It wasn't supposed to be happening like this. Not this wild frenzy of teeth
and nails and breath and heat. Not like this. Not against the wall of the
study, not in the dead of night, with the fire burning and crackling, and
the wind outside howling. Not in the old manor, with all its secrets and
darkness, and hidden evils.
And most of all, not with a man old enough to be his father. Not with a man that wanted him dead. Not with a man that followed his worst enemy, that appeared in his nightmares, that was a constant reminder of death and pain and evil. Not with Lucius Malfoy.
But that's what it was. Lucius Malfoy, aristocratic and smug, with hidden motives, rolling in money and power...and Harry. Lucius Malfoy, the father of his rival, the henchman to his enemy, and the cause of the heat expanding outwards from his very soul.
Backing him against the wall, tasting him, reveling in him, prompting his breathy moans, touching, feeling, clawing, grasping, everything. Hands twisting, knee wedged tightly between his own, lips covering his, tongue invading and harsh, yet leaving him light-headed.
Leaving swirls of longing and pleasure and guilt. What would others say? Hermione? Ron? Siruis? Even Draco? Would they want to know the details? The hunger in the older man's eyes, the pain of being slammed into the stone wall, the heat from their bodies, the thrilling knowledge of how very wrong it all was, but how right, the impending release that Harry could feel building inside of him?
How he didn't care anymore? That all he wanted was for that moment to never end, for the heat and the passion to drum inside at all times, for his shortness of breath to never be replenished, for the wild feeling of being delightfully bad to never leave?
It was what he wanted. More than anything. To be able to forget, to be treated as though he weren't famous, to be taken, and broken, and to have everything inside of him rearranged. To leave his destiny, to have a secret that for once no one knew, to delve into something dark, to feel for the first time in too long.
To have a taste of the darkness. And to like it.
And most of all, not with a man old enough to be his father. Not with a man that wanted him dead. Not with a man that followed his worst enemy, that appeared in his nightmares, that was a constant reminder of death and pain and evil. Not with Lucius Malfoy.
But that's what it was. Lucius Malfoy, aristocratic and smug, with hidden motives, rolling in money and power...and Harry. Lucius Malfoy, the father of his rival, the henchman to his enemy, and the cause of the heat expanding outwards from his very soul.
Backing him against the wall, tasting him, reveling in him, prompting his breathy moans, touching, feeling, clawing, grasping, everything. Hands twisting, knee wedged tightly between his own, lips covering his, tongue invading and harsh, yet leaving him light-headed.
Leaving swirls of longing and pleasure and guilt. What would others say? Hermione? Ron? Siruis? Even Draco? Would they want to know the details? The hunger in the older man's eyes, the pain of being slammed into the stone wall, the heat from their bodies, the thrilling knowledge of how very wrong it all was, but how right, the impending release that Harry could feel building inside of him?
How he didn't care anymore? That all he wanted was for that moment to never end, for the heat and the passion to drum inside at all times, for his shortness of breath to never be replenished, for the wild feeling of being delightfully bad to never leave?
It was what he wanted. More than anything. To be able to forget, to be treated as though he weren't famous, to be taken, and broken, and to have everything inside of him rearranged. To leave his destiny, to have a secret that for once no one knew, to delve into something dark, to feel for the first time in too long.
To have a taste of the darkness. And to like it.