Title: Constant Craving

Author: Sacharissa Donerail

Rating: M

Content: adult language, m/m

Pairing: DM/HP

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, related characters, and/or places. I make no profit off this story.

Summary: Draco and Harry. Complicated? Yes. Part 3 of Addiction. Started approximately 3 years ago, before the publication of HBP, but finished recently.

NOTE: This chapter has an adults only version that will not be posted, as it is a violation of the TOS. If you would like to read it, please contact me.

Title taken from the song "Constant Craving" by kd Lang.

~*~

It's really amazing how one little event can put things into perspective. An earthquake can hit a town that is virtually unknown, and suddenly, everyone knows its name because thousands are dead. Perspective is a funny thing. It's all in the way you look at the situation.

Like now that I've been inside Harry Potter, I know that no greater joy can exist. Before that, I was convinced that a good wank in the shower was the true feeling of nirvana.

I guess I skipped a bit.

The midnight make out session after I emphatically declared that I was not in love with Harry Potter and did not want to date him, then progressed into a repeat performance the following night and every night since then. Another week had passed. Two weeks ago, I was enjoying a smoke under the moonlight. By then, I was wishing for a shag instead. And I'd get so close to getting it, just moments away from sinking myself balls deep into him--and then he'd get cold feet.

It wasn't just about sex. We'd actually talk and share things before starting our nightly grope-fests. It was nice getting to know each other. I found out a lot of things about Potter that I never would have known otherwise, like how he hates marshmallows and how he wears socks to bed.

I quickly broke him of that habit.

I'm serious--the mushy sweet stuff was very, very nice. I'd never admit it, but my mother has passed her wildly romantic personality on to me. It had to go somewhere. My father doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. So I reveled in Potter's bright-eyed sweetness, all the while playing it totally cool so he'd never know that my insides melt when he runs his fingers through the hairs on the back of my neck. He, on the other hand, is very open and expressive about his feelings for me. He calls me by my first name all the time, and he's even given me a nickname. "Dray," he'll say with one brow lifted when I make an off-handed comment about Granger or Weasley. Or "Draaaaay," in this ear-splitting whine when I tickle him into breathlessness. Or the one I like the most, the breathy, strangled "Drayyyy" when I'm kissing him or have my hand down his pants.

He really is too delicious for words sometimes.

But an entire week had gone by, and I still hadn't gotten what I wanted. A week doesn't seem like that long, but to a hormonal seventeen year old with a perfect opportunity to 'vent' his frustrations, a week might as well be an eternity. And this isn't a tirade about sexual politics, but when you happen to not be of the heterosexual persuasion, sex is a big deal. It's not the only deal, but it's a big one. Males are pre-programmed by nature to sow their oats, and when another man is readily available to sow them with, the urge to plant is irrepressible. That's why gay men are promiscuous and unfaithful--well, not all gay men, but quite a few.

The thought of cheating on Potter, however, has never crossed my mind.

I couldn't really understand why he wouldn't let me take the next step, and that's what bothered me. I thought maybe it was because he was still a virgin and was falling victim to all the natural fears that stem from the idea of having someone be with you in such an intimate way--not to mention it hurts like hell. But Potter had told me during one of our nights of self-disclosure that the Weasley twins had shown him a thing or two, so that wasn't it. I personally couldn't find any other reason for him to be so unwilling to go any further than we had. So leave it to me to be the insensitive git to say something.

There we were, on the roof as usual, Potter's nifty invisibility cloak over us so nobody gets an eyeful who shouldn't--not that I'm ashamed of what genetics has given me, but this show is only for paying customers. Anyway, Potter's on his back, and I'm stretched out on top of him, laying wedged between his surprisingly muscular thighs. His hands are tangled in my hair, which annoyed me at first, but now really gets my motor whirring, and I've got a mouthful of him.

I'm going to pause in the retelling of this lusty scene to say that I am a bloody master in the oral sex department. Don't know how I learned, but whatever I'm doing, I'm doing right. Never left a customer unsatisfied, that's for sure. And Potter...oh, God, he's hot enough while I'm doing it to get me off. He pants and moans and begs for more, and when he comes---well, not to be disgusting, but if I could, I'd bottle it and start a personal stash. For a while, I was just content to blow him, let me pull me off, and then crawl back to bed.

This night, however, I was in no mood to be denied.

So, I'm going my thing, and Potter is doing his, and I'm preparing to finger fuck him into oblivion when I feel that familiar tension spread through him and his hands find my shoulders.

I let his cock slide out of my mouth with a groan. "Dammit, Potter..."

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, a blush flooding his cheeks. "I just...can't..."

"Well, why the bloody hell not?!?" I'm shouting now, not worried if anyone hears me. "I'm not going to fucking hurt you, Potter!"

"I know that-"

"Then what is it!?!"

And he gets this look on his face, this terrified look of such unbridled innocence. "I don't want to do it until I know it's not the only reason you're with me."

Well, color me...whatever color total mortification is.

Could I be more insensitive? I wanted to fling myself off the damn roof. "Oh, Harry...love, of course it's not the only reason. I could bang anybody in this school that I wanted, but I don't want just anybody. I want you." The words sounded so strange coming out of my mouth. I really couldn't believe I was saying them. I didn't think. I just said it.

And that's what made me realize that I was telling the truth--I didn't have to think about it. Sometimes the best things happen when you're not thinking.

Then he smiles at me, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. "You called me Harry. You never call me that."

What an adorable git. "Well, don't get used to it."

He laughs softly, then the uncertain look comes back. "Dray?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can we do it somewhere other than the roof?"

Then I had to laugh.

But that posed an interesting question. If not there, then where? I wasn't about to sneak into his room, and he damn sure wasn't coming to mine. Empty classrooms were too dangerous with Filch and his mangy cat wandering around at all hours. The roof seemed our only option. That's when I remembered something.

Severus.

He was none too happy when I told him of my midnight trysts with Potter. "It's too dangerous." Puff puff. "What if your father finds out?" Puff puff. "I won't be able to get you out of trouble." Puff puff.

One of these days, I'm going to give that man a nervous condition.

So, needless to say, when I knocked on his door, one hand clutching Potter to my side, and asked him if he didn't mind making a sweep of the grounds while Potter and I "borrowed" his rooms, he wasn't pleased.

"Are you out of your mind?!? If anybody found out, I could lose my job! You could be expelled! Find somewhere else!"

Potter looks terrified and ready to run for the hills, but I squeeze his hand tighter and turn on the Malfoy charm. "Please, Severus? If you let us, I'll buy you a whole carton of those mint cigarettes you like so much..."

His eyes widen a bit. Now, understand, Severus isn't hurting for money, but he doesn't trust banks or goblins, so he won't keep his money at Gringott's. During the school year, he doesn't have time to get home very often, so he brings all the money he needs for the term with him. It's too close to Christmas, he can't afford to spend much, and he has an affinity for mint-flavored cigarettes made by Muggles that are rather pricey.

Never let it be said that I don't know how to play people's weaknesses.

"Two cartons," he answers after a moment.

Oh, he's good. "A carton a week for two nights a week," I answer.

"Deal." He takes a moment to pull on his cloak, and he gives us a disdainful look. "You have half an hour. Stay out of my bed, and clean up any messes you make." With that, he was gone.

I look at Potter, who in turn, looks dumbstruck.

"Professor Snape is a smoker, too?!?"

You don't know the half of it, Potter.

Now by this time, I know we're finally going to do it, and we're feet away from the bed, and what does Potter do? He starts looking around. "Wow, I never pictured his room to look like this...this is cool."

Yeah, yeah. No time for small talk, Potter. Let's go. I start walking him toward the bed, and he freezes. "We can't! He said not in his bed!"

Bloody hell. I look around for something, anything to put down on the floor, but there isn't so much as a blanket to spare. "We'll clean up, Potter. He'll never know."

He looks uncertain, and once again, I dig into the bag of tricks, and drop my voice to a light purr. "I don't have long with you. Let's not waste it worrying about getting Severus' panties in a wad."

Potter makes a face. "Don't bring up his underwear when you're trying to shag me."

I laugh, and with a gentle push, he's on his back on Severus' king size bed. I lower myself down against him, and he smiles up at me with a look that made me realize that all the waiting had been worth it.

What happened between us that night is something that I will never forget. I can replay every kiss, every touch, every moan and groan in my head as though it just happened. I can remember the smell of Potter's skin, the way he looked in the flickering firelight, and how he almost cried when the moment came that left us both shaking and exhausted, so much so that we barely pulled ourselves from the bed in time to get out of there before Severus came back. But those things are private, and I won't turn them into the stuff of trashy Muggle romance novels by trying to describe them. I don't think I have the words anyway. It was that good, that memorable, and I knew in that moment that he was looking up at me--his eyes foggy, his skin flushed, his chest heaving and slicked with my sweat and his--that we had moved beyond the level of boyhood crush. I was fairly sure he was smitten with me.

And I was smitten right back.

Clothes askew, hair a mess, and twin looks of giddy excitement on our faces, we walked up the hall, my arm around his waist, passing Severus as h came back down the stairs. He narrowed his eyes at us, but said nothing, sweeping past us in a flurry of robes and left over cigarette smoke. Harry suppressed a giggle, pressing his face against my chest as we hit the stairs, and Severus' voice carried clearly, echoing off the stone walls.

"DAMMIT, DRACO! I TOLD YOU NOT IN MY BED!!"

Oops. Sorry, Severus.