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Chapter Four: To and fro in my dreams I go… “Malfoy, slow down! Where are we going?” For Harry Potter, the rest of dessert had been a maddening blur of wine that was drained too quickly, breathing that was a bit too shallow and glances that lingered just a bit too long. This was hardly the Draco who played cruel pranks on him, going to great lengths to get him in trouble. This was hardly the same Draco that told him he had chosen the losing side at the end of his forth year. “Come on. Just follow my lead.” They ran-walked about half a block before Draco stopped suddenly, silver eyes scanning the steel grey street in front of them. With the practiced ease of a city-born Muggle, Draco raised his gloved hand in the air and hailed a black taxi cab. As it creaked to a halt in the gutter where they stood, Draco yanked the back door open and shoved the very tipsy Harry Potter inside. Draco thrust a wad of notes under the cab driver’s nose. “There’s just over a hundred quid. Drive around, keep your eyes on the road, and don’t stop till I tell you. Got it?” “Right.” Draco climbed into the back of the cab next to Harry, sidling close to the other boy as the car lurched away from the curb. “Malfoy,” Harry whispered urgently, “where are we going?” “Shh. I’m not one for pillow talk and sweet nothings, Potter. Kiss me.” Harry rushed to comply, leaning in closely to Draco’s face. Brushing his lips against Draco’s cheek, Harry suddenly found his composure, his will, and his resolve crumbling blissfully in the milky-white fetish that was Draco Malfoy. Pressing in closer, Harry allowed his tongue to slip past his lips, dragging it gently along the creamy-smooth line of Draco’s jawbone. Draco sighed, and shuddered a little; but still he sat rigidly, feet planted firmly on the cab floor, legs splayed slightly, hands at his sides with his palms pressing madly into the worn taxicab upholstery. Harry reached for one of Draco’s stiff arms, but was rebuked. “No,” Draco whispered, his voice rough with desire. “I want you to… do things. To me.” “Like this?” Harry climbed over Draco and, kneeling on the edge of the seat, straddled his lap. Face to face, Harry leaned in, taking Draco’s bottom lip in his teeth, tasting it, molesting it. Draco responded in kind, needily suckling kisses from Harry’s mouth. The gravity of the situation was far from their thoughts, especially Harry’s. It hardly mattered that this was Draco, or that Draco was a boy, or that he’d be in big trouble for staying away from Hogwarts for the second night in a row. All that mattered was that the cab kept going, passing through shadowed alley after shadowed alley, like a wet dream that never ended. The circular film loop of sadness, loneliness and rejection that had replayed itself compulsively in Harry’s head for the last 16 years had finally snapped and begun to melt across the screen of his consciousness. For the first time in his life, Harry tasted what it felt like to be wanted and needed and desired, and he wasn’t about to let this feeling disappear. “So this is what you want?” asked Harry, breaking away for air. “Mmmm…” Draco’s head lolled back, his eyes misty and his blonde hair mussed and tangled. A mad desire possessed the dark-haired boy, and Harry seized Draco’s face in his hands. “Answer me, or I’ll stop.” Another carefully placed bite, this time on Draco’s earlobe. “Answer me, Draco. You asked me to do things to you. Is this what you want?” hissed Harry, taunting Draco, savoring the control he had over the little blonde with the big erection. “Don’t stop. Just… keep doing what you’re doing.” Soon Harry was raking his fingers through Draco’s hair, abusing the smaller boy’s face with his selfish mouth. Breathlessly, he nibbled his way down Draco’s neck, branding the delicate white flesh with his own, greedy dark marks. “Mmm… Harry?” “Hmmm, yes, Draco?” sighed Harry. His lips hungered to explore every inch of Draco’s perfect neck, his tongue tasting the bitter traces of cologne, sweat, the way school robes smelled when they were freshly cleaned and pressed. “I’ve got that feeling…” “Which one?” “That swoon… right before you commit a sin.” “Original sin?” mused Harry, toying with the buttons of Draco’s robe. Draco closed his eyes before answering. “No such thing, Harry. No such thing.” “Really, then? So what’s this?” “Just a sin. Just a wonderful, sexy, delicious sin.” “What if I stopped? What if I took my hands from your body and never touched you again, Draco?” Grey eyes popped open. “That’d be a sin, too, Harry.” Draco reached out in an attempt to seize Harry by the wrists, but Harry was too quick for him. “It’d be a dreadful sin and… bloody tacky.” Draco clumsily tried to grab Harry’s hands a second time, only to be foiled again by the more practiced reflexes of the Gryffindor seeker. “What gives, Potter?” “Shhh… You’re the one who put me in control, Draco. Now… what are you willing to do to make this happen for us?” “Potter,” whined Draco, his hand skirting down to stroke the bulge under his robe. “What do you… want?” “No, Draco, it doesn’t work that way. I don’t tell you what I want. You tell me what you’re going to do. Now that,” breathed Harry, indicating Draco’s furtive masturbation with his eyes, “is a nice start.” “You… you mean… this? You want me to… what I mean is… Oh fuck.” Draco cast his eyes downward, a mixture of shame and desire coloring his cheeks. All of a sudden, he realized what was going on. He did not have the upper hand… Harry did. “Potter,” he said weakly, running his hands along the insides of his thighs. “I am so bloody drunk right now…” “I know you are, Draco,” cooed Harry, playing with Draco’s hair. “I know. I can tell you barely have any self-control left. You can’t keep your hands away from it, Draco. Don’t be afraid. Show me, Draco. Show me.” Draco flinched and dug his nails into his own thighs. Potter is… not… doing this to me, he thought. He can’t… he’s not supposed to… “Harry,” Draco whispered at last, hands shaking like leaves on a tree. “I want to jerk off for you. I want you to watch me touching myself, Harry. I want you to see what I look like when I’m alone in my room, pleasuring myself by my own hand.” Draco’s breathing went shallow and ragged as he hitched his robes up around his waist. Sliding out of his soft linen pants, Draco felt his erection spring free, pink and young and fresh, framed by impossibly soft, blonde curls. “Show me, then,” challenged Harry, struggling to remain composed. I’m not giving this up, thought Harry. This feeling, this control… it’s far too good. Draco stretched out on the seat, his naked thighs ghoulish and pale against the dark upholstery. Yes, thought Harry. The back of a taxicab is the perfect place to watch Draco Malfoy masturbate. Harry’s eyes obsessively followed Draco’s nimble hands as began to gently tug and stroke the length of his cock. Draco was rather well-endowed for a boy with his slender build, thought Harry greedily. An unexpected bonus. So beautiful, Harry mused, this boy who seemed to be every shade of pink and white all at once, with that huge shaft, all rosy and stiff, being manipulated by desperate, skillful hands. “Very nice, Draco… is that really how you do it when you’re alone?” “Yes… yes, Harry.” “And what do you think about?” Draco’s hand slowed for a heartbeat, the fingers of his right hand loosening their grip as his eyes opened a bit. “Boys,” he said finally, smirking triumphantly as his left hand cupped and massaged his balls. Harry felt his own erection jerk and sway under his robe in response to Draco’s answer. “Boys,” he echoed, fighting the impulse to dive onto Draco’s cock with his mouth. “Tell me more,” he whispered. “Tell me everything you do, from start to finish. I need to know Draco, or this cab ride is going to be over very shortly.” Draco swallowed and moved his hand faster; Harry’s insistent tone was having an incredible effect on him. He felt compelled to share his filthiest fantasies with Harry, to confess his every impure thought, just to please him. “Well… it’s usually very late at night… if I’m hard and can’t sleep, I’ll start to stroke myself very gently. Like this,” Draco demonstrated, dragging just his fingertips up the underside and over the head of his shaft. He did this a few times, very lightly, barely touching the sensitive patch beneath the head. “Then, when I can’t, you know, resist it, I’ll grab it and start pulling it, but I’ll pretend it belongs to someone else. It’s usually different… Sometimes it’s Blaise Zabini, sometimes it’s Oliver Wood.” Harry watched intently as Draco’s hand quickened at the mention of the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain. “Tell me about Oliver,” whispered Harry. “What do you do with Oliver?” “Well… I usually imagine finding him in the showers after Quidditch practice, but sometimes he’s just come back for a visit after graduation. He’ll be there in the locker room, looking for you, but I’m there instead, and I’m just coming from the shower and I never seem to have a towel. So he takes me and, he pins me up against the wall, and he’s telling me to stroke him, so I do… He’s always bigger and stronger than me, and I never have a choice. He’s always wearing the same thing… a gray mock-turtleneck sweater, and black dress pants. And a thick black robe. I undo his pants, and he’s always huge, and I start to jerk him off, and he slaps me-“ “He slaps you,” repeated Harry, beyond intrigued. “Yeah. I always forget to hold onto his balls, so he slaps me.” “Does Oliver kiss you, Draco?” asked Harry breathlessly. “No. Never.” “What happens next?” Draco squeezed his eyes shut and yanked harder still on his erection, which was nearly purple now. “Draco,” said Harry more harshly, “I asked you a question. Now, answer me. What happens next?” Draco took his left hand off his balls and moved it shakily to his mouth. He sucked and slurped at his fingers until they dripped and glistened. Then, without warning, he lifted his hips off the seat and shoved two fingers roughly into himself. He cried out softly, bucking at the sensation, then relaxed and established a frantic rhythm of tugging and riding. “He fucks me, Harry,” said Draco- a rough and lewd confession. “He turns me around and fucks me. Hard. Against the wall. Oh God,” he moaned. Draco was now working a third finger into his ass, pumping his hips up and down as he feverishly beat off to the carnal imagery in his mind. Harry was unable to keep his hands off his own body. His robe was around his waist now, and his jeans were unbuttoned, his cock jutting rudely from within, demanding attention. “Is that what you do when you think about getting fucked by Oliver?” asked Harry, watching Draco’s slim fingers disappear into his own, tight hole. “Yeah,” said Draco. “Do you use anything else besides your fingers?” “Sometimes I use my wand. Once I used a candle. But… it’s not… it’s not-“ “Not what, Draco?” “It’s… not enough,” panted Draco, writhing madly in between his own two hands. “How is it not enough, Draco?” demanded Harry, moving close to the other boy’s face. “Tell me.” Draco’s face, already flushed with need, now burned crimson with shame. “God… Harry, it’s not big enough. I always want more. My wand is too thin, and my fingers are too short.” Like a mobius strip of endless desire, Draco was bent on riding and thrusting, desperate for a level of release that he always struggled for but could never attain. Harry never let his gaze wander from Draco’s hands or body. Though utterly inexperienced, he finally let his desire overwhelm his fear, and he grabbed for Draco’s hand, moving it from the blond boy’s tormented erection to his own, neglected one. Molding Draco’s small fingers around the darkened flesh, Harry groaned softly, savoring the newness, the immediacy, the feel of an unfamiliar hand on his tender skin for the first time. Draco’s hand felt tiny and cold, but he responded eagerly by tightening his grip on Harry’s cock, pulling on it with skill unique to desperation. “Would this be enough, Draco? Feel it… is that long enough? Wide enough? If I put this into you, would it fill you and satisfy you?” whispered Harry, both tender and taunting. Draco pressed his lips together until they went white, and he nodded frantically. “Mmm… please? Harry, I won’t tell a soul. Please, do it.” “Please do what, Draco?” Harry’s liquored blood thrummed in his head as he hovered over Draco’s willing form, green eyes darting and searching. Then, he saw his own hands reaching out, quivering and helping Draco onto his face, and then he lost all control. They ran out of cab fare long before they ran out of ideas, so they threw on their robes in a tempest and ran like fugitives from their own wicked desires into a darkened alley where they signed their unlikely treaty with signatures borne of sweat and desire. back? |