vanity and greed
draco/harry.
"i'll sell you every ounce of honesty; you'll buy it all and lie with me. i can't pretend there's any truth to me; it's all just vanity and greed."
It doesn't start with such tainted, frivolous ideas. It was only rivalry between two, nothing more that hate. Hate, such a pretty word.
But perhaps, it begins, when Draco asks Harry on a date. Well no, it wasn't exactly a date. A tête-à-tête, you could say. They meet on the dilapidating fence that borders the Shrieking Shack from the rest of the maintained world, and rain pours from buckets made from clouds. The blonde boy doesn't know what overtakes him when it does, and Harry, in his right mind, would be cursing his hands off for travelling so dangerously low down Draco Malfoy's back. It's all a pretty, little accident, formed from heated, rushed kisses, and impatience. All Harry hears is shared breath in his ears, rhythmic – in, out, in, out. His pale hands are shaky and frozen stiff, but it's already been offered to warm each other up.
Their lips crash into each other as scarred half of the two is pressed against a damp tree, hands of his enemy roaming up and down his sides. Draco feels the incessant need to pull away.
"This is – so – fucking – fucked up." mutters the blonde, through hard panting. Harry closes his eyes for a moment, and sighs.
"You're the one that brought me out here," he snaps back, "But yeah, it is."
Pointless respite doesn't last long before they're ensnared once again, uncomfortably restrained by clothing. Draco feels the sharp sensation of teeth slicing into his lip, and metallic flows into his mouth.
"Screw you." he growls, hot breath slamming into Harry's face.
"What's the matter, Malfoy?" he asks mockingly, his expression blank, but eyes grinning.
He presses Harry hard up against the rugged tree before moving back slightly.
"How's Weasley-girl?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Fuck you, Malfoy."
"In due time, Potter," he says scathingly, straightening up. "Anyways, I've got places to be, and you've got your petty friends to reunite with."
He stalks off, leaving Harry in cold sweat with a singed loathing in his chest.
In secluded corridors between classes, they're sneaking around. However treacherous and dangerous it was, they didn't particularly care. There wasn't much of an explanation for it overall.
"What is it about me, Malfoy?" asks Harry, "Is it that you can't please Astoria, so you have to turn to me for practice?"
The smug look on Harry's face remains even when Draco slams him hard against the wall, roughly enough that his glasses to flee from his face as if they sense impending danger. He disregards his vanity, and his face takes on a sort of ugly look.
"Struck a nerve, did I?" Harry's green eyes bore into his, they smoulder with a cutting sort of lust.
"Fuck you." he says briefly, before his eyes automatically shut at the feel of Harry's hand snaking across the fabric of his pants. Shaking but well-practiced hands fill up any void of feeling, and Draco hates how he's reduced to nothing but a weak-kneed sop when he feels Harry's hands graze his body. He hates the shudders that come over him when his tie is being yanked off, and he hates how he brings him down to this level.
Hell, he hates Harry.
But he doesn't hate the way he calls out 'fuck you' when he's hit climax, or the way he leaves tiny bruises all over his body, greedy and destitute all at the same time.
Harry breaks contact for a mere moment, but this time only to unbuckle a rather restraining belt, to give him enough room to slip his hand down there. Draco's hips buck forward involuntarily, and Harry laughs disdainfully against his lips.
"Don't act so manly, Malfoy, not when I've got you like this."
Draco lets out an unwilling moan, his head falling forward and resting in the crook of Harry's neck.
"I hate you." he whispers into black hair, and Harry can't help himself, and starts to nip on his insipid neck, though not being gentle in any sense of the word.
"I hate you too."
"Where are you going?" asks the redhead sitting in the chair, and he turns to her just briefly.
"Out," says Harry, and Ginny furrows her brows. "On a walk. It's too hot, I need some fresh air."
It's then that she smiles at him, and cradles their baby in her arms with continual placidity, mentally allowing him out of the house.
He's sneaking away on foot, stalking through the dark of stiflingly hot summer. Far enough away, he disappears with a thin 'crack' and appears somewhere quite far away.
"You almost worried me for a bit," sneers Malfoy from out of the dark, a smirk on his face. "Thought you'd be playing daddy dearest tonight."
Harry shoots him a scathing look, nevertheless, he moves just close enough to smell the cologne resonating from Draco's blazer, and then, hits him across the face. Suddenly, and without warning.
"Your skin is soft." says Harry.
Draco lets out a bark of laughter, eyes derisive.
"Fuck you."
"Heard it all before, Malfoy."
He says it contemptuously, before their lips meet roughly and painfully, in a sort of clash where their teeth almost touch. All he can hear is the whine of cars past hills, and the sound of heavy heartbeats holding hands with ragged breaths. There's never been any wonder to what they were feeling, if it was anything at all.
"How's Miss Weasel-bee?" asks Draco cynically, while Harry leaves dark marks on his pale chest.
At the mention of Ginny, he bites down on sensitive skin, and Draco curses loudly.
"Watch it, Potter." he says, "You've got it coming to you."
"Didn't need to tell me." says Harry scornfully, leaving another bite-mark on pale skin.
It wasn't sentiment, feeling or love, of all things. Not even they knew exactly what was so appealing about it all, but it was hate.
Hate. Such a pretty, pretty word.
A/N: My first attempt at Drarry for TaraghMcCarthy's Romanticized Situation Challenge. Oh God, was this difficult to write. It felt odd. Anyways, tried my best. I don't own Harry Potter or Vanity and Greed by Silverstein. R&R Please. :)