It's Not A Love Potion - 8/14
Title: It's Not A Love Potion
Rating: R
Disclaimer: *disclaims*
Summary: “Now, lust potions develop feelings of desire in the taker without the affection that a love potion gives, so Malfoy, you will find that you continue to see Potter as the insufferable twit that he is." Not HBP/DH compliant.
Author note: This story is complete and just needs bazzing through the beta machine, so updates will be fairly regular. I'm still finding my feet in the whole fic-writing thing, so feedback - concrit especially - would be most welcome.
[<< Previous chapter]
Yesterday had been one of the best days of Draco’s life.
He hadn’t known that he could ever feel as alive as he had with Potter touching him and kissing him and wearing his clothes. It was probably a good thing Pansy was there because otherwise he would have not stopped bringing Potter off over and over again. Merlin, that boy could kiss.
Of course, without Pansy there none of it would have happened in the first place. Draco was unspeakably glad that she had never, not in seven years of their friendship, valued his privacy.
But that was the problem; once Pansy had left, the kissing and touching and stopped completely, like it was all just an act. Of course, that’s what is was, but for a while it seemed that Draco’s mind had managed to convince itself that it was real, that he and Potter were happy, together.
In hindsight, Draco was disgusted with himself.
Not only had he been sickeningly relaxed with someone - enough to let them joke with him and caress him like a lover - but that person was Potter. Harry fucking Potter. It was repulsive the way Draco had blindly followed any suggestion that Potter had made, the way that he’d melted in Potter’s embrace.
It was even worse that it was all he could think about.
That night he had lay in his bed, staring up at the canopy and craving Potter like he never had before and hating himself for it. Maybe the potion matured with time, or with extended contact, because this was deeper than it ever had been. Even that weekend when Potter had abandoned him totally; yes, that had been terrible, it had felt like his life was being torn away from him, but this was different. This time the potion had extended into his soul.
Fucking Zabini. Fucking Snape for not being able to fix him. And fucking Potter for being so infuriatingly desirable.
At least it was a Sunday, so Draco could hide away in the common room and not have to see Potter in class or at mealtimes. Of course, Draco still had to eat, but his Potter-watching had become so frequent that he knew just when (and even what) Potter preferred to eat, could predict who he would sit next to, and could determine with precision what mood Potter was in simply by the way he walked to the Gryffindor table.
And yet, horribly, Draco still wanted to find out more.
What was wrong with him? Surely if he tried hard enough, he could overcome the influence of the potion. Was he just so weak-willed that he would surrender to anything bestowed upon him? If the Dark Lord turned up at the Hogwarts gates, would Draco simply walk up to him and sign his life over like an idiot?
Of course not. Draco was better than that. He could resist his father’s urgings to follow a madman, and he could resist his own brain’s urgings to think about Potter. It was only for two more weeks. That was nothing.
And so Draco found himself in the common room, pretending to care about other people and determinedly not thinking about a certain Gryffindor. And if, when it became closer and closer to evening, he checked the clock every five minutes, then so what? He was simply a punctual person, that’s all. It was just impolite to leave someone waiting when you had made arrangements with them.
And, fine, maybe he did head up to the seventh floor right after dinner. But he ate late on Sundays and it would look suspicious if he’d gone to the common room and left again straight afterwards and, really, forty-five minutes wasn’t that early at all.
Potter wasn’t there when Draco pushed open the door and peered in. Good. That was good. It meant that Draco could prepare himself. Try to stifle the rapidly rising anticipation. He would not be beaten by a stupid bloody potion.
He sat at the desk and stared out at the darkened grounds. It wasn’t long until the sound of the door opening and footsteps walking in hit his ears. He didn’t turn around. The tingling of his skin that meant that Potter was nearby was nothing. Draco wouldn’t have even come here tonight if he hadn’t already experienced what a mess that would be. He didn’t need Potter. He didn’t.
“Malfoy?”
Draco shivered. So what if Potter had a nice voice? That didn’t mean anything, either. It was just an observation. Like saying that Potter had stunningly green eyes. Anyone could notice that.
“Malfoy, are you okay?”
He should probably answer. He didn’t want to be rude or anything. He turned around.
Well, fuck.
What had he been thinking? Of course he needed Potter. Potter was a god. A sexy god with sexy hair and sexy eyes and a sexy mouth that Draco’s unsexy unworthy mouth needed to be touching right fucking now.
The desk chair scraped as Draco threw himself towards Potter, pressing their bodies together as close as he could. Familiar sparks of desire set themselves off around Draco’s body and he sighed. This was where he needed to be. Flush against Potter, his lips against Potter’s neck. Although, he knew, it could be better. It could be so much better.
Draco slid his mouth along Potter’s jaw, murmuring a greeting and Merlin knew what else, until his lips touched Potter’s and it was… it was…
Not enough.
Something was missing: Potter. The fiery stubborn bastard that Draco hated who always refused to back down and who kissed so well.
Draco tried his best to coax Potter’s mouth open, wanting - needing - to feel a response, to feel Potter come alive under Draco’s touch like he had done yesterday. Potter remained unmoving.
Frustrated, Draco wrenched his mouth away. “Is there any chance I can convince you to kiss me?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice even.
Potter stared at him levelly, his hands in his pockets. “Yesterday was just for Parkinson,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
Even though he had expected it, Potter’s words still crushed Draco a little bit. He clutched at Harry’s shoulders, wishing that he could be as casually indifferent as Potter was being. Merlin, he hated this. “Potter,” he croaked. “Please. I’m asking you nicely. I need-”
“The only thing you need is prolonged contact,” Potter cut across him flatly. “I’ll provide that. I’ll let you kiss me. But I’m not going to participate. This doesn’t involve me.”
Draco felt like sobbing. It didn’t involve Potter, that was the problem. It should do. Draco needed it to. Needed it more than he’d ever needed anything before.
He made sure to leave several angry red marks on Potter’s neck that night. It didn’t make him feel better.
The next few days were terrible. He continued meeting with Potter every evening, and it seemed to stave off the haze of depression that going completely Potterless induced, but quite honestly, Draco would rather have that.
This was so much worse. Because he had Potter. For all the potion knew, Potter was his. And yet he didn’t have Potter at all.
Draco was in full control of his brain. And that meant that he could feel his sanity slipping away from him, bit by bit.
He needed to fix this mess. Fast.
***
It was Wednesday before he came up with a plan, but once he did, Draco was severely disappointed in himself for taking so long. It was so obvious. And he was pretty sure that if the first stage of the plan went well, the rest of it would almost definitely work. He knew that from experience. Trouble was, the first stage was by far the trickiest.
But before he could even get to the first stage, there was something he had to acquire…
He waited until most of the school had gone to dinner, then headed to his dorm. It was empty, but obviously that was no guarantee. He cast a charm on the door that would alert him if someone was approaching, and snuck over to Nott’s bed.
In Slytherin, Nott was notorious for being the go-to guy for any potion or substance that nobody else could get. He had a seemingly endless supply of morally dubious brews (not that Draco would know, or anything). In fact, now Draco thought about it, he would be very surprised if the Orexis Votum hadn’t originally come from him.
But right now, Draco couldn’t afford to ask Nott for anything, lest he figure out Draco’s… situation. But Nott had to get his stock from somewhere.
Catalogues, maybe, that’s what he was looking for. Possibly leaflets or something. Unless, of course, Nott got his potions in person, in which case Draco was utterly screwed.
Hmm… taking a moment to disable any security spells (and there would be some), Draco started at the bedside table. Spare quills and ink, lube, Potions Quarterly, an old chess set, some letters from his mother… nothing interesting there.
He tried under the mattress. A few handkerchiefs (Draco did not want to think about those thank you very much) and a copy of Witches Weekly, but no lists of illegal potions. Shit.
After ten more minutes of fruitless searching, Draco gave up. Somebody could walk in at any minute, and it didn’t look like he was going to get anywhere. Disappointedly reassembling the web of protection charms around Nott’s bed, Draco planned his next move.
He could try the apothecary in Hogsmeade, but there wasn’t another Hogsmeade weekend for a week and a half, and with any luck this would all be over by then. Maybe he could research legal potions? Draco snorted at the thought. That would require way too much effort. Plus, anything that the Ministry of Magic allowed was bound to be useless.
Hell, the luck he was having, maybe he could summon up some Death Eaters and tell them that he thought they were fools. It was probably the easiest option at this point.
Hang on.
Summon. Sweet Merlin, but he really must be stupid. He hoped that Orexis Votum affected one’s mental capacity, because if not, Draco’s self-esteem just took a definite hit.
Pulling out his wand and resisting the urge to curse himself with it, Draco murmured a summoning charm and held his breath.
Nothing.
Then-
“Oh shit,” Draco swore as Nott’s spells were triggered and a wailing noise emanated from somewhere near the wall. Casting a hasty Silencio on the door, Draco moved closer to investigate. A tiny rectangular piece of wall by the head of Nott’s bed, no larger than a Galleon, was… glowing. Hoping that this wasn’t a booby trap, Draco touched his wand to it.
The alarm spell abruptly ceased and a cupboard door appeared where the glowing patch had been. Taking a deep breath, Draco reached out and tugged open the door.
Success.
The cupboard was filled with scrolls and bits of parchment, all addressed to Nott. Draco quickly sorted through them all. He still needed to know Nott’s provider. Without that, his plan was not going to happen. Request, request, request, Which Broomstick, request-hang on. Which Broomstick? Nott wouldn’t read a Quidditch magazine if you paid him.
Draco extended a shaking hand and pulled the magazine out from under the pile of parchment. He was right, it wasn’t Which Broomstick at all. It was exactly what he’d been looking for. It was the key to Potter’s cooperation.
A stock list from Surdly & Sons, connoisseurs in the creation and distribution of illegal potions and substances. Excellent.
Draco stuffed the fake magazine under his pillow and hastily tried to put Nott’s bed back to how it had been. He wasn’t all that successful, but he was too excited to care. He was close. Harry Potter was going to be his.
***
It took two days for his order to arrive. Two torturous days in which every moment spent with Potter was oozing with unfulfilled lust.
The combination of searing relief and extraordinary anticipation Draco felt on Friday morning when a nondescript brown owl neatly dropped a package on his lap was almost overwhelming. It took every ounce of skill that Draco possessed not to jump from his seat and whoop in triumph, but somehow he managed. He met Nott’s suspicious gaze with an innocently raised eyebrow and nonchalantly tucked the package into his schoolbag.
The day dragged. Every class failed to hold his attention, even Potions. How was he supposed to concentrate when Potter was just five cauldrons over? Snape would understand. Instead of working, Draco lost himself in his imagination, fantasizing about what could be happening mere hours from now, how Potter would give in to him and it would be magnificent, it would be wonderful.
He left dinner early and went straight to the Room of Requirement. Potter wouldn’t be here for at least another two hours, but even being in that room - their room - calmed Draco a little.
He wandered over to the window and looked out. The Quidditch pitch was lit up with several large floating balls of light (a necessity in the darkness of winter months) and a team were just mounting their brooms for the start of practice.
A team wearing burgundy robes.
He could immediately tell which one was Potter, of course. He was instantly recognisable, even at a distance. The confidence with which he flew belied any awkwardness he had when on the ground; in the air, he seemed like the hero everyone thought him to be.
Merlin, and he was good. He swooped around the pitch as if he owned it, flying without even once touching the broom with his hands as he directed the other players.
And you could tell that they all adored him. Even when they were playing, all of their attention was focused on Potter, waiting for him to say something, wanting his praise. And he, being the noble wonderful idiotic bastard hero, would give it.
Draco sat there, just watching, until even the magical light began to fade and the Gryffindors finally gave in and headed to the changing rooms. Even when out of sight, Potter dominated Draco’s thoughts. He’d be in the shower right now. He’d be naked and wet and covered in soap suds and running his hands all over his body and fuck Draco was hard again.
But he refused to take care of it. He’d rather Potter did it, and tonight he might even get round to doing so.
It wasn’t long before seven black dots emerged from the changing rooms and headed up to the castle. Draco checked the time. If he was lucky, Potter would head straight there instead of going back to his common room first. If that was the case, he would be here soon. Any minute now…
The door swung open and Draco’s breath caught.
“Hey,” Potter said absently, throwing his bag onto the Gryffindor sofa.
“Hello,” Draco returned, pushing thoughts of naked Potter from his head. Soon. “Here.” He threw Potter a light silver flask, which Potter’s hand shot out and caught without thinking. Draco was not jealous at all of Potter’s natural Seeker skills. Nope. Not one little bit.
Potter studied the flask suspiciously. “What’s this?”
“Just water,” Draco said lightly. “You came here straight from practice, right? I figured you might be thirsty.”
“You got me water?” Harry said, his expression highly disbelieving.
Draco grinned and ran a hand through his hair casually. “Yes, Potter, I got you water. I’m being nice to you so you’ll let me into your pants. It’s a cunning plot, you see.” That was at least half true. Ish.
Potter frowned at the flask in his hand and Draco tried hard to resist the temptation to go up to Potter and kiss that frown away. He knew he could do it, too. He’d seen it. Twice. Twice in two days, even if those two times both promised never to repeat themselves without Draco’s ‘assistance’. It was still far more than enough to fuel Draco’s overactive imagination. It took almost no effort at all to picture Potter lying on his back, an expression of dazed contentment on his face, his hand still clutched in Draco’s hair…
Draco cleared his throat. “Merlin, Potter, you don’t have to drink it,” he said exasperatedly, for Potter was still studying the flask as if it was about to explode. “I was only trying to be thoughtful. If you still don’t trust me, by all means…”
He watched in fascination as the cogs in Potter’s brain clearly turned (in the wrong direction). How had Potter survived for so long when he was so ridiculously easy to manipulate? This wasn’t even a challenge.
To prove Draco’s point, Harry suddenly scowled, yanked the cork out with his teeth and, with only the tiniest bit of hesitation, took a deep gulp from the flask. Draco’s eyes immediately fixed on Potter’s neck (from which Draco’s marks had sadly faded) and he gleefully observed the muscles in Potter’s throat as Potter swallowed.
Harry lowered the flask and frowned again. “It - tastes a bit funny,” he said uncertainly.
“Hmm,” Draco agreed, nodding sagely. “That’s probably because it’s not really water.”
Potter let out a strange choking sound. “You bastard!” He dropped the flask jerkily and it fell to the floor, the rest of its contents spilling over the carpet with a dull glug-glug-glug. “What did you give me?”
“A potion,” Draco said quietly. “A lust potion, so you’ll want me like I want you.” Potter swore. “I don’t know how effective it’ll be,” Draco continued, ignoring him. “Because I ordered the one that would get here the fastest. But it will have worn off by morning, I do know that.”
Potter stared at him with wild eyes. “Oh, it’ll have worn off by morning? Oh, well that makes it okay! I don’t care that you’ve drugged me with a potion you know nothing about, because, hey! It’ll have worn off by morning!”
Draco refused to look down. He shouldn’t feel guilty. Potter was the one not cooperating, the one who had spent all day last week all over Draco, kissing him and stroking his hair and coming in his mouth, and ever since then hadn’t even touched him. So, really, Draco was in the right, here.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, immediately wanting to hex himself. “It’s sending me mad, you don’t know what it’s like. Especially after last week, I just… Merlin, Potter, I just want you so much.”
Some Slytherin he was. Not only was he on-his-knees desperate for Harry Potter’s cock, but he was also apologising for it. He should be resorted into Hufflepuff. But until then…
“It should be starting soon.”
No sooner than the words were out of Draco’s mouth, Potter let out a surprised huff and staggered backwards. His eyes widened and he gasped for breath, falling to his knees and clutching at his throat, his glasses tumbling off his face, upset by his scrabbling hands. Draco felt a fleeting moment of panic. What if it had gone wrong? What if he was responsible for murdering Harry Potter?
He was about to start forwards, but Potter swayed and fell, catching himself on his hands at the last second and taking deep, gulping breaths. Draco stopped himself from moving closer, simmering with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. This was a delicate stage. The last thing he should to do was interrupt.
Potter seemed to have calmed. Or, at least, he was no longer dragging in oxygen like a half-drowned animal. Merlin, but that had been aggressive. Orexis Votum had been nowhere near as violent (for which he was thankful, don’t get him wrong).
“Potter?” he asked tentatively. Potter’s head snapped up and Draco’s breath caught. Potter’s pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked completely black. And he was staring intently at Draco, who had - Merlin - never felt so naked in his life.
Not once taking his eyes off Draco, Potter stood, his movements uncharacteristically smooth, almost snake-like. A sinister smirk curled around his lips.
Draco whimpered involuntarily. Potter’s face hadn't changed, per se, but there was an element of something new - an element of promise - etched in every feature, and Draco’s body was on fire; his sudden feelings of vulnerability and arousal swirled just under his skin, igniting every part of him. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.
“Ohh, Draco,” Potter hissed in a low voice that shot straight to Draco’s cock. “You are so going to wish you hadn’t done that.”
Then he pounced.
It took Draco a while to process that the sinful voice was actually trying to tell him something, and by the time he had, the heavy weight of a seventeen-year-old boy had hit him square in the chest, knocking him to the floor.
Winded, he tried to right himself, but found that he couldn’t; Potter, his lips parted, eyes intense and lidded, his entire being oozing sexuality, sat astride his thighs. Draco failed to suppress another whimper. “Potter, I-” He reached up to try and touch Potter - to do anything - but before Draco knew it, his arms were stretched above his head, held in place by a fierce grip.
“I want you to call me Harry,” Potter murmured in his ear. “Can you do that?”
“Yes!” Draco breathed. “Harry, oh Merlin, Harry, shit, I need…” Draco thrashed and tugged his arms, but either Potter was a lot stronger than he looked, or this was no ordinary potion.
“Draco?” Harry purred.
“Yes, Harry, oh I need-”
Potter’s lips brushed Draco’s ear, sending sparks around Draco’s whole body. “Say you want me,” he whispered. “I want you to tell me how much you want me.”
The small part of Draco’s brain that hadn’t turned irrational with lust thought that that was a bit of a stupid request when Draco quite clearly wanted Potter rather a lot. But luckily the much larger part was apparently in charge of Draco’s mouth. “I do, I want you!” he gasped out. “So much… you know I… Potter-Harry, I can’t… please!”
Harry flicked out his tongue and licked the rim of Draco’s ear. It was absurd that such a small action could send Draco spiralling into new heights of arousal, but Draco felt sure that nobody had ever - could ever - be this turned on and he let out a wild moan. But he needed - Merlin, he needed-
Potter kissed him.
Really kissed him. On the lips, his tongue invading Draco, owning Draco, without any effort at all.
And Draco fucking loved it. He arched up into Potter’s glorious touch and allowed himself to get completely lost in the utter bliss of being held down and kissed by Harry Potter.
He tried to hook a leg around Potter to bring him closer, to get more, but Potter dodged it smoothly. Draco dimly heard him let out a low chuckle, but the kissing didn’t stop, and that was all Draco cared about right now. Merlin, yes, the kissing was still going; a filthily slow twining of tongues and undulating of hips that spoke of nothing but pleasurable things to come.
One sharper-than-usual thrust caused Draco’s eyes to roll back in his head from pleasure and he bit down hard on Potter’s lip. Potter chuckled again and drew back, ignoring Draco’s moan of protest.
“Draco,” he admonished, sounding completely unaffected by the kiss. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Draco, who was not nearly so unaffected and was breathing harshly, merely whimpered.
Harry grinned wickedly, dark eyes gleaming. “I shall have to punish you,” he purred, and the next thing Draco knew, they were both on the bed, Draco’s wrists tied securely to the headboard with a green silk ribbon.
The shock of suddenly finding himself halfway across the room momentarily snapped Draco from his daze. “How-?”
“You tell me, it’s your potion,” Harry answered, slowly undoing the buttons of Draco’s robe. “And god, what a potion, Draco. Did you know that I can almost hear your thoughts? I can tell what you want and I could hold you on the edge of orgasm for hours. I can hear your heartbeat and I can tell that your cock is getting harder with every word I say. I can sense where you most want to be touched, even if you don’t know it. I can smell how much you want me and I can only imagine what the rest of your body will taste like.
“I’m so powerful, right now, Draco,” Harry continued, his voice low and velvety. “I could destroy this whole school in the blink of an eye, and I could freeze time. I could take on Voldemort and all his followers with my wand arm tied behind my back and I could find the cure to Albanian Dragonpox, but instead all I want to do is stay here and give you the most powerful orgasm of your life. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Shit, one more word from Potter’s mouth and Draco was going to come spectacularly, whether his trousers were still on or not. Potter’s casual display of power had only served to make Draco even harder and he fruitlessly pushed his hips upwards.
Potter’s eyes glinted.
“Do you want to come, Draco?” he asked, unlacing Draco’s trousers.
Draco made a wordless sound of agreement, not capable of speech just then, moments away from orgasm. Potter’s fingers were only one layer of fabric away from his skin. One layer and Harry Potter would be touching his dick. One layer…
One layer suddenly became none and Draco threw his head back as his cock was freed from its confinements.
Potter made a choking noise. “You don’t wear underwear,” he said. Draco wasn’t able to reply in any other way than pushing upwards, needing Potter, desperately longing for his touch.
Fingers. Oh sweet mother of Merlin, there were fingers trailing down his abdomen - he was so close - Potter was getting nearer - so close now…
“You didn’t answer my question,” Potter whispered. “Do you want to come?”
A deep moan wrenched itself from Draco’s throat. “Yes oh Merlin fuck yes Harry please, fuck!”
Harry bent his head and his breath fluttered over the head of Draco’s Merlin so fucking close erection. “Tough.”
There was a pressure, light at first, winding itself around the bottom of Draco’s cock. It slid around to encompass Draco’s balls and then - fuck - tightened.
Draco yelled in frustration. “Potter you bastard! Oh fuck, please! I need you Merlin I hate you oh please let me - I need to-”
“Shh,” Potter murmured, his hands finally touching Draco but Draco couldn’t come he wanted to so much oh Merlin. “It’s okay, Draco, I’ll take care of you. I just want a little fun first.”
And then Potter’s mouth - shit fuck Potter’s mouth - was on him and Draco forgot to be angry because nothing mattered, nothing else in the whole damn world mattered except the fact that Harry should oh fucking Merlin keep doing that.
He was drowning in sensation. He didn’t know where Potter had learned to do that - because it couldn’t possibly be unpractised, fuck - and quite honestly he didn’t care as long as he could keep thrusting into that hot mouth and feel that tongue - that fucking tongue - drag up and down his cock.
This was torture. There was no other word for it. It was exquisite torture, but torture just the same. Harry could choose to keep him right there, hovering on the edge of release forever, and he would willingly - Merlin, so willingly - stay.
The mouth was removed far too soon and Draco whimpered and opened his eyes. Fuck, but Potter looked beautiful. Crouching over Draco in all his breathtaking glory; wet pink lips, darkened green eyes, gorgeous black hair. Draco needed to touch him, needed to feel him all over, needed to have him.
“Please,” he whimpered, unable to do anything but beg. “Oh Merlin, please.”
Potter stroked a hand down Draco’s chest; Draco’s skin blazed. “You can trust me, Draco,” Harry said softly. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. Not ever again.”
Words. Draco’s lust-addled brain could hardly make sense of them. Why didn’t Potter do something? Words didn’t mean anything. Words never meant anything. Draco would happily live without words. They were stupid deceitful things that got people’s hopes up and made them believe.
Actions, on the other hand, they were okay. They lied too, but they could feel so good. Maybe Potter should stop talking and start doing. Draco would really appreciate that. Even if Potter’s actions would be lying, that was fine, because Draco needed them, needed them more than anything.
“Please,” he repeated faintly. Potter nodded.
The wondrous wet heat surrounded Draco’s cock again and Draco was soaring, arching, needing, needing so much oh Merlin Potter, please I need oh fuck need you so much-
Potter’s hand stroked the base of his cock and it was freedom and it was fuck Draco was coming, coming so hard, Potter’s mouth still there, swallowing around him, he was shuddering, convulsing, never felt like this before fuck Harry Harry Harry-
It was over. Draco slumped back on the bed, breathing heavily, the ribbon at his wrists holding him up. Potter kissed his way up Draco’s exposed stomach until he reached his neck, at which point he bit down hard on the soft flesh. Draco moaned weakly.
“You’re mine now, Draco Malfoy,” Potter growled.
Draco shivered. “Yours,” he agreed mindlessly, tilting his head so Harry had better access. “Oh Merlin, all yours.”
“Yes,” Harry hissed and pushed his still-clad erection against Draco’s hip. Draco was already hard again and he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted.
“Fuck me,” he said.
Potter raised his head, his eyes darkening even further. “I want to,” he said, staring hard at Draco. “Ohh, I want to.”
“Please. I need to feel you, let me touch you, please.”
Potter, for the first time since he’d taken the potion, looked uncertain. “I’ll hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Draco assured, meaning every word.
Potter kissed him then, ardently, deeply, desperately. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he murmured between kisses. “Draco, you’re incredible, god, so beautiful, I’m going to make you feel amazing, I swear, I promise you, so good…”
Potter was true to his word. He had Draco writhing before he’d even taken off his trousers. And when he did - Merlin, Draco’s mouth watered with the desire to taste him, but Harry was in charge, Harry would take care of him, Draco could just let go, let the potion consume him, allow himself to sail on an endless ocean of Harry.
And then Harry entered him and it was everything he wanted and more. It was perfection, completion. Harry was wonderful and not even the slow burning ache of being taken could bother Draco because he was being taken by Harry and that made it worth it five times over.
It was a long time before the two of them stopped. After Draco’s third orgasm of the night, Harry untied him with a single flick of his finger and Draco fell on him like an animal starved of food.
After it had to be way past midnight, Draco sleepily enquired about Weasley and Granger. Surely they’d be wondering where Harry was? But Harry assured him that Draco was the only thing that mattered just then, and Draco smiled and kissed him.
When they were finally finished, the two of them curled up under the covers, Harry pressed along Draco’s back, one protective arm around his stomach.
It was ridiculous, if you thought about it. The son of a Death Eater and the Boy Who Lived. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. And Draco had never felt so content.
[Next chapter >>]
Rating: R
Disclaimer: *disclaims*
Summary: “Now, lust potions develop feelings of desire in the taker without the affection that a love potion gives, so Malfoy, you will find that you continue to see Potter as the insufferable twit that he is." Not HBP/DH compliant.
Author note: This story is complete and just needs bazzing through the beta machine, so updates will be fairly regular. I'm still finding my feet in the whole fic-writing thing, so feedback - concrit especially - would be most welcome.
[<< Previous chapter]
Yesterday had been one of the best days of Draco’s life.
He hadn’t known that he could ever feel as alive as he had with Potter touching him and kissing him and wearing his clothes. It was probably a good thing Pansy was there because otherwise he would have not stopped bringing Potter off over and over again. Merlin, that boy could kiss.
Of course, without Pansy there none of it would have happened in the first place. Draco was unspeakably glad that she had never, not in seven years of their friendship, valued his privacy.
But that was the problem; once Pansy had left, the kissing and touching and stopped completely, like it was all just an act. Of course, that’s what is was, but for a while it seemed that Draco’s mind had managed to convince itself that it was real, that he and Potter were happy, together.
In hindsight, Draco was disgusted with himself.
Not only had he been sickeningly relaxed with someone - enough to let them joke with him and caress him like a lover - but that person was Potter. Harry fucking Potter. It was repulsive the way Draco had blindly followed any suggestion that Potter had made, the way that he’d melted in Potter’s embrace.
It was even worse that it was all he could think about.
That night he had lay in his bed, staring up at the canopy and craving Potter like he never had before and hating himself for it. Maybe the potion matured with time, or with extended contact, because this was deeper than it ever had been. Even that weekend when Potter had abandoned him totally; yes, that had been terrible, it had felt like his life was being torn away from him, but this was different. This time the potion had extended into his soul.
Fucking Zabini. Fucking Snape for not being able to fix him. And fucking Potter for being so infuriatingly desirable.
At least it was a Sunday, so Draco could hide away in the common room and not have to see Potter in class or at mealtimes. Of course, Draco still had to eat, but his Potter-watching had become so frequent that he knew just when (and even what) Potter preferred to eat, could predict who he would sit next to, and could determine with precision what mood Potter was in simply by the way he walked to the Gryffindor table.
And yet, horribly, Draco still wanted to find out more.
What was wrong with him? Surely if he tried hard enough, he could overcome the influence of the potion. Was he just so weak-willed that he would surrender to anything bestowed upon him? If the Dark Lord turned up at the Hogwarts gates, would Draco simply walk up to him and sign his life over like an idiot?
Of course not. Draco was better than that. He could resist his father’s urgings to follow a madman, and he could resist his own brain’s urgings to think about Potter. It was only for two more weeks. That was nothing.
And so Draco found himself in the common room, pretending to care about other people and determinedly not thinking about a certain Gryffindor. And if, when it became closer and closer to evening, he checked the clock every five minutes, then so what? He was simply a punctual person, that’s all. It was just impolite to leave someone waiting when you had made arrangements with them.
And, fine, maybe he did head up to the seventh floor right after dinner. But he ate late on Sundays and it would look suspicious if he’d gone to the common room and left again straight afterwards and, really, forty-five minutes wasn’t that early at all.
Potter wasn’t there when Draco pushed open the door and peered in. Good. That was good. It meant that Draco could prepare himself. Try to stifle the rapidly rising anticipation. He would not be beaten by a stupid bloody potion.
He sat at the desk and stared out at the darkened grounds. It wasn’t long until the sound of the door opening and footsteps walking in hit his ears. He didn’t turn around. The tingling of his skin that meant that Potter was nearby was nothing. Draco wouldn’t have even come here tonight if he hadn’t already experienced what a mess that would be. He didn’t need Potter. He didn’t.
“Malfoy?”
Draco shivered. So what if Potter had a nice voice? That didn’t mean anything, either. It was just an observation. Like saying that Potter had stunningly green eyes. Anyone could notice that.
“Malfoy, are you okay?”
He should probably answer. He didn’t want to be rude or anything. He turned around.
Well, fuck.
What had he been thinking? Of course he needed Potter. Potter was a god. A sexy god with sexy hair and sexy eyes and a sexy mouth that Draco’s unsexy unworthy mouth needed to be touching right fucking now.
The desk chair scraped as Draco threw himself towards Potter, pressing their bodies together as close as he could. Familiar sparks of desire set themselves off around Draco’s body and he sighed. This was where he needed to be. Flush against Potter, his lips against Potter’s neck. Although, he knew, it could be better. It could be so much better.
Draco slid his mouth along Potter’s jaw, murmuring a greeting and Merlin knew what else, until his lips touched Potter’s and it was… it was…
Not enough.
Something was missing: Potter. The fiery stubborn bastard that Draco hated who always refused to back down and who kissed so well.
Draco tried his best to coax Potter’s mouth open, wanting - needing - to feel a response, to feel Potter come alive under Draco’s touch like he had done yesterday. Potter remained unmoving.
Frustrated, Draco wrenched his mouth away. “Is there any chance I can convince you to kiss me?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice even.
Potter stared at him levelly, his hands in his pockets. “Yesterday was just for Parkinson,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
Even though he had expected it, Potter’s words still crushed Draco a little bit. He clutched at Harry’s shoulders, wishing that he could be as casually indifferent as Potter was being. Merlin, he hated this. “Potter,” he croaked. “Please. I’m asking you nicely. I need-”
“The only thing you need is prolonged contact,” Potter cut across him flatly. “I’ll provide that. I’ll let you kiss me. But I’m not going to participate. This doesn’t involve me.”
Draco felt like sobbing. It didn’t involve Potter, that was the problem. It should do. Draco needed it to. Needed it more than he’d ever needed anything before.
He made sure to leave several angry red marks on Potter’s neck that night. It didn’t make him feel better.
The next few days were terrible. He continued meeting with Potter every evening, and it seemed to stave off the haze of depression that going completely Potterless induced, but quite honestly, Draco would rather have that.
This was so much worse. Because he had Potter. For all the potion knew, Potter was his. And yet he didn’t have Potter at all.
Draco was in full control of his brain. And that meant that he could feel his sanity slipping away from him, bit by bit.
He needed to fix this mess. Fast.
***
It was Wednesday before he came up with a plan, but once he did, Draco was severely disappointed in himself for taking so long. It was so obvious. And he was pretty sure that if the first stage of the plan went well, the rest of it would almost definitely work. He knew that from experience. Trouble was, the first stage was by far the trickiest.
But before he could even get to the first stage, there was something he had to acquire…
He waited until most of the school had gone to dinner, then headed to his dorm. It was empty, but obviously that was no guarantee. He cast a charm on the door that would alert him if someone was approaching, and snuck over to Nott’s bed.
In Slytherin, Nott was notorious for being the go-to guy for any potion or substance that nobody else could get. He had a seemingly endless supply of morally dubious brews (not that Draco would know, or anything). In fact, now Draco thought about it, he would be very surprised if the Orexis Votum hadn’t originally come from him.
But right now, Draco couldn’t afford to ask Nott for anything, lest he figure out Draco’s… situation. But Nott had to get his stock from somewhere.
Catalogues, maybe, that’s what he was looking for. Possibly leaflets or something. Unless, of course, Nott got his potions in person, in which case Draco was utterly screwed.
Hmm… taking a moment to disable any security spells (and there would be some), Draco started at the bedside table. Spare quills and ink, lube, Potions Quarterly, an old chess set, some letters from his mother… nothing interesting there.
He tried under the mattress. A few handkerchiefs (Draco did not want to think about those thank you very much) and a copy of Witches Weekly, but no lists of illegal potions. Shit.
After ten more minutes of fruitless searching, Draco gave up. Somebody could walk in at any minute, and it didn’t look like he was going to get anywhere. Disappointedly reassembling the web of protection charms around Nott’s bed, Draco planned his next move.
He could try the apothecary in Hogsmeade, but there wasn’t another Hogsmeade weekend for a week and a half, and with any luck this would all be over by then. Maybe he could research legal potions? Draco snorted at the thought. That would require way too much effort. Plus, anything that the Ministry of Magic allowed was bound to be useless.
Hell, the luck he was having, maybe he could summon up some Death Eaters and tell them that he thought they were fools. It was probably the easiest option at this point.
Hang on.
Summon. Sweet Merlin, but he really must be stupid. He hoped that Orexis Votum affected one’s mental capacity, because if not, Draco’s self-esteem just took a definite hit.
Pulling out his wand and resisting the urge to curse himself with it, Draco murmured a summoning charm and held his breath.
Nothing.
Then-
“Oh shit,” Draco swore as Nott’s spells were triggered and a wailing noise emanated from somewhere near the wall. Casting a hasty Silencio on the door, Draco moved closer to investigate. A tiny rectangular piece of wall by the head of Nott’s bed, no larger than a Galleon, was… glowing. Hoping that this wasn’t a booby trap, Draco touched his wand to it.
The alarm spell abruptly ceased and a cupboard door appeared where the glowing patch had been. Taking a deep breath, Draco reached out and tugged open the door.
Success.
The cupboard was filled with scrolls and bits of parchment, all addressed to Nott. Draco quickly sorted through them all. He still needed to know Nott’s provider. Without that, his plan was not going to happen. Request, request, request, Which Broomstick, request-hang on. Which Broomstick? Nott wouldn’t read a Quidditch magazine if you paid him.
Draco extended a shaking hand and pulled the magazine out from under the pile of parchment. He was right, it wasn’t Which Broomstick at all. It was exactly what he’d been looking for. It was the key to Potter’s cooperation.
A stock list from Surdly & Sons, connoisseurs in the creation and distribution of illegal potions and substances. Excellent.
Draco stuffed the fake magazine under his pillow and hastily tried to put Nott’s bed back to how it had been. He wasn’t all that successful, but he was too excited to care. He was close. Harry Potter was going to be his.
***
It took two days for his order to arrive. Two torturous days in which every moment spent with Potter was oozing with unfulfilled lust.
The combination of searing relief and extraordinary anticipation Draco felt on Friday morning when a nondescript brown owl neatly dropped a package on his lap was almost overwhelming. It took every ounce of skill that Draco possessed not to jump from his seat and whoop in triumph, but somehow he managed. He met Nott’s suspicious gaze with an innocently raised eyebrow and nonchalantly tucked the package into his schoolbag.
The day dragged. Every class failed to hold his attention, even Potions. How was he supposed to concentrate when Potter was just five cauldrons over? Snape would understand. Instead of working, Draco lost himself in his imagination, fantasizing about what could be happening mere hours from now, how Potter would give in to him and it would be magnificent, it would be wonderful.
He left dinner early and went straight to the Room of Requirement. Potter wouldn’t be here for at least another two hours, but even being in that room - their room - calmed Draco a little.
He wandered over to the window and looked out. The Quidditch pitch was lit up with several large floating balls of light (a necessity in the darkness of winter months) and a team were just mounting their brooms for the start of practice.
A team wearing burgundy robes.
He could immediately tell which one was Potter, of course. He was instantly recognisable, even at a distance. The confidence with which he flew belied any awkwardness he had when on the ground; in the air, he seemed like the hero everyone thought him to be.
Merlin, and he was good. He swooped around the pitch as if he owned it, flying without even once touching the broom with his hands as he directed the other players.
And you could tell that they all adored him. Even when they were playing, all of their attention was focused on Potter, waiting for him to say something, wanting his praise. And he, being the noble wonderful idiotic bastard hero, would give it.
Draco sat there, just watching, until even the magical light began to fade and the Gryffindors finally gave in and headed to the changing rooms. Even when out of sight, Potter dominated Draco’s thoughts. He’d be in the shower right now. He’d be naked and wet and covered in soap suds and running his hands all over his body and fuck Draco was hard again.
But he refused to take care of it. He’d rather Potter did it, and tonight he might even get round to doing so.
It wasn’t long before seven black dots emerged from the changing rooms and headed up to the castle. Draco checked the time. If he was lucky, Potter would head straight there instead of going back to his common room first. If that was the case, he would be here soon. Any minute now…
The door swung open and Draco’s breath caught.
“Hey,” Potter said absently, throwing his bag onto the Gryffindor sofa.
“Hello,” Draco returned, pushing thoughts of naked Potter from his head. Soon. “Here.” He threw Potter a light silver flask, which Potter’s hand shot out and caught without thinking. Draco was not jealous at all of Potter’s natural Seeker skills. Nope. Not one little bit.
Potter studied the flask suspiciously. “What’s this?”
“Just water,” Draco said lightly. “You came here straight from practice, right? I figured you might be thirsty.”
“You got me water?” Harry said, his expression highly disbelieving.
Draco grinned and ran a hand through his hair casually. “Yes, Potter, I got you water. I’m being nice to you so you’ll let me into your pants. It’s a cunning plot, you see.” That was at least half true. Ish.
Potter frowned at the flask in his hand and Draco tried hard to resist the temptation to go up to Potter and kiss that frown away. He knew he could do it, too. He’d seen it. Twice. Twice in two days, even if those two times both promised never to repeat themselves without Draco’s ‘assistance’. It was still far more than enough to fuel Draco’s overactive imagination. It took almost no effort at all to picture Potter lying on his back, an expression of dazed contentment on his face, his hand still clutched in Draco’s hair…
Draco cleared his throat. “Merlin, Potter, you don’t have to drink it,” he said exasperatedly, for Potter was still studying the flask as if it was about to explode. “I was only trying to be thoughtful. If you still don’t trust me, by all means…”
He watched in fascination as the cogs in Potter’s brain clearly turned (in the wrong direction). How had Potter survived for so long when he was so ridiculously easy to manipulate? This wasn’t even a challenge.
To prove Draco’s point, Harry suddenly scowled, yanked the cork out with his teeth and, with only the tiniest bit of hesitation, took a deep gulp from the flask. Draco’s eyes immediately fixed on Potter’s neck (from which Draco’s marks had sadly faded) and he gleefully observed the muscles in Potter’s throat as Potter swallowed.
Harry lowered the flask and frowned again. “It - tastes a bit funny,” he said uncertainly.
“Hmm,” Draco agreed, nodding sagely. “That’s probably because it’s not really water.”
Potter let out a strange choking sound. “You bastard!” He dropped the flask jerkily and it fell to the floor, the rest of its contents spilling over the carpet with a dull glug-glug-glug. “What did you give me?”
“A potion,” Draco said quietly. “A lust potion, so you’ll want me like I want you.” Potter swore. “I don’t know how effective it’ll be,” Draco continued, ignoring him. “Because I ordered the one that would get here the fastest. But it will have worn off by morning, I do know that.”
Potter stared at him with wild eyes. “Oh, it’ll have worn off by morning? Oh, well that makes it okay! I don’t care that you’ve drugged me with a potion you know nothing about, because, hey! It’ll have worn off by morning!”
Draco refused to look down. He shouldn’t feel guilty. Potter was the one not cooperating, the one who had spent all day last week all over Draco, kissing him and stroking his hair and coming in his mouth, and ever since then hadn’t even touched him. So, really, Draco was in the right, here.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, immediately wanting to hex himself. “It’s sending me mad, you don’t know what it’s like. Especially after last week, I just… Merlin, Potter, I just want you so much.”
Some Slytherin he was. Not only was he on-his-knees desperate for Harry Potter’s cock, but he was also apologising for it. He should be resorted into Hufflepuff. But until then…
“It should be starting soon.”
No sooner than the words were out of Draco’s mouth, Potter let out a surprised huff and staggered backwards. His eyes widened and he gasped for breath, falling to his knees and clutching at his throat, his glasses tumbling off his face, upset by his scrabbling hands. Draco felt a fleeting moment of panic. What if it had gone wrong? What if he was responsible for murdering Harry Potter?
He was about to start forwards, but Potter swayed and fell, catching himself on his hands at the last second and taking deep, gulping breaths. Draco stopped himself from moving closer, simmering with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. This was a delicate stage. The last thing he should to do was interrupt.
Potter seemed to have calmed. Or, at least, he was no longer dragging in oxygen like a half-drowned animal. Merlin, but that had been aggressive. Orexis Votum had been nowhere near as violent (for which he was thankful, don’t get him wrong).
“Potter?” he asked tentatively. Potter’s head snapped up and Draco’s breath caught. Potter’s pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked completely black. And he was staring intently at Draco, who had - Merlin - never felt so naked in his life.
Not once taking his eyes off Draco, Potter stood, his movements uncharacteristically smooth, almost snake-like. A sinister smirk curled around his lips.
Draco whimpered involuntarily. Potter’s face hadn't changed, per se, but there was an element of something new - an element of promise - etched in every feature, and Draco’s body was on fire; his sudden feelings of vulnerability and arousal swirled just under his skin, igniting every part of him. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.
“Ohh, Draco,” Potter hissed in a low voice that shot straight to Draco’s cock. “You are so going to wish you hadn’t done that.”
Then he pounced.
It took Draco a while to process that the sinful voice was actually trying to tell him something, and by the time he had, the heavy weight of a seventeen-year-old boy had hit him square in the chest, knocking him to the floor.
Winded, he tried to right himself, but found that he couldn’t; Potter, his lips parted, eyes intense and lidded, his entire being oozing sexuality, sat astride his thighs. Draco failed to suppress another whimper. “Potter, I-” He reached up to try and touch Potter - to do anything - but before Draco knew it, his arms were stretched above his head, held in place by a fierce grip.
“I want you to call me Harry,” Potter murmured in his ear. “Can you do that?”
“Yes!” Draco breathed. “Harry, oh Merlin, Harry, shit, I need…” Draco thrashed and tugged his arms, but either Potter was a lot stronger than he looked, or this was no ordinary potion.
“Draco?” Harry purred.
“Yes, Harry, oh I need-”
Potter’s lips brushed Draco’s ear, sending sparks around Draco’s whole body. “Say you want me,” he whispered. “I want you to tell me how much you want me.”
The small part of Draco’s brain that hadn’t turned irrational with lust thought that that was a bit of a stupid request when Draco quite clearly wanted Potter rather a lot. But luckily the much larger part was apparently in charge of Draco’s mouth. “I do, I want you!” he gasped out. “So much… you know I… Potter-Harry, I can’t… please!”
Harry flicked out his tongue and licked the rim of Draco’s ear. It was absurd that such a small action could send Draco spiralling into new heights of arousal, but Draco felt sure that nobody had ever - could ever - be this turned on and he let out a wild moan. But he needed - Merlin, he needed-
Potter kissed him.
Really kissed him. On the lips, his tongue invading Draco, owning Draco, without any effort at all.
And Draco fucking loved it. He arched up into Potter’s glorious touch and allowed himself to get completely lost in the utter bliss of being held down and kissed by Harry Potter.
He tried to hook a leg around Potter to bring him closer, to get more, but Potter dodged it smoothly. Draco dimly heard him let out a low chuckle, but the kissing didn’t stop, and that was all Draco cared about right now. Merlin, yes, the kissing was still going; a filthily slow twining of tongues and undulating of hips that spoke of nothing but pleasurable things to come.
One sharper-than-usual thrust caused Draco’s eyes to roll back in his head from pleasure and he bit down hard on Potter’s lip. Potter chuckled again and drew back, ignoring Draco’s moan of protest.
“Draco,” he admonished, sounding completely unaffected by the kiss. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Draco, who was not nearly so unaffected and was breathing harshly, merely whimpered.
Harry grinned wickedly, dark eyes gleaming. “I shall have to punish you,” he purred, and the next thing Draco knew, they were both on the bed, Draco’s wrists tied securely to the headboard with a green silk ribbon.
The shock of suddenly finding himself halfway across the room momentarily snapped Draco from his daze. “How-?”
“You tell me, it’s your potion,” Harry answered, slowly undoing the buttons of Draco’s robe. “And god, what a potion, Draco. Did you know that I can almost hear your thoughts? I can tell what you want and I could hold you on the edge of orgasm for hours. I can hear your heartbeat and I can tell that your cock is getting harder with every word I say. I can sense where you most want to be touched, even if you don’t know it. I can smell how much you want me and I can only imagine what the rest of your body will taste like.
“I’m so powerful, right now, Draco,” Harry continued, his voice low and velvety. “I could destroy this whole school in the blink of an eye, and I could freeze time. I could take on Voldemort and all his followers with my wand arm tied behind my back and I could find the cure to Albanian Dragonpox, but instead all I want to do is stay here and give you the most powerful orgasm of your life. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Shit, one more word from Potter’s mouth and Draco was going to come spectacularly, whether his trousers were still on or not. Potter’s casual display of power had only served to make Draco even harder and he fruitlessly pushed his hips upwards.
Potter’s eyes glinted.
“Do you want to come, Draco?” he asked, unlacing Draco’s trousers.
Draco made a wordless sound of agreement, not capable of speech just then, moments away from orgasm. Potter’s fingers were only one layer of fabric away from his skin. One layer and Harry Potter would be touching his dick. One layer…
One layer suddenly became none and Draco threw his head back as his cock was freed from its confinements.
Potter made a choking noise. “You don’t wear underwear,” he said. Draco wasn’t able to reply in any other way than pushing upwards, needing Potter, desperately longing for his touch.
Fingers. Oh sweet mother of Merlin, there were fingers trailing down his abdomen - he was so close - Potter was getting nearer - so close now…
“You didn’t answer my question,” Potter whispered. “Do you want to come?”
A deep moan wrenched itself from Draco’s throat. “Yes oh Merlin fuck yes Harry please, fuck!”
Harry bent his head and his breath fluttered over the head of Draco’s Merlin so fucking close erection. “Tough.”
There was a pressure, light at first, winding itself around the bottom of Draco’s cock. It slid around to encompass Draco’s balls and then - fuck - tightened.
Draco yelled in frustration. “Potter you bastard! Oh fuck, please! I need you Merlin I hate you oh please let me - I need to-”
“Shh,” Potter murmured, his hands finally touching Draco but Draco couldn’t come he wanted to so much oh Merlin. “It’s okay, Draco, I’ll take care of you. I just want a little fun first.”
And then Potter’s mouth - shit fuck Potter’s mouth - was on him and Draco forgot to be angry because nothing mattered, nothing else in the whole damn world mattered except the fact that Harry should oh fucking Merlin keep doing that.
He was drowning in sensation. He didn’t know where Potter had learned to do that - because it couldn’t possibly be unpractised, fuck - and quite honestly he didn’t care as long as he could keep thrusting into that hot mouth and feel that tongue - that fucking tongue - drag up and down his cock.
This was torture. There was no other word for it. It was exquisite torture, but torture just the same. Harry could choose to keep him right there, hovering on the edge of release forever, and he would willingly - Merlin, so willingly - stay.
The mouth was removed far too soon and Draco whimpered and opened his eyes. Fuck, but Potter looked beautiful. Crouching over Draco in all his breathtaking glory; wet pink lips, darkened green eyes, gorgeous black hair. Draco needed to touch him, needed to feel him all over, needed to have him.
“Please,” he whimpered, unable to do anything but beg. “Oh Merlin, please.”
Potter stroked a hand down Draco’s chest; Draco’s skin blazed. “You can trust me, Draco,” Harry said softly. “I’m not going to let anybody hurt you. Not ever again.”
Words. Draco’s lust-addled brain could hardly make sense of them. Why didn’t Potter do something? Words didn’t mean anything. Words never meant anything. Draco would happily live without words. They were stupid deceitful things that got people’s hopes up and made them believe.
Actions, on the other hand, they were okay. They lied too, but they could feel so good. Maybe Potter should stop talking and start doing. Draco would really appreciate that. Even if Potter’s actions would be lying, that was fine, because Draco needed them, needed them more than anything.
“Please,” he repeated faintly. Potter nodded.
The wondrous wet heat surrounded Draco’s cock again and Draco was soaring, arching, needing, needing so much oh Merlin Potter, please I need oh fuck need you so much-
Potter’s hand stroked the base of his cock and it was freedom and it was fuck Draco was coming, coming so hard, Potter’s mouth still there, swallowing around him, he was shuddering, convulsing, never felt like this before fuck Harry Harry Harry-
It was over. Draco slumped back on the bed, breathing heavily, the ribbon at his wrists holding him up. Potter kissed his way up Draco’s exposed stomach until he reached his neck, at which point he bit down hard on the soft flesh. Draco moaned weakly.
“You’re mine now, Draco Malfoy,” Potter growled.
Draco shivered. “Yours,” he agreed mindlessly, tilting his head so Harry had better access. “Oh Merlin, all yours.”
“Yes,” Harry hissed and pushed his still-clad erection against Draco’s hip. Draco was already hard again and he suddenly knew exactly what he wanted.
“Fuck me,” he said.
Potter raised his head, his eyes darkening even further. “I want to,” he said, staring hard at Draco. “Ohh, I want to.”
“Please. I need to feel you, let me touch you, please.”
Potter, for the first time since he’d taken the potion, looked uncertain. “I’ll hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Draco assured, meaning every word.
Potter kissed him then, ardently, deeply, desperately. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he murmured between kisses. “Draco, you’re incredible, god, so beautiful, I’m going to make you feel amazing, I swear, I promise you, so good…”
Potter was true to his word. He had Draco writhing before he’d even taken off his trousers. And when he did - Merlin, Draco’s mouth watered with the desire to taste him, but Harry was in charge, Harry would take care of him, Draco could just let go, let the potion consume him, allow himself to sail on an endless ocean of Harry.
And then Harry entered him and it was everything he wanted and more. It was perfection, completion. Harry was wonderful and not even the slow burning ache of being taken could bother Draco because he was being taken by Harry and that made it worth it five times over.
It was a long time before the two of them stopped. After Draco’s third orgasm of the night, Harry untied him with a single flick of his finger and Draco fell on him like an animal starved of food.
After it had to be way past midnight, Draco sleepily enquired about Weasley and Granger. Surely they’d be wondering where Harry was? But Harry assured him that Draco was the only thing that mattered just then, and Draco smiled and kissed him.
When they were finally finished, the two of them curled up under the covers, Harry pressed along Draco’s back, one protective arm around his stomach.
It was ridiculous, if you thought about it. The son of a Death Eater and the Boy Who Lived. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. And Draco had never felt so content.
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