by Perr - sex is mentioned 24 times here, if I counted right. I'm not a mathematician. Don't hate me for writing this. I promised a part two, here it is.
Draco's POV
I am helpless. My mind is falling apart.
When those jolly editors of feminist women's magazines said that men think of sex all the time, I prove to you that I bring new life to the phrase 'every six seconds'.
During Divinations. Trelawny had looked into my pearldust seashell whirl patterns and exclaimed, "Oh my!" She patted my shoulder and murmured, "Lay off the oysters for a while, boy."
Oysters?!
During Potions, I could not stop thinking about sex. Any kind of sex. So much sex that it would make porn barons blush. Heterosexual sex. Homosexual sex. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Snape cast glances at my constant shifting in my seat. I curled my toes in my shoes, raising my hands to my head, threaded fingers into locks, and never looked at the teacher again.
During Transfigurations. He was there. I was still engaged in embarrassing gutter-brain thought. Gods. Anal sex. Oral sex. Impossible sex. Possible sex. Hot sex. Mind-blowing sex. Noisy sex. Sexy sex. "HELP!" I could have screamed, but didn't.
And all this time these sex-filled thoughts were made of he and I. I mean, I was staring at his jet-black, raven-black, whatever-black hair, and I was thinking about blowjobs in the Maldives. S-E-X.
Maybe it's a point of time when every seventeen year-old comes to terms with his sexuality, and wants to do it so much that he won't be able to move any muscle for the next week. Despite sleeping with just two girls in my entire life, I'm pretty much sex god of Hogwarts.
Now I look at him over dinner, and visualise many, many things. It's like a mosquito I can't bloody swat. Food sex slowly creeps into the filth that is my mind, and I find that my pants seem a little tighter than before.
If I could just leap across the table and kiss him to death, maybe all this sad 'I'm so horny' business will finally clear up. But no, I can't possibly cross the Hall to do that, can I? I can't even look at him without having people thinking I'm going to duel him again.
This makes the scene weird; Potter's girl is looking at him, and he's throwing glances toward me, and I'm staring at him (in the most unobvious manner I can manage), while I can sense Pansy eyeing me up as well. I wonder if all this intense gazing upon does anyone any good. Perhaps it'll be strong enough to Potter's and my clothes burn up or wither away, so we can do it right here right now.
Control yourself, Draco.
This is horrible. I must have a large tumour in my brain, and it's expanding the 'sex' part of my mind. This is a crime!
It's a while when I realise that Goyle's hand starts waving in front of me. "Are you ok?"
"Mmmhmm," I shift and snap out of it. This is torture. I might stand up and yell, "Torture, Potter is thy name," if it weren't for some sense left in me. He is slowly driving out all the sanity inside.
Pansy's switched places with Crabbe because she's hoping she can get a 'couple' image out of she and I. I play along only because Harry is watching and I have a certain reputation to uphold in the eyes of my Slytherin mates.
She passes me a shy smile. I smile back. Something disturbing crawls up my spine. Wait, those are her fingers at the fabric of my cloak.
Maybe it's out of desperation to relieve myself of some tension. Maybe it's a sorry attempt to claim Potter's mind for the entire week. There will definitely be talk among Pansy and her friends.
I take her hand and lead her out of the Hall. My back facing the entrance with a final glance to Harry, we disappear and quietly slip into a room. I drop my cloak to the floor, lift her chin up and kiss her. Some tension drains, but it's a different sort altogether; not the kind that I've been holding inside for ages.
By the time I notice the hand behind my head and the heat of kisses bruising my lips, all the voices, all the conscience, all the rationality dissipates into nothing after a final thought:
Potter, this is what you do to me.