Draco
I lean against the door in this corridor where I have no business being, ready to interrupt a class that isn't mine in pursuit of a fantasy I should never have entertained. I press my head to the grainy wood and count the reasons why this plan will fail, categorically berating myself for the days I've wasted watching him and the nights I've spent wanting him, for analyzing his every gesture while ignoring his almost aggressive indifference to me. I force myself to feel the stabs of guilt in my gut for wanting something more than what I already have, more than what I asked for, in the hope that I'll finally convince myself to walk away and then, I reach for the doorknob.
His head pops up the moment I step foot into the classroom, his eyes fixed on me, killing my reservations with his avada kedavra stare. My breath catches and my eyes hungrily dart over every visible inch of him. I note with a measure of satisfaction that he still hasn't gone to see Madame Pomfrey. The marks I put on him days ago—the split lip and black eyes, the finger-sized stripes down the sides of his neck, the bruise on his jaw—look as fresh as if our encounter had been last night.
Resisting the smile playing at the corner of my mouth, I cross the amphitheater-style lecture hall to Flitwick's desk and present the best of twenty-two attempts at forgery to the little man. He takes the missive, reads it, and frowns.
"Harry Potter is in the middle of an examination," he says in his chirpy little voice. "Professor Snape will have to wait until Harry has finished."
My brow furrows at the unexpected obstacle. "Please sir," I say, quickly adopting a suppliant tone. "Professor Snape said it was urgent. He instructed me not to leave without Potter."
"I'm sorry, Malfoy, but until Potter finishes his exam, he will remain—"
"I'm finished," says a calm, quiet voice.
I turn and see Potter standing with his exam scroll already rolled up in his hand. He sidles across his row to the steps and descends to join us.
"But…are you sure, Harry?" Flitwick asks with open apprehension as Potter hands him the tube of parchment. "There is still over half the class period left. Whatever marks you receive on this exam will count towards your—"
"I'm sure I've done all I can."
There's a strange strangled groan from the back of the room and I suddenly realize what's been missing from this picture—or rather, who. Potter's pet weasel isn't occupying his usual spot at Potter's right hand; he's in the topmost row, in the seat closest to the wall. It could just be Flitwick taking measures against cheating, but the way the Weasel's ears are burning brighter red than if he'd had a pair of rubies sticking out of his head makes me think there may trouble in paradise.
Potter turns to me, giving no indication of having heard his friend's outburst.
"Lead the way, Malfoy," he says. "We mustn't keep the Professor waiting."
He stays a step behind me all the way down the Charms corridor, just out of sight, but still unnervingly close. I fight to keep my pace steady, my breathing even, and my muscles relaxed, but my excitement is threatening to burst forth. My fingers start to dance and I shove my hands into my pockets, praying that projects indifference while I claw at my robes' inner lining. I can hear every one of his breaths hissing in and out of him over my shoulder and I want nothing more than to feel them on me.
All in good time, I assure myself as we round the corner into the ground floor corridor. The gargoyles that guard the staff room entrance loom ahead, half embedded into the walls on either side of the door.
"Back again, are y—" the one on the left starts at my approach in a slow, grinding voice.
"Ingredi," I hiss, causing both winged beasts return to their silent vigil before revealing any more of my secrets.
The door set in relief between them unlocks with a soft click and I let us into paneled room. It's a shock to see sunlight spilling all over the shabby furniture. Until today, my only visits to this place have been cloaked in firelight and shadow. Somehow, in my planning, I'd imagined that this one would be as well, despite the hour. There's a discomfort in me, now, as the unforgiving light of day starkly illuminates my intentions and, while they aren't half so depraved as the things I've been made to do in here, I can't help but feel like I'm committing a crime.
I press on, not checking to see if Potter has followed me in as I navigate the maze of armchairs and end tables, not stopping until I reach the far wall. With nowhere left to go, I brace myself for his approach.
"Well? Where is he?" Potter asks with an ingenuousness that rattles me.
"Who?" I ask, turning around to find him still standing by the door.
"Snape," he says. He sounds annoyed. "He's not here."
I frown. "I don't know," I answer. "I mean…er…he stepped out. He didn't tell me where he was going."
"So, you knew he wasn't going to be here?"
"I—yes."
"Then, why did you bring me here? Why not just bring me to wherever he is?"
"I don't—"
He scoffs. "That's just like Snape. Pulling me out of class in the middle of an exam for nothing. Slimy git. He's probably watching from his office, creep that he is, having a nice big laugh."
"N-No—" I try to interject, the awkwardness of this conversation almost too painful to bear.
"Hang on. Did you plan this together?"
"What? No!"
"Professor Snape and his favorite pupil, plotting a bit of fun at Potter's expense?"
"That's ridiculous!" I shout at him, my frustration peaking at his accusation. "You're mad!"
"I bet you're loving this, aren't you? You and that oversized bat."
"Well, I'm not exactly forcing you to stay! Why don't you just go, then? Go back to your bloody lesson!"
"Fine! I will!"
"Fine!"
I turn to face the wall and slam my fist into the tabletop in frustration. Could I have been wrong about…everything? Could what happened between us really have just been a drunken mistake that he has no interest in repeating?
I hear the door creak once as it swings open and again as it swings back, slamming shut with crushing finality. My eyes widen in disbelief and, without thinking, I wheel around.
"Wait!" I call to the empty room, ready to run, to chase him down and drag him back if I have to, but, to my surprise, the room isn't empty. He's still here, standing with his back against the door, his arms crossed over his chest and a self-satisfied smirk slapped across his stupid face.
"Gotcha," he says with an infuriating waggle of his eyebrows and I feel the delicate hold I have on my emotions unravel as the desire to wrap my fingers around his throat again overwhelms me. "You mustn't be so sensitive, Malfoy."
"Bastard!" I snarl, stalking toward him. He comes at me and we collide in the center of the room, my hands grabbing fistfuls of his robes while he loops an arm around my neck. He pulls me down and crushes my lips against his. Our teeth clatter as our lips struggle against each other. I feel his tongue run across my bottom lip and my jaw drops, without hesitation, to lure him in, eager to taste his mint and ash flavor. We groan as our tongues twist and wrestle in the space between our mouths.
It's only when my back runs against something hard that I realize we've been moving, retracing my steps back to the far side of the room. He pushes me into the narrow side table with enough force rock it back into the wall. Something tumbles off the surface and a moment later, the shrill ring of ceramic shattering against stone fills the air. His free hand moves down to cup my groin. My body reacts instantly.
"Merlin's—fuck!" I gasp as he strokes my cock through the layers of my uniform. I reach back to grasp the table for leverage and roll my hips forward, straining against my trousers to feel the fullness of his touch. It's as good as I remember—better, even, now that I'm sober. These were the sensations that have haunted me for days, that had both thrilled and terrified me, that I had sought after and run from before I found satisfaction. I don't want to run this time.
He pulls his lips away and speaks in a breathless whisper.
"Let me fuck you," he says. "Let me make you come properly."
It's not a command, but a request. Words fail me, but I summon the wherewithal to offer a nod in response. He kisses me again and we tear into each other's clothing, unbuttoning and unzipping, shedding layer after layer until we're both as naked as we need to be. A condom materializes from somewhere among the discarded garments and he takes a moment to roll it on. Then, with a hungry growl, he hoists my bare legs to his waist.
The sound that escapes me as he pushes himself into my body is one that I've never uttered in my life, a long, quavering moan of shock and unparalleled delight. He moves his hips forward and back, in and out, in slow, exploratory thrusts that have me quivering around his cock and keening like it's my first time. It should have felt like this, I think as wave upon wave of intoxicating pleasure ripple endlessly through my body. I wish it had felt like this.
Memories come loose like sand shifting in the wind and I drift back to that grimy little kitchen in the darkest corner of the country. Mother's rushed off to Father's rescue and left me here, in my godfather's care, with a complicated mess of emotions roiling underneath my false bravado. I hurl insults at him, desperate for him to see my pain and reach out to comfort me, for him to prove that he feels for me what I've felt for him all my life, but he barely acknowledges me. When he refuses to even look at me in the morning, I get angry and smash my plate of food on the floor. That's when everything goes wrong.
But it doesn't. No, this time, he turns around and finally sees me, and, full of understanding, pulls me into his embrace. He kisses me, touches me, undresses me in just the way I've always wanted him to, and when he fucks me, right there on the table, he's so gentle, so loving that there's no pain at all.
"Don't stop," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut to hold onto the image, but Potter's cock brushes against something new and tender inside me and I lose all thought as my body swells into a new level of pleasurable sensation. I release my hold of the table and tie my limbs around his body, clutching him so tightly I can scarcely breath in attempt to keep him in that wonderful spot. He manages to shift his angle anyway, pinning my shoulders and upper back to the wall, and his next stroke strikes deeply and directly.
My mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood as bite my tongue to keep the scream at bay. The exploration is over; he's found what he's been looking for. He raises a knee to the tabletop and swings his hips freely, now, smacking his flesh against mine in a steady rhythm, pounding an endless stream of ecstatic surges into me. One of his hands slides in between our bodies and, this time, I can't stop myself from crying out at his touch.
"Oh, fuck… Oh, yes…" I hiss as his fingers run over my shaft with impossible dexterity.
I feel the initial stirrings of my climax coiling in my abdomen and chase after it, flexing every muscle, greedily bucking against his movements for little tastes of the ecstasy dangling just beyond reach. He brings me to the brink and keeps me there for what feels like an age—an eternity—before we reach the moment of perfect synchrony and I experience a release so complete that it shatters my being. I surrender to it wholly, gasping and shuddering, screaming and scrabbling, as pleasure erupts from my core and I die a thousand exquisite deaths.
When the frenzy subsides, I'm left breathless and pulsing like an exposed nerve ending, suddenly sensitive to world around me. The sun stings my eyes and my muscles ache, my throat burns and the hard wooden edge of the table bites at my lower back. But Potter's body is still pressed against mine, still warm and moist with sweat and stickiness where we're skin-to-skin, and for one moment, the only thought in my head is how happy I am.
Reality returns with the tolling of the lunch bell and the realization that teachers will be filing into this room in a matter of minutes.
"Shit," I mutter, pushing Potter away from me and lifting myself down from the tabletop. My legs give at once and I nearly topple over, but he catches me by the arm, holding me up until I regain my balance. When the ground feels firm under my feet again, I wrench my arm from his grasp. "I'm fine."
As we set to righting our uniforms in silence, footsteps rumble on the other side of the door. I pull my trousers up from my ankle and stick my foot into the empty leg, dancing a bit to get my shoe through the tube of fabric without getting caught. My tingly fingers fumble over the fastenings, but it's nothing I can't handle with a little concentration. At least, it would be, if Potter would stop that damned chuckling.
"Something funny, Potter?" I ask with undisguised irritation as I tighten my belt around my waist.
"Yes," he answers bluntly. "This. Us."
I scoff. "There is no 'us'," I say. "And don't expect this to ever happen again. It was all just…a mistake."
He snorts. "Do you really expect me to believe that? You skived off Transfiguration and barged into my Charms lesson with a forged note and a fake story 'by mistake'? Come on, Malfoy. We both knew what you wanted the moment you walked into Flitwick's classroom, and I wasn't exactly unhappy to give it to you."
A sudden flush of embarrassment burns my cheeks.
"Well—I—It doesn't matter," I stammer, as my desire to get out of this room increases tenfold for reasons that have nothing to do with the imminent threat of being discovered in an off-limits area. "Like I said. Never again."
I give the rest of the buttons on my shirt up as a bad job and decide to simply hold my robes closed. If I'm quick, I can make it back to my dormitory before anyone notices my disheveled appearance. I'm on the other side of the room, reaching for the doorknob when I hear his voice again.
"Malfoy," he calls, and I freeze with my hand in midair.
"What?" I answer without looking back.
I count four breaths before he speaks.
"I don't sleep much, at night."
"What the hell do I care about your sleeping habits, Potter? I'm not your nursemaid."
"Well, if you ever want to make a 'mistake' in the nighttime," he says as casually as if he were commenting on the weather, "check the Astronomy Tower first."
Without a word, I pull the door open and pelt myself into the current of students flowing toward the Great Hall, secretly grateful that he couldn't see the smile fighting for purchase over my lips.
AN: I know. It's short, especially when compared to the last one, but I plan to split that one into two chapters because it really is far too long. These chapters are meant to be puzzle pieces that hopefully *fingers crossed* fit together to make a pretty picture. As always, please leave your thoughts in comments/reviews! -Mimi