The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, but Draco wasn't paying attention to the fire, or to anything for that matter. He was wrapped in thought, a scowl permanently stuck on his face and his blonde hair disheveled from running his hands through it countless times. The air around him was volatile, and even the rest of the seventh years were staying away from him. The few first years left in the Common Room were huddled in one corner and everyone else was just avoiding him. Even Pansy was avoiding him and Draco was grateful for that at least. He ran a hand through his hair again, mussing it up and then shaking it out. He growled for no particular reason, causing a pretty third-year girl to jump away in fear. Draco growled again, this time in annoyance and stormed out of the Common Room, looking for some fresh air.
Ten minutes later, after taking some of his anger out on a certain Gryffindor Mudblood, Draco slipped outside and onto the grounds. He flopped down in front of a large tree, spreading his long legs out in front of him and leaning his head back against the trunk. Looking up into the leaves above him, Draco tried to make sense of the last three days of his life. He sighed and tore up a handful of grass, letting the wind carry it away as Draco's mind carried him away…
Hazy memories…
Hands; touching, feeling, gentle and rough.
Lips; exploring, passion, fire-driven kisses.
Nothing was clear, nothing was distinct, all was blended together in the heat of the moment.
Draco's bed, emerald green sheets tumbled in and jumbled. Another person, bigger, much more powerful.
Playing subservient; twisted little games of truth, dare and make-believe. Chained by lust, shackled by fear and bound by the torment they both desire above anything else.
Hearts pounding as flesh heats and comes together in a maddening rush.
Shattered moments, spaced throughout three days. No trace of time having passed, simply the feeling of the moment.
Hands; not really experienced, clumsy hands that fumble with belts and buttons. Clumsy, strong hands…oh those hands…
Shivers run down spines at the mere thought. Fingers search for sensitive spots, and goosebumps ripple across exposed skin and breath comes in harsh gasps that leave the air tense.
Tension builds and builds, holding out for release. Release comes in the form of surrender and finally all is still once more…
Draco came back to himself, body humming with remembered feeling and his senses all a-fire. Heart pounding and head whirling, he shook himself, trying to forget that night and to remember who he is before the dangerous passion rolls through him again. Chest heaving, Draco struggled to compose himself as Potter, Weasel and the Mudblood walk by. He caught Potter's eye, and gave him a self-satisfied smirk, which Potter returned with an angry glare. Draco smiled, making a rude gesture with his hand and receiving one in return.
Jealousy is so unbecoming Potter, Malfoy thinks, but I definitely enjoyed myself this weekend…