There was just something about the boy stretched pale and taut over deep red bed coverings, hands raised above his head, wrists tied tightly to the headboard. Seven years, they'd watched one another. Seven years, they'd fought.

Seven years was a very long time to place so much misunderstood passion in fighting, and apparently the gorgeous Slytherin wasn't quite past it yet.

He'd cursed and struggled and fought, but no matter how he'd pulled at the ropes twined around his wrists, they had neither tightened nor loosened. They had only held fast until he'd worn himself out, and now all he could do was look up through white-blond lashes with defiance in those misty eyes that screamed contempt and disobedience.

Well. There was just no rest for the wicked, was there?

Harry Potter knew a thing or six about Draco Malfoy's sort of resistance. He knew that the naked boy was ninety percent talk, and very little actual deed at all. Indeed, having seen the Slytherin Seeker with his father on more than one occasion and watched the almost tender bending of Draco's will to his father's that the older man received, Harry Potter was very sure of one thing.

It wouldn't take much to bend Draco Malfoy to his own.

"You can scream if you want, Malfoy," he said easily, eyes turned a deep and dusky bottle jade with the sheer amount of lust waxing and waning in his veins with all the power of moontide. "No one will hear you. No one will come. You're at my mercy, aren't you? For once."

"Fuck you, Potter," those pale pink lips spat out, but his eyes widened frantically when Harry came over him, still fully clothed.

"Not just yet, I think, Malfoy. First, I think I want for you to suffer. Just a little," Harry nearly purred. It was a heated murmur of sound, and he felt the shift and flex of the slim Seeker's body beneath his own. He'd been proud to shoot up the summer between fifth and sixth years, and even prouder that Malfoy hadn't gained nearly so much even by the middle of seventh, leaving the blond almost a full four inches shy of his own height.

"Get off of me, you wretched ass!" Draco gasped, slamming his hips up in an effort to dislodge Harry. It did little good; only pressed Potter more deeply into the cradle of them, denim-clad erection rubbing roughly against his own soft organ, crushing him just a little.

"You know, Malfoy, I've thought for years that you could use a good spanking. I'll bet that's your problem," Harry told him seductively. "No one's ever taken you in hand. I can take care of that for you, Draco," he whispered against an ear. "I can make you want it. I can make you beg me for it..."

Just the sound of it, the feel of it, was making the grey-eyed creature beneath him harden. Harry could feel Draco pressing against his jeans, could feel the other boy shudder. "St-stop..." It was weak, at best, a lie at worst, and Harry smiled.

"No," he said huskily, and leaned down to press his lips tenderly to carnation pink mouth. He jerked back a moment later, cursing heatedly.

"Don't do that!" Draco said sharply, tongue lapping out to get the taste of blood from his own skin, the bite having been quite a vicious one, consequences be damned. "Let me go, Potter, or I swear, my *father*..."

"Your *FATHER*," Harry mocked, "won't be able to do anything at all, you brat. He should have beaten you more often at home!" He could see the shiver that worked its way through the Slytherin, and whether it was a tremor of fear or pleasure, he wasn't quite sure. Harry knew what it would be by the time he was finished, however, and he ruthlessly shifted to the side, up-ending Draco so that he was stretched face down over his lap, bottom raised in the air just slightly, belly pressed to Harry's thigh. "And I'm going to rectify that little problem right now."

"Don't...!!!"

The protest sounded almost hysterical, but Harry's hand was already in play, fingers slightly splayed as it came down firmly upon the blond's ass. Draco shrieked, doing his best to squirm off of Harry's legs, but it did him little good. The Gryffindor held him firmly despite all of his serpentine wriggling, and never failed to land a good hard smack against him when he decided it was time for another. After a few moments, he discovered just why Draco seemed so intent on protesting.

He bruised.

It wasn't simple bruising, either; red handprints turned almost immediately to soft lavender, white skin revealing every slap with what was practically glee. The places where he'd landed one blow atop another were purpling a slightly deeper color, and the hiccoughs that were sounding from Draco made him pause, fingers massaging tenderly over the bruising flesh.

He wasn't surprised to feel Draco's cock rubbing against his own thigh; not any more than he was surprised at the little hitched sobs being given as he rubbed the sting out of those spanks. There hadn't been very many of them, but there was going to be a spectacular rainbow of colors across Malfoy's rear end as a result.

"B-bast..."

"Anh..." Harry warned. "You don't want to say that. I'd hate to have to give you more."

It was a terribly effective threat, drawing forth even more sobs from the boy on his lap, right up until the Slytherin felt Harry's lips begin to trace across the bruises. "Wh...!"

"Shhhh," Harry told him, kissing it 'better'. He liked the feel of it, white skin like crushed material beneath his lips, and his hand snuck between them to lightly rub at Draco's sex, teasing him.

"P-Potter..."

"Hush," Harry told him again, pushing him off of his lap and onto his back. From that moment, it was just a matter of getting his clothes off, something that he managed fairly quickly, abandoning them by the side of the bed with a swiftness that revealed exactly how eager he was for more.

"Potter, p.." Draco was obviously struggling even as Harry knelt over him. "*Please*," he spat out. "Untie me."

"No," Harry disagreed, leaning down and tracing kisses over a sharp cheekbone. He didn't try to kiss Draco again -- he wasn't entirely stupid, after all.

"Let me go!" came the demand, and it sounded a little hysterical as Harry's fingers shifted up his arms, across his chest. One hand found the nub of a nipple and pinched, a deep and delicious sort of pressure that added to the pain Draco was feeling. He wanted to deny that it felt good, but it was all he could do not to moan his pleasure aloud.

Luckily for Harry, the rocking of Malfoy's hips said as much, and he laughed, leaning down to bite at the mate to the one he was squeezing. "No," he denied, listening to the little mewls of pleasure that seemed to escape Draco as he writhed against the mattress, tugging at his hands once again. "I don't think so, Malfoy. I'm not done with you yet."

At this rate, Harry decided, he might never be done with him. Every nerve ending he had was on fire, and the way that Malfoy moved against him only inflamed him worse, especially when their erections met, an almost slick glide of flesh that caused them both to groan.

"I'm going to fuck you," Harry panted out. "I'm going to make it feel so good you're going to scream with it and you're going to beg me for more. You're never going to get enough of my cock slamming into your ass, Malfoy. You're always going to want it. I'm going to fuck a space for me inside of you and no one else will ever be able to fill it the way that I can."

The words seemed to seep into the core of the other boy, and Harry could see him weakening before them. It was easy, so easy, to make Draco bend to him... if only he'd known years ago that it would be so very simple...

"No..." It was a whimper, a protest, but it wasn't a real refusal; there was no heat in it, it was only a word given because it was expected. He could see those grey eyes gleaming, wet, pupils dilated with the pleasure that he was giving Draco, and Harry couldn't help the smirk that worked its way over his lips. "P-please..."

The way that word tripped out made Harry want to kiss him again, and he did, ignoring his better sense. This time, Draco let him, whining softly into Harry's mouth as the other boy ravaged his lips, tongue stealing away his breath, Draco's entire body devoted for the moment to giving in to that breathless kiss. It was just what Harry had wanted, and he didn't pull away from it even as he slid a hand around Draco's hip, firmly cupping one bruised globe and gently tugging at it, massaging it, dragging loose a strangled groan.

"I'm going to fuck you, now," Harry whispered when they finally parted, his own lust-darkened jade gaze boring down into grey eyes gone nearly blue with lust and submission. "It's going to hurt, a little, but you'll like it, and you're going to want it so much that you'll come back to me every night for it. Close your eyes."

Blond lashes came down, trembling violently, and Harry kissed each lid tenderly, fingers sneaking beneath the pillow for the phial of oil he'd left there earlier. A quick motion and he was drenched in it, sliding between the other boy's legs, and he didn't wait to loosen him or ready him. Instead, Harry shifted him, pulling Draco's legs up to rest wide open before he nestled against the tight entrance hidden beneath the heavy weight of balls covered in crisp dirty blond curls, and then he pushed inside with a strong, slow thrust. The sound of Draco's yell in his ear felt good to him, the clench that snapped tight around him felt even better, and he shuddered.

Harry could hear Draco's sobs, feel the struggle to be let out from beneath him, but he didn't shift. He didn't move, once he was seated inside, only lay there, flexing his cock deep within that snug vice, and slowly licked away the tears that were spilling loose down fair cheeks. It was obvious that it hurt, obvious that the other boy wanted him to pull out from the hitched little breaths that were sounding wildly beneath him, but he couldn't. "There," he whispered. "There. It will get better."

"Stop," Draco sobbed, trembling madly from head to toes. The word itself wasn't quite the same as his actions, legs coming up to wrap tightly around Harry's thighs. "Stop. Stop. Burns..."

"It will get better," Harry promised, and he shifted, just a little. It drew a sound from Draco that wasn't definable as enjoyment or distress, but was something that lay somewhere between both of them, and he kissed him again, stealing the little lamentations from his lips tenderly.

"Please. *Please*..." Please stop. Please go on. Harry couldn't tell which, and truth be known, he was much too far gone to care whether it was one or the other. He pulled out almost completely before slamming home again, drawing a thin sound from Draco but also gaining a sparse pulse of ecstatic juice that dripped from the head of the blond's cock, dribbled onto his belly.

"Going to fuck you so hard," Harry promised in a harsh whisper. "You'll feel it tomorrow, and the day after, I swear..." Each word was punctuated with a firm slam of his hips, bony points pressing against the bruises marking the Slytherin's ass, making them worse, but the boy beneath him didn't seem to care. How could Draco care when every push made a home for itself deep inside of him, drew things from him he'd never felt before, made him shake his head wildly from side to side and wail as if it was the only sound he could make? He couldn't, he couldn't, and the addition of Harry's hand clasping his marble hard prick and stroking drove him even closer to the edge.

"Pl...!!" The word broke off in a low-pitched cry of pleasure, sobs fighting their way up from his belly. More of that creamy wetness spilled, staining Draco's stomach as he seized tight around Potter, coming despite himself. It was almost enough to induce the same from Harry, but he held on, suffering through the cramping constrictions before beginning to thrust again. "Harry..." It was his name, whined softly.

So much for Potter.

"You're going to come for me again before I'm done," Harry growled, kissing him so deeply that he knew Draco's lips would be bruised. His fingers were still on Draco's pulsing flesh, wrapped around the shaft of it, and he could feel the blond rising again.

"It hurts..." Draco moaned, shuddering as he hardened.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, tongue tracing over thin upper lip. "Yeah, it hurts. But it feels so good, too, doesn't it, Malfoy?" He knew words were as seductive as flesh, and he used that knowledge to the best of his ability. "My cock in you, pounding you. You like me being part of you, don't you? Like coming for me. I'm going to fill you up. You're going to be so sore and so tired and you're going to come back to me tomorrow and beg me to fuck you again, and d'you know what? I'm going to do it," he whispered, driving hard into the other boy, panting. "I'm going to make you scream my name. I'm going to make you come like no one else ever will, Malfoy. *Draco*." It was said with devastating ease, and he felt the blond clench around him once more, yelling out his pleasure, sobbing frantically as he came again. That was just what he had wanted, just perfect, and he quickened his own motions, lifting Malfoy clear off of the bed to shove into him until finally, finally, he couldn't hold out any longer and he came, spilling deep, heated pulses of thick liquid deep inside of the slender boy.

They lay together, sticky with semen and sweat, Harry slowly softening, coming out of the lovely young man beneath him. It felt so good to be there, even soft, and he moaned when he finally shifted, falling loose despite himself. The motion drew a sound from Draco, unmistakably a sob, and Harry gathered him closer, reaching for the ropes that still bound his wrists.

"I hate you," Malfoy lied on a moan as his arms came down, wrapping tightly about Harry's shoulders.

"I know," Harry agreed. "But you'll come to me again tomorrow," he whispered in Draco's ear. "And I'll give you what you want. Until then..." He kissed those closed eyelids again; he liked doing that. "Rest."

Rest... That seemed like a good idea, and Draco couldn't deny that his eyes were so heavy...

Harry laughed softly once the other boy had drifted off into sleep, still brushing kisses over that pale sweaty face. /Well,/ he decided, /that wasn't so hard. And it's bound to get easier as time goes on. Maybe things won't be so bad, after all.../

Deciding that, Harry Potter closed his own eyes with a vaguely triumphant smile. Perhaps, just perhaps, there might be rest for the wicked after all.

"Do you like what you see, Professor?"

The intricacies of rope were brilliant, really, wound one around another, holding easily the almost awkward position of that pale body. Malfoy's ass was in the air, his shoulders pressed to the mattress, and there was no questioning the reason for his being there. Not with the strip of red silk over his eyes, the matching gag that kept him from doing more than whimpering in what was conceivably fear, possibly arousal.

"He bruises like a dream, Snape," came the whisper at his ear. "Cries like a little demon bound to a god."

Needless to say, it wasn't exactly what Severus had expected to find in the seventh year Slytherin dorms when he'd gone to check them. Draco was the only seventh year boy staying for the Christmas holiday. He'd expected the divine incubus to be well and truly somnolent, face sleep-flushed, lips slightly parted -- a beauty, one he'd appreciated for some time, one he'd planned to seduce once school was finished. He hadn't expected the green-eyed fiend who stood smirking so close by, leaning against a bedpost now while the blond trembled wildly, bound open to view and touch.

"Potter. I never would have taken you for the sort," he ground out, black eyes snapping. The question now wasn't so much, 'What is Potter doing?'. It had become instead, 'Does Draco *like* it?'

"Most wouldn't," he agreed, tracing a hand over the pale line of Malfoy's body, teasing at him, pinching roughly at a hip. It drew a groan from the Slytherin, Draco shifting away from that touch, the spot already purpling into a bruise. It matched several others that traced the pallor of his skin, and Severus's eyes narrowed as he looked at Harry.

"I should report you for this, Potter. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." Aside from the fact that the sight of it was bringing blood and heat to his own flesh, it also seemed to be cutting off his sense of the appropriate.

"We had a discussion, Professor," Harry drawled. "A little talk. Did you know how badly he wants you?" The words drew a faint, muffled groan from Draco, the bound boy squirming needily upon the bed. "Wants you in him? Wants you to make him scream? You did know that, didn't you." There was no question in his voice, and the gleaming green *knew*, had the kind of knowledge that his father's blue eyes had retained the night Severus had nearly died at Lupin's hands. It was unsettling. It made him uncomfortable and just a bit pissy.

"And what business is that of yours, Potter? What makes you think I won't take every point Gryffindor has away from your House and get you tossed out of Hogwarts besides?" Severus snapped.

Harry moved forward again, a hand placed to one sharp cheekbone as he leaned up, whispered against dirty hair, "Because I'm the only one who can give him to you, Snape. I'm the one who knows how he wants it."

Well.

That was certainly one very good reason, Severus thought, scowling and looking back at the bed. /Beautiful./ Beautiful like Lucius had been. Compliant where Lucius never was. Just what he'd always wanted.... "Fuck," he whispered angrily, though whether it was anger with himself, Draco, Potter or Lucius, he couldn't say.

"Exactly."

Hands were working at his robes, at the many small buttons from throat to waist, Seeker's fingers that seemed to magically know just where to go. They slid past cloth, tugged at the closures to his shirt and pants, baring waxen skin to the damp dungeon air.

"That's... EXACTLY... what we want."

We.

Not he.

"Potter..." And that sound was hard, almost growled. "If you dare to ever mention this to anyone in any way, shape or fashion..."

"I'm sure I'll regret it," Harry said, a little smile parting his lips, and for a moment he was back to being that almost-innocent boy in Severus's potions class, a young man who had never been *allowed* to be just a boy, who'd always been expected to be the savior of their entire world. The urge to kiss him was almost irresistible. Luckily for Severus, Harry didn't resist it. His lips were warm, silken, and they *bit*, nipped with sharp suction as opposed to teeth. Snape could only imagine what that would feel like pressed lower, and it made him harden further despite his attempt at control. "Come on."

It was an invitation that couldn't be denied, especially when Harry drew his hand to that lovely, fair skin, marred by rope and the faint bruises those cords were breeding on it. Skin, silken, soft, then the less pleasant feel of textured rope followed by skin again, and Malfoy was moaning softly against the red gag until Severus's fingers reached out, plucked the knots of it loose and allowed his sounds to hit the air.

"P-please..."

Please. It wasn't exactly a word he'd ever considered as being one a Malfoy would know, Severus supposed. Words like 'now', 'immediately', and 'posthaste' had always been the sort of language Lucius used.

"Please what?" Potter's voice was lightly mocking, and his fingers were busy, granting another bruise that drew a strangled whine from Draco's throat.

/Slut,/ Severus thought with a strange, rippling pleasure, dexterous fingers sliding around Draco's waist, over his belly and the feel of those ropes, seeking out hard flesh. He found it, and even that seemed to be crossed with little bindings, drawing a startled cry, a hiccoughed sound that seemed infinitely delightful, the sound of it as succulent as white flesh.

"Please, I'm so, I'm so..." The words trailed off into heated breaths, the wild toss of that blond head, forehead still pressed into the covers.

"Tell me what you want, Draco, or you won't get it," Harry said, and his voice was hard, filled with a firmness Severus had only heard from him a handful of times.

It made a sort of sense to him, in the end. Darkness was something irrepressible, something you gained when you were the kind of person Potter was, the kind of person he himself had become, and there was something about it... something that wouldn't stand for it not to be let out. Understanding sparked for a moment in those black eyes, and his fingers clasped tightly around Malfoy's bound hardness, drawing a yelp that was half pain and half a purely infinite amount of pleasure.

"Tell me what you want or you want get it," Harry said again, fingers working into platinum locks and pulling Draco's head up from the duvet. It had to be infinitely uncomfortable, Severus knew, but he smiled all the same.

"Fucking," Draco whined, trying to fight his way free. "I... I want... *fucking*."

"Sweet..." Harry whispered, tugging at Severus, now. The fingers of his second hand were wound up in greasy black strands, and for a moment, Snape almost pulled away, hit him, but then his mouth had been brought to touch Malfoy's and they were kissing and it was *wild*. It was nothing like kissing Lucius had ever been. Instead, it was hot and sweet and needy, and Draco gave in to his need to control it, to be the one who held power over it. Unlike Potter's tendencies, Draco's willingness to give over to someone more commanding didn't trouble him with a need to think about it. He knew Lucius, after all. That was all it took.

The introduction of heated flesh between them took Severus by surprise. It didn't seem to affect Draco at all, the boy's tongue lapping out to press against Harry's erection during the moment that Severus stalled. A hard-eyed glance darted upward, but Snape gave in all the same, for the pleasure of teasing at Draco's mouth around Potter despite the fact that he wasn't really interested... at least not in Harry. Lucius had spoiled him for everything else but milk-pale flesh and colorless locks, and the soft whimpers and general capitulation of the young man so close delved deep into every want, need, fantasy he'd had since Draco's father had left Severus for his slut of a mother.

Revenge? Perhaps. More likely lust. Want.

Need.

Severus coveted the boy. He could admit that at the core of him, knew enough about himself to agree to that, and he pulled away, hands dancing down Draco's back slowly as the boy committed his mouth to sucking Potter off.

"So what is it that he wants, Potter? What is it that only you know?" Snape asked, voice so deliciously sibilant, soft and almost hissing.

A phial came to the dark-haired boy's hand. "Fill him up with it," Harry said, groaning as he shoved deep into Draco's throat. "Get him wet, as much as you can. Then... then I'll tell you," he promised, his fingers wrapped around with silken strands of hair.

/Then I'll tell you./ It was almost a mockery in Severus's mind and he growled, shifting to kneel back between pale legs, shoving them apart as far as they would go, revealing the snaking bindings that led between his thighs. He laughed softly. "Potter?"

"Unh..." It was barely a sound of cognizance, much less a response.

"Are you going to untie him first? It'll be difficult otherwise." Difficult to get in him. Difficult to fuck him. And Severus wanted to make him scream...

"Just get it in him," Harry said sharply, driving deep and dragging a startled *noise* from Draco.

/Get it in him, as much as you can.../ Well, Severus could take care of that, he thought, saliva wet fingers delving, finding delicate hole and parting it with tenderness. He could feel the quiver of muscle, the trembling beneath his hands, and he almost purred as he placed the lip of the little glass between his fingers before pulling them out, leaving the tube placed so carefully in the slim blond. He could feel the violent trembling under his hand as he tipped it upward, Draco's hips shifting obediently beneath his fingers, and the slick stuff burbled slowly, thickly out of the phial.

"Stop sucking," Harry ordered, but Draco wouldn't. It took both fists to pull him away, and when his lips came free of Potter's flesh, a sob burst loose with it, Harry's hand flying, leaving a bruise pristine upon his cheek. "What do you do when I tell you to do something, Draco?"

"I d-do it."

"And why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to!" Oh, feisty, that tinge of brattiness perfect, and Severus drew loose the tube and slammed his fingers home after it, drawing out a frantic sound of pleasure and a further tilt of Draco's entire body. "Oh, fuck, *PLEASE*!"

"Do you deserve it?" Harry asked him sternly.

"Yes." The answer was almost sullen.

"Even though you didn't obey?"

A further thrust of Severus's fingers, four of them crammed into that tight, slick heat, and Draco let out a frantic sound. "Please! Please, Harry, *please*, dammit!"

Potter, Severus decided, was definitely some kind of demon. The green-eyed boy laughed, leaned down, kissed suction-bruised lips. "All right. You can have what you want. But you have to *take it*, understand? No whining."

"No whining," Draco agreed breathlessly as Harry reached up, tugged off the red material that had kept his eyes hidden from view. They were dilated, Severus could see from where he was, and damp, lashes clinging together sweetly. It almost made him want to be tender, benign, thumb tracing over one pale ass cheek with care.

Almost.

"Ready to hear what he wants?" Startled black eyes flew to Harry's face. "He's such a slut, Malfoy here. A very good little slut, but a slut nonetheless. Come closer," Harry whispered, and Severus leaned forward, curiosity overwhelming. "You. He wants you. And me. In him. Fucking him. Pinning him down with our cocks. Together."

Just those whispered words seemed to be affecting all of them, for Draco was sobbing, hardened flesh dripping visibly onto the bed below. For his part, Severus was fascinated. He'd done it once before -- just once -- and he'd never, ever forgotten the feel of it. "Get rid of the ropes, Potter," he whispered back. "Trust me on that one." Harry sighed, reached for the bedside, and pulled out his wand. A wave of it, a handful of words, and Draco was loose again, melting into the bed. "Come here, Draco."

With an almost languid grace, the blond slid his way, looking up into dark eyes with a gaze that pleaded, begged, implored. Severus smiled, brushed blond locks back out of the boy's face, kissed him tenderly as he pulled him up onto his knees, brought him to straddle Severus's hips. "And you, too, Potter. Here. Put a leg... yes. Like that."

Harry slid close, one leg shifting under Severus's right leg, Harry's own right leg sliding over his left. "Like that?" he said, curious. It wasn't how he'd thought to do it, but..

"Come closer," Severus directed, tugging at the hips of the Boy Who Lived. They came together closer, closer, Draco trapped between them for the moment, and it was delicious to be that way, three nearly snug enough to meld into one. "I hope you have another phial, Potter."

Wordlessly, the green-eyed boy brought a hand up from somewhere amongst the covers, dancing it idly over Draco's belly. There was a tension in the blond, his entire body seeming stiff with anticipation as Severus took it, spilled it over his erection and Harry's, pressing them tightly together and drawing a groan from the younger man as he stroked the slick liquid over both of their cocks. "Now, then," Severus whispered, "come closer."

Closer. Closer meant down, meant bringing himself down to what was waiting for him, and for a moment, Draco almost balked, almost panicked. Severus's mouth captured his lips, though, stole them, stole *him*, and he moaned and obeyed, bringing himself down to feel the soft heads brushing against him together.

Harry's hands shifted, one supporting him, the other going to hold his own cock and Severus's pressed tightly together. "Good boy," he cooed against the warm skin of Draco's shoulderblade as the potions master's hands shifted, grasping slim hips, pushing him down slowly. "Good boy..."

The words didn't quite make up for the stretching, the *fullness*, the way Draco suddenly felt uncertain about everything, about wanting what he wanted. "I don't know..."

"Shhh," Severus told him, and pressed him down a little harder.

They slid against his entrance, pushed, and he wailed, crying out because he was afraid and because it hurt just a little, and then he *felt* them, felt them pop into him *together*, and Draco gave a yowl, tensing despite himself. "Don't do that," Harry gasped, the hand that had been holding them together shifting to rub at Draco's back.

"I don't know, I don't know!" It was the most Draco could stutter out, and it was true, sharp tears rising. It hurt, it felt good, it felt like too much, and he knew that wasn't even close to having all of them in him, to having everything he had wanted. His cock was *singing*, shrieking at him for more, and the sudden belief that he was going to fly to pieces was so strong that it was all he could do not to scream.

"Shhhh." It was easier to listen to the older man, the quiet sibilance of what he said. "Shhh. Relax, Draco. Relax... Lean forward... Yes, just like that." The boy was against his own thin chest, sobbing for breath, but he *was* loosening, a violent trembling setting up in him even as he lay his head down against Severus's shoulder. It made it easier, then, to slip inside of him, going exquisitely slowly until they were buried as deep as they could go.

"God," Harry gasped out. "I want to move..."

"Don't move," Severus purred, arm reaching out and tugging him close. "Put your arms around us." The words were obeyed, the Gryffindor wrapping himself tightly around the two Slytherins and holding them close.

"I th-think I'm go-oh-oh-ohh..." Draco gasped, giving a wild shudder.

"Shhh." Lips pressed to Draco's almost tenderly, and he moaned against them, rocking between the two men and dragging shudders from them both. He didn't shift up, and neither withdrew so much as an inch, but he *tightened*, and it was almost better than thrusting. "Oh, Merlin," Severus managed to get out shakily.

"Shit..." Harry agreed, reaching for Draco's cock between them.

"Ahh!" The touch was almost enough to send him over the edge when accompanied by the slight rock of motion that pressed hard against him deep inside. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh God. Oh Potter. Oh God. Professor..." The last word was moaned instead of gasped, the feel of it pressed against Severus's throat.

"Rock, Potter. Just... just a little," Severus managed to get out, and they *moved* together, the tiniest shifting movements that made Draco scream after only seconds, made him spasm tightly around them. Wetness splashed against Severus's belly and he moaned, hearing the sound of Harry's voice echoing that sharp sound as Draco cramped snugly around them, constricting in little ripples that very shortly dragged a matching orgasm from Harry, the other boy crying out against Draco's spine.

"Pull out, Potter," Severus said once the boys seemed to be capable of cognizance once again, his own erection still hard, pulsing with need, and he absolutely *had* to do something about it, *soon*.

"I... hang on," Harry muttered, and began untangling himself with a tenderness that belied his earlier activities. Draco moaned with every move that he made, hardening again slowly, and by the time the green-eyed boy had pulled out of him and untangled his legs from Severus's, the blond was firm once more, shivering.

"Please," Draco whimpered, clinging to Severus. "Please, Professor..."

That was all the permission that Severus needed, and he very shortly flung Draco onto his back, pulling out to slam back in with all of his strength.

"Fuck!" It was a yelp, and the slim blond arched, heels digging into the small of Severus's back as Draco wrapped himself tightly around the man. "Please... *PLEASE*!"

"De," Severus panted, "manding... brat." That didn't stop him from the steady, heated motions he'd set up, a wild motion of thrust and withdrawal that shortly brought them both over the edge, slamming into a violent pleasure that seemed to make it impossible to think or breathe or even *be*.

Harry was dressing by the time Severus pulled himself together enough to pull out of Draco, the blond crying out softly at the feel of it. There was no doubt that he'd be sore tomorrow, and from the look on his face, he was very, *very* pleased with himself about it.

"Where are you going, Potter?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Back to Gryffindor Tower," Harry replied, shrugging. "Ron will ask questions if I'm out too late."

"'s just like..." Draco paused, yawning. "You, Potter. Fuck and run."

"Yes, well. You have company, so stop whining."

"Mph."

The urge to ask what all of this was going to *mean* was on the tip of Severus's tongue, but he bit it back, refusing to ask. It wasn't in his nature to humiliate himself by conceivably attaching meaning to anything, even though the way pale limbs were wrapping around him, pulling him close, was an indication. The look on Potter's face wasn't precisely neutral, either, a certain wary resentment growing as he watched them.

"See you later, Malfoy. Snape," Harry said coolly, and then he disappeared.

Severus didn't trust him. That much was more than true, for even though the door opened and closed again, that didn't mean Potter was gone. Still. The bed was soft, the room warm, and Draco was very, *very* delightfully naked against him...

For now, suspicion and questions could wait.

"Oh...."

It was a whisper of sound, delicious to him in its subtleties, in the way that his fingers had brought it about. It seemed that the very pressure of skin to skin was enough to make it delicious, to make it ecstatic, to make him orgasmic.

"Oh..."

Severus kissed lightly behind the pale curved shell of Draco's ear, shoulders pressed to the back of his chair, ass settled on the edge of the seat, and Draco spitted upon the length of him. The professor was fully clothed, still, pants opened only enough to free cock and balls from their restriction, but Malfoy was beautifully, exquisitely naked, just the way he wanted him. "Splendid," he whispered, kissing behind that ear again, a hand stroking slowly down the young man's chest to his belly. Severus could almost imagine that he felt his own hardness through there, laying utter claim to the boy. His boy.

His.

Not Potter's.

The sight of Malfoy earlier had been more than the Potions master could bear when accompanied by the memories of the recently passed holidays -- slender, exquisite fingers delicately slicing ginger root, making careful preparations with distilled wormwood, adding those sparing drops of peppermint extract to the mixture. He'd hid his hardness well at the front of the class, managed to keep his eyes off of his favorite student, granted a particular lack of leniency to the Gryffindors for Longbottom's usual incompetence.

None of this had fooled Potter.

The heavy weight of those green eyes had been on him the entirety of that double session, a verdant declaration of rancor and resentment.

Draco had looked at neither of them during the class period and had only stayed afterwards because Severus had murmured a polite request. That had been the easy part; the professor thought that the next would be much more difficult without Potter present.

He had been wrong.

When his lips met Malfoy's, the boy had melted against him, shivering with the pleasure of his touch. He wanted, it was obvious, needed, *craved* to be touched, and the sheer gentle tenderness with which Snape had removed his robes, the neat school uniform underneath, had left him trembling with excitement. With hunger.

With desire for *Severus*.

It had been so effortless, almost too simple, and the thought that perhaps Malfoy was as much of a slut as his father disturbed Snape slightly still, even past the moment when he had slid his potion-slick flesh into the boy and pulled him tight so that thin shoulders rested upon his own chest.

"Why Potter?" he whispered, rocking upward slightly into Draco's body, drawing forth a mewled little sound of pleasure.

"B-because... ohh. That feels so... so... Oh. Because he m-made me," Malfoy whined, grinding down to take in more of him, to create pressure deep, where he wanted it.

"Made you?" It was certainly a question to be asked, the implication chilling him as his hand slid down to clasp the heavy throbbing flesh that lay so close. The touch drew a startled little sob from the boy on his lap, a shift that made his own cock withdraw slightly before that delicious ass ground down against him again.

"T-tied me. M-made me!" Malfoy declared, sobbing as Severus held him still with an arm that wrapped tight around his waist. "He hurt... mmme, don't stop, please!"

Don't stop. Don't stop. He wouldn't; Severus knew very well that he couldn't as he kissed one high cheekbone, placing both hands carefully to tug and lift, making it easier. Draco's feet, he knew, were just barely on the floor, and the lift of toes helped no small amount as he pushed the boy up and tugged him back down hard into his lap. "What do you want?" Severus murmured, mouth leaving a steady, damp trail down to the pulse visibly racing in Draco's throat. "Tell me what you want."

"Hard," the boy moaned. "Do it, do it, hard, please, need you. Need you. Want you. Worship you. Always, always, *please*..."

How could he resist a request so exquisitely given?

It took a single shift, his hands holding Draco close even as he rose, the boy's torso shifting out over quill and notepad and books, fingers curling delicately over the lapped edge of marble to clench tightly. Severus withdrew and slammed home again, striking deliciously into the depths of him and drawing forth a yelp. Slitted argent gaze looked back at him over the boy's pallid shoulder, pale red lips parted for breath, for sound. It was all Severus could do not to lean down and bite him, bite him roughly until he bruised and cried and begged him to stop. Instead, he pulled out again and set up a steady thrust-push-fuck that tattooed bony hips against that delicious skin, every shove damaging it faintly, turning it from creamy unsullied hide into faintly bruised flesh, and the boy loved it.

He loved it.

There was no doubt, not in the way he lifted back, in the way he cried out, in the way he flung his head from side to side as if to beg. It didn't matter, then, that the ink had spilled, that his wrist would be stained black with it, that his hand had drifted sideways and overturned the small jar of bloodroot so that it tumbled onto the floor. None of that was important. It meant nothing, not in the face of tightening muscles, the sound of Draco's yell, the color that chased across his face as he came, sobbing for breath and quaking beneath Severus's continuing thrusts, six, seven, eight, nine shaky movements of hip and thigh and then he, too, finished explosively.

It wasn't until they were apart, the bloodroot carefully replaced in its jar, the ink soaked up from its spill, Draco's fingers knotting the green and silver tie about his neck, that Severus asked him.

"What is it with you and Potter?"

The question gave away more than he would have liked, stern, bleak, and he thought for a moment that he shouldn't have queried Draco about the matter, should have simply kept it to himself. Those pale red lips curved slightly, though, and he stepped closer for a moment, hands moving to carefully resettle Severus's robes.

"Just sex," he whispered softly, an answer that was delightfully Slytherin, inherently Malfoy. "It's just sex." And then the words that made Severus tug him close and kiss him again. "Not like this."

Not like this.

One more kiss and the Potions master managed to let Draco go, sending him off quietly to shower and eat, to do homework, to study. He was reluctant, at best, but there would be no keeping the boy, not until N.E.W.T.s were finished, until school was out, and then, then conceivably...

Possibly.

"Snape."

It was then that he realized he was not alone.

The fire gleamed green before him, and Draco's eyes did not move from it. He didn't dare remove them with that head poking out of the flames, too close for his comfort.

"It's going well, then."

"Yes, Father."

Father. Father. Lucius. Father of Lies. Would it be too farfetched, he wondered, to think that his father was more ultimately evil than Voldemort? Probably not, Draco decided. After all, Voldemort seemed to have simple, short-term goals. Terrorize, cause pain, kill Muggles and Mudbloods.

Whee.

Not like Lucius, though. No, Draco's father was a man of long vision and many possibilities, a man who had been thwarted once and who would not be thwarted again. He'd been delighted to discover Harry Potter's obsession with the younger Malfoy and his bruise-easy skin. It gave him the opportunity to do whatever he liked, to teach Potter that pain was a pleasure in and of itself, to drag him into the darkness of Lucius's own plans to overtake Voldemort and to replace him.

To replace him with Harry Potter.

Draco didn't particularly care for that thought. Voldemort's tastes for power and violence were very simple to satiate, really. People to torture, to do his bidding, and the conceivable death of one Harry Potter. Facile. Callow. Basic. He knew that Harry's desires would not be so easy to fulfill, and that his father was wrong to think he could control him in the way that he controlled Voldemort.

The younger man wondered how Severus Snape or his father could ever have gotten involved with such a dunce, and why his father had made the man sound like something magnificent for so very long.

"And Snape?"

Ahh, Snape. Snape. Severus.

Severus Snape.

Draco Snape?

It was a silly girls' game to think of such a thing, but if he was going to have his heart denied so that he could please his father and fulfill his purpose, he was going to think about just what he liked. To hell with the rest of it. Father couldn't control his thoughts. He couldn't force him to *love* Harry, or want to be his useless concubine. Draco had never considered himself as being powerful only through sex. He wondered if, perhaps, he should have paid more attention to his mother when she'd talked about such things.

He wondered if she had always known what his father had intended for him.

"He won't cause any problems."

"Good. Make sure that he doesn't."

Ahh, threats. Intimidation worked so well with Draco, didn't it? He almost could have laughed at himself if it hadn't been so bloody fucking maddening. "Yes. Father."

"You have your orders, then," Lucius told him briskly. "Take care that you follow them. I would hate to have to give you into the hands of someone else." Someone else meaning Voldemort.

"Of course, Father. I wouldn't disobey you." He wouldn't dare, actually. He knew he was spineless, that he'd been bred to conform, and it didn't matter. Well, it did, but he wasn't brave enough to contemplate that sort of rebellion.

Draco hated that about himself.

"See that you don't," Lucius said shortly, and the fire returned to its normal color, leaving Draco alone.

/I wonder what they're doing right now,/ he thought to himself, lifting his teacup and sipping from it quietly, thoughtfully. Well. Whatever they were doing, they were both certainly nowhere near one another, he decided, not after the afternoon's Potions class.

Thank Merlin.

"Potter." Severus's voice was hard as he looked at the young man standing before him, invisibility cloak a whorl of material at his feet. There was a hard look of what might have been hurt or fury or worse on his face, and for a moment, it was almost enough to soften Severus's hatred of him.

Almost.

"I want you to leave him alone," Harry said sharply, chin notching upward arrogantly, jaw set. "I don't want you touching him anymore."

"It seems to me, Potter, that it's really little to none of your business if I touch him or not. He obviously finds more pleasure here than he does in your embrace," Snape sneered, leaning back against his work table and crossing his arms over his chest. "It's obvious that he's only reluctantly your lover, and I doubt you understand precisely what you've gotten yourself into."

"I understand more than you think I do," Harry replied, stepping close to him, a high flush chasing up his cheekbones.

"Really? Just what *do* you understand, then, Potter?" Severus nearly purred, standing up straight. The Gryffindor had grown over the last few years, and he stood almost nose to nose with Severus.

"I understand that right now, he's very likely reporting to his father. What he does with you. What he does with me. Who might be a threat to him -- to either of them. I understand that this is some bizarre game, and that Lucius Malfoy thinks he can control me with sex. Perhaps he believes that he can control you with the same?" Harry snapped out angrily.

A harsh laugh burst from the Potions master's lips. "He *knows* he can control me with the same, Potter," he sneered, shaking his head so that sweat-damp strands of black hair clung to his cheek, making Harry's nose wrinkle as he looked at him. "He's known that since I was twelve. And he undoubtedly has no interest in using Draco to control me, as he likely still believes that it's older, less succulent flesh which holds my... attention."

"Ew."

"That would not be too much of an understatement, Potter. Indeed. What's that phrase? Ah, yes. The younger the better." Elixir-stained fingers reached up, lightly grasped his chin, stroking the firm line of his jaw back to his ear and from there down to his collarbone, lightly skirting over the red and gold tie that marred the clean white of his shirt. "No, Potter. Your statement, while inelegant, is perhaps far removed from the actuality of things. Do you not believe that Draco will be as beautifully pallid when you grow older? Ten years? Twenty? Do you think you'll still want to touch him and worship him? Or is this just your way of playing with Lucius Malfoy's game piece?"

"And if it is?" There was a coolness in that voice that belied the burning fury held in lush eyes, black lashes narrowed to shield them from Severus's own onyx gaze.

"You don't want to ask that question, Potter. Truly, you don't. You might not be man enough to take Draco away from his father and to force him to do your own will in any manner other than these sordid sexual activities which seem to best please you, but let me assure you that I am."

With an audible growl, Harry jerked away, trembling with fury. "He's mine," he reiterated, standing stiffly away from Snape as the black-haired man leaned back against the desk once again. "And if I find out you've touched him again without my permission, don't doubt that I will make life *very*, *very* unpleasant for both of you."

"Threats, Potter, are the province of madmen and children," Severus said coolly as he watched Harry gather his invisibility cloak and stomp towards the door.

The Boy Who Lived paused and looked back at him. "That's not a threat, Snape," he said finally, softly. "It's a promise."

The door shut behind him with the softest of snicks.

"When were you going to tell me about your father?"

It was darkly spoken, the words spilling into the dusk of the room, Harry's for once. Indeed, it seemed as if that sentence was going to suffocate Draco for a moment before those hazy grey eyes opened slowly, cold upon Harry's green ones.

"I don't know," Draco admitted, voice thick with sarcasm. "Perhaps when you gave me a choice about fucking you, Potter. How about then?"

"Don't give me that," Harry snapped out, though he felt admittedly ashamed for a moment. He'd snatched Draco out of the hallway on his way to dinner and dragged him up to Gryffindor Tower and used him until he'd muffled screams in Harry's pillow, coming copiously onto the sheets below them. "You have a choice!"

"Do I?" That cool answer made Harry grimace, and for just a moment, Draco felt distinctly superior to him. "If I have a choice, then why are handcuffs required?" He jingled the steel that lay against his wrists, the delicate flesh turned purple with the force that Harry's body had applied to his own, causing him to pull at them.

"Because you like it," Harry said, though for a moment, the answer itself seemed insecure.

"Do I?" Oh, that answer again, and Draco knew that it was making Harry furious. "Potter, you assaulted me in my *own* dorm room. Did you not think that there might be surveillance charms cast on the place?"

"Sur...veillance charms? But I thought nothing could get through Hogwarts'...." Ah, but he knew better, didn't he? After all, Voldemort himself had gotten through during Harry's first year. "So you're saying your father's been listening to us fuck."

"Yes," Draco answered him flatly, eyes closed again. "He's furious that you brought Severus into the matter."

"I'm furious that I brought Severus into the matter, too," Harry agreed, scowling. He was getting hard again, the vague helplessness of Draco spread out beneath him inevitably arousing. "I'd like to kill him."

"And that's why Father wants to replace Voldemort with you," Draco told him, eyes opening limpidly and with such sheer serenity that Harry wanted to hit him. He did, and watched with a strange, detached sort of horror as Draco's cheek turned purple in prompt retribution, the other boy's lips trembling with the force of that blow. "What? The truth to much for you, Potter? Does it hurt you to know how much you are like *him*, and how much more malleable Father thinks you would be?"

"Shut up," Harry hissed, pushing into him roughly. There was something so exciting about Draco when he was defiant, sarcastic, cruel, and the remnants of come and lubricant made it an easy enough slide deep into that dark, velvety hole. He heard Draco's soft hitch of breath, the obvious pain in it, but he didn't care. "Shut up, shut up!"

The fact that fucking had replaced wizards' duels, physical fighting, words, momentarily overwhelmed them both, Draco's legs coming up tightly around his legs to try and still the ragged motions of Harry's hips, glistening tears welling up and spilling over as he hissed with anguish. "Stop!" The sound of it broke at the center, just as he was tempted to do, and he didn't notice when Harry *did* stop, stilled and looked down at him in horror.

Bruises covered that pale, exquisite skin. They traced from the bites on his throat to the fingerprints that crossed chest and ribs to a large greenish-yellow fading mark that gave life to Harry's handprint on his hip. "Oh, God..." It was a whisper, one that ached, one that was suddenly filled with the realization of why Lucius would think him capable of replacing Voldemort. Draco didn't look like the pale beauty Harry had wanted so badly, not in the shadows of red bed hangings, the lingering ghost of light flickering in from outside them. Now, there was the brilliant violet mark of his hand darkening steadily to purple on one high cheekbone, lower lip split, wrists surely aching beneath the weight of the steel encasing them. "Oh, God...."

"Don't hurt me anymore tonight. Don't." It was a barely heard breath, almost unconsciously spoken, despairing as if Draco wasn't expecting it to be heard.

Harry wondered suddenly if he'd spoken them before, and Harry just hadn't heard them. "Oh, God..."

A wave of his wand released the steel and Harry brought his hands up so that his thumbs caressed ever so benevolently over the almost broken skin, tugging Draco's arms down to rest against the mattress, fingers holding them tenderly still. "Relax," Harry told him, leaning to kiss him with a sudden wash of tenderness that made Draco skittish, only making him tense all the more. Harry couldn't help the groan that shuddered from his throat in reaction, the tightening of Draco's body almost unbearably exciting. "If you don't relax, I'm going to fuck you anyway," he warned on a gasp, shuddering as that brought another cramp of muscle tightly around him.

Damp white lashes lifted, the sugar-frosted appearance of those damp grey eyes enchanting. "It's not like you gave me any time to... unh. To prepare for it," he protested in a whine, shuddering. "It's not like you ever do!"

The complaint gained him a steady pressure, Harry's hips pressing hard between his thighs. "You've heard the term 'suck it up'?"

"Only when you're shoving your cock down my throat," Draco replied dryly and then cried out as Harry pulled out of him and thrust back inside.

"Draco," he whispered, leaning down and pressing his mouth lightly to Draco's, tongue caressing over the bloody gap his slap had broken open, "shut up and enjoy yourself. You'll like this so much more if you'll just let go."

As if he could let go. As if he could relax when he was still sore from before, when his father would give him to Voldemort the very second that he realized Harry wasn't going to do what Lucius *wanted* him to do. It was quite enough to make a boy lose his hardon. "Just do it, Potter. I'd appreciate you getting it over with so much more, just at this particular moment."

It was almost a shock when Harry pulled out of him entirely, dropping onto the mattress beside him, the grasp on his wrists loosening. It made Draco apprehensive, paranoia singing in his blood. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Stopping," Harry told him, face marred by a frown. His hand lay upon Draco's belly, caressing slowly back and forth over it. "For the moment."

"Oh." Well. That made absolutely no sense. "So you only want to rape me when I'm getting off on it, then."

That word made Harry grimace. "I don't want to *rape* you at all. You've always come. Why didn't you say that you didn't like it."

"Why didn't you fuck me somewhere my father wasn't listening?" Draco replied by way of question, eyes closed.

"I didn't know he was listening!"

"Well, then, I didn't know you'd stop just because I didn't necessarily like it, even if I was getting off on it." Malfoy's voice was light, mocking. "I suppose I figured it was like everything else with you. The moment I asked for something, you'd give me the opposite."

Harry snorted. "I haven't done that to you!"

"Haven't you?" Those eyes were open again, on him, piercing. "I was eleven years old the first time I ever asked you for anything, Potter, and you refused me then and you've been refusing me ever since. Pardon me if I didn't realize that you might actually do something simply because I *requested* it."

One thing was certain, Harry thought. Draco certainly knew how to puncture the image he held of himself. "You know, you always manage to do that."

"What?"

"To make me feel that I've done something distinctly, horribly wrong and will likely end up in hot oil for it," Harry replied, fingers lightly tracing the fading bruise on Draco's hip before caressing down his thigh. He could see the visible return of Draco's enjoyment as a result of his touch, and he smiled ruefully. "To remind me that I'm Harry Potter and not necessarily always the Boy Who Lived."

"Oh," Draco said a bit breathlessly as Harry's hand took a sharp curve, slipping back to caress the crevice of his ass. "That."

"That," Harry agreed, leaning up to kiss him as he probed lightly at the still-slick flesh puckered there.

"If you keep that up...." Draco threatened, whining as a finger slid into him. "Ohhhhh...."

"If I keep that up?" Harry asked him. "If I keep that up, you might like it? You might want more? You might find that you like me just as much as you like Snape?"

That, Draco thought disjointedly, just wasn't possible. Was it? He'd been in love with the Potions master since he was nine. "That feels...."

"Good," Harry told him, kissing him carefully, prudently mindful with the blond boy's lips. "I want you to like this," he decided, slipping in another finger and widening them, the relaxation so obvious now, strangely better than the resistance Malfoy usually gave, and still there was that growing hardness, the throb visible at Draco's groin. "Good," he whispered, slid over him, slithered *into* him, and drew only a soft sound of barely audible pleasure in response. It made him more smug than any yelp or cry or tortured moan had made him so far. /I can *make* him feel for me the way he does for that greasy bastard. I can *make* him, and then I can be sure that he won't want him because he'll want me./ He'd find a way. He'd find a way, but for now, there was the simple, gentle flex of his hips, of Draco lifting up to him despite everything, of his hands caressing over that pale, bruised flesh and sneaking between Draco's thighs, tugging at the flesh there to bring him pleasure. Every hitching breath, the way that slim, pallid arms crept up to wrap around his neck and hold him close, made Harry want him more. "Oh, God," Harry moaned. "Oh, God. You're so beautiful..." He wasn't really aware of the words so much as he was aware of wanting, needing, to give them. They weren't like the first words he'd given, though he meant them just as much. Draco was *his* space, *his* lover, *his* to bruise and mark and fuck.

*HIS*.

"Yes..." It was agreement or perhaps it was a request for more, more words, more sex, more anything, but it seemed to be all that Draco could pant out, whimpering. "Yes, yes, yes..."

The slow shifting thrusts changed pace, quickening, shortening slightly. Harry's breath was damp against his ear, and Draco couldn't help himself when his arms tightened, entire length trembling. He was so close, so *close*, right on the edge, if only Harry would give him just a little more! Just a little more....

Just a little more and he gasped and came, and Harry came after him, pushing so deep that the boy beneath him would undoubtedly be sore for days.

Neither had recovered by the time the curtains rung open, spilling in firelight and shock.

"Oh, Merlin, Morganna and Dallben," a most familiar voice moaned, and Harry knew that things had just twisted themselves up right and proper.