AN: Wow, two in a day. I'm feeling rather proud of myself. So let me present to you my third drabble, Screw the World. HP/DM, anyone?
The Boy with Lily's Eyes
Screw the World
Draco Malfoy tasted like sin.
I never thought that I would ever experience this wonderfully sweet anomaly myself. It was like taking a bite from the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden and wanting more despite the wrongness; like having this unexplainably perverse pleasure in doing something you should not be doing; like feeling the intoxicating thrill that a psychopath feels when it kills. It was immoral. Wrong. Sinful. Yet… so damn right, like a missing piece of a puzzle that I've never noticed before being suddenly found.
How did this happen?
He and I started a tentative friendship after the war. But there was always the presence of a barrier between us. Of course, being schoolyard enemies for the past seven years made us wary with each other. His eyes were always guarded; his back stiff and shoulders tense. Add in the fact that he owes me his life, this understanding we have is obviously strained.
But being my Gryffindor and noble self, I continued our friendship.
At first we only met through formal dinners. Though the Malfoys were known Death Eaters, they were still the Malfoys, a pureblood family known throughout the continent. I started talking to him every time we come across each other (which was scarcely). We tried to avoid arguments.
Five years later Ginny and I had a fight. It wasn't like the usual pointless arguments all couples have; she accused me of cheating, of neglecting her and our relationship. I wasn't cheating, of course, but I stormed off from our house (yes, we're married). I apparated at Hogsmeade with no particular plan in mind. I walked around, my hands in my pocket, and entered the Hog's Head.
I ordered a glass of Firewhisky and promised to myself that I'd stop after finishing the glass.
I broke that promise.
Unbeknownst to my alcohol-addled mind, Malfoy was sitting beside me. Why he was there I did not know. Everything was hazy, my words were slurring. The Daily Prophet is going to have a field day.
For some unknown reason, Malfoy decided that I needed to get home. He guided me out from the pub into the dark streets of Hogsmeade (since when did the sun disappear?). He was speaking to me but I could barely understand the words coming out of his mouth. I had this sudden urge to kiss him and—
So I did.
Thankfully we were hidden from view; I seriously didn't know what would have happened if anyone were to see.
My lips were on his, hands tightly gripping my narrow hips and it felt oh so right and oh so wrong at the same time. Everything around the two of us (the humid air of passion, the tight tension of immorality, the fog of lust—everything) drove me to the brink of insanity. My breath was hitching, my heart rate kept increasing, and the places where his wandering hands touched burned like the fiery of a thousand suns. It was as if I was on fire yet drowning at the same time, for I could not breathe and I was suffocating with his sheer intoxicating scent and burning, talented hands. My mind was a hazy mess, scrambled with passion and thoughts that, on normal circumstances, would never have swam up the surface of my normally clear mind. To make things worse (or better), his lips against mine parted and his tongue was added to this whole chaos; a chaos which I never want to be stopped.
Again, he tasted like sin.
And I probably tasted like alcohol.
He was the right kind of wrong. I wanted him all for myself. I wanted to feel every inch of his beautifully sculpted body against mine forever.
I never want him to stop.
We were suddenly in a room (when did he apparate us here?) and clothes were strewn around. I was gasping for air, hands were grasping all around my body. It felt so wonderful. I felt so alive.
I would probably regret this in the morning when I wake up with a pounding headache and a Draco Malfoy wrapped around me like a blanket. Yet I couldn't find it in me to stop. Screw Ginny, screw the Daily Prophet, and screw the world.
