*Incendiemus*
First NC-17 fic... *shudders* Whaddy'all think?
Incediemus
by S_Star
Disclaimer: I remember a notice from Rowling’s agents about how fanfiction’s okay as long as it’s not pornographic. If I were her, I wouldn’t need to be hiding right now. ^_~ The brief bit of herbalism is from ‘The Magic of Herbs’ by David Conway.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: With a little magic, even stone can burn, but phoenixes always rise again. A slightly strange PWP with too many present participles. ^_~
AN: Inspired by many songs on my Plotbunny CD (‘music to write by’), which I made instead of memorising Latin verbs I already knew. In particular, my favourite song of all time, ‘Dirty Magic’ by the Offspring, which you should all go download because it’s just completely beautiful and messed-up. ^_^ This is my first ever NC-17 fic, and it’s dedicated to Emily, who told everyone I know IRL that I write gay porn. She said she doesn’t like spreading rumours that are true, so to clear my name... ^_~
AN2: If you’re Simon, don’t read this. Trust me, okay? Don’t.
AN3: Thank you very much to DravenSwann, who beta’d this for me at lightning speed. ^_^
Incendiemus
I’ve had a lot of detentions with Potter lately. Snape says it’s because I provoke him, but I think it’s because he needs someone to baby-sit him at all times.
It’s impossible to miss the changes in him this year: he makes random cryptic comments and then promptly forgets what they were, he walks into lessons half an hour late and calmly explains that he got lost, and he constantly has a sort of bemused smile on his face - a vacant variation on that know-it-all expression Dumbledore always wore.
There are a lot of rumours as to how he got this way, and even Granger and the Weasel are distancing themselves from him. I don’t know quite what they’re afraid of as he’s almost like a child now, although he speaks complex sentences in a deep, husky voice and has years of aging etched into his eyes. I saw him levitating a feather the other day, like we had to in first year charms, and just watching it float down in a spiral. He stood there for half an hour staring at it and I stood there just as long staring at him.
Of course, I know exactly what happened. I was there on that night, the night he killed Voldemort. The final battle took place on the lawns of Malfoy Manor, much to my mother’s disgust, and I watched with sick fascination from my bedroom window as Harry Potter stabbed Voldemort with the sword of Gryffindor on the stroke of midnight, the bells announcing Christmas day. My father had told me in meticulous detail why neither of the pair could use their wands, but I had ignored his lengthy explanations about phoenix feathers and instead asked what would happen when Voldemort was dead. That was what got me banished to my room after a lecture about how, ‘The Dark Lord will not fall. He will kill the Boy Who Lived and reclaim his full power!’ And that was what happened. With Voldemort dead, the powers he had transferred to Potter couldn’t survive, and Potter gained another scar.
It was perfect, I think, that the second mark cut the first exactly in half. A cross to symbolise his sacrifice for the world. Perfect poetry for Potter, who lost a large part of himself and his magic that night.
Bells rang out the next morning but they fell on deaf ears as he stayed in the middle of the patch of snowdrops, staring at the sky. No one dared move him until he was ‘ready’, but that Tonks woman - whom I am ashamed to have as a relation - tried to offer him coffee in the afternoon and got it poured all over her when she tapped his shoulder. I don’t think he’s let anyone touch him since then. He even screamed out ‘Get AWAY from me!’ the last time someone jostled him in a corridor. Sometimes I think it’s no wonder he ended up all alone. The hero of the entire planet, alone. The world is fucked up.
I tried to talk to him last time we were down here - life has been dull without the anger I can invoke in him - but he doesn’t respond to taunts anymore and I really didn’t want to risk hand to hand combat.
He’s stopped chopping gillyweed now and is staring at the flames dancing under my cauldron.
‘Problem, Potter?’
He shakes his head and looks back at the fire. ‘We don’t have fire drills here,’ he murmurs.
‘What?’
He looks up at me with eyes impossibly dark yet still somehow innocent. ‘At the Muggle primary school I went to, they always had fire drills. Y’know, marching everyone outside to practise for what would happen if the building burnt down. We don’t have those.’ He frowns and I count another line of age on his face.
‘We don’t need to do. You can put out fires with a spell. Exstinguo.’ The mixture stops sizzling and I look back. ‘See?’
He bites his bottom lip and looks around. ‘And stone doesn’t burn.’
I nod. ‘Stone doesn’t burn. And there are wards everywhere anyway, to alert everyone and prevent anything going wrong.’
‘Like fire alarms,’ he pauses. ‘Isn’t there a spell? A charm to make fire that can destroy all this?’
‘If there is, there has to be a spell to undo it. And if there’s a spell to undo it, Du-’ I cut off the name before it’s out, but his eyes are wide and his jaw drops.
‘You said...’
‘I didn’t mean to!’ I snap. He tends to get aggressive when Dumbledore’s name is mentioned. He still hasn’t come to terms with any of the war casualties.
But he responds perfectly calmly. ‘I know. So if there was a fire, no one could stop it, and no one would know what to do?’
I shrug. ‘You came up with all this, don’t ask me.’
‘The whole castle would burn down, and no one would be able to do anything.’
‘What’s with this sudden fascination with burning down the school anyway, Potter? It’s slightly worrying.’
‘No reason,’ he singsongs, sitting down on a desk and tilting his head in question. ‘What are you making?’
‘A potion,’ I reply, vanishing the contents of the cauldron. ‘Or I was, until you made me put out the fire.’
‘I know that, silly. What kind of potion?’
‘Disinfectant cleansing charm,’ I recite. ‘To speed up all these detentions.’
‘Can’t you just say ‘Scourgify’?’ he asks, and I notice - again - his wand. The phoenix feather core refused to channel his magic when he’d lost Voldemort’s power, and he had to get a new one. Ebony, 14 inches, dragon’s heartstring. The same as mine. He was over the moon when he noticed this one detention in January, skipping over to show me. It was the first time he kissed me.
‘We’re the same now, Draco,’ he said in that same singsong voice. Then his lips touched the corner of mine before he jumped away to alphabetise Snape’s closet. That was when I saw that Granger and Weasley had set up their workbench on the opposite side of the room to him. That was when I started to watch his every move and saw that he never touched anyone but me. That was when I realised how fucked up everything was.
It’s happened again, Always feather light caresses and some weird demeanour that I suppose is him being flirtatious, and I’ve long since given up on understanding it.
‘Whatcha thinking about?’ he asks, and I jump when I see that he’s standing right next to me.
‘Fire.’ I answer.
He pouts then, the strangest expression I’ve ever seen him wear. ‘You weren’t thinking about me?’
‘Why would I have been?’
‘Someone has to. Why not you?’
‘A valid point, Potter, really, but I’m trying to get this finished. So if you’d just leave...’
‘You don’t like me anymore?’ he whines, slipping his arms round my waist.
‘When did I ever like you?’
He brings his lips to my ear. ‘You must like me sometimes.’
I sigh and abandon the potion. ‘I like you when you’re not talking.’
‘That’s a start. Besides, where am I meant to go? There’s nowhere else.’
I spin round, pushing him away. ‘What do you mean, nowhere else?’
‘The whole place is burning.’ He shivers. ‘Can’t you feel it?’
‘What? What the hell have you done, Potter?’
‘Haven’t done anything. Just smelled smoke.’
I don’t remember him ever being clairvoyant, but at this point I don’t really care. ‘Come on then. We have to get out of here!’
‘Like I said, nowhere to go. Fire can’t hurt us here.’ He spins in a circle. ‘We’re phoenixes, Draco. Phoenixes always rise again.’
‘Fine, I’ll go then. You can stay here in this death-trap. If this fire can destroy stone, the dungeons’ll be caved in before you can say ‘Incendio’.’
His voice turns cold. ‘You can’t go.’
‘Watch me.’ I reach for the door, but he whispers a locking charm. ‘You’re insane.’
‘You’ve been saying that since first year.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s not true.’
‘Never said it wasn’t.’ He shivers again. ‘Don’t you feel it, Draco? The suspense? Everyone’s waiting but they don’t know what for, and they’ll die before they can find out.’
I take a step backwards but hit the wall. ‘What the hell’s got into you?’
‘I’m going to be reborn in fire. The phoenix comes back to life when it burns, and you’ll come back with me.’
‘You’re not possessed by Voldemort’s spirit or something, are you? Because this is crazy! We’re all going to die and you’re laughing!’ Now I’m panicking, scrabbling at the door and hissing every unlocking charm I can think of.
‘No Voldemort here. Just Harry. I’m the Boy Who Lived.’
‘You’re going to be the Boy Who Died very soon unless you unlock this bloody door!’
‘I don’t think so.’ He walks to stand in front of the entrance, daring me to defy him. His eyes are brighter than usual, glowing with twisted glee, and the lighting spell’s gone out so he’s just a chiselled face in the candlelight with shiny lips and pitch-dark hair. ‘You wouldn’t leave without me,’ he adds matter-of-factly. ‘You’re in love with me.’
‘What?!’ I yell, but he’s saying it over and over and it’s probably very stupid and I kiss him to shut him up. It’s just as brief a touch as his normally are, but it evokes more of a response. He growls softly and brings my lips back down to his, but for the first time he thrusts his tongue into my mouth and tastes me. I bite back a moan as he sweeps across my palate and push him back against the offending door so he knows who’s in control here. If I’m going out, I’m going out fighting.
He tugs my hair and I pull back for breath to be met with his lopsided, swollen smile. ‘See, ‘s not bad to burn.’ he whispers, and I think again that everything is fucked up beyond belief.
I start to smell smoke for the first time, and after years of potions I can recognise the scent: there’s sulphur being burnt, but the smell also contain hints of applewood. I can vaguely recall something about using sulphur, mercury and salt for medical infusions, but I don’t think there was every any reason to burn it as it was all from plants. So how...?
Suddenly dizzy and sick of thinking, I mutter ‘Oh, what the hell’ and kiss Potter again, hard and desperate like before and he arches against me beautifully as my hand traces the skin under his loose shirt. His flesh is warm against my hand, and I continue to explore, my fingers drawing patterns over his stomach as he tugs at my tie, trying blindly to undo it without choking me or breaking our kiss.
As I breathe again and try to help him untie it, I try to ignore the fact that nothing in the smoke has aphrodisiac properties and that I have no idea why I’m doing this other than impending death, and even so, I should definitely NOT be trying to unbutton Harry Potter’s shirt in the middle of a burning school. He licks a trail down my throat and I moan softly, deciding to adopt the mentality that you only live once as I tilt my neck back to allow him better access. This was my once, and I was going to enjoy it. He draws his teeth across one of my nipples and I think that maybe it would be impossible for me not to enjoy it.
‘You okay there, Draco?’ he asks, looking up with his head cocked quizzically at me again.
‘Now that you mention it, this is rather uncomfortable.’ I gesture at my position; now bent backwards against the edge of a desk, and he somehow pushes me up and seems to slither on top of me, straddling my thighs.
‘Better?’ he asks, moving forward to push my shoulders down. His hardness rubs against my own with the motion and I gasp, automatically pushing my hips up to his. ‘Down, boy’ he hisses, and the sinister gleam enters his eyes again saying to me, ‘I’m in control here.’ I groan with frustration, impossibly turned-on by the gravel in his voice and the way his pupils are so dilated I can only see a sliver of smouldering emerald where the light catches.
Somehow maintaining eye contact, he restarts his trail down my body, alternating agonising paths of butterfly kisses with licks and nips. Laughing gutturally at the sounds I make as probes me, evidently delighted to find that I have so many erogenous zones.
He smirks angelically - an expression only Potter could achieve - and unzips my trousers with a patience belied by the hunger in his eyes. I shudder as he frees my aching erection, but he just winks at me and places small bites along my inner thighs, ignoring the stream of profanities pouring from my lips.
I sit up, ready to force him if need be, but he crawls back up and slowly mutters ‘Teneo.’
I tug and find that he’s bound my wrists, and yell, ‘Fuck, Potter!’ at the top of my voice. He smiles indulgently and slides back down to perch between my legs.
‘What do you want, Draco?’ he asks, and I seethe with rage and impatience.
‘You know damn well what I want, Potter, so I’d thank you to just do it before we’re both fried!’
I shut my eyes to block out the look on his face, but they immediately snap open again as I feel his lips on me. His tongue darts out to lick up a drop of precum from the head of my cock before he lowers his mouth down and engulfs me in velvet wetness. His teeth scrape lightly along my hardness and I try to push myself in even further, try to make him take me in all the way, because it’s just so beautiful; the way he looks bobbing between my legs and the way it feels when he runs his tongue down my length, and the smoke and the candlelight, and just EVERYTHING. I’m writhing and probably screaming his name, with every cell in my body aching for release, and then I come, harder than I’ve ever come before. I fall through endless seas of stars and flames and bright green eyes to find him kissing me again, but now I can taste myself in his mouth.
I try to reach down for him, but my wrists are still tied and it’s too much for me to form coherent words to beg him to free me. He seems to know what he’s doing as he reaches down and pulls down his trousers and boxers to free his own swollen cock, and I could probably come again from the sight of him alone, lying next to me naked and sweaty and aroused. It’s hard for me to think coherently as he reaches for his wand and murmurs an inaudible charm.
If I strain my ears, I can hear people screaming above us. The smell of smoke is getting so strong that it hurts to breathe too deeply, although I don’t really have a choice but to pant desperately as he pushes two fingers into me. I try to spread my legs further apart for him, and he suddenly removes his hand and shoves his cock into me. It hurts like hell, and I don’t know whether the tears forming in my eyes are from the pain or the smoke or both.
He starts to move, slowly, and as the pain lessens I push my hips forward and he grabs my erection and strokes me in time with his thrusts. I’m losing myself in him again, in the feel of him inside me and his hand around me, and this time I’m gazing into the black swirls of his eyes. I barely notice that some of the ceiling is falling down because Harry Potter is fucking me and it’s the most impossible thing in the world, but it isn’t impossible, because it’s happening and I can see him and I can feel him and just the thought pushes me over the edge. He follows with a hoarse cry of ‘Draco!’ and I may as well have died right then.
I think I may have passed out for a moment, because I open my eyes to see him curled around me, his head tucked under my chin, and I wonder why this impossible, beautiful boy is like he is and how he can be innocent and sinister at the same time but still have the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen. I wonder what the hell I’m doing here, now, when the smoke is seeping in under the door and the people upstairs are screaming and choking.
As I close my eyes and try and lose myself in sleep before the walls fall down, I realise that the world just isn’t fucked up enough for us.
~fin~
Good? Bad? Harry too mad? ^_^ Please comment!
*SS*
Incediemus
by S_Star
Disclaimer: I remember a notice from Rowling’s agents about how fanfiction’s okay as long as it’s not pornographic. If I were her, I wouldn’t need to be hiding right now. ^_~ The brief bit of herbalism is from ‘The Magic of Herbs’ by David Conway.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: With a little magic, even stone can burn, but phoenixes always rise again. A slightly strange PWP with too many present participles. ^_~
AN: Inspired by many songs on my Plotbunny CD (‘music to write by’), which I made instead of memorising Latin verbs I already knew. In particular, my favourite song of all time, ‘Dirty Magic’ by the Offspring, which you should all go download because it’s just completely beautiful and messed-up. ^_^ This is my first ever NC-17 fic, and it’s dedicated to Emily, who told everyone I know IRL that I write gay porn. She said she doesn’t like spreading rumours that are true, so to clear my name... ^_~
AN2: If you’re Simon, don’t read this. Trust me, okay? Don’t.
AN3: Thank you very much to DravenSwann, who beta’d this for me at lightning speed. ^_^
Incendiemus
I’ve had a lot of detentions with Potter lately. Snape says it’s because I provoke him, but I think it’s because he needs someone to baby-sit him at all times.
It’s impossible to miss the changes in him this year: he makes random cryptic comments and then promptly forgets what they were, he walks into lessons half an hour late and calmly explains that he got lost, and he constantly has a sort of bemused smile on his face - a vacant variation on that know-it-all expression Dumbledore always wore.
There are a lot of rumours as to how he got this way, and even Granger and the Weasel are distancing themselves from him. I don’t know quite what they’re afraid of as he’s almost like a child now, although he speaks complex sentences in a deep, husky voice and has years of aging etched into his eyes. I saw him levitating a feather the other day, like we had to in first year charms, and just watching it float down in a spiral. He stood there for half an hour staring at it and I stood there just as long staring at him.
Of course, I know exactly what happened. I was there on that night, the night he killed Voldemort. The final battle took place on the lawns of Malfoy Manor, much to my mother’s disgust, and I watched with sick fascination from my bedroom window as Harry Potter stabbed Voldemort with the sword of Gryffindor on the stroke of midnight, the bells announcing Christmas day. My father had told me in meticulous detail why neither of the pair could use their wands, but I had ignored his lengthy explanations about phoenix feathers and instead asked what would happen when Voldemort was dead. That was what got me banished to my room after a lecture about how, ‘The Dark Lord will not fall. He will kill the Boy Who Lived and reclaim his full power!’ And that was what happened. With Voldemort dead, the powers he had transferred to Potter couldn’t survive, and Potter gained another scar.
It was perfect, I think, that the second mark cut the first exactly in half. A cross to symbolise his sacrifice for the world. Perfect poetry for Potter, who lost a large part of himself and his magic that night.
Bells rang out the next morning but they fell on deaf ears as he stayed in the middle of the patch of snowdrops, staring at the sky. No one dared move him until he was ‘ready’, but that Tonks woman - whom I am ashamed to have as a relation - tried to offer him coffee in the afternoon and got it poured all over her when she tapped his shoulder. I don’t think he’s let anyone touch him since then. He even screamed out ‘Get AWAY from me!’ the last time someone jostled him in a corridor. Sometimes I think it’s no wonder he ended up all alone. The hero of the entire planet, alone. The world is fucked up.
I tried to talk to him last time we were down here - life has been dull without the anger I can invoke in him - but he doesn’t respond to taunts anymore and I really didn’t want to risk hand to hand combat.
He’s stopped chopping gillyweed now and is staring at the flames dancing under my cauldron.
‘Problem, Potter?’
He shakes his head and looks back at the fire. ‘We don’t have fire drills here,’ he murmurs.
‘What?’
He looks up at me with eyes impossibly dark yet still somehow innocent. ‘At the Muggle primary school I went to, they always had fire drills. Y’know, marching everyone outside to practise for what would happen if the building burnt down. We don’t have those.’ He frowns and I count another line of age on his face.
‘We don’t need to do. You can put out fires with a spell. Exstinguo.’ The mixture stops sizzling and I look back. ‘See?’
He bites his bottom lip and looks around. ‘And stone doesn’t burn.’
I nod. ‘Stone doesn’t burn. And there are wards everywhere anyway, to alert everyone and prevent anything going wrong.’
‘Like fire alarms,’ he pauses. ‘Isn’t there a spell? A charm to make fire that can destroy all this?’
‘If there is, there has to be a spell to undo it. And if there’s a spell to undo it, Du-’ I cut off the name before it’s out, but his eyes are wide and his jaw drops.
‘You said...’
‘I didn’t mean to!’ I snap. He tends to get aggressive when Dumbledore’s name is mentioned. He still hasn’t come to terms with any of the war casualties.
But he responds perfectly calmly. ‘I know. So if there was a fire, no one could stop it, and no one would know what to do?’
I shrug. ‘You came up with all this, don’t ask me.’
‘The whole castle would burn down, and no one would be able to do anything.’
‘What’s with this sudden fascination with burning down the school anyway, Potter? It’s slightly worrying.’
‘No reason,’ he singsongs, sitting down on a desk and tilting his head in question. ‘What are you making?’
‘A potion,’ I reply, vanishing the contents of the cauldron. ‘Or I was, until you made me put out the fire.’
‘I know that, silly. What kind of potion?’
‘Disinfectant cleansing charm,’ I recite. ‘To speed up all these detentions.’
‘Can’t you just say ‘Scourgify’?’ he asks, and I notice - again - his wand. The phoenix feather core refused to channel his magic when he’d lost Voldemort’s power, and he had to get a new one. Ebony, 14 inches, dragon’s heartstring. The same as mine. He was over the moon when he noticed this one detention in January, skipping over to show me. It was the first time he kissed me.
‘We’re the same now, Draco,’ he said in that same singsong voice. Then his lips touched the corner of mine before he jumped away to alphabetise Snape’s closet. That was when I saw that Granger and Weasley had set up their workbench on the opposite side of the room to him. That was when I started to watch his every move and saw that he never touched anyone but me. That was when I realised how fucked up everything was.
It’s happened again, Always feather light caresses and some weird demeanour that I suppose is him being flirtatious, and I’ve long since given up on understanding it.
‘Whatcha thinking about?’ he asks, and I jump when I see that he’s standing right next to me.
‘Fire.’ I answer.
He pouts then, the strangest expression I’ve ever seen him wear. ‘You weren’t thinking about me?’
‘Why would I have been?’
‘Someone has to. Why not you?’
‘A valid point, Potter, really, but I’m trying to get this finished. So if you’d just leave...’
‘You don’t like me anymore?’ he whines, slipping his arms round my waist.
‘When did I ever like you?’
He brings his lips to my ear. ‘You must like me sometimes.’
I sigh and abandon the potion. ‘I like you when you’re not talking.’
‘That’s a start. Besides, where am I meant to go? There’s nowhere else.’
I spin round, pushing him away. ‘What do you mean, nowhere else?’
‘The whole place is burning.’ He shivers. ‘Can’t you feel it?’
‘What? What the hell have you done, Potter?’
‘Haven’t done anything. Just smelled smoke.’
I don’t remember him ever being clairvoyant, but at this point I don’t really care. ‘Come on then. We have to get out of here!’
‘Like I said, nowhere to go. Fire can’t hurt us here.’ He spins in a circle. ‘We’re phoenixes, Draco. Phoenixes always rise again.’
‘Fine, I’ll go then. You can stay here in this death-trap. If this fire can destroy stone, the dungeons’ll be caved in before you can say ‘Incendio’.’
His voice turns cold. ‘You can’t go.’
‘Watch me.’ I reach for the door, but he whispers a locking charm. ‘You’re insane.’
‘You’ve been saying that since first year.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s not true.’
‘Never said it wasn’t.’ He shivers again. ‘Don’t you feel it, Draco? The suspense? Everyone’s waiting but they don’t know what for, and they’ll die before they can find out.’
I take a step backwards but hit the wall. ‘What the hell’s got into you?’
‘I’m going to be reborn in fire. The phoenix comes back to life when it burns, and you’ll come back with me.’
‘You’re not possessed by Voldemort’s spirit or something, are you? Because this is crazy! We’re all going to die and you’re laughing!’ Now I’m panicking, scrabbling at the door and hissing every unlocking charm I can think of.
‘No Voldemort here. Just Harry. I’m the Boy Who Lived.’
‘You’re going to be the Boy Who Died very soon unless you unlock this bloody door!’
‘I don’t think so.’ He walks to stand in front of the entrance, daring me to defy him. His eyes are brighter than usual, glowing with twisted glee, and the lighting spell’s gone out so he’s just a chiselled face in the candlelight with shiny lips and pitch-dark hair. ‘You wouldn’t leave without me,’ he adds matter-of-factly. ‘You’re in love with me.’
‘What?!’ I yell, but he’s saying it over and over and it’s probably very stupid and I kiss him to shut him up. It’s just as brief a touch as his normally are, but it evokes more of a response. He growls softly and brings my lips back down to his, but for the first time he thrusts his tongue into my mouth and tastes me. I bite back a moan as he sweeps across my palate and push him back against the offending door so he knows who’s in control here. If I’m going out, I’m going out fighting.
He tugs my hair and I pull back for breath to be met with his lopsided, swollen smile. ‘See, ‘s not bad to burn.’ he whispers, and I think again that everything is fucked up beyond belief.
I start to smell smoke for the first time, and after years of potions I can recognise the scent: there’s sulphur being burnt, but the smell also contain hints of applewood. I can vaguely recall something about using sulphur, mercury and salt for medical infusions, but I don’t think there was every any reason to burn it as it was all from plants. So how...?
Suddenly dizzy and sick of thinking, I mutter ‘Oh, what the hell’ and kiss Potter again, hard and desperate like before and he arches against me beautifully as my hand traces the skin under his loose shirt. His flesh is warm against my hand, and I continue to explore, my fingers drawing patterns over his stomach as he tugs at my tie, trying blindly to undo it without choking me or breaking our kiss.
As I breathe again and try to help him untie it, I try to ignore the fact that nothing in the smoke has aphrodisiac properties and that I have no idea why I’m doing this other than impending death, and even so, I should definitely NOT be trying to unbutton Harry Potter’s shirt in the middle of a burning school. He licks a trail down my throat and I moan softly, deciding to adopt the mentality that you only live once as I tilt my neck back to allow him better access. This was my once, and I was going to enjoy it. He draws his teeth across one of my nipples and I think that maybe it would be impossible for me not to enjoy it.
‘You okay there, Draco?’ he asks, looking up with his head cocked quizzically at me again.
‘Now that you mention it, this is rather uncomfortable.’ I gesture at my position; now bent backwards against the edge of a desk, and he somehow pushes me up and seems to slither on top of me, straddling my thighs.
‘Better?’ he asks, moving forward to push my shoulders down. His hardness rubs against my own with the motion and I gasp, automatically pushing my hips up to his. ‘Down, boy’ he hisses, and the sinister gleam enters his eyes again saying to me, ‘I’m in control here.’ I groan with frustration, impossibly turned-on by the gravel in his voice and the way his pupils are so dilated I can only see a sliver of smouldering emerald where the light catches.
Somehow maintaining eye contact, he restarts his trail down my body, alternating agonising paths of butterfly kisses with licks and nips. Laughing gutturally at the sounds I make as probes me, evidently delighted to find that I have so many erogenous zones.
He smirks angelically - an expression only Potter could achieve - and unzips my trousers with a patience belied by the hunger in his eyes. I shudder as he frees my aching erection, but he just winks at me and places small bites along my inner thighs, ignoring the stream of profanities pouring from my lips.
I sit up, ready to force him if need be, but he crawls back up and slowly mutters ‘Teneo.’
I tug and find that he’s bound my wrists, and yell, ‘Fuck, Potter!’ at the top of my voice. He smiles indulgently and slides back down to perch between my legs.
‘What do you want, Draco?’ he asks, and I seethe with rage and impatience.
‘You know damn well what I want, Potter, so I’d thank you to just do it before we’re both fried!’
I shut my eyes to block out the look on his face, but they immediately snap open again as I feel his lips on me. His tongue darts out to lick up a drop of precum from the head of my cock before he lowers his mouth down and engulfs me in velvet wetness. His teeth scrape lightly along my hardness and I try to push myself in even further, try to make him take me in all the way, because it’s just so beautiful; the way he looks bobbing between my legs and the way it feels when he runs his tongue down my length, and the smoke and the candlelight, and just EVERYTHING. I’m writhing and probably screaming his name, with every cell in my body aching for release, and then I come, harder than I’ve ever come before. I fall through endless seas of stars and flames and bright green eyes to find him kissing me again, but now I can taste myself in his mouth.
I try to reach down for him, but my wrists are still tied and it’s too much for me to form coherent words to beg him to free me. He seems to know what he’s doing as he reaches down and pulls down his trousers and boxers to free his own swollen cock, and I could probably come again from the sight of him alone, lying next to me naked and sweaty and aroused. It’s hard for me to think coherently as he reaches for his wand and murmurs an inaudible charm.
If I strain my ears, I can hear people screaming above us. The smell of smoke is getting so strong that it hurts to breathe too deeply, although I don’t really have a choice but to pant desperately as he pushes two fingers into me. I try to spread my legs further apart for him, and he suddenly removes his hand and shoves his cock into me. It hurts like hell, and I don’t know whether the tears forming in my eyes are from the pain or the smoke or both.
He starts to move, slowly, and as the pain lessens I push my hips forward and he grabs my erection and strokes me in time with his thrusts. I’m losing myself in him again, in the feel of him inside me and his hand around me, and this time I’m gazing into the black swirls of his eyes. I barely notice that some of the ceiling is falling down because Harry Potter is fucking me and it’s the most impossible thing in the world, but it isn’t impossible, because it’s happening and I can see him and I can feel him and just the thought pushes me over the edge. He follows with a hoarse cry of ‘Draco!’ and I may as well have died right then.
I think I may have passed out for a moment, because I open my eyes to see him curled around me, his head tucked under my chin, and I wonder why this impossible, beautiful boy is like he is and how he can be innocent and sinister at the same time but still have the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen. I wonder what the hell I’m doing here, now, when the smoke is seeping in under the door and the people upstairs are screaming and choking.
As I close my eyes and try and lose myself in sleep before the walls fall down, I realise that the world just isn’t fucked up enough for us.
~fin~
Good? Bad? Harry too mad? ^_^ Please comment!
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