Heat 2: Flashpoint.
When Draco rolled
over the next morning, expecting to see his usual silver and green bed hangings
filtering out the weak light of the dungeon, several things alerted him that he
wasn't in his own bed. One, there were no bed hangings on this bed. Two, the
light spilling through the window and into his eyes was anything but weak, so
he couldn't be in the dungeons. Three, he felt sore in places that he didn't
even know he could be sore, and four, there was someone lying on their side
next to him, staring down at him with amused green eyes.
"Mornin',
handsome," Harry said with a friendly grin, reaching up to push back an
errant lock of blonde hair that had fallen over his forehead. Draco turned his
head away, and Harry dropped his hand, confusion replacing his unusual morning
cheer. "What's the matter, Draco?"
"You're what's
the matter, Potter," Draco snarled, rolling out of bed. He blushed,
just the slightest tinge of red that would have been invisible on anyone's skin
darker than his, when he realized that he was naked, then the embarrassment
faded and he began to hunt in earnest for his clothes. Harry watched him, a
kind of sharp knowledge in his eyes that made the Slytherin boy distinctly
uneasy- it was as if Harry saw things on a different level than the rest of
them, a deeper level, and he knew more than you wanted him to.
Just alcohol, he thought. Good thing I
didn't drink that punch last night, those damn Weasley twins had already gotten
to it.
He found his pants and pulled them on,
followed by his boots, but it took him a moment longer to find his shirt...
there, in the corner. He put it on, but when he tried to button it he realized
that Potter must have torn a few buttons in his haste. That thought summoned a
whole lot of memories of the night before, and the blush came briefly again
before he turned around to face Potter, still lounging in bed, the sheet
spilling down around his waist as he blinked, reaching for his glasses. Draco's
palms itched, but he made no move towards the bed.
"What're you looking at,
Potter?" he snapped, as soon as the Gryffindor boy got his glasses on and
watched him solemnly through the barrier of glass. It was as if a curtain had
dropped between his thoughts and Draco, and the eyes that had been so easy to
read the night before were now just eyes, and it made Draco distinctly
uncomfortable to not know what Potter was thinking.
"I'm looking at you," Harry
replied, unperturbed by Draco's snappishness, which was unusual in and of itself. Of course, since he had faced off against
Voldemort at the end of the last year, he had been much mellower, and almost
nothing could irritate him. It was as if he'd already faced his death, had
stared it in the eye and had defeated it, and in his opinion, nothing less than
that was worth worrying over. It was slightly unnerving, the way he could take
the worst of insults with just a shrug. "I'm looking at you," Harry
repeated, "and you didn't seem to mind it so much last night, did you?"
"That was last night," Draco
growled. "And it was just sex. This is real life."
"If you wanna stand there,
looking like someone had stolen your favorite toy, and snarl
at me and blush about it, then sure, go ahead, and tell yourself that it's just
sex. And go back to your real life. But baby, when you're done lying to
yourself, I'll be waiting for you."
"You can wait for as long as you
like, Potter, but it is just sex and if you think it's more, than you're going
to be waiting for a long time for fairy tales to come true."
Harry made a shooing motion with his
hand. "Go, go, real life is waiting, remember? We have classes today, you
know, and I'm sure you'll want to practice what you're going to say to explain
why you left with me and didn't show up till..." He looked up at the angle
of the light coming through the window. "...about eight o'clock in the
morning. You might want to hurry, breakfast is in half an hour, and you don't
want to show up wearing the clothes you wore last night, do you?"
Draco flicked him off and walked out
the door, slamming it on Harry's cheerful, "Anytime, sweetheart!"
then stalked away, the heels of his boots making alot of noise in the stone
passageways from the force of his anger.
Back in the little bedroom off of the
main hall, Harry fell backwards and threw and arm over his eyes. "Just
sex," he muttered, then had to laugh at the remembered blush on Draco's
face when he had climbed out of bed. "Just sex, my
ass."
Draco didn't have to face Potter until the next day, for which he was thankful. Not that he would admit that he was happy not to have to face Hogwart's Golden Boy, because that would mean admitting that he was afraid to see him, which would mean that the time he had spent with Potter was more than just a fuck. And that was something that Draco Malfoy just could not admit.
But he knew that eventually he had to face the Boy Who Lived, and so when he approached the enormous door to the dungeons, and thus to Potions class and Harry Potter, he had to take a deep breath and will his hand to stop shaking before he opened the door. And there was Harry, sitting in his usual seat with an engaging grin, but Ron and Hermione weren't sitting in their usual seats next to him. In fact, almost no one was sitting where they usually did. Ron was sitting with Blaise Zambini, and Hermione was sitting with Fleur Delacour, chatting quite happily with the gorgeous Veela girl. Thank God, Blaise hadn't gotten all chummy with Ron, but… why were all of the Gryffindors paired up with all the Slytherins? Looking around the room, he realized with a sinking heart that the only empty seat was the one next to Harry Potter- the one that he most desperately wanted to avoid.
Just on cue, Snape's voice rang out, "I see you all have found your seats, except for Mister Malfoy. Please take the seat next to Mister Potter. As you can see, ladies and gentleman, you have all been assigned seats next to one of the other house, because it was decided that in light of the upcoming war against Voldemort, we need to promote togetherness," and the word practically dripped scorn of the very idea, "so that we can work together as a team. I am no more happy about it than you are, but it was the Headmaster's newest brainstorm, so we shall have to abide by it. The idea is to become one, big, happy family. So I expect to see smiles, ladies and gentleman, and woe betide you if I do not see them. Understood? Excellent," he finished when he got a few scared nods. "Then we shall begin, if Mister Malfoy can see fit to take his seat."
Blushing, Draco sat down next Harry, scooting his chair as far away from the other boy as he possibly could. Harry saw the blush, however, and smirked at him. Draco glared at him for reminding him of the last time he had made him blush, and Harry's smirk grew wider before Snape rapped his knuckles sharply against the desk to gain attention.
"Today we are going to be learning a clarity potion, to show us thing sin their purest form for a short time after ingesting the potion…"
Now usually Potions was Draco's favorite class, but all of a sudden, he couldn't understand a word that Snape was speaking. The professor might as well have been speaking Swahili, because all he could focus on the hand that was slowly caressing his back in small circles. He looked around almost frantically, trying to tell if anyone could see, but they were at the back of the room and everyone was facing forward and paying attention to the lesson. Even Potter, Draco saw when his frantic glance came to rest on the boy next to him, was appearing to pay attention to the lesson, completely at odds with the stealthy hand that was creeping upwards to wrap long fingers around the back of his neck in a deep massage.
Draco melted and almost moaned out loud, it felt so good. Damn, where had Potter learned how to do that? Then the massage turned slowly back into a caress, and those magic fingers slowly slid along his skin, feather-light, teasing the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck and sending goosebumps down his spine, lightly petting the sensitive skin behind his ear, then moving lower again. His hand slid down along his spine in one smooth stroke, then withdrew, but Draco could still feel his phantom touch, shadowing along his skin to his chest, where the clever fingers caressed and teased until he was short of breath. The hand was sliding lower yet, to the tops of his jeans, but the spell was abruptly cut off. Draco glared at Harry, and the other boy gave him a cheerful grin in return, mouthing the words, "Later. Bit public, no?"
Draco glared more, and then turned back to the lesson with an injured sniff. Damn if he'd let Perfect Potter get the better of him, even if it was in sex, which didn't really matter. But it was the principle of the thing- he was a Malfoy, and as such it was up to him not to let anyone get the better of him, and especially not Perfect Potter.
People spilled out of the doors of the Potions classroom, breathing deep in relief at being free of both Snape and the heavy November chill that had settled deep into the air in the dungeon. Harry smiled and nodded and made his excuses to his friends, then sidled up next to Draco, who unfortunately for him had not yet managed to get with his friends. So it made it easy for Harry to snatch him out of the crowd and drag him into a nearby secret passageway with no one the wiser.
Draco whirled around, his mouth open to give Harry absolute hell for both messing with him and then stealing him away, but he never got a chance. As soon as he opened his mouth, Harry's was sealed over it, and that kept him from making any noise at all besides a small hum of pleasure. Harry's hands raced over his back, a much faster, more blatant version of the earlier tease in the classroom, and Draco moaned his appreciation into Harry's mouth.
Harry suddenly pulled back and stared into Draco's eyes. The Slytherin boy glared at him, licking his lips a little to savor the swollen feeling, and Harry's gaze was drawn to the movement like a magnet. Draco noticed this and did it again, a little bit slower with a feline smile, but this time Harry refused to be distracted and kept his piercing emerald gaze on Draco's.
"Do you want me?" he asked. Draco frowned in puzzlement. Harry had stopped him just for this? Just to ask him some pointless question? What the hell was his problem?
When Draco didn't answer, Harry gripped him by the shoulders and spun him around, then pulled him back against his body and pinned him in place with one forearm across his chest, as binding as a steel band. Draco struggled briefly, but Harry had more height and muscle than he did, and there wasn't a chance in hell of getting away. But even when he gave up the fight, his body remained tense, because his arms were pinned to his sides and Harry still had a hand free- not a good thing when he took into consideration the hardness he could feel against his lower back.
"Do you want me?" Harry whispered. By now Draco was beginning to understand what Harry wanted from him, and he made no move to speak, not willing to give in. He felt Harry's shrug behind him, and then the free hand slid up to his chest, smoothing his open palm over the muscles there, honed by years of Quidditch. His fingers brushed against the top button of his robes, then loosed it, followed by the next, and the next, and the next in a slow march until the robes fell completely open, baring him to Harry's admiring gaze. He heard a little hum of approval from behind him when Harry saw that he wasn't wearing anything at all under his robes, but his hand didn't slide down. Instead, he finger-walked back up his chest until he reached one nipple, and proceeded to tease, brushing his callused fingertips back and forth, rolling it between his fingers and giving it little tugs.
You make me sick
I want you and I'm hatin it
Got me lit like a candlestick
"Do you want me?" Harry whispered again, his warm breath rushing over the tip of his ear while his hand moved over to the other nipple. Draco made no response other than to whimper slightly, and, giving his earlobe a little bite, he asked again, "Do you want me?"
Still nothing. Harry smiled, even though he couldn't see it, and began to suck the earlobe as his hand slid down. Draco moaned, his eyes drifting closed, while Harry's tongue moved up the shell of his ear in one long, slow lick. "Do you want me?"
His hand teased with phantom touches, enough to arouse but light enough to never really satisfy. "Do you want me? Do you want me, Draco?"
Get too hot when you
touch the tip, I'm feelin it, I gotta getta grip
And it's drivin me crazy baby don't you quit
Can't get enough of it
Draco moaned, thrusting his hips against the teasing hand. It was too much, and yet not enough, never enough…
"Do you want me, Draco?" that relentless whispering voice asked, and this time he gave in.
"Yes."
The expected relief didn't come. Harry continued to tease, and Draco arched his hips further, a frustrated moan rising in his throat.
"Yes what, Draco?"
"Yes, I want you!" he yelled, and then blessed relief. Harry's hand closed, and he was finished within a few hard pumps. He slumped back against Harry, boneless, and only then became aware of the hardness against the small of his back. But Harry didn't do anything, just moved him over to the wall so that he could use it as support and motioned for him to button up his robes. He complied, looking at Harry, a question in his eyes.
"Not this time," Harry said, almost amused. "This time was about you. Next time we meet, you can return the favor."