Hello everyone!
So just as a heads-up: this fic takes place sometime in the spring of Harry's sixth year. It's canon-compliant in every aspect except for the relationships between the characters.
Also- the titles of the chapters are from the poem "The Night Dances" by Sylvia Plath. I do not own her work, nor do we own any Harry Potter content.
P.S. PLEASE note that this story is pretty graphic. Definitely NSFW 3
Happy reading!
The air is still and quiet, the soft lapping of the lake against the shoreline filling the air. A grove of trees hugs the edge of the water, moonlight stretching out across the tide in cut, gleaming slits.
In the midst of the trees, two bodies press against each other, platinum hair and green eyes both shining in the pale, dim light. Draco has his arms braced on either side of Potter's head, mouth suspended just breaths away from him. Draco's eyes drop to Potter's lips, admiring their curve.
Potter grips Draco's green tie, and the two of them seem suspended there for a moment, faces flushed, palms sweaty. Potter moves first, closing the gap between them by pulling on the silk. Impatient Gryffindor that he is, thinks Draco, smiling into the kiss. Draco's tongue runs along Potter's top lip, easing into his mouth, and the kiss slows: their tongues move against each other, Draco's hands pressed against Potter's chest, Potter's hands sliding up Draco's shirt. Draco's breath hitches, Merlin , he sighs, what Potter does to me. Draco cups Potter's arse in his hands, pressing their hips together, and Potter groans at the friction.
"Touch me," croaks Potter, and Draco smirks against Potter's neck. "Wait," he says, "Don't be so bloody impatient all the time." Potter opens his mouth to protest, but his words turn into a moan as Draco lets his teeth grab at the skin of Potter's neck. Draco feels Potter's hands leave his body, which feels cold without him. He pulls back, brow furrowed, "What-"
What he had been about to say was caught in his throat as he watched Potter stroking himself, sliding his hand down the length of his own cock, hips bucking. "Jesus fuck," Draco croaks, licking his lips, heat pooling in his groin, and in a flash he has Potter pinned beneath him on the grass. Draco straddles Potter's waist, leaning forward to take his mouth in a rough, searing kiss as Draco unbuckles his own belt, "I told you to wait, Potter. Now look at what you've gotten yourself into."
He bites his lip, feeling Potter's cock hard against his arse. Potter's eyes gleam with mischief, flecks of gold glinting in the moonlight. He shudders as Draco slides a hand up his chest, "I want to feel you, Malfoy."
Draco looks at him, half lidded, "Fuck, you're lovely, Potter." And it's true: Potter, with his glasses askew, shirt unbuttoned, dark hair splayed out across the ground, is the epitome of beautiful . Potter's cheeks flush, but he raises an eyebrow, "Getting all sappy on me, ferret? Weakened your resolve, have I?" He brushes his knuckles on the underneath of Draco's bollocks, his touch light but purposeful as it works its way down Draco's prick. Draco makes an odd, restrained sound in the back of his throat, lashes fluttering and eyes rolling back. "Potter, please…" Potter grips Draco's hips, his voice hoarse. "Tell me what you want, Malfoy."
Malfoy looks down at him, lips swollen and eyes stormy. "I want you inside of me, Potter, right bloody now."
Potter swears, ripping Draco's shirt open and pulling at his trousers. Draco helps him work them off. He loves it when Potter curses, loves how rough his words sound when falling from his lips. Draco transfigures a small rock into a phial of lube, working the liquid from the base to the tip of Potter's cock. Potter takes the lube from him, lathering his fingers and reaching around to slide one into Draco's hole. "Christ-" Draco's hips roll as Potter stretches him open, the sensation burning but filled with pleasure.
Potter slides his fingers out of him, lining up the head of his prick. Draco hisses as he slowly takes in the length of him. Potter throws his head back, biting his lip, and Draco begins to move, rocking forward and back, sucking on Potter's nipples until they're hard, cool, and wet against the hot night air. Potter thrusts his hips to meet Draco's every movement, and Draco loves the small, guttural sounds Potter makes at the feel of his cock inside of Draco, gradually getting louder until he comes undone inside of him, thighs shaking, back arching, lips parting to let out a throaty moan. Draco slows his movements to a stop, breathing hard, and watching Potter unravel is the most bloody gorgeous and fucking mesmerizing thing he's ever seen.
Potter's soft prick slides out of him, and Draco quiets those final groans of release with a soft, lingering kiss, dipping his tongue lazily into Potter's mouth. Potter flips them over, kissing Draco languously, and this is Draco's favorite part of these nights, these slow, intimate kisses.
Potter works his way down Draco's body, the tip of his nose brushing soft, golden curls that lead down the v of Draco's groin. Draco's cock is still hard and wet, and Draco props himself up on his elbows.
"You don't have to, you know," he whispers. Potter's lips ghost up Draco's shaft, curling into a smile, "I want to, Malfoy. I want to make you shake, cry out," he pauses, his tongue flicking out to taste the tip, "lose control, all because of me." Always because of you , Draco wants to say, but instead watches as Potter wraps his deliciously pink mouth around the head of his prick.
Draco leans forward more, gasping, tangling a hand in Potter's mass of waves. Potter takes him deeper, curling his tongue up against the underneath of Draco's length, bobbing his head up and down in rhythmic motions. Draco moans when he feels his cock slide deeper, arching as he feels Potter swallow around him. He looks up at the night sky, the stars bright and illustrious, and Draco can feel the weight of his worries lifted off of him, his body tensing, trembling, and then-
A cry in the night. Potter, swallowing all of Draco's come down, like a bloody fucking champ , he thinks, and then the soft rustle of Potter's body moving up to lay next to his. Draco's head rolls to look at him, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. Potter runs his thumb along Draco's jaw, tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. There's something so intimate and careful about their movements now, Potter trailing his fingers along Draco's Sectumsempra scars. Draco presses his mouth to Potter's firmly, tasting himself on the other boy's lips.
They hear laughter in the distance, someone else breaking curfew, and when they look back to each other, it feels a little awkward and silly, laying in each other's arms like this. Draco clears his throat and begins to get dressed. Potter watches him for a moment before grabbing his wand from the ground and casting a quick Scourgify over the both of them, but the air still smells of sex, settling into the soothing aromas of the forest.
Draco scratches the back of his head, glancing over at Potter.
"Later then," he says, and Potter nods, fixing his glasses. Draco begins to walk away, but turns, catching Potter's lips in a quick kiss. Potter smiles against his mouth, and Draco can't help but think that he's completely head over arse for at least Potter's kisses, if nothing else.
Back in the Slytherin Common Rooms, Draco tries to assure himself that there is, indeed, nothing else.
Blaise lounges on the bed next to his, watching him. Draco sighs and sets down the scroll of parchment he'd been working on. "Yes, Blaise? To what do I owe the pleasure of you gawking at me like a bloody Grindylow out of water?"
"Well," Blaise drawls, "I was wondering where you'd been, considering your hair's a right mess and you've got," he scrunches his nose, "dirt on your robes."
Draco picks his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay back up, "Prefect duties, Zabini. They lead me far and wide."
Blaise snorts, "Draco, that's a load of dragon's dung, and you know it. I know what you look like when you've just been shagged." His sneer turns into a grin, eyes dark and daring, "Or have you forgotten your first so easily?"
Draco's eyes widen, swatting at his friend, "Shut the fuck up, would you? Merlin!" He exclaims as he peers over at a snoring Theo, relief clouding his face. He snaps towards Blaise, "What part of 'closeted' and 'my father would bloody kill me' do you not understand?"
Blaise rolls his eyes. "Calm down mate. He's asleep. Wouldn't want to wake him, yeah?" Draco chucks his essay at the boy, drawing his curtains shut and curling into his comforter. Blaise laughs.
"Hey, mate, thanks for the answers! Snape's essays are killer." And then Theo's distant, muffled voice, "What did I miss?" and "Oi, are those the answers to the Defense essay? Wicked!"
Draco's heart pounds so hard it feels as if it's in his throat, and he knows that if he does find sleep tonight, all he'll be able to think of is Potter.
Classes the next day go by slowly, until it's time for Potions with Slughorn. As he and the other Slytherins make their way in, he catches Potter's eye, quickly turning his smile into a frown. He knocks Potter's inkwell over as he goes by, snickering, "Watch it, Potter, don't want to muss up these desks. Godric knows Snape will be teaching this class again soon enough, right boys?" Crabbe and Goyle jeer, Blaise observing with amusement. Zabini's finger catches one of Granger's curls.
"Find a taming charm, did we, dear?" He asks with a snide laugh. She yanks away from him, glaring. His fingers trail along her tense shoulder as he passes."Soft, too."
Draco rolls his eyes at Blaise's flirtatious taunting. The Veela in him can't always contain itself, which is perhaps why Draco let himself fall for it back at the beginning of fifth year.
"Alright, settle down," Slughorn's voice squeaks out to them as he billows into class, the fat nag. "Today, you'll be doing partner projects." There's cheering from the students, until Slughorn holds his hand up, "And I've already picked the partners." Groans, from all around. Slughorn begins to read from a list on his desk. "Weasley and Goyle," Weasley deflates, resigning himself to a low grade. Draco hears him complain about not being able to work with Potter, mumbling about some book.
"Zabini and Crabbe, Granger and Parkinson," he announces. The two girls tense, Granger turning slowly to face Pansy, who glares at her and says, "Come on, cow. I'm not moving over there."
"...and Finnaegan, and Malfoy and Potter. He flicks his wand at the chalkboard. Here is your potion for the day- necessary ingredients are in the cupboard."
Draco moves towards Potter's seat, accio-ing the supplies to him. Students turn to glare at him, some having been knocked in the head by the flasks and such. They work in silence, a heat steadily building between them when their knees or thighs or hands brush up against each other. Draco looks at Potter, his eyes watching his strong jaw, his lips. Draco thinks he sees a hickey beneath the collar of Potter's robes, but whether it's from himself or the Weaselette, he's not sure. A spike of jealousy flares up inside of him. He doesn't mind that Potter is cheating on the Weasley girl with him- he relishes in it, even. But he hates that she gets to touch him, dig her nails into his back as he fucks and kisses her, the same way he fucks and kisses Draco.
Draco moves his chair closer to Potter, leaving one hand on his textbook and slips the other up his thigh. Potter stills, sending a nervous glance to Weasley a few rows over. Draco rubs circles into Potter's thigh.
"No one will see, Potter," he says, leaning in closer. "And if they do, at least then that redheaded hag can stop slobbering over you."
Potter's brows raise. "Jealous much, Malfoy?"
"You wish." It sounds half hearted, even to Draco. He distracts them both by cupping Potter's groin in his palm, finding the curve of his half hard prick in his pants. Draco smirks at the power he feels when he's able to control Potter's body like this.
Potters breaths are coming harder now, his bottom lip caught by his teeth as he tries to go on about making the potion. His movements are shaky, stilted and mechanical, and Draco can't help but let out a quiet laugh.
"Struggling a bit there, are we, Potter? Merlin, I thought you were supposed to be good at this, being the bloody Chosen One and all." He lets the words come out loud as he strokes Potter through his pants underneath the table, hearing a few Slytherins laugh at his menace.
There's a sound like a collapsing building from Goyle and Weasley's cauldron, and Draco drops his hand as Slughorn hurries over to the singed boys. "Class dismissed early today! Leave your potions where they are, and I'll check their progress and store them properly for next class. Miss Granger, could you and Miss Parkinson take these two boys to the Madame Pomfrey? It would be a great help."
Draco's nearly done packing up when a note in Potter's messy scrawl lands in front of him:
Tonight, after dinner. The usual spot. Don't be late.
It's bold, Draco can say that for sure, and a smile spreads across his face, along with warmth in his chest. He slings his bag onto his shoulder.
Screw the Weaselette, he thinks as he leaves the classroom, Potter's mine. At least for tonight.