of muggleborns and muggles, continual prat and Slytherin Prefect. How could he possibly expect to deal with the insults to his face, to notes and snide comments, when he couldn't even look at Malfoy without seeing his climaxing face? It was difficult enough to listen to his voice in classes or stay focused during Quidditch matches, though Malfoy's personality admittedly made it easier.
Harry groaned in frustration, cleaning his pants with a quick flick of his wand and reaching out of the curtains to grab his glasses from the bedside table. His stomach had grumbled, and he took it as a sign from above to get out of bed. He went to his trunk, staying as quiet as possible to not wake the other boys, and took out the would go to the kitchens, have a strong cup of black coffee and a large amount of Sheppard's pie and then maybe he would go back to bed, assuming that it wasn't time to shower and go to classes, which seemed likely. It was already four am and he needed to be at breakfast before eight if he was going to make it to History of Magic on time. He allowed himself a sigh before walking to the stairs and, with a quick glance at the beds, threw the cloak over himself, disappearing.\
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Harry yawned as he walked from the kitchens around six. He needed to be back in the Gryffindor Dorms by seven if he wanted to beat the rush for the showers. Dobby had kindly and perhaps excessively stuffed him with food, and the effect left Harry warm and even sleepier than he should have been. As he walked the corridor from the kitchens, he passed the classroom he had seen them in and felt the strange déjà vu of the moment. Walking the hallways after curfew under the guise of the cloak –
The cloak! He had left it in the kitchens on the bench! Harry launched himself in a moment of panic back down the corridor, images of potential dooms in front of him: the house elves bringing the cloak to a member of the staff, hot food spilling on it, the fire singeing the edge… Harry could not remember the last time he had run so quickly. He had gotten quite a distance from the kitchens, and it was drawing nearer to seven. Harry was nearly at the portrait of fruit that concealed the entrance to the kitchens when he heard humming and soft footsteps. Harry stopped short, his breath coming fast, and ducked behind the only object he could see – a suit of armor. He had thus far remained unnoticed when the worst happened: Harry knocked the suit of armor lightly, causing a distinct rattle.
His breath stopped completely as the humming stopped as short as the footsteps, presumably as the Prefect or professor strained to hear a noise and watched for even the slightest movement. Softer than before, the footsteps started towards Harry's hiding place. He prayed silently for the person to miss him, to somehow not see him, when a hard thump accompanied by the clang of metal launched him into the corridor and onto his hands and knees. The suit of armor had pushed back. Harry cringed, waiting for the reprimand, and he heard the executioner's axe fall.
"Well, well, well, Potter. Having a rough night, are we? I understand your urge to kneel before me, but begging will get you nowhere." The soft voice of Draco Malfoy slid through his ears, laced with condescending barbs. Harry raised his head sharply, pushing himself back up as Draco approached him, a ready retort on his lips –
Harry fell forward towards Draco as his foot caught in his robes. Draco automatically put up his hands to stop Harry from falling on him, but met only a solid chest as Harry stopped himself against a wall, trapping Draco quite accidentally in a cage of his arms. Draco moved as if to push him away, his mouth beginning to form words, when Harry's lips met his with bruising force.
It had not been planned, and Draco certainly hadn't expected to feel his mind go blank as he instinctively moved into the kiss, sliding his hands up to Harry's neck. The force of Harry's kiss did not let up, fueled by three weeks of torment and desire, the adrenaline in his veins forcing him to act on instinct alone. His only thought was the warmth and softness of Draco's lips, of the hands around his neck, and how firm the muscle near Draco's hips was under his hands.
The moment was broken by Harry's audible hiss as Draco nipped at his lip. Harry jumped away from him faster than could be imagined, his face turning many shades of red as he attempted to stammer out an explanation.
"Do shut up, Potter," Draco said smoothly as he straightened his hair and robes with dignity. A smirk settled on his lips. "I was unaware you were playing on my Quidditch team, Potter." It took a few seconds for Harry's near frozen brain to understand what he had said. "Look, I know I'm a vision, but staring is rather rude. They didn't teach you that in that muggle house of yours?"
"Malfoy, I, er…" Harry struggled to explain what he could not rationalize to himself. Anger rose to mingle with desire, shock, and embarrassment in his chest. Malfoy simply turned on his heel, walking at a moderate pace towards the corridor he had come from as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Harry was still rooted in the spot when he heard him.
"Oh, and ten points from Gryffindor, Potter, for not finishing what you started."
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Harry walked in a daze to the Dorms. Had he really just snogged Malfoy? He couldn't believe it was possible, but the feeling of Draco's lips and hips had never felt so real in a dream. Upon his arrival at his bed, Harry found that the cloak he had forgotten to worry about had been laid, folded, on the end of his bed, undoubtedly by Dobby and completely unharmed. He stuffed it in his trunk, flopping back onto his bed just as the first of the alarm clocks began to go off. His head was beginning to clear, and now a new thought had taken hold.
"Oh, and ten points from Gryffindor, Potter, for not finishing what you started." Had that actually been said? Was that an invitation? Because few things in the sixteen-year-old's life had sounded so tempting. Harry ran a hand through his hair. Very fucking tempting, indeed.