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the bottom!draco emporium-- Mind, Body, Heart and Soul
Title: Mind, Body, Heart and Soul
Author: Lady Koneko - Sai_love@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance, touch of Angst, first time Summary: Gradual self-discoveries change Draco's view and
relationship with Harry. Takes place after 'Order of the Phoenix'.
Warnings: OotP spoilers, Slash, Sex, Bondage, S&M, Bloodsport, touch of language, masturbation . . .
Pairings: Harry/Draco, implied Ron/Hermione
Archive: Potter Slash Archive, Malfoy Manor and bottom!draco emporium, everyone else, please ask.
Disclaimer: All characters and some situations in this story belong to the greatly talented writer J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books and Warner Bros., and various other persons not me and are being used without knowledge and permission. All other situations and the plot belong to Lady Koneko
~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~
Draco sat with his back leaning against the headboard of his four poster bed, arms bound at the wrists with long straps of Slytherin green silk that were in turn tied to two of the posts. They were tight around his wrists, not to tight that they cut circulation, but tight enough to cause bruising if he were to strain against them.
Sitting between his spread legs was his lover. He smiled at him, admiring Draco's slim, milky white form, bared for his entertainment and pleasure.
"Perfection, aren't you?" his lover said, more a statement than a question. "Perfection, just for me." A wave of heat pulsed through Draco at his soft, enchanting words. His member, erect since before he had stripped and been tied, twitched as his lover glanced down at him. He smiled and raised his hand, questing fingers softly feathering through his wavy white-blonde locks, gel free as he hated the sight of Draco's hair plastered back, hard and tamed. Draco's lover insisted that he keep his hair free for him, inviting his touch whenever he wished.
Draco whimpered, tilting his head into his lover's touch. With a smile his lover ran the back of his fingers across Draco's cheek, over his jaw and down his neck. Draco swallowed hard, shivering as he strained not to move, his teeth tearing his bottom lip as the casual caress made its way down his chest, past his tight coral nipples and down to his quivering stomach. The caress went further, stopping short at his tightly curled pubic hair and his straining, swollen member. This was the first touch his lover had designed to give him since having bound Draco to his bed.
"You ache for me, long for my presence, don't you?"
"Yes . . ." Draco hissed; fighting and failing to repress the urge to dig his heels into the bed and arch his hips up to the hand that hung teasingly inches above him.
"You hunger for me." His lover smiled at him, a wickedly warm smile that sent more liquid heat rushing through him. A low whimper tore itself out of Draco's throat and he strained toward the hand, the hard mahogany headboard and green scarves anchoring him as he strained toward his lover. He nearly reached the hand when his lover pulled away, still smiling, head shaking.
"You want me . . . say it."
"I . . . I want . . . you . . ." Draco moaned, his eyes slipping half shut as he continued to seek the touch he needed more than the air he breathed. His lover smiled at the molten quicksilver that gleamed at him.
"You need me . . . your body hungers for me."
"Starving . . . dying without you . . ." Draco whispered in agreement.
A hand splayed across his chest, fingers wide over his heart. Draco gave a sharp cry at the burning touch. "And is this mine as well? Your heart?" A thumb teasingly caressed the milky skin beneath his right nipple. "Would you give that to me?"
". . . yours . . ." Draco hissed; hands fisting as he strained against his silk bindings. " . . . my heart's blood . . . yours for the taking . . ."
The hand moved, fingers taking Draco's nipple between them, rolling and pinching it lightly. Draco's eyes rolled back in his head; it was overwhelming, pure pleasure and burning desire thrumming through his body. His lips parted, low whimpers called to his lover to take him, to make him his, to do anything and everything to him. Warm breath caressed Draco's lips, a whisper so low that Draco more felt it inside of him than heard it.
"Would you give your very essence to me? Is that mine as well? What makes you you. The force that resides in this body; your soul. Would you give that to me as well? For all eternity, in my keeping? Bind yourself to me, so that you cannot be claimed by anyone else again, so that you will always be mine?"
Draco opened his eyes; brilliant glowing emerald eyes locked with his. They were hot with passion, but more serious than Draco had ever seen them before.
"I . . . am yours . . ." he whispered back. To be claimed so totally was what he desired. His body was wracked with shivers of longing at what his lover's demand entailed. To be his creature . . .Draco's head fell back in surrender, a throaty moan leaving him. ". . . yours . . . mind . . . body . . . heart . . . soul. Bind me . . . make me yours . . ."
His lover paused for a moment and pulled back, looking at him across the distance that separated them; eyes still burning, but there was a look in them that Draco could not read. "No going back, My Dragon."
No, there was no going back. Draco sat panting, body burning, his lover's body heat warming him across the inches that separated them. ". . . never was . . . an option. Finish this . . . or when freed . . . I will kill you . . ."
His lover cupped his cheeks with both hands, thumbs rubbing the delicate skin under his ears. Draco keened, his body not his to control. Need. Want. Hunger. The desire to be possessed by the one kneeling in front of him filled him. ". . . Please . . ." he choked.
One of the hands disappeared; but the other continued to caress him. The burning eyes were still locked with his, holding them open when all he wanted to do was close them and become lost in the sensations that wracked his frame.
Fingers were at his mouth, wet, rubbing around his lips, painting them with the milky-white fluid on his fingers. Without hesitation he opened them, the fingers sliding in for him to suck on. The thick fluid that coated his lover's fingers was bitter. Salty. He moaned deep in his throat at the taste and suckled hungrily at the offered fingers 'till clean. He continued to suckle on the fingers once clean, rolling his tongue around them, desperately, his lover watching with a smile. Then his lover slowly pulled his fingers free, drawing out a pained whimper from Draco as he tried to keep the fingers in his mouth. The hand then fell down to Draco's lap and he moaned deeply as firm fingers surrounded his aching member. He thrusted shallowly into his lover's hand, not having much space to move, inches from his lover and his back pressed against the headboard. His lover did nothing but watch as he continued his actions, his thrusts coming faster and faster, his moaning coming more rapid and shallow. The fire running in his blood drove him on, and all Draco wanted was to come for his lover, be lost for his lover.
Draco cried with the pain of loss when his lover released him. He pulled hard against his bonds, seeking his lover's touch, tears coursing down his cheeks in frustration and longing. His lover shook his head and ran his fingers, now covered with Draco's precum around his lips, mixing the two fluids together.
In desperation Draco sought to capture his lover's fingers, to taste his own body's desire on his lover's fingers, but his lover denied him. He then attempted to lick his lips, but his lover shook his head, leaning over so that his breath caressed Draco's lips.
"Mine . . ." he whispered, then closed the distance between the two of them and claiming Draco's mouth for his own, first licking them clean of the white fluid surrounding it, then possessing it. Draco did not fight him, gave to him willingly whatever he wanted, his body limp and being held up only by his bound arms and the hot body pressing him back into headboard. He felt hands on his hips, pulling him away from the headboard even as his lover's mouth devoured him. A hand brushed against him, then circled around his scrotum, sliding down to touch his entrance. A finger softly brushed against it teasingly. He moaned deeply, tossing his head back as the tip of a slick finger slowly stretched him open. He groaned as the finger entered completely. He felt his lover smile against his skin, and then his lover started to suckle at the delicate skin under his ear, slowly sliding down until Draco's pulse point was throbbing against his tongue. A second finger entered, stretching him further and Draco grabbed the scarves with his hands and braced his shoulders against the headboard and thrusted hard against the fingers. A soft chuckle resounded from his throat and a third finger entered him. He keened, arching his neck as he pressed his head back hard against the headboard. Then all three fingers left him.
"Mine," his lover whispered, nuzzling his nose against Draco's chin and licking his neck as he lifted his head. "Freely given, freely taken. Bound forever." Draco felt hands on his hips again, holding him, lifting him. A burning hardness was teasing his entrance. He bit his lip, the taste of salt and metal filling his mouth as he strained toward his lover.
"From this point on, My Dragon, Draco, you are mine." And then his lover drove his hardness into him, taking him, claiming him, and it was all that Draco could do to keep from screaming out loud, his legs wrapping around his lover, holding them together, and then his lover began to drive in and out of him, and the heat was burning through him, through his blood, pulling at his heart, and he could feel it, beyond the awareness of the body, something encompassing him, and it pulled at him, and bound him to it, filling him, completing him and everything was dark and light, burning and comforting and holding him. There was the sound of screaming and a pressure in his heart burst and collapsed into the essence of his lover.
* * * * *
I sat up with a gasp; my entire body was quivering and sweating, feeling as though I had just played Quidditch for twelve hours straight with the way every muscle in my body ached. Well, except for one part. That part of my body was extremely, distressingly sensitive, as my every movement sent it brushing against sticky, semen covered pajama bottoms, teasing spurts of pleasure wracking an already strained body.
I had been having wet dreams ever since I was twelve and my body began to develop. Back then, well, they were different. Normal teenage hormonal getting off dreams, I would say. There I would be, fucking some nameless person into a mattress, or a table, or the floor or even against the wall. It was all basic stuff; I don't recall foreplay coming into it; at twelve, foreplay is not even in your vocabulary. Around the time I turned thirteen, I did notice something about my dreams, the significant other in my dreams did not have the ~attributes~ that signified a member of the opposite sex. I was fucking a guy in my dreams. While a bit disturbing -mostly I was thinking about my father's reaction if for some God unforeseen reason he found out- I eventually figured it didn't really mean much. I overheard some of the older boys talking about wet dreams and girls and who they would like to do where and came to the understanding that hormones just did that to people. Guys would dream about fucking other guys, girls would dream about making it with other girls, and sometimes there would be a complete sex reversal, the guy or girl would dream that they were the opposite sex while they were fucking or being fucked by someone. It is just the subconscious playing around, random mental images gooping together while the mind recovered from the strain of being awake in a world that is decidedly odd. Things however started going downhill my fourth year.
I did not realize it then of course, as Muggles say, hindsight is twenty/twenty. I guess I should have realized that something was wrong when all the girls from Beaubatons showed up. All were nicely built girls, from fine, prominent pureblood families, but one of them, Fleur Delacour, was a part veela. All the males in the room, well, all those who had reached puberty, were drawn to her. Even Potter and the Weasel, though the Weasel was much more out about it than Potter was. I was not. I felt nothing. Not a twitch of attraction. I did admire her icy looks, but she drew me about as much as Hagrid's stupid boarhound did.
I found that rather shocking. I will admit that I had felt nothing at the World Cup, but I had figured that my parents had cast spells to keep me from being enchanted by them. I know that Mother has strong views of Father staring at other women, especially other veela. Mother is a quarter veela, and veela are very possessive of their husbands. But after Fleur, I had to rethink things. And things just got worse. Potter was chosen as the second ~the second~ Hogwarts representative. And they let him get away with it! I was furious. As the year went by, I attributed all my fury and rage at Potter. He got all the attention, and as Quidditch was canceled, there was no way I could compete with him. It pissed me off to no end.
And then there was the last task, where Potter and Diggory disappeared, and only Potter came back alive. They rushed him away, the professors did, but I saw him, the look on his face, and the dull look of his eyes.
It bothered me, that look, but I still acted as usual, it was not hard to harass and tease Potter and his hanger-ons. Then I returned home, and discovered that things were not going the way I thought they would. The Dark Lord was indeed back, by dark magicks and blood, and his hunger was for Potter's life. There, in Malfoy Manor, eavesdropping on a conversation in the study, I discovered exactly what had happened, how Diggory had died, how Potter had returned alive. I had some thinking to do.
To top things off, my dreams changed. I was still having wet dreams, masturbating before bed did not discourage them, but now the other player had definite, and unfortunately, recognizable features. Skinny. Olive tinged skin. Hair that would qualify as a disaster area, and incredible green eyes that seemed to glow at me. Fucking Harry Potter. I had no idea why in Merlin's name that half blood was invading my dreams, my very ~private~ dreams, sullying my dream body with his muggleness. I tried not sleeping, and quickly gave it up. I then tried dreamless sleep draughts, and they had some effect, but not enough to continue taking it. I did not dream, but my pajamas and bed sheets were still sticky when I woke, and I would always wake to a pair of green eyes looking at me from behind my closed eyelids. It was actually less distressing to have the stupid dreams.
Then there was fifth year. I had heard about the dementor attack, from several sources, and it bothered me, because it was not Death Eater sanctioned. Someone in the Ministry was trying to take out Potter, and I was sure it was not Fudge, as the spineless Hufflepuff did not have the guts to perform such an act. School started, and Potter was not a prefect and I was. I was a bit smug about it, but Potter and his companions were acting strange, so I did not linger for long.
As the school year continued, I found myself spending more time watching than harassing Potter. I will admit that I did strip points off, and did sabotage his potions, but mostly I watched. Something was going on with him, and I had not a clue why it bothered me. Then came the Quidditch game. As he always did, he caught the snitch before I did. As I always did, I made uncomplimentary comments about his family, and included the Weasel's family. Then things changed. He attacked me. He physically attacked me, along with one of the Weasel twins. I had never been struck before, with the exception of the time Granger laid one on me. It was shocking. It was very painful. It was over quickly, and then Umbridge banned Potter and both Weasel twins from Quidditch, forever. I was so pissed! Now how would I ever beat him at anything? That night, as I lay in bed thinking about everything that had happened that day, I made the most unwelcome discovery of my young life. The memory of Potter attacking me, knocking me to the ground, hurting me . . . aroused me. I became aroused at the memory of Potter coming at me, rage in his eyes, glowing with a light I had not seen since before the last task. It was the strongest arousal I had ever felt, including the times I masturbated to pictures of . . . um . . . well, you do not need to know that. Sufficient to say, I was hot with arousal, it was not fading, and I could not get the image of Potter out of my mind. Put two and two together and you can guess what happened after that. My hand on my member, picturing it being Potter; dominating me, forcing himself on me, and me not fighting it, welcoming it in fact. I had ever came so hard or long in my life as I had at that time. As I laid on my bed, wrung out and feeling very satisfied despite recent discoveries, I came to the realization that things between Potter and myself had shifted in a way that I could not explain or understand.
And now, with all the events of our world revolving around the Dark Lord's return, I do not know what to do about it. All I know is that something is going to happen, and nothing will ever be the same again.
* * * * *
School went on as usual, but the dream I had haunted me for days after. Dreams of Potter and I had become the rage over summer, to my mixed disgust and desire. In all of them he was dominating me, controlling me, using me as he deemed fit. And I loved it as much as I hated it. The very idea of Potter having such control over me, even in dreams, revolted my conscious mind. But I could not deny that every time I touched myself I wished that it were his hand on my body, and every night hoping that he would be in my dreams.
I must be going crazy.
But in that dream, it was different. Never had Potter been so gentle with me, never had the dreams been so tame in accessories, a pair of silk scarves were nothing compared to the chains, manacles and leather straps and whips that had always before been featured in my dreams. He had never vocally dominated me before, not like that. And the feel of it was wrong, and I was deathly afraid that it was less an interesting new wet dream than a true dream of foresight. Sometime before graduation, sometime in the next year and a half, I would be laid out in my bedchamber, on my bed, willingly giving myself to Potter.
I burned for that day.
* * * * *
Potions was always my favorite class, and not only because Professor Snape favored me. It has always been my best subject, by far easier for me to understand than Transfiguration or Charms. And the fact that it was always a double class with Gryffindor made it better. My favorite subject, my favorite professor, and my favorite victims all in one place, it was made to order.
I turned in my chair to watch as the famed trio entered the room. As usual they sat in their usual seats, far away from the Slytherins as possible. In-house rivalry had not changed much since the events of last year, at least amongst us. I have heard rumors that the Gryffindors were getting tight with the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. No one from the other three houses had approached anyone of Slytherin for a peace treaty, the Death Eaters caught in the Ministry were all past Slytherins, and trust in our house was at a new all time low. I had overheard Granger telling Potter and the Weasel that just the other day.
Class started, and Professor Snape swept into the room as he always did. I kept a close eye on him, and on Potter. Something had happened between them last year - what I did not know. I believe some of it had to do with that so-called Remedial Potions lesson I had walked in on. Poppycock, that was. But whatever had happened had escalated emotions between them. I had the feeling that I was no longer Potter's most hated Slytherin any more.
Ahhh . . . I nodded softly to myself at the warm look of utter loathing and hatred passed between them. It was a miracle that no one sitting between them spontaneously combusted. And did Potter ever look hot like that, all his attention focused, eyes alit . . . Professor Snape dropped a potions tome onto the desk, startling me from my revere. Being caught fantasizing about Gryffindor's wonder boy would not be good.
Then Professor Snape began to speak. "Today class we shall be attempting," he paused and sneered at Longbottom. He was just as bad at potions this year as last, but I had heard he had made dramatic improvements in Charms and DADA. "To brew a most delicate potion . . ." That meant that if you made even the tiniest mistake, it was going to blow up on you, " . . . that will cause the drinker to become temporarily incorporeal." Ahhh . . . one that would require rare and potentially dangerous ingredients. I believe I do see pairs coming up. "To do this potion properly, you will have to work in pairs . . ." Professor Snape's eyes roved across the class, we all knew what pairs meant in this class. Mixed house pairings. "The potion you shall be brewing is called Materia Amitto," and Professor Snape grins maliciously at us, at all of us as he drawls the name of the potion and I frown, as I had not heard of it before and did not understand his look. I had a bad feeling about this. He calls our partners out, and as we all knew, it was mixed Slytherin and Gryffindor. And as I knew would happen, I was paired with Potter.
Professor Snape lectured at us for ten minutes, instructing us how to make the potion and listing off the ingredients and brewing instructions for us to copy down. Then we were let loose to create havoc in the class. Havoc I knew it would be, for very few potions survived a mixed house pairing in this class. I instructed Potter to retrieve the necessary ingredients as I set up the cauldron. He glared at me, hate in his eyes, but it no way matched the intensity that he had graced Professor Snape with. I do believe I am hurt, I did after all threaten his very life, but then, he had been living with that particular threat for many years. It apparently had no effect on him now, and my crass comment would make getting Potter much more difficult.
Yes, I had decided that I was going to have Potter, or in truth, that Potter was going to have me. He was just unaware of what the future held for him.
We went about with our potion, the cutting and measuring of ingredients, adding them just at the right time, stirring the potion just so, Potter and I sharing no more words between us than necessary to make the potion, we were almost cordial to each other, all things considered. Then it happened. Potter was sitting on my left - not by my choice, I so disliked people sitting close to me on my left side, doubly so when brewing a potion. Potter was slicing lacewing wings venomously when a sharp report came from the end of the room that Longbottom was located in. I had personally expected that cauldron to explode a quarter hour ago, with him being paired with Crabbe. Potter was startled, and he jerked his hand back reflexively. Over the back of mine, resting mere inches from his. And he still held the knife.
A sharp burning pain filled me as the knife cleanly split open the back of my hand from the base of my pinky finger to thumb. Blood began to spill immediately, from the half dozen veins that were now carved in two, covering our table in vibrant crimson. There was a gasp from somewhere, exactly where I know not as my eyes were locked with Potter's horrified green eyes. I swallowed hard, he had hurt me, cut me, and the burning I felt was not all pain. His eyes fell to my hand, and the color ran from his face, his hands reaching for mine to try to staunch the bleeding. Within the next second Professor Snape was before us, glaring at Potter as though he wished the Gryffindor would drop dead at his feet. Potter ignored him, having ripped part of his robe as a makeshift bandage to press against the cut. I bit my lip, his attention was solely on me, and he had hurt me, and his eyes rose to mine, and I could see that he was sorry for what he had done, but no apology was in the works, the emerald eyes were dark with shock.
There was yelling, and the deduction of many house points, but I could not tell you how many. The black cloth was wrapped tightly around my hand, and I was being asked if I needed assistance to the Hospital Wing. I shook my head, rising out of my chair slowly. There was a buzzing in my head, and the room tilted for a second, but my legs were steady beneath me. I left the class, and instead of heading to the Hospital Wing as one would expect; I made my way to the Slytherin dorms. I cradled my injured arm to my chest, smearing my blood over myself as the stone wall parted and I entered the hidden room. Bare minutes passed before I was in my private room, digging with my right hand clumsily into my trunk, searching for my medical supplies.
I found what I was searching for and sat on my bed. Carefully I unwrapped my hand, staining my hand with blood from the black cloth. With the removal of the last fold of the robe material, the bleeding began afresh. I watched it, crimson blood, flowing down my hand, dripping onto my lap, Potter's fault. I bent down, and ran my tongue over the cut, tasting my own life essence strong on my tongue. A surge of heat pulsed through me, pleasure/pain wracking my body, and I moaned deeply.
Swallowing hard, I pulled away from my hand and reached for the jar of salve from my trunk. It would stop the bleeding and help the cut heal fast. Madame Pomfrey could have healed the cut in seconds, with nary a mark to remain to testify to what had happened today, but that I could not allow. This way, there would be a scar, a silver-white mark running across my dominant hand, to remind me of this day.
* * * * *
Draco was spread out on a table in the potions classroom. He was lying on his cloak, but the rest of his clothing was absent, his skin luminescent against the dark material. He flexed his arms, heat flooding him as the thick leather straps dug into his skin, straps that were bound to the legs of the table he was on. He shifted, his back rubbing against the material under him and Draco felt a tugging at his ankles. He pulled, and familiar leather dug into the delicate flesh of his ankle. He was tied down completely. A moan made its way out of Draco's throat, and his member swelled in excitement.
"You look so lovely that way, pet." His lover murmured from above his head. "All spread and splayed out, leather looks good on you." Draco lifted his head up and saw Potter standing at the head of the table. He whimpered, and Potter moved to stand next to the table. "What is it pet? Do you want something?" Potter was wearing nothing, his darker skin gleaming as well in the candlelight. Potter ran his hand down his chest and stomach, disappearing below the edge of the table. Draco strained against his restraints, groaning.
"My touch. Is that what you want pet. Do you want me to touch you?" he reached out a hand, holding it over Draco's chest. "And where do you want my touch? Here?" he ran his hand over Draco's chest, plucking cruelly at his nipples. Draco cried out. "Hmmm . . . not bad, but what about here?" And the hand moved lower, tracing designs on his stomach above the golden curls. Draco strained against the leather, feeling the edges digging painfully into his skin as he arched into the touch. "Lower then, pet?" Potter's hand lifted and paused above Draco's straining member. "Yes, you do want it, don't you? Look," he played with the foreskin, teasing Draco's head, "you are all wet for me already." Potter popped his finger into his mouth and sucked on it. Draco began to whine, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth, arching his hips up, begging for attention.
"Be patient, pet," He leaned over Draco, looking at Draco's bit and swollen lips. "I've all night with you, and I don't want
to be rushed." Potter kissed him, a violent, demanding kiss. The taste of himself and his blood mingling in his mouth, joined with the sweet taste of Potter. Draco groaned, loving being ravished, loving being ~his~.
He cried in pained abandonment when Potter left him, straining after his lover, pleading whimpers escaping from between his lips. "Now pet," Potter whispered softly, eyes glowing, "Patience." Draco watched through half closed eyes as Potter turned away, reaching for something on the next table. "Now, let's see . . . This one." Potter turned back, a small, razor sharp knife held in his hand. Draco whined, pulling at his restraints. Potter smiled. "Yes, you know what's coming next pet. Do you want this?" Potter held the knife up, candlelight gleaming off the silver blade. He lowered his hand, pressing the flat of the blade to Draco's stomach, muscles clenching at the touch of cold metal on heated skin. Draco licked his lips and Potter grinned at him.
"Like how that feels, hmmm . . ." He traced the knife across Draco's stomach and chest, never cutting the flesh below, watching intently as Draco squirmed.
". . . please . . . please . . ." Draco whispered, he was close, so close to coming, but knew that he could not until granted permission.
"Please? Please what? Play with you some more?" Draco's eyes widened as the knife slid down to his groin. "I think I will." Potter drew back the knife. In a quick movement, toned muscles rippling, Potter was sitting on Draco's thighs, his own swollen member mere inches from Draco's desperate need.
"Sing for me pet, I want to hear you." Potter reached down and caressed Draco's member with the flat of the blade. Draco threw his head back with a throaty moan. "Yes, like that." He drew the blade away and rested the tip of it on Draco's sternum. With nary a blink, he drew the knife swiftly across the pale skin, a vermilion ribbon on white silk. Draco screamed in pain. "Just like that."
Potter welded the knife like an artist, pulling cries and moans and pleas from Draco as his due, red dribbling down the pale skin to be lost in the black cloth below. Draco's throat had been screamed raw before Potter pulled the knife away and held it up to Draco's bloodied lips. Without pause, he opened his mouth and licked the blade clean.
"So pet, what do you think?" Potter ran a finger carefully across Draco's mutilated flesh, and looking down Draco was able to see underneath the spilt blood the darker cuts. Potter had used his chest as a canvas. Cut into him was the likeness of the Gryffindor lion.
"Red suits you pet," Potter murmured, eyes glinting hotly with lust as he looked down at Draco. He placed the knife on the table beside them and ran his hand across Draco's chest, staining it red and aggravating the cuts, causing more pain/pleasure to course through Draco.
Potter reached down with his stained hand to his swollen member, smearing blood on it as he wrapped his hand around himself. He started stroking himself, throwing his head back in pleasure. "Ohhh . . . oh my pet . . ." Draco's own member was twitching in tune to Potter's moans, semen leaking from the tip. Panting hard, Potter released himself and looked down at Draco, red spilling from white onto black. He shifted until he was kneeling between Draco's spread legs.
"Suck," Potter demanded, holding his blood and semen covered fingers to Draco's lips and he eagerly took them in, sucking hungrily as Potter's other hand finally circled Draco's aching member.
"You are such a good pet," Potter crooned softly, eyes burning into Draco's. "And good pets get rewarded." He squeezed Draco firmly, listening with a smile as Draco cried out around the fingers in his mouth. He licked his lips and pulled his fingers from Draco, saliva trailing from them to Draco's open mouth, then reached under Draco, searching for and finding his tight entrance.
"Such a good pet," The finger stabbed into him and Draco keened, pulling against the restraints in an attempt to arch into the touch. Potter swirled his finger around inside of Draco, all the while stroking him slowly. Then he pulled his finger free and then inserted two fingers, scissoring them to stretch Draco further.
". . . please . . . please . . . please . . ." Draco cried out, straining to reach Potter, needing to be filled completely by him, to be taken by him, to have him prove in the most ancient and base way possible that he belonged to Potter.
Draco was near insensate when Potter pulled his fingers out again; motioning behind him with his wand, where it came from Draco neither knew nor cared. The next thing he knew was that Potter was dragging his hips up, wrapping his now unbound legs around his waist.
"My pet," Potter hissed, driving himself deep into Draco. It burned, it stretched Draco to the point of ripping him, and it was not enough. Draco cried for more, legs tightening around Potter's torso, tears dripping down his face as Potter drove into him furiously as though he was trying to drive Draco through the table upon which they laid. Every stroke filled Draco with a pleasure the burned through him, stronger and stronger until he felt as though he was nothing but burning fire himself, nerves screaming in torture, body screaming in agony, and more, he needed more, more until it destroyed him and burnt him until everything was fire.
And the fire burst within him, and the world grew black, and glowed white; flesh was nothing and burning pleasure everything.
* * * * *
I awoke the next morning sticky and sweaty, my body limp and sated with pleasure. I would have to do something, and soon, for I did not know how long I would be able to function like this. My dreams were becoming more intense and more realistic as time went by. I would swear under Veritaserum that I could feel the echoes of the cuts on my chest, the ache between my legs, the rawness of my throat, and it hurt inside my chest, waking up and not having Potter there with me. I had to have him; I just had to. There was no way around it if I wished to keep my sanity intact. I spent the rest of my sleepless night thinking, and by morning, I had a workable plan in mind. All I needed now was time, a little luck, and a potion or two.
Time passed, the holidays came, and the time to implement my plan would soon arrive. Potter and I, while no longer confronting each other in the corridors, in class or in the Great Hall, were still not on casual speaking terms. We were polite to each other when we had to work together, the lack of hostility I credited to my response to the Potion Incident, as people called it. I did nothing. I did not seek Potter out for revenge; I did not hunt him down to bemoan the horrid damage caused to me. Nothing. I did not even approach him to demand an apology for his carelessness, though a few times in the days after I did catch him looking at me as if he was considering doing so. His valiant Gryffindor bravery and honor must have failed him, for he never did.
My plan was simplicity itself. Since it was apparent to all who had two brain cells to rub together that Potter was not going to come for me willingly, I was going to have to make him come for me. Potter would be staying over the winter holidays, it was by far too dangerous to let him leave, with the Dark Lord on the loose and thirsting for his life. The only safe place for him was here at Hogwarts; the fools at the Ministry would be unable to protect him properly if he was to go anywhere else. Very few names were on the list, only a couple of Gryffindors from the lower years would be staying in Gryffindor Tower, along with some from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. In a turnaround, about a handful of older Slytherins were staying in addition to myself. Granger and the last two Weasels were all heading to their respective homes.
I had spent many nights researching, studying potion tomes to find what I needed to know, and I still was forced to combine several different potions together to achieve the effect I desired. Mixing two or more different potions together was very tricky, and highly dangerous. If I made even the smallest miscalculation, I would not need to worry about being expelled. I required a potion that would enhance anger, excalibrate lust and desire, and make him more prone to act without inhibition. I knew that when under sway of the potion, I would be able to make Potter do exactly as I wished. To make the potion even more difficult, I required the potion to be in a vapor. The easiest method would be for it to react to skin contact, but the nature of the potion made this method of delivery unreliable. It would have to be consumed or inhaled for it to have the proper effect, and the Weasel's favored Quidditch team had a greater chance to win the World Cup this century than I did of having Potter consume anything he even thought I might have looked at wrong. It would have to be inhaled. The potion was time sensitive as well, it reacted immediately upon contact with the air, and Potter would be feeling the effects within the time it took for the potion to travel through the blood to the brain. Inhalation would cause a reaction within a few minutes. And then . . . and then he would be mine.
No. I would be his. My member, always hard whenever I thought of Potter, twitched and desire coursed through my body like lightning. I reached into my pajama bottoms, taking my member in my hand and squeezed it firmly. I was already coated in precum and swollen in arousal, excited at the mere thought of Potter under my potion's influence. He would be taking me, in real life . . . mmmm . . . I reached with my other hand under my top to trace up to my nipples, rubbing them while I steadily stroked myself. The only sexual experiments I had experienced were from this, masturbation. I trusted none in my house with my body, found the idea of some of them touching my white flesh revolting. And anyway, from the stories told by the others and how I reacted to my own hands and thoughts of Potter, I was getting better sex than they were, so why bother with them.
Bursts of pleasure shot through me, endorphins firing into my blood, the burning hunger between my legs becoming unbearable and I stroked myself harder. I abandoned my achingly hard nipples in favor of sucking on my fingers, salty with my sweat, imagining that it was Potter that I was sucking on, watching me as I sucked him and stroked myself to release for his pleasure, watching me with desire-filled eyes and a sinner's smirk.
I began whimpering deep in my throat in tune to my hand, fingers tightening almost painfully on my burning flesh, the whimpers changing to throaty cries muffled by my deep suckling of my fingers and Potter's eyes were burning, glowing bright as he took in the enjoyment of me enjoying my hot, hard flesh, a show only for him. I was burning, my cloths smothering me and sticky with sweat, scraping against my skin with every move as I arched into my hand, stroking harder, needing more, dying for more, just out of reach, my heart pounding . . . and then with one final thrust ecstasy flooded through me, screaming across nerves and through my blood, my eyelids fluttering and my eyes rolling back until all that showed from beneath my lashes was white. My body trembled, tense muscles reveling in rapture, air hissing from my lips, and in my mind; all I saw was an all-encompassing emerald green . . .
* * * * *
I implemented my plan three days after Christmas Day; one of the school owls delivered an innocuous looking letter at breakfast that morning. It quite simply requested Potter's presence and gave the location -the room hidden behind the Y's tapestry on the fourth floor corridor of the west wing- and the password. As far as I knew, no one knew that there was a rather cozy sitting room hiding there; dust and cobwebs were thick when I had found it and claimed it back in my third year. A few spells and it was good as new. And the room contained no portraits to tell tales of what they had seen. It was the perfect place for clandestine meetings.
Potter read the note quickly, frowning softly, then showed it to his breakfast companion, the little Ravenclaw girl that had joined his entourage the year before. She said something, he nodded, and they both looked at me suspiciously. I made no move to let them think I had been watching and they looked away a moment later. Potter folded up the note and placed it in his pocket. Time would tell if he showed.
* * * * *
To be honest, I had expected his suspicion, and had already thought of a way to work around it. That night, when I entered the room, I immediately lit the fire and placed my wand out of the way on the bookshelf, in easy view of the door. Potter would be more likely to believe I meant him no harm if my wand was visible and on the other side of the room from myself. I then went and sat in one of the chairs near the fire. The second step of my plan was underway. The appointed time came and went, and there was no sign of Potter. Giving an audible sigh I came to my feet, retrieved my wand, and left the room. Then I quickly ran further down the corridor, soft dragon leather boots making no sound, and sprang into a raised alcove twenty feet from the tapestry. The shadows hid the alcove from casual view, and made a great place to hide. This time my wait was not long. No more than five minutes after my exit, the tapestry stirred. I watched as the form of a person pressed against it, then watched as the tapestry fell back against the wall. No one had appeared, or so it would seem.
I had known that Potter possessed an invisibility cloak for several years, since third year, a lot had happened third year, and I knew that he would not show up for a meeting with me without it. I had also known that he would arrive before me, to gauge what kind of threat I would be. I had hoped that he would show himself, but it was better for my plan if he did not. I waited in the alcove for the better part of an hour; then slipped to the owlery. I had a note I needed to send. I was not concerned with being caught, I was still in the allotted time a prefect was allowed to wander, but it would be close. I would have to hurry to make it back to Slytherin before my curfew. On the way back I did catch two Hufflepuffs out and about. I happily took ten points each from them and sent them back to their House. It was a good night. As I passed through the common room Pansy smiled seductively at me, but I paid her no mind. She was one of those who repulsed me sexually; only the threat of my father had made me ask her to be my companion for the Yule Ball. Once in my dorm, private, thank you, I slid out of my boots and cloths, slipped into my pajamas, and sprawled on my bed. Sitting on my bedside table was a small phial of a smoky blue substance. I slid under the covers; eyes locked on the phial, and stared at it until sleep claimed me.
* * * * *
The next morning another school owl dropped a letter in Potter's lap. This one enquiring as to his whereabouts the night before, stressing the importance of us meeting, and requesting that we meet the same time and place this evening. I kept watch over him and Lovegood as they read the letter, glanced up at me and then turned away. Potter was still suspicious, but curiosity was starting to weigh it out. The Lions of Gryffindor were indeed brave, proud, and courageous, but lions are still cats, and cats are born curious. I knew that Potter would be there, and that he would not be wearing his cloak. The next step had commenced, and I could not finish my breakfast in anticipation of what would be happening later that night. I was twitchy all the rest of the day; twitchy ferret comments would have been appropriate, though a nasty curse or two would have swiftly followed them. I forced myself to eat lunch, but was unable to stomach a bite of dinner, nervous butterflies having taken up residence in my stomach. Finally it was time. After dinner, I had returned to my dorm and had showered and dressed in fresh robes. I wore nothing underneath. I placed my wand in one inner pocket, the phial in the other, and stalked out of Slytherin.
I arrived on time, being fashionably late is gauche when you sent the invitation. As the night before, it appeared that I was the sole occupant of the room. I took my wand and once again lit the fire then placed it on the bookshelf; then I sat across from it in front of the fire to wait.
All was quiet, the crackling of the fire behind the grate the only sound, but I could feel eyes watching me from near the door. Like the evening before, Potter had arrived before me with his invisibility cloak. I waited. He had to make the first move, had to reveal himself and approach me for the next phase of my plan to work.
I sat for what must have been fifteen or so minutes when I heard a faint rustling behind me, the sound of cloth sliding on cloth. I did not turn to look; it was soft enough that only those with exceptionally keen hearing would have heard it. Then a voice sounded and I turned.
"Okay Malfoy, I'm here. What's so important that you need to meet me here?"
He still stood at the door. I politely inclined my head to him, a gesture of respect. "Good evening Potter. So glad you could join me." I repressed a smile at the look on his face; I was apparently not acting as he thought I should, and I had not even commented on his supposed tardiness. He frowned at me, his brilliant emerald eyes bright with suspicion.
And a bit of irritation as well, perfect. "Malfoy, why am I here?" he growled, and shivers ran up and down my spine.
"Just a bit of a chat Potter." I motioned to the chair across from me, indicating that I wished for him to seat himself. "I believe it is time for a change in our current relationship, all things considered."
He was still gazing at me suspiciously, and his eyes flickered around the room, pausing for a fraction of a moment on my wand. If he took the offered seat, he would be sitting between my wand and I, the advantage would be his, as I had not asked him to place his wand aside. He nodded slightly, coming to a decision, and took the offered seat. He was tense, he would not relax in the presence of someone he considered the enemy, and did not rest back in the chair, perching on the edge in case he had to make a sudden move.
I had expected as much, and had already taken steps. The only visible flaw in my plan was Potter hexing me when I threw the phial at him, unfortunately his reflexes were as honed as an aurors. I would not have a chance. I had to slow his reflexes down, distract him in some way; calm him. To do this I had to employ the use of a second potion, but this one was so common that no one ever would suspect using it for other purposes than intended. It was Grandmother Henrietta's Baby-be-Calm Dust. It was a second year level potion, easy to make, and harmless; it was used by mothers to pacify fussy babies. I had sprinkled the dust on the chair -it was commonly used on blankets- and it would affect anyone in close or physical contact with it.
Potter frowned at me, "Considering what Malfoy? Your father was convicted of being a Death Eater. He tried to kill me, and my friends, on several occasions. We don't have anything to talk about."
"Ah contraire Potter. My father's foolish mistakes have nothing to do with why we are here." I really did not wish to speak about my father. I was still angered that he was in prison, but had come to the realization during the summer that it was not entirely Potter's fault. If father had been more careful, he would not have been defeated and captured by a handful of fourth and fifth years in the first place. Now ~that~ dishonored the family name. "I am here to discuss us, and our relationship for the remainder of time that we shall be spending here at Hogwarts.
Potter was still gazing at me suspiciously, and rightly so, but he had relaxed back into the chair, no longer perching on the edge, unawares. The suspicion in his eyes was not as rampant either; the Baby-be-Calm was taking effect.
"There is no us Malfoy. I hate you; you hate me. You leave me alone, and I will leave you alone. And that is the extent of our ~relationship~."
Well . . . I had not expected much, I had been rather abrupt . . . okay, spiteful and narrow-minded over the years. It is to be expected that he would not be receptive to any overtures from me. Potter relaxed further into the chair, snuggling into the cushions, lassitude creeping up on him. This time I did smile.
"But I believe that our relationship can change, and for the better. I would make a good ally to have." I leaned forward, to hide my hand sliding into my robe and searching out the pocket that held the phial. My fingers stroked the cool glass. The time was almost here.
Potter did not notice a thing. He just snorted at my comment. "You? An ally? First sign of trouble and you'd hitch up your robes and run like the little Death Eater coward that you are, screaming like a little girl the entire way to safety."
Ah . . . he still hated me. I am touched. And he was now completely relaxed, encased in a false sense of security caused by the dust and the knowledge that my wand was out of reach. The timing was right. I thumbed out the cork and covered the opening with said thumb. I began to sit up, sliding my hand and the phial out of my robes. Potter still did not notice a thing.
"I am not a Death Eater, nor am I planning on becoming one. I have other plans Potter, ones that include you. Alive and well."
He blinked at me, confused. "You want ~me~ alive?" He must be thinking back on that stupid threat from the year before.
This time I smirked, causing Potter to frown softly, but he was still unalarmed. "Yes, and not necessarily willing either." Before Potter could wrap his befuddled mind around my words, I threw the phial in his lap. The liquid poured out, turning into a vapor as it reacted to the air in the room. Before Potter knew what was happening, he was enveloped in a light blue mist.
"Malfoy, you scummy little ferret!" he howled, shaking off the effects of the Baby-be-Calm and sprang out of the chair. He threw the phial -now empty- aside. I distantly heard the shattering of glass, my eyes locked on the young man across from me. The vapors began to dissipate, and Potter's eyes were glowing green with anger through the fading blue mist.
It took only seconds for him to reach me and pull me out of my chair, his hand clenched tightly at the front of my robe.
"You bastard! I knew you were up to something Malfoy. What the bloody hell was that!"
I swallowed, he took it as nerves from being caught, but it was my attempt to do something about my throat, now dry at the knowledge that he was standing inches away, me in his grasp, all of his attention focused on me, and I could feel his body heat and smell him . . . Desire and lust filled me, and it was all I could do to not surrender to him then and there, fall to my knees and worship him as I longed to do, but not yet. Not until the potion took hold of him and there would be no way he could leave me. He could not leave me.
"What Potter," I sneered. "Do you believe that I poisoned you?" The answer was easy to read in his eyes. "Have you forgotten already what I said to you? I want you alive . . ." I let the sentence fade away as awareness sparked in his eyes, along with something that was not anger.
". . . but not necessarily willing," he finished for me, dawning horror in his voice. How unflattering. "You used a love potion on me, didn't you Malfoy? Have you lost your bloody mind!"
"No," I whispered, shaking my head slightly, my eyes still locked with his. "Not love. I do not require your love." He clenched his jaw, and I could see in his eyes the lust beginning to rise, the desire that was melding with the anger he held for me. His breathing was becoming labored, matching mine, and a flush was blooming on his cheeks. "It is just a little lust potion, mixed with several others to achieve the effect I desired. There will be no long-term effects from it; it will wear off in a few hours. You will be fine in the morning."
He was beginning to shake, straining to keep control. He was trying to fight off the potion. "You're going to rape me," he hissed. His eyes narrowed at me, the anger and lust and desire mixing together.
I reached down and gently cupped him, pressing my curved palm into his straining hardness. A shiver ripped through his body at my touch, and I thrilled at it and at the heat straining at my touch. "No," I whispered huskily, "but if you want to rape me . . ." my other hand reached and grasped his wrist, "you are more than welcomed to my body. It is yours." And I pulled free from him with surprisingly little difficulty, sinking to my knees, and nuzzled his crouch. I could smell his desire for me and I rubbed my face against him, heat shooting through me. I moaned. This was real, this was really happening. I could die the next day and have no regrets, for my dreams were about to become reality, and what more could a person ask for?
My head was jerked back roughly, a hand tangling in my hair. I was forced to look up at Potter, all resistance was gone from his eyes, all that remained was anger and lust, the desire to finally have it out between us, winner take all. We stared at each other, my hand rubbing him, him arching shallowly into my hand, his hand gripped tightly in my hair and holding my gaze with his, then he released me, his eyes closing and his hand slipping down to grip my shoulder.
"Do it," he growled, fingers digging painfully into my shoulder. I would have bruises in the morning. I did not care. I needed no further encouragement. I spread his robes and tackled the fastenings on his pants. They were quickly pooled around his ankles, along with his boxers a moment later. Potter placed his other hand on my shoulder, both of them now digging in hard, urging me to taste him.
I gazed at his member before me, dark red and swollen with desire, standing proud in a thatch of curly dark hair. He was not as long as I, I noted, by a good inch, but -I cupped him in my palm and rubbed my cheeks and nose across him- he was thicker than I. I would say by a half inch, much thicker than I thought he would be, as I was pretty thick myself. He would near rip me in two when he took me.
Soft whimpers escaped me as I continued to nuzzle him, wanting this to last forever, my face becoming sticky with precum, his scent ingraining itself in my mind forever, his fingers urging me to quit teasing and take him.
"Do it," he hissed, thrusting his hips urgently, his member sliding between my hand and cheek. In willing compliance to his demand my hand shifted, fingers entwining him around the base as I took him into my mouth. He tasted bitter and salty; he tasted wonderful. Heat and lust flowed through me as I ran my tongue around him, teasing him, playing with his foreskin then sucking hard. He began to thrust into my mouth, forcing more of himself into my mouth at each stroke until my lips were pressed against my hand. I continued to suck, swallowing repeatedly in an effort not to gag as he took my mouth and made it his.
I had no complaints when he finally came, filling my mouth with his essence, it spilling from my mouth and down my chin, me swallowing as much as I could, not wanting to lose a drop. He pulled back and stared down at me, robes hanging open and his member glistening with the semen still coating it, his eyes emerald fire. I raised my hand and rubbed my chin, then licked the semen off of my hand like a cat, watching him. He was watching me in turn. I then reached forward, and delicately licked him clean, savoring the taste of him, the finest bouquet. When I had finished he was hard again.
"Strip," he growled, his hands quickly going to the fastening of his robes. I reached for my own fastenings, unclasping them then sliding my robe off. It fell to the floor accompanied by a gasp from Potter. He was not nearly as far along as I was, he was struggling with unbuttoning his shirt, his open robe billowing around him, and he still had his pants around his ankles and his shoes on. I wore nothing but a pair of slippers that would slide of without an effort. His member twitched as he gazed at me, his eyes falling until they reached my own straining member, red and swollen and slick with precum. He stopped struggling with his shirt and stepped out of his shoes and pants, nearly loosing his balance as he did so, then fell to the floor before me. With an articulate growl, he shoved me to the floor. I arranged myself so I was spread for him, my legs stretched on either side of him, waiting to see what he would do next. He reached for his wand, and I felt a twinge of nervousness. If this were one of my dreams, he would be doing something hot and naughty, something that involved bonds. But this was reality, and even while knowing the effect my potion would have on Potter, I had no idea what he would do.
He pointed his wand at me, and whispered something under his breath. I felt a cool tingling sensation within me, and I realized that he used a lubricant spell of some sort on me. I frowned; with the lust potion flowing through him he should not be having any concerns for me. I would have began to wonder if maybe something went wrong with the potion when he inserted a finger into me, rubbing around inside of me. His other hand wrapped around my member and he began to slowly pump me in rhythm to his stroking. I lost all will and limply let him do as he wished, so long as he continued to touch me, for if he stopped I would die. I cannot recall when he inserted the second finger, but I do recall the third, as I had never been stretched so, even by my own fingers. He was still stroking me, and I was whining and arching into him, wanting, needing more of him, burning for him. Then he released me and removed his fingers, I wailed in disappointment at his abandonment. His hands were not gone from my body for long. Potter slid his hands under my knees and pushed my legs up so I was spread open for him. I eagerly followed his cue, my body no longer mine to control. It was his to do as he willed, and I could see the realization of that dawning in his burning green eyes.
". . .please . . . please . . . please . . ." I whimpered as he paused, his eyes locking with mine. I was aching, burning for him. I was his, why was he not taking me.
Then I felt the tip of his member against me, nudging against my opening; then he was slowly, oh-so-slowly pushing into me. I tried to press against him, to take him into me, but Potter's new grip on my hips prevented that. He just pressed in slowly, possessing me inch by burning inch until he was fully settled in me, stretching me so much that it hurt and burnt even with the stretching he had done before.
". . . take . . . me . . . please . . ." I was arching off the floor in an effort to break free of Potter's grasp, desperate for him
to complete me. He held firm until the burning inside faded and I lay limp on the floor, panting and crying for him to move. Then he slowly pulled out until the tip of his head was the only part of him still inside me, then he pressed back with a firm, steady stroke. I keened, my legs shifting until Potter was pressed between my knees. He pulled out slowly once again, his bottom lip held tightly between his teeth; then he drove hard into me. I screamed, bucking under his hands. He released me, placing his palms on the floor on either side of me for balance and started pumping into me in earnest, picking up speed and tempo until my body shook each time he took me. The room was filled with the sounds of flesh striking flesh, of his grunts and moans, and of my moans and cries. My fingers were dug into the rug beneath me as I met each thrust with a growing hunger for more, my member swollen and aching as with each pass it was pressed between our stomachs. I was crying for Potter, for him to give me more, faster, harder, now. I was burning, when he changed positions he aligned himself so that he hit my prostate with each stroke, and it was like lightning hitting me each time, and I never wanted it to end, needed it . . . needed him forever . . . Then he thrusted into me, his entire body going stiff above me and I felt his release, liquid fire scorching me, filling me and then I was coming, clenching around his member, milking him for any liquid left, my own member spurting semen from where it was pressed between our bodies. Potter went limp, falling over on top of me, and I was treated to the alien feeling of having a sweaty, sticky lover sprawled on my chest, body heaving in exertion in tune with mine, dark hairs tickling my chin.
". . . why . . . Malfoy . . ." he gasped between labored breaths. It felt strange, comforting, to feel his breath ghost across my skin. One of my hands crept up and cautiously touched him. He made no move, so I shifted until one hand and arm was draped over his back.
". . .why . . . me . . ."
". . . not . . . now . . ." I wheezed out. My breathing was not in any better shape than his, excalibrated by having his limp form draped over me. I tilted my head and nuzzled his hair, he smelt all musky and sweaty from sex, but there was a residue of a scent under that. He did not reply, and I was so exhausted and sated that I did not care. Sleep overtook me, and I fell into it willingly.
* * * * *
I awoke several hours later, how many I was not sure, feeling the best I ever had, despite the aches of bruises forming on my hips and shoulders. There was also an ache deep inside me, speaking most emphatically of what I had done. I smiled and snuggled into my warm pillow. I would not change . . . a . . . The realization that it was not a pillow I was snuggled into was slow in coming, but once I was aware of what I laid on I froze. Though it had never happened before, I knew I was snuggled against another person. I slowly opened my eyes. My head was resting on Potter. He was laying on his back with me curled as close as possible to his warm body, one arm stretched over his torso, my head resting in the little dip connecting his arm to his chest. He in turn has his arm wrapped around me.
"Awake now?" His voice rumbled in my ear. I had not thought this far in advance, I realized in chagrin. I had not made any plans further than Potter and I having sex. A grave error on my part. I should have left, that would have been the best follow-up scenario. Left quickly, leaving Potter to wonder about what had happened in the morn. But no, I had to fall asleep . . .
"I know you are faking it Malfoy." He uncurled his arm from around me and reluctantly I sat up. Potter was scowling at me, eyes dark. When he glanced at me ruddy color crept into his cheeks. He was blushing, how sweet. Quickly Potter looked away and a moment later he had flung a soft, black mass into my face. My robes, I realized in a moment. I dressed; I was not going to have any kind of non-sexual confrontation with Potter wearing nothing but my slippers . . . okay, not even them, I had lost them sometime last night. Either way, it was just not done. I finished dressing before him, all the while wishing that a bathing room was connected, I reeked of sex. I was all sticky from sweat and . . . other things. A shower would be much appreciated about now. I was glad Potter had granted me my robe for another reason, as my thoughts drifted to ~how~ I had gotten all messy my body reacted in kind, happily remembering what had happened and willing for it to happen again.
That was apparently not to be, as it was obvious that Potter wished to talk. While I had slid into my robes he had quickly found and slid into his boxers and pants. His robe and partially unbuttoned shirt still draped from him. Potter gave the chair he had been sitting in the night before a leery look before he took a seat on the sofa. I returned to my chair.
We stared at each other for several long minutes, him, I believe, waiting for me to say something. As for myself, I was occupied the thinking of what to say as well as wondering why he had not cursed, hexed or attacked me in any way.
"You never answered my question." Potter finally said. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, ready for action. I arched an eyebrow at him questioningly.
"And what question would that be Potter?" I responded. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep his temper in check, then lost it.
"What the bloody hell happened here tonight Malfoy? You lured me up here, and then drugged me so that I would have sex with you! I want to know why! And why the hell me!"
My goodness, I do believe that Potter has spent some time thinking about this, he must have awoken some time before I did. And what to tell him? I am sure that depending on my answer he would hex or attack me, stubborn, noble Gryffindor.
"Because I wanted to." When all else fails, use the truth. I could see that Potter did not appreciate my answer.
"Because you wanted to? What kind of reason is that? You can be expelled for this Malfoy; you could go to prison. And why? Because you wanted a little fun? Bring me down to your level?"
His voice had risen steadily during his accusations, and he was near yelling at the end. He was obviously very upset. And I was getting there too. A bit of fun? After what I had gone through over the years, he was degrading this to `a bit of fun' and `bringing down Potter'? I sneered at him.
"Oh yes Potter, it was all for fun. I just wanted to lay myself down for you to use in any way you wanted, just to demean you. I risked expulsion and prison just for the satisfaction of knowing that I have the capability to drug you and make you have sex with me?" Sarcasm ran deep as I said that, and Potter blinked, then looked thoughtful as he actually paused to think about what I had said. After a long quiet moment he stood and walked to me. He picked up my hand, and looked at the back of it. I glanced over, and saw that the concealment spell I used on it had worn off.
"You were supposed to have gotten this healed." He said in a normal tone. He ran his thumb over it, and I shivered. His sharp eyes noted my involuntary movement and he did it again. "Okay Malfoy, tell me what is going on. The truth. This has been going on for quite a while, hasn't it? I didn't notice it at the time, but yo were acting a bit off all last year. And this year you have been downright not rude to me and my friends. And then this," he waved around the room with his other hand. "Why did you drug me?"
I could not not answer his questions, he was still rubbing my scar, and it was all I could do not to lean into him and beg for his caresses. "Because you would not have had sex with me otherwise."
He watched me for a moment, emerald eyes searching mine for something; then asked his next question. "And why me?"
I had hoped that he had forgotten that one. He continued rubbing my scar, warmth spreading through me from that gentle touch. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, before answering. "Because I want you."
"You want me?" he whispered, his thumb pausing, just holding my hand. "But . . ." Potter looked down at the scar, then back at me. "But . . ." Red flags rode high on his cheeks again, and I knew what he was trying to say.
"I want you," I repeated, closing my eyes and dropping my head, "for so long I wanted you. In my dreams you were always there, and you were taking me. And I wanted to taken, by you, only by you." The hand holding mine tightened painfully, but I continued talking. "You would play with my body, doing whatever you wanted, my desires yours. I cannot count the number of times I masturbated imaging that it was your hand on me, watching me in your power. This year . . . this year . . ." I raised my head and looked at him, that one dream flashing to mind. "I need you, need to be wanted by you . . . I do not know how or why this has come to be, but If we cannot settle between us, one of us will be destroyed . . ." And I fear it will be me. "And so I . . ." I could not go on. I lowered my eyes, I could not look at him, could not believe I babbled all that to him. It did not make much sense to me, but I knew now that he had taken me -no that I knew what it was like to be his- that I would not be able to go on once he rejected me. And of course he would, I had made his life at Hogwarts hell for five years, had mocked him and cursed him, and finally compromised his morals by drugging him so that he would have sex with me in anger and hatred. I was still surprised that he had not cursed me; that we were not sitting in the Headmaster's office as Potter listed my crimes to Dumbledore prior to my expulsion.
I felt a hand on my cheek, rubbing at a slickness that I was unaware of. I was crying, and Potter was wiping away the tears. I pulled away from his touch, my eyes closing in denial. I did not want him to be touching me, touching the evidence of my weakness. In the end, as it always turned out with Potter, I had lost. And it was, like always, my fault. Somehow it was always my fault.
"I thought . . . in your eyes . . ." I heard Potter whisper softly. His hands caught my face and turned it back up toward him. "Look at me Malfoy . . . no . . . Draco, look at me." I refused to open my eyes, refused to look at him. His thumbs continued to wipe away tear marks from my cheeks; so soft and gentle. Liked he cared. I let them draw me out, opening my eyes for him, and he was standing over me, gazing at me, and I could not understand the look in his eyes as they captured mine. I blinked, unshed tears blurring my vision, and he knelt before me so that we were on an equal level, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I did see it, didn't I?" he whispered, his voice barely carrying to me, so soft it was. It matched the softness of the fingers ghosting across my skin, gentle caresses that were confusing me. What was he talking about? What had he seen in my eyes? Why had he not cursed me yet? And . . . he called me by name . . . I frowned, not knowing what was happening. Potter saw my look, and withdrew his hands.
"What are you talking about?" I tried to inflict my usual distain in the question, but was unable to build up the emotion to do so. I sounded . . . I do not know. Petulant. Not like me.
Potter smiled at me. An honest-to-Merlin smirk graced his face, at my querulous question. His eyes lit up and he shook his head at me.
"If you don't know . . ." he murmured, his eyes darkening as he leaned toward me, ". . . let me show you." and his lips were pressed against mine, his arms on either side of me as he pushed me back against the chair, leaning between my spread legs. His mouth moved over mine hungrily, his tongue tasting and his teeth nibbling at my lips. I was lost, I growled at him, my hands finding purchase in his shirt, digging and ripping the material. Neither of us cared. His mouth took full possession of mine, hot and demanding, his tongue laying claim and I eagerly accepted it, moaning hotly at each stroke of his tongue.
He climbed into my lap, his body pressing down on my growing hardness as he pressed closer to me. I whimpered in longing, and he lifted his face from me, lips swollen and red, eyes hazed with passion and something else that I could not identify.
"You want me, right?" Potter murmured hotly, rubbing his face against my cheek, the frame of his glasses digging into my skin. "You want to give yourself to me, that is what you said, right?"
". . . Potter . . ." I moaned, my hands reaching to hold him, digging into his wild hair. With a quick move I removed the offensive frames. ". . . please . . ."
He shifted against me, causing a spear of desire to shoot through me. I groaned and felt his smile against my skin. He licked my skin leading toward my ear then traced it with the tip of his tongue. "You do, don't you? Want to give yourself to me? You have to tell me."
". . . please . . . want you . . . yours . . . ooooh please . . ." he sucked at the skin under my ear and I melted for him, my
head falling aside to grant him better access to my flesh.
"Do you know why?" he asked, trailing sucking kisses down my neck, lapping roughly at my pulse and leaving tingling red marks in his wake. My fingers clenched into his skin, pulling him toward me. "Draco . . ." he moaned softly. "Why? Do you know why?"
". . . why . . . what . . ." I whimpered, struggling to understand him, failing the attempt.
Potter lifted his head from my neck and looked down at me. He cupped my face with one hand, tilting it up to meet him. ". . . tell you . . . later . . ." he panted out and once again claimed my mouth as though it was his due. And perhaps it was. I lost myself in the taste, in the feel of my lover. He was all that mattered to me, all that I would care about, if only given the chance. Time passed with heated moans and touches, wet tongues and urgent lips. I was close, so close to coming, him arching repeatedly over my hardness while plundering my eager mouth, when he pulled away. I cried out, the loss of his touch was the loss of my purpose. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled on my back, on the sofa, I believe, for the surface under me was not the rug-covered floor from before.
Burning hands roamed over my body, my robes having disappeared with me unaware ". . . see you . . ." Potter's voice was rough with desire, his eyes glowing from within as his gaze rove over my body. ". . . Draco . . ." he hissed.
I heard the dim sound of cloth hitting the floor and Potter was once again over me, now as bare as I, his hot flesh burning into mine as he sprawled over me, chest to chest. His member rubbed against mine, and the contact between our burning flesh sent a wave of pleasure through me that had me moaning in agony. I was dying, Potter the only reason I was alive, and he was rubbing his body against mine like a cat in heat, a rumbling from his throat reminiscent of a purr at the friction of our sweat-slicked skin. My hands were rubbing up and down his back, stroking his shoulders, digging into his spine, pulling him harder against me in an effort to absorb his flesh into mine so that nothing could part us. I heard him growl under his breath, the same spell as before, but felt nothing. Then Potter was sitting up, towering over my prone form, and the look in his eyes . . . possessive, domineering. Then he rose up over me, and slid his body down over my member, gently taking me inside him. I cried as he took me, so tight, so hot. So unexpected. I could feel him, could feel the pulse of his body surrounding me as he slowly settled onto me.
". . . look at me . . ."
Pleasure and passion had claimed his features, but he smiled as my gaze met his, and there was softness in his eyes that I had never seen directed at me before. My breath caught in my throat and he leaned over me to capture my lips in the sweetest, most gentle kiss that my imagination had never even realized existed.
". . . You want me . . ." Potter whispered huskily when he ended the kiss ". . . it was all in you eyes . . . you want . . . what you need . . . need what you ~love~ Draco . . ." And my eyes widened in shock. What was he saying? That I loved him? And then the question became unimportant as he lifted his hips and stroked me, and I became lost in my lover as he rode me, took me and claimed me, the heat enveloping the both of us until we both screamed each others names as we came, and the name that tore from me was `Harry' and the last I recall was my lover collapsing on me as we fell into an exhausted sleep was the small smile on his face, and the glowing green in his eyes that promised me forever.
* * * * *
I slowly stripped his clothing from him, letting my hands run over his flawless skin. Pure white and as smooth as silk. He just sat there, letting me touch him, his eyes half closed in pleasure and desire. In no time he was bare as a baby, and as desirable as a nymph, his skin contrasting with the emerald of his duvet. He licked his lips, and I swallowed hard. Tempting, so tempting, but I had plans for the night, and I wanted to surprise him. As I pulled out the long silk scarves Draco's eyes widened in recognition, then gazed at me with longing and anticipation. It did not surprise me that Draco wouldn't mind me binding him, not after three months of having a relationship with him. It had surprised me at first, that Draco wanted anything to do with me, about as surprised as I was when I realized that ~I~ wanted a relationship with him. It still makes me feel funny in my gut when I think back on it, how Draco drugged and seduced me, how he gave ~himself~ to me, and how I reacted under the drug. I couldn't fight it, not completely. I wouldn't say the drug made me want him exactly. From what I know, from then and from what I have since found out from Draco, the drug was a power aphrodisiac, causing whomever was exposed with it to burn with lust. Then it was combined with a drug to inflame anger and one to weaken inhibitions.
Essentially, he had created a rape drug that would cause the victim to be the rapist. Very Slytherin. It did not work quite as Draco had expected though. It had caused me to burn for him, and he anger created had made me want to hurt him, and it had been all I could do not to throw him on the floor and take him like an animal, but he had miscalculated on the last potion. It had weakened my inhibitions, but he had no idea what I was suppressing deep inside, what I did not even want to admit to myself. So when I looked at him, fully under the potion's control, I could feel the lust welling in me, the anger I felt for him, and the overwhelming desire to make him mine. And he gave himself to me, willingly and without question, and I took what he offered, himself, and instinctively treated him as I would anything that belonged to me, with caring and gentleness. I treasure what is mine, I would never damage or destroy something I cared about, and as I have always had few things that belonged to me, I treasured them all. And that was his mistake. I fought the part that was calling for me to hurt him, made his body burn and want and need with my body, and discovered that he was giving me more of himself than he had thought. He was offering me something that only a few had ever given me willingly, his love.
I pushed him on it later, after we had let the passion burn from our bodies and had fallen asleep in a tangle of hot sweaty flesh. He was reluctant to talk about it, did not seem to realize what he had offered, and had no idea that I was not going to let it go. Something was bothering him though and I was still under the influence of the potion, though it was fading, and I could not help but comfort him. His every move screamed that he wanted me, needed to be mine, and needed to break through his denial, make him realize that he had no choice, he had given himself to me fully, and that there was no going back. He was mine and I was not letting go. I made love to him, calling to his body with mine, and he was unable to do anything but submit to me. I took him into me, and made love to him as though he was the most precious thing in existence, and when we came I called out his name, as I had before, and he called me `Harry', and his eyes were shining with pure emotion, love shining in his quicksilver eyes.
The last three months had been wonderful, his love a balm to emotional scars that I had not realized that I had, but I lived with the constant fear that he would be taken away from me. My relationship with Ron and Hermione was unshakeable, but they were only my best friends. Their undying love was reserved for each other. Sirius was gone, and though there was a chance I could once again see him through the Veil, there was no guarantee that we would be together in the afterlife. I was afraid that I would loose Draco, forever. I wanted him, needed him and with a little unexpected help from Luna found the solution to my problem. Last week she had commented on an article in a past edition of The Quibbler in response to a discussion Hermione started. I had not been paying attention at first, but it seemed to have been on marriage bindings of various magical cultures. Luna had commented that the year before there had been an article in her father's magazine on that very subject and actually had a list of binding incantations in it. Hermione scoffed at it, binding rituals were powerful magic and were restricted, they would not be printed in a magazine, especially not The Quibbler. Luna had frowned, but had given me a look that made me wonder. The next day the magazine was lying on my bed. I looked through it, and was surprised on how easy the incantations were to perform, and shocked at how complicated the actual bindings were to comply to. All the bindings were permanent, many bonded either the magic or life-force two people together; some even bonded their souls together. On all of them, if the couple were not true to their desire to be bound, the binding would fail. If ones love was not as devoted to the other during the binding, serious repercussions would result, up to and including the deaths of the binding couple. I could easily see why they were restricted. One of them caught my eye, though. It was a soul binding, but would work only if one was willing to give themselves to the other, and no incantation was technically involved. All that was necessary was for the two to want the bonding, for the one to totally give themselves, mind and body, heart and soul to the other. In return, the other partner would have to accept them in their entirety. The love between the two would have to be true and all enveloping for the binding to work, for a balance to be struck between giving and taking, supporting and holding so that each partner's need were met, their weaknesses and flaws balanced by the others strengths. And the binding would be forever.
It was perfect. I could bind Draco to me, and should the unthinkable occur and Voldemort kill him, he would not be lost to me. He would always be with me, and I with him.
I tied the scarves, Slytherin green for Draco, to the posts on either side of the headboard. He pulled on them experimentally while I disrobed and knelt before him. For this to work I would have to tell him, you cannot bind the unwilling or the unknown. It had to be fully consensual. But first, before anything, I wanted to admire him. "Perfection, aren't you?" I murmured. "Perfection, just for me." I looked down at his member, swollen already for me and watched it twitch in anticipation. I smiled and raised my hand, stroking through his silken hair. I hated how Draco had always used to wear his hair, all slicked back. I wanted it to be free, flowing around him, tempting me to touch it. I wanted to see it that way and know that I had the right to touch it whenever I wished.
Draco whimpered, tilting his head into my touch. I continued to smile as I brushed the back of my fingers across his fair cheek, over his jaw and down his neck. I watched as Draco swallowed hard, shivering as he strained not to move, his teeth tearing at his bottom lip as my caress made its way down his chest, past his tight coral nipples that I wanted to taste and down to his stomach, quivering at my touch. I trailed my fingers further down, stopping short at his tightly curled pubic hair and his straining, swollen member. Longing to have him burned through me, and I knew that I would have to wait until later to tell him my idea. For now all I wanted was him.
"You ache for me, long for my presence, don't you?" I whispered. I had discovered early on that Draco was very susceptible to verbal seduction. I could bring him to release with my voice, if I chose to do so. I didn't, because I wouldn't be able to last that long without touching him, tasting his skin.
"Yes . . ." Draco hissed; and I watched as he struggled not to arch for my touch, and failed. I raised my hand, keeping it mere inches from his burning desire.
"You hunger for me." I continued and I smiled again as a low whimper drug itself out of Draco's throat and he strained toward my touch, the headboard and green scarves anchoring him as he strained toward me. Blood was beating through me hotly as I pulled my hand completely away, shaking my head. I was not done teasing him yet.
"You want me . . . say it," I prompted, wanting, needing to hear him say it. If he couldn't do this now, bringing up the idea of bonding would be moot.
"I . . . I want . . . you . . ." he moaned hotly, his eyes had slipped half shut as he continued to seek my touch, his eyes molten quicksilver.
I swallowed hard, "You need me . . . your body hungers for me."
"Starving . . . dying without you . . ." Draco whispered in agreement.
I spread my hand wide across his chest, my palm resting over his heart. Draco gave a sharp cry at my touch. "And is this mine as well? Your heart?" My thumb was just under his nipple, and I absently stroked the skin beneath it. "Would you give that to me?"
Draco clenched his hands into fists and strained against my bindings ". . . yours . . ." he hissed, " . . . my heart's
blood . . . yours for the taking . . ."
I gazed at him, shifting my hand and taking his nipple between my fingers. It almost sounded as if Draco was going through his part of the binding, but he didn't know I wanted to perform one . . . My love's low throaty whimpers broke my train of thought, he was calling for me to touch him, and I couldn't resist that call.
My eyes locked on his face, eyes closed in pleasure as he submitted to my touch. "Would you give your very essence to me? Is that mine as well? What makes you you. The force that resides in this body; your soul. Would you give that to me as well? For all eternity, in my keeping? Bind yourself to me, so that you cannot be claimed by anyone else again, so that you will always be mine?"
Draco opened his eyes; smoldering quicksilver met mine as I realized what I had just done. I had initialized the bonding, and I hadn't warned Draco about it . . .
He gazed at me longingly. "I . . . am yours . . ." he whispered back to my shock. His head fell back against the headboard moaning. " . . . yours . . . mind . . . body . . . heart . . . soul. Bind me . . . make me yours . . ."
I paused, looking at him for a long moment. He knew, somehow he knew. "No going back, My Dragon."
". . . never was . . . an option," he panted, his eyes burning into mine, causing desire to flash through me. "Finish this . . . or when freed . . . I will kill you . . ."
That's my Draco, defiant to the very end. I cupped his cheeks with my hands, gently rubbing my thumbs over the skin under his ears. He was so sensitive here, and as I knew would happen, a high wail tore itself from his throat at my touch. His body was now mine, and he knew it. ". . . please . . ." he choked.
I slid one hand from his cheek and trailed it down my body, shivering as darts of pleasure followed my hand down my chest to my aching desire for him. I caressed myself, wishing it were Draco's hand while I was spreading precum on my fingers. When I couldn't take it any more I lifted my fingers and traced Draco's lips, painting them with my essence. His mouth opened and I let him take my fingers. He suckled on them eagerly and I could only see him in my mind suckling on another part of my body. I enjoyed watching him in his pleasure, and I smiled as I watched and felt him suck on my fingers, lavishing them with his tongue and moaning his pleasure. My resolve was dissolving when I pulled my fingers from him, there was still much to do. He whimpered in distress, following my fingers as well as he could. My fingers were now wet with his saliva, an okay lubricant in a pinch. I grasped his member and slowly started to stroke him. He moaned and arched shallowly into my grasp. I stopped stroking him, but that did not matter, Draco was pumping shallowly into my hand and I watched, sweat breaking across his skin, his head pinned back against the headboard, moans singing of his pleasure, his entire body tense as he burned for me.
I felt sympathetic pain myself at his cry when I released him. He strained toward me, the scarves digging into his wrists as he mindlessly tried to reach me. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and I could not let him suffer for too much longer. I lifted my fingers, now covered with my love's essence and painted over his lips once again. As before, Draco opened his mouth in invitation for my fingers. This time I denied him and pulled back instead of letting him take my fingers. He whined softly and then tried to lick his lips, as if he could not have my fingers, he would trace their path, but I shook my head, leaning over Draco so that our lips were just a breath away from each other.
"Mine . . ." I whispered, closing the distance between us and taking his mouth. I licked it clean of our mixed essence, humming in satisfaction as the bitter salty liquid broke across my tongue, before delving into his mouth, running my tongue over his teeth and sucking his tongue into my mouth. Draco went limp, his body pliant and being held up only by his bound arms and my body pressing him back into headboard. I slid my hands around his hips and pulled him away from the headboard then reached for the small jar of lubricant that I had sat next to me before any of this even began. The first night we were together was the only time I had ever used a wand to prepare Draco or myself. A wand could never compare to the gentle, or hot and hungry, touch of the one you love's fingers. I ran slick fingers over his straining member, he would not last much longer without release and then slid down even further, circling around his scrotum, sliding down to touch the tight entrance to his body. Gently I stroked him, I was always careful when preparing Draco, then slid one finger into him, him moaning deeply at my longed for touch. I broke free of his mouth and moved to the delicate skin under his ear, suckling on the skin hungrily, leaving red marks as I slowly trailed down his neck until I found his pulse point pounding frantically under my tongue. He was groaning softly, totally pliant, and I decided that it was time for a second finger. He keened sharply, thrusting weakly against my fingers, his body begging for me to posses it. I laughed softly and added a third finger. Once again a sharp cry of pleasure and longing escaped him. I looked at him, his quicksilver eyes half closed; his pale skin flushed a dark pink, sweat glimmering on him. He was panting, his entire body shaking with each effort to take a breath. A rush of desire hit me so strongly that I nearly came; he was so beautiful, so precious, so mine.
"Mine," I whispered again, urgently nuzzling my nose against Draco's chin like a cat, lapping at his sweetly salty skin. "Freely given, freely taken. Bound forever." My hands were on his hips again, lifting him, positioning him and then the tip of my member was brushing against his opening. I was holding onto my self-control by the teeth, all I wanted, all I needed was to sink into his hot tight entrance and take him, but I had to finish. I couldn't, wouldn't loose him. "From this point on, My Dragon, Draco, you are mine," I growled, and I could see the eager acceptance of that in his eyes, and then I drove into him, his body encompassing mine, holding me tight within him as a strangled scream clawed its way out of his throat. Strong legs wrapped around me, pulling me close and then I started to move, to stroke my love with all my passion and need and love and I could feel a new heat burning through me, racing through my blood and pulling at my heart; binding me, filling and completing me, and I knew that we were being bound together. Then everything was dark and light, burning and comforting. A scream rent the air, and I couldn't tell who it was, and then the heat overwhelmed me as I felt a pressure burst inside of me and I was lost and then found as I felt everything that is Draco and I reached for it and held it close, vowing never to release him, to always hold him and protect him. And I could feel him inside me, holding my heart close to his. And I knew, we would always be together. For all eternity, mind, body, heart and soul.
=^._.^=
Copywrite July 2003
Lady Koneko
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