FIC: Let Me Live 1/2
Title: Let Me Live
Author: gypsyflame
Pairing/s: Snape/Draco; Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10,800
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Warning(s): BDSM, including ritualized D/s and belting; rimming; very slight cross-dressing; infidelity; established relationship (S/D); slightly AU (Snape didn’t die)
Summary: Draco can’t get what he needs from his husband, so he gets it from Potter.
Author's Notes: Written for hp_emofest . My prompts were the words mirror, silk, taste, and wand, the emotions jealousy and anger, and the Queen song “Let Me Live”. Many thanks to my excellent beta, the_flic.
Why don’t you take another little piece of my soul
Why don’t you shape it and shake it
‘Til you’re really in control
“You’re late.”
Draco winced at the chill of Severus’ tone as he hung his coat up on the hook by the front door. He took the few steps to the doorway of the living room. Severus was sitting in his usual armchair in front of the fire, a book open on his lap and a glass of whiskey on the sidetable. He didn’t look up at Draco.
“I know,” Draco said. “I’m sorry. Blaise took a liking to some witch, and he wouldn’t leave until he’d procured her Floo address. You know how he is.”
Even as he said the words, he wanted to throw up. When had he become so adept at lying to Severus? There had been a time, not too long ago, when Severus would have known straight away that Draco was being deceitful and demanded the truth. A small, irrational part of Draco wished things were still like that.
Severus grunted in response, eyes firmly fixed on his book.
“I should have owled.”
Severus remained silent. Draco sighed. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he usually used sex to appease his husband when he felt he’d been wronged. That wasn’t an option tonight, though. Potter had wrung him so dry that there was no way Draco would be able to get it up again until tomorrow.
Draco walked over to Severus’ chair and leaned against the arm. “Were you worried about me?” he asked softly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Severus snapped.
Draco tugged Severus’ arm to the side so that he had room to slide onto his lap. Severus remained stiff and tense as Draco leaned against him.
“I really am sorry. It won’t happen again.” Draco kissed Severus’ cheek and then rested his head on his husband’s shoulder, breathing in that wonderful, unique Severus smell that even now - after six years of marriage - never failed to comfort him.
After a moment, Severus relaxed and brought his hand up to stroke Draco’s hair. Draco closed his eyes, knowing he had been forgiven.
If only Severus knew that his sins were much worse than simple thoughtlessness.
***
Draco hadn’t married Severus with the intention of being unfaithful to him.
Long before they had become lovers in the first place, Draco had known there were things he liked - things he needed - that weren’t exactly…common. The years immediately following the war had given him his first real chance to explore that part of himself. He’d kept it a closely-guarded secret, of course; he could only imagine his parents’ utter mortification if it became public knowledge that their son got off on being hurt and humiliated. So every time the craving hit, he’d gone all the way to a special wizarding club in France to satisfy it.
And then he’d got back in touch with Severus, who had become even more of a recluse after the Battle of Hogwarts. Ironically, it was Potter who had drawn Severus out and talked him into attending the Ministry fundraiser where he’d reconnected with Draco.
At first, Draco had been so flattered that Severus wanted him, so gratified by the fulfillment of his schoolboy fantasies, that he hadn’t needed anything else. And when the old familiar itch had returned and Draco had tentatively suggested that Severus spank him, Severus had been so horrified by the suggestion that Draco had decided to never bring anything like it up again. He hadn’t been honest about why he’d asked for it in the first place, either, passing it off as mere experimentation. To this day, Severus had no idea that Draco was a masochist; Draco feared his reaction too much to tell him.
It wasn’t that Severus was prudish or repressed. He wasn’t averse to rough sex, or light bondage, or a bit of dirty talk. But anything that hinted at real violence or degradation made Severus balk. It reminded him too much of his past - both of the way his father had treated his mother and the way he himself had acted under the Dark Lord’s command. He flatly refused to treat Draco in such a way, and Draco had been fine with that. At first.
They had married two years after that fundraiser, and it wasn’t until two years after that when the need had become too much for Draco to ignore. One weekend when Severus was out at a potions conference, Draco had gone back to the French club. He’d hated himself for it, but he’d gone anyway.
And he’d kept going. Every time he left, he resolved never to return. The resolve would last a couple of months, maybe three, and then Draco would start getting snappish and irritable, restless and distracted. Inevitably, he’d find himself back at the club, begging a stranger to treat him like a whore.
It had gone on for more than three years. And then he’d run into Potter.
Draco still remembered that night with perfect clarity. He’d been on his way out of the club, his arse sore from being paddled and his throat aching from sucking cock, and he’d literally tripped and fallen right into Potter’s arms.
Their contact since the war had been limited, but it had been enough for Draco to know that Potter wasn’t the same man he’d been. He’d done everything that was expected of him - become an Auror, married the Weasley girl, popped out a few kids - but he was different somehow. More serious, more intense. And when Draco had fallen into his arms, he’d refused to let go.
“Potter,” Draco had gasped, struggling to stand upright. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you, I reckon.” Potter’s gaze had flickered down to the band on Draco’s wrist that labeled him as submissive, and his eyes had darkened with something indefinable. “Well, maybe not exactly the same.”
Draco had tried to pull away from Potter’s grasp, but Potter was a trained Auror, and Draco knew a fruitless struggle when he saw one. “Does your wife know you’re here?”
“Yeah. Ginny doesn’t care what I do so long as it doesn’t end up in the Prophet.” Potter had smirked. “What about Snape? Does he know you’re here?”
“No,” Draco had said, and he’d wanted to slap himself for telling the truth. But he’d still been too deep into subspace to lie.
“Well, well. That’s rather naughty of you, isn’t it?”
“Potter, please -”
Potter had jerked Draco hard against his body, letting him feel the weight of his erection. “I’ll tell you what, Malfoy. You come home with me right now, and I won’t breathe a word to your husband about what a slut you are.”
Draco had gone, of course - not only because he would have done anything to keep Severus from finding out, but also because the way Potter had manhandled him and spoken to him so condescendingly had shot straight to his core and made him dizzy with lust.
He and Potter had made a deal, after that first night. Draco would stop going to the club and would go to Potter, instead, whenever he felt the need and whenever Potter sent for him. In return, Potter would keep Draco’s secret from Severus. Their arrangement had gone on for eight months now, and Severus didn’t suspect a thing.
Still, Draco would have to remind Potter not to keep him so late next time.
***
Draco rang the doorbell to Grimmauld Place with a frown on his face. It had been barely more than a week since their last assignation, and Potter had already summoned him back. They were both usually careful to let several weeks pass between trysts. Draco didn’t know what Potter was thinking - but then, it wasn’t his place to question.
The door swung open by itself, as it always did, and Draco closed it behind him as he entered the house. As usual, his eyes were drawn to the large, crater-like hole in the wall of the foyer by the stairs. He didn’t know what had used to hang there, but it had obviously been something that had displeased Potter greatly. The hole was a visceral reminder of Potter’s strength and power, and it never failed to make Draco shiver with a mix of fear and excitement.
There were footsteps on the stairs leading up from the basement, and Draco straightened immediately, casting his eyes to the floor. He could feel it when Potter stepped into the room, feel the weight of his gaze and the heat of his magic.
“Why are you here, Draco?” Potter asked, his voice strong and authoritative.
It was the start of the script they used at the beginning of every session - a way of transitioning from the outside world to their own private one.
“Because you summoned me, sir,” Draco answered. And Merlin, it still chafed to call Potter that, at least at first.
Potter crossed the room and lifted Draco’s chin so that their eyes met. “Why are you really here, Draco?”
“Because I need you, sir.”
“Need me for what?”
“To hurt me,” Draco whispered, closing his eyes to avoid Potter’s overly-direct gaze. “To make me feel. To make everything else…go away.”
Draco had long ago overcome his shame about those needs, but for some reason, the shame always came flooding back when he expressed them to Potter. He hated the feeling almost as much as he craved it.
Potter kissed Draco roughly, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin, and then stepped back. “Take off your clothes.”
Draco undressed, taking special care to move neither too quickly nor too slowly. By now he knew exactly the way Potter liked for him to strip, and he simply dropped his clothing on the floor until he was standing only in the black silk stockings that Potter’s message had told him to wear. They were very flattering, he knew, but they still made him uncomfortable - which of course was part of the reason Potter wanted him to wear them.
“God, you’re a pretty little bitch, aren’t you?” Potter said, looking Draco over approvingly.
“Yes, sir.” Potter’s questions were never rhetorical.
Without warning, Potter slapped him across the face. Draco gasped in surprise, pain, and pleasure all at once. His cock, which had been half-hard since he’d rung the bell, swelled further.
Potter regarded the handprint on Draco’s cheek. “Even better,” he said. “Get on your knees.”
Draco knelt with his thighs spread apart, his weight on his heels, and his hands clasped at the small of his back, the way he had been trained to. Potter pulled a gold collar from his pocket and fastened it around Draco’s neck. They used the same collar every time, even though Draco didn’t care for gold and hated the way it looked against his skin.
“Why should I help you, Draco?”
“Because it pleases you, sir.”
“Hmm,” said Potter, as if he were unconvinced. “We’ll see how much it pleases me.”
He unfastened his trousers and pulled out his cock, gripping Draco’s hair with one hand while he pressed his cock insistently against Draco’s lips. Draco opened his mouth obediently, keeping his hands behind his back as he swallowed Potter down.
Potter seemed more interested in fucking Draco’s throat than in receiving an actual blowjob, so Draco closed his eyes and relaxed his jaw, tilting his head so that Potter would meet less resistance. He cleared his mind as best he could and concentrated on sensation - the sting in his cheek, the hands pulling on his hair, the sound of Potter’s harsh breaths and his clean, musky scent. But most of all, Draco focused on the incomparable feeling of being taken, of being used for a stronger man’s pleasure. The powerlessness of his position melted away his stress even as it made his cock ache, and Draco moaned with the bliss of it.
With a quiet grunt, Potter came down Draco’s throat, tugging Draco’s hair hard enough to hurt. He pulled back a little and let Draco lick him clean before tucking himself back in and doing his trousers up.
“Good boy,” he said. “Stand up and come with me. We’re going to make you even prettier. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
Draco looked up at him, already dizzy with submission. “Yes, sir,” he replied, even though he had only the vaguest idea of what Potter had said. He unclasped his hands and stood, rolling his shoulders to dispel the ache that had resulted from holding his arms behind his back.
Potter took him by the elbow and led him upstairs to the master suite. Draco was glad he didn’t have to worry about seeing pictures or other reminders of Potter’s family here; they lived in a different house, one that was far from London. Potter only used Grimmauld Place to fuck.
Twenty minutes later, Draco was standing in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom. There were gold cuffs that matched his collar around his wrists and ankles, jeweled clamps hanging from his nipples, and a jeweled ring settled snugly around the base of his cock. His eyes were rimmed with kohl and his lips slightly pinkened with a subtle gloss. He stood with his stockinged legs spread and his hands clasped behind his neck as Potter worked a golden plug with a large ruby set in the base into his arse.
“Look how gorgeous you are,” Potter whispered into Draco’s ear.
Draco had to agree, even if he didn’t think gold and rubies were exactly the appropriate choice for his skin tone. He did look gorgeous, and the sight of himself decorated for Potter’s gratification appealed to both his vanity and his submissiveness.
Potter kissed Draco’s neck. “My beautiful slut. Do you like looking pretty for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Potter let his hands travel over Draco’s body, tugging on the nipple clamps and stroking his cock. “Nobody else ever sees you like this. Just me.”
Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained silent. Potter used one hand to rock the plug back and forth, making it slide against Draco’s prostate, and Draco moaned, his knees weakening.
“You know what would make you look even better?” said Potter. “If we got some colour on that lily-white arse of yours. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, sir,” Draco said, trying not to sound overly eager. It had only been a week, but he was already impatient to be beaten again.
Potter used his wand to conjure a chain between Draco’s wrist cuffs, then lifted Draco’s arms above his head and hung the chain over a hook that hung from the ceiling. The distance made Draco’s body stretch out fully, but without forcing him to stand on his toes. Potter kicked Draco’s legs even further apart and attached a spreader bar to his ankle cuffs, keeping his legs wide open.
It was a terribly vulnerable position, and Draco gripped the wrist chain tightly as arousal sparked white-hot up his spine and through his veins. In the mirror, he could see Potter unbuckle his belt and take it off. Potter ran the leather over the skin of Draco’s backside in a slow, sensual slide.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes, please, sir.”
“Ask for it,” Potter commanded.
It was always difficult for Draco to beg - especially with Potter - but he’d found that once he got the first few words out, the rest followed easily. There was something freeing in being so honest about his most base desires.
“Please, sir…” Draco took a deep breath and forced himself to say it. “Please whip me. I deserve to be beaten, I need it -”
As soon as he’d admitted it, Draco felt better, lighter, his anxiety quickly dissipating. This was why he came here - to feel the mindless ecstasy that he only found in submitting to pain and humiliation.
Potter chuckled. “Deserve to be beaten, hmm? Have you been a bad boy?”
“Yes, sir. Very bad.”
“I know. Look at you, coming here and spreading your legs for me while your husband waits for you at home.”
Draco stiffened, his pleasure fading a little. At the very start of their little arrangement, Potter had promised to never mention Severus during their sessions. He’d never broken that promise before today.
“That’s horribly naughty,” Potter continued. “I think you need to be punished for being such a dirty little whore.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Draco managed, hoping it had just been a one-time fluke. If he thought about Severus here, he’d never be able to submit completely, and that would leave him unsatisfied. “Please.”
“Arch your back for me, baby. Show me where you need it.”
Draco complied, lifting his arse up as much as he could, and he didn’t bother to censor his reaction at the touch of leather against his skin. Potter strapped him expertly, starting out slow and soft at first and gradually intensifying the strokes until the belt was cracking down on Draco’s arse in rapid, stinging blows. Draco cried out with every hit, the pain and pleasure swirling together as his arse heated up and then started welting.
Just as tears started springing to Draco’s eyes, Potter stopped. He reached around Draco and released both the nipple clamps at once, making Draco scream as the blood rushed back into his nipples. Potter pinched them hard and tugged viciously, prompting another scream from Draco.
“Painslut,” Potter muttered.
He resumed the whipping, striking Draco’s legs and back now as well. Draco gave himself completely over to it, losing himself in the pain and submission as he fell into that euphoric, trance-like state where nothing existed but Potter’s will and his own intense need to obey it. Tears fell freely down his face as he sobbed and writhed. By the time Potter finally stopped, Draco felt like his entire back half was on fire, and his cock was aching with the need to come.
Potter walked around to Draco’s front and ran his thumb over Draco’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful when you cry.”
He licked the tears off Draco’s face, then lowered his head to suck one of Draco’s tender nipples. Draco gasped.
“Oh, please, please -”
“Please what?”
Potter reached down between Draco’s legs to play with the plug, thrusting it in and out shallowly. Draco squirmed.
“Fuck me!”
Potter’s hand stilled. “Are you telling me what to do, Draco?” he said in a dangerous tone.
“N-no. Asking. Sir. Please. Need…”
Draco made a frustrated noise at his inability to form a coherent sentence, but he was never able to communicate properly when he was this deep into subspace.
Potter kissed his mouth and rubbed his sides soothingly. “Shhh. It’s all right, baby. I’ll take care of you. Don’t I always take care of you, Draco?”
“Yes, sir,” Draco said with a contented sigh. He didn’t have to think here. Potter always gave him what he needed.
Potter took Draco’s arms down from the hook, though he left his wrists chained together. He rubbed Draco’s shoulders. “There’s nobody else who takes care of you like I do, is there, Draco?”
Draco shook his head, although there was something about the words and the way Potter said them that felt wrong to him. Potter removed the spreader bar from between Draco’s ankles.
“Get on the bed, pet. Elbows and knees.”
Once Draco had assumed the position, Potter fastened the wrist chain to a hook on the headboard, forcing Draco to stay flat on his elbows and forearms. He enlarged the ankle cuffs just enough to slide them up Draco’s legs - stockings ripped and torn now from the belt - so that they tightened again right below the knees, then pushed Draco’s knees even closer to his chest, exaggerating his position.
“Get that arse up nice and high for me. Yeah, that’s it.” He put the spreader bar back in place, between Draco’s knees. “God, you look good like this. All spread and eager for me, just like a whore should be.”
Potter smacked Draco’s sore arse, making Draco cry out.
“Are you a whore, Draco?”
“Yes, sir.”
Potter smacked him again. “Say it.”
“I’m a whore.” Draco gasped as another slap made the heat in his arse flare.
“Whose whore?”
“Yours! Your whore, sir.”
“That’s right. Mine. Nobody else’s.” Potter worked the plug in and out of Draco’s arse. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”
Draco couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more in his entire life. “Oh, yes, please, sir. Please.”
Potter started to slam the plug in roughly, and Draco made a strangled noise. “You’re always so desperate for my cock. I knew Snape wasn’t giving it to you properly.”
It was as if Potter had thrown ice water over him. “Wh-what?” Draco said in disbelief.
Potter ignored him, withdrawing the plug and setting it aside. He lowered his head and licked a broad stripe from Draco’s perineum to the top of his arse. Draco whimpered.
“You taste as good as you look.” Potter started to lick and suck Draco’s hole in earnest, then pushed his tongue in. Draco shuddered and moaned, his body trying to writhe but unable to in its locked-down position. Potter bit Draco’s welted arse and then knelt up. A moment later, Draco felt the head of Potter’s cock against his hole.
“Beg me for it, pet,” Potter said.
“Please fuck me, sir, please, I need it so badly -”
Potter pushed in roughly, slamming forward so that his hips knocked unforgivingly against Draco’s tender flesh. Draco screamed and pushed back. Potter set a brutal, violent pace, and Draco met every thrust enthusiastically.
“So eager,” Potter groaned. “So fucking frantic for it. Cockslut.”
“Yes, yes,” Draco panted.
“You’d never get this from Snape, you know.”
Draco’s rhythm faltered, though Potter kept pounding him hard, his hands gripping Draco’s hips bruisingly. Three times was not a fluke. Potter was doing it on purpose.
“He’d never do this for you,” Potter said, confirming Draco’s suspicions. “Tie you up and beat you, fuck you like the nasty slut you are.”
Draco flinched. “Don’t.”
“He doesn’t know what you need. Not like I do. He’ll never own you the way I do.”
“Stop.” Draco struggled, trying to squirm away, but his body was effectively immobilized. He couldn’t go anywhere; he could barely move at all. Gods, why had he ever agreed to Potter’s demand that they have no safeword? “Potter, stop.”
“No.” Potter leaned over Draco’s back in a way that brought his cock right against Draco’s prostate. Draco wailed despite himself as Potter fucked him in short, sharp strokes that made his arse blaze with pain and his insides light up with pleasure.
“Mine,” Potter growled.
“No!” Draco moaned. He didn’t belong to Potter, he didn’t, he shouldn’t even be here. It was wrong, and it wasn’t what he wanted. “No, don’t - ah!”
Potter reached around to tug Draco’s cock in time with his aggressive thrusting. Draco’s entire body shook.
“You’re going to come with me owning your arse,” Potter said, “and you’re going to love it.”
He released the cock ring, and Draco’s orgasm crashed through him, making him scream and buck under Potter, who kept on fucking him roughly.
“Fuck. Fuck, Draco, yeah -”
Potter shouted as he climaxed, filling Draco with his come. Draco waited for him to finish, trembling and crying a little. He felt sick with hatred and self-loathing.
Potter finally pulled out and fell to the side, muttering the spell that released Draco’s bonds and collar. Draco scrambled off the bed.
“Where are you going?” Potter said, looking surprised.
“I told you to stop!” Draco was shaky and dizzy, not just from disgust, but from being so unpleasantly brought out of subspace too fast and too jarringly. That was dangerous, and Potter should have known better.
“You tell me to stop all the time. You never mean it.”
“That’s why normal people have safewords!” Draco shrieked.
He looked around for his clothes before remembering they were downstairs - and so was his wand. He grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around himself.
Potter raised his eyebrows. “What’s the problem? You obviously enjoyed yourself.”
“That’s not the point!” Draco realized he was starting to hyperventilate and tried to slow his breathing. “You told me you would never mention him. You promised.”
“Who, Snape? Wait - that’s what you’re upset about?”
“Yes!”
“Draco, come on. You know everything I said was true.”
“It wasn’t even in the neighbourhood of true,” Draco snapped. “You do not own me.”
“No? So that wasn’t you calling yourself my whore twenty minutes ago?”
Draco made an incoherent noise of rage before turning and heading for the door. Potter Apparated in front of him, making Draco yelp in surprise.
“Snape can’t give you what you need,” he said. “You know that.”
“You…” Draco trailed off, an extremely unpleasant insight dawning on him. “Merlin. You’re jealous.”
Potter didn’t deny it. “He doesn’t deserve you, Draco.”
“And you do?”
“Yes,” said Potter, in a tone that implied it was rather silly of Draco to think otherwise.
“He’s my husband,” Draco said. “I love him.”
Potter snorted. “Yeah, you love him so much that you’ve cheated on him for years with dozens of strangers.”
Draco punched him in the face. Of course, he wasn’t particularly skilled at Muggle fighting, so it ended up startling Potter more than it hurt him, but there’d be at least a small bruise. “How dare you,” Draco spat.
“Leave him.”
Draco’s mouth dropped open.
“Come and stay here,” Potter said. “With me. I can take care of you.”
Draco struggled to process this new development. “And are you intending to leave Weasley?”
Looking taken aback, Potter said, “Of course not. We have kids.”
“So, what - you would just keep me here?” Draco said in revulsion. “Like a pet, waiting for you to visit and throw me whatever scraps of attention you have left over from your wife and children?”
Potter shrugged. That was clearly what he had been intending to do. Draco resisted the urge to hit him again.
“Fuck you. Get out of my way.”
“No,” Potter said, grabbing his arm. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Let go.”
“Draco, you get your arse back on that bed right now.”
Draco yanked his arm away. “No! I’m serious, Potter. Let me go. I’m not playing.”
Potter stared at him, and for a long, terrible moment, Draco was certain that Potter was going to drag him back to the bed and rape him. Without his wand, there would be nothing Draco could do to stop him. Hell, even with his wand, it was unlikely Draco would be able to stop him. That was the danger inherent in getting involved with a person far more powerful than oneself.
Then Potter stepped aside.
Draco hurried downstairs and changed into his clothes as quickly as he could, slamming the front door to the house as he left.
***
Of course, once he’d left the house, Draco faced a bit of a dilemma. He always used Potter’s bathroom to clean up and remove the marks after they finished; before Potter, he’d used the facilities at the club. He definitely couldn’t go home like this - beaten, bitten, and reeking of sex. For Merlin’s sake, Potter’s come was still inside him. Draco usually enjoyed the psychological effects of that particular sensation, but now it just made him feel dirty in more ways than one.
He ended up checking into a moderately-priced Muggle hotel. It wasn’t a place he would ever have stepped foot into under normal circumstances, but it was clean enough, and the chances of him running into someone he knew were nil.
Draco started the water in the shower and stripped out of his clothing, hitting each article with the strongest cleaning charms he knew. He would have preferred to burn them, but that was obviously impractical. He could get rid of them once he got home.
The ruined stockings, however, he could burn, and he did so with vicious satisfaction. He’d hated them anyway.
He glanced at himself in the mirror and winced. No wonder the girl behind the check-in counter had given him such odd looks; his face was still tearstained, his eyes red from crying, and there were a few marks on his throat that would definitely have been visible above his shirt collar. Draco could only be grateful that she hadn’t been able to see the bruises decorating the rest of his body, or the violent welts that covered his arse, back, and thighs.
Thanks to his father’s rather unique concept of education, Draco was well-acquainted with a spell that removed all visible signs of physical trauma without lessening the pain of it in any way. He’d never used it on another person, though - only on himself. It was a handy way to hide the evidence of his transgressions from Severus while still enjoying the aftereffects of a good beating.
The thought of keeping this pain, after what Potter had done, made Draco’s stomach lurch in a way that had him eyeing the distance to the toilet, just in case.
He healed every single wound with a thoroughness that would have impressed any Healer.
Afterwards, Draco stood under the shower spray, turning the knob hotter and hotter until it stung his skin uncomfortably. He let the near-scalding water run over his body for close to an hour, but it didn’t make him feel any cleaner. He wasn’t sure anything would.
Gods, what had he allowed himself to become? Letting someone he could barely tolerate beat him, humiliate him, fuck him like a cheap whore, while the man he actually loved trusted him to be faithful. Draco pressed shaking hands against his face, as if that could help him hide from the truth about himself.
Never again.
He’d made that vow to himself before, of course. Hundreds of times. Every time, in point of fact.
I mean it this time.
Draco stifled a sob that was full of self-disgust. He always meant it. And he always broke it. Why would this time be any different?
Well, for one thing, because he could never, ever go back to Grimmauld Place. Leaving aside the fact that the thought of Potter touching him now made Draco’s skin crawl, it just wouldn’t be safe. He couldn’t be alone with Potter again. The man had let Draco go once - there was no guarantee he’d do so a second time.
Draco froze as that thought prompted another, more frightening one. An icy pit formed in his stomach and a chill went up his spine, despite the heat of the water.
It was over between him and Potter, that was certain.
Which meant their deal was off.
Which meant Potter could tell Severus about Draco’s infidelities at any moment - could have already told him.
Draco shut off the water and dried himself with a spell, practically leaping into his clothes. He had to get to Severus before Potter did. Even if he had no idea what he could possibly say, Severus hearing about Draco’s exploits from anyone but Draco - especially Potter - would be exponentially more disastrous.
There was the slight possibility that Potter was arrogant enough to think that Draco would come to his senses, or some such rot, and go back to him in time. If that was true, then Potter wouldn’t say anything to Severus.
Alternatively, Potter might just be arrogant enough to think that if he broke Draco and Severus up by revealing the truth, Draco would go back to him anyway.
Draco made a noise of fear and frustration and tossed some Muggle money onto the desk, more than enough to cover the bill, before Apparating directly home.
Part Two
Author: gypsyflame
Pairing/s: Snape/Draco; Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10,800
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Warning(s): BDSM, including ritualized D/s and belting; rimming; very slight cross-dressing; infidelity; established relationship (S/D); slightly AU (Snape didn’t die)
Summary: Draco can’t get what he needs from his husband, so he gets it from Potter.
Author's Notes: Written for hp_emofest . My prompts were the words mirror, silk, taste, and wand, the emotions jealousy and anger, and the Queen song “Let Me Live”. Many thanks to my excellent beta, the_flic.
Why don’t you take another little piece of my soul
Why don’t you shape it and shake it
‘Til you’re really in control
“You’re late.”
Draco winced at the chill of Severus’ tone as he hung his coat up on the hook by the front door. He took the few steps to the doorway of the living room. Severus was sitting in his usual armchair in front of the fire, a book open on his lap and a glass of whiskey on the sidetable. He didn’t look up at Draco.
“I know,” Draco said. “I’m sorry. Blaise took a liking to some witch, and he wouldn’t leave until he’d procured her Floo address. You know how he is.”
Even as he said the words, he wanted to throw up. When had he become so adept at lying to Severus? There had been a time, not too long ago, when Severus would have known straight away that Draco was being deceitful and demanded the truth. A small, irrational part of Draco wished things were still like that.
Severus grunted in response, eyes firmly fixed on his book.
“I should have owled.”
Severus remained silent. Draco sighed. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he usually used sex to appease his husband when he felt he’d been wronged. That wasn’t an option tonight, though. Potter had wrung him so dry that there was no way Draco would be able to get it up again until tomorrow.
Draco walked over to Severus’ chair and leaned against the arm. “Were you worried about me?” he asked softly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Severus snapped.
Draco tugged Severus’ arm to the side so that he had room to slide onto his lap. Severus remained stiff and tense as Draco leaned against him.
“I really am sorry. It won’t happen again.” Draco kissed Severus’ cheek and then rested his head on his husband’s shoulder, breathing in that wonderful, unique Severus smell that even now - after six years of marriage - never failed to comfort him.
After a moment, Severus relaxed and brought his hand up to stroke Draco’s hair. Draco closed his eyes, knowing he had been forgiven.
If only Severus knew that his sins were much worse than simple thoughtlessness.
***
Draco hadn’t married Severus with the intention of being unfaithful to him.
Long before they had become lovers in the first place, Draco had known there were things he liked - things he needed - that weren’t exactly…common. The years immediately following the war had given him his first real chance to explore that part of himself. He’d kept it a closely-guarded secret, of course; he could only imagine his parents’ utter mortification if it became public knowledge that their son got off on being hurt and humiliated. So every time the craving hit, he’d gone all the way to a special wizarding club in France to satisfy it.
And then he’d got back in touch with Severus, who had become even more of a recluse after the Battle of Hogwarts. Ironically, it was Potter who had drawn Severus out and talked him into attending the Ministry fundraiser where he’d reconnected with Draco.
At first, Draco had been so flattered that Severus wanted him, so gratified by the fulfillment of his schoolboy fantasies, that he hadn’t needed anything else. And when the old familiar itch had returned and Draco had tentatively suggested that Severus spank him, Severus had been so horrified by the suggestion that Draco had decided to never bring anything like it up again. He hadn’t been honest about why he’d asked for it in the first place, either, passing it off as mere experimentation. To this day, Severus had no idea that Draco was a masochist; Draco feared his reaction too much to tell him.
It wasn’t that Severus was prudish or repressed. He wasn’t averse to rough sex, or light bondage, or a bit of dirty talk. But anything that hinted at real violence or degradation made Severus balk. It reminded him too much of his past - both of the way his father had treated his mother and the way he himself had acted under the Dark Lord’s command. He flatly refused to treat Draco in such a way, and Draco had been fine with that. At first.
They had married two years after that fundraiser, and it wasn’t until two years after that when the need had become too much for Draco to ignore. One weekend when Severus was out at a potions conference, Draco had gone back to the French club. He’d hated himself for it, but he’d gone anyway.
And he’d kept going. Every time he left, he resolved never to return. The resolve would last a couple of months, maybe three, and then Draco would start getting snappish and irritable, restless and distracted. Inevitably, he’d find himself back at the club, begging a stranger to treat him like a whore.
It had gone on for more than three years. And then he’d run into Potter.
Draco still remembered that night with perfect clarity. He’d been on his way out of the club, his arse sore from being paddled and his throat aching from sucking cock, and he’d literally tripped and fallen right into Potter’s arms.
Their contact since the war had been limited, but it had been enough for Draco to know that Potter wasn’t the same man he’d been. He’d done everything that was expected of him - become an Auror, married the Weasley girl, popped out a few kids - but he was different somehow. More serious, more intense. And when Draco had fallen into his arms, he’d refused to let go.
“Potter,” Draco had gasped, struggling to stand upright. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you, I reckon.” Potter’s gaze had flickered down to the band on Draco’s wrist that labeled him as submissive, and his eyes had darkened with something indefinable. “Well, maybe not exactly the same.”
Draco had tried to pull away from Potter’s grasp, but Potter was a trained Auror, and Draco knew a fruitless struggle when he saw one. “Does your wife know you’re here?”
“Yeah. Ginny doesn’t care what I do so long as it doesn’t end up in the Prophet.” Potter had smirked. “What about Snape? Does he know you’re here?”
“No,” Draco had said, and he’d wanted to slap himself for telling the truth. But he’d still been too deep into subspace to lie.
“Well, well. That’s rather naughty of you, isn’t it?”
“Potter, please -”
Potter had jerked Draco hard against his body, letting him feel the weight of his erection. “I’ll tell you what, Malfoy. You come home with me right now, and I won’t breathe a word to your husband about what a slut you are.”
Draco had gone, of course - not only because he would have done anything to keep Severus from finding out, but also because the way Potter had manhandled him and spoken to him so condescendingly had shot straight to his core and made him dizzy with lust.
He and Potter had made a deal, after that first night. Draco would stop going to the club and would go to Potter, instead, whenever he felt the need and whenever Potter sent for him. In return, Potter would keep Draco’s secret from Severus. Their arrangement had gone on for eight months now, and Severus didn’t suspect a thing.
Still, Draco would have to remind Potter not to keep him so late next time.
***
Draco rang the doorbell to Grimmauld Place with a frown on his face. It had been barely more than a week since their last assignation, and Potter had already summoned him back. They were both usually careful to let several weeks pass between trysts. Draco didn’t know what Potter was thinking - but then, it wasn’t his place to question.
The door swung open by itself, as it always did, and Draco closed it behind him as he entered the house. As usual, his eyes were drawn to the large, crater-like hole in the wall of the foyer by the stairs. He didn’t know what had used to hang there, but it had obviously been something that had displeased Potter greatly. The hole was a visceral reminder of Potter’s strength and power, and it never failed to make Draco shiver with a mix of fear and excitement.
There were footsteps on the stairs leading up from the basement, and Draco straightened immediately, casting his eyes to the floor. He could feel it when Potter stepped into the room, feel the weight of his gaze and the heat of his magic.
“Why are you here, Draco?” Potter asked, his voice strong and authoritative.
It was the start of the script they used at the beginning of every session - a way of transitioning from the outside world to their own private one.
“Because you summoned me, sir,” Draco answered. And Merlin, it still chafed to call Potter that, at least at first.
Potter crossed the room and lifted Draco’s chin so that their eyes met. “Why are you really here, Draco?”
“Because I need you, sir.”
“Need me for what?”
“To hurt me,” Draco whispered, closing his eyes to avoid Potter’s overly-direct gaze. “To make me feel. To make everything else…go away.”
Draco had long ago overcome his shame about those needs, but for some reason, the shame always came flooding back when he expressed them to Potter. He hated the feeling almost as much as he craved it.
Potter kissed Draco roughly, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin, and then stepped back. “Take off your clothes.”
Draco undressed, taking special care to move neither too quickly nor too slowly. By now he knew exactly the way Potter liked for him to strip, and he simply dropped his clothing on the floor until he was standing only in the black silk stockings that Potter’s message had told him to wear. They were very flattering, he knew, but they still made him uncomfortable - which of course was part of the reason Potter wanted him to wear them.
“God, you’re a pretty little bitch, aren’t you?” Potter said, looking Draco over approvingly.
“Yes, sir.” Potter’s questions were never rhetorical.
Without warning, Potter slapped him across the face. Draco gasped in surprise, pain, and pleasure all at once. His cock, which had been half-hard since he’d rung the bell, swelled further.
Potter regarded the handprint on Draco’s cheek. “Even better,” he said. “Get on your knees.”
Draco knelt with his thighs spread apart, his weight on his heels, and his hands clasped at the small of his back, the way he had been trained to. Potter pulled a gold collar from his pocket and fastened it around Draco’s neck. They used the same collar every time, even though Draco didn’t care for gold and hated the way it looked against his skin.
“Why should I help you, Draco?”
“Because it pleases you, sir.”
“Hmm,” said Potter, as if he were unconvinced. “We’ll see how much it pleases me.”
He unfastened his trousers and pulled out his cock, gripping Draco’s hair with one hand while he pressed his cock insistently against Draco’s lips. Draco opened his mouth obediently, keeping his hands behind his back as he swallowed Potter down.
Potter seemed more interested in fucking Draco’s throat than in receiving an actual blowjob, so Draco closed his eyes and relaxed his jaw, tilting his head so that Potter would meet less resistance. He cleared his mind as best he could and concentrated on sensation - the sting in his cheek, the hands pulling on his hair, the sound of Potter’s harsh breaths and his clean, musky scent. But most of all, Draco focused on the incomparable feeling of being taken, of being used for a stronger man’s pleasure. The powerlessness of his position melted away his stress even as it made his cock ache, and Draco moaned with the bliss of it.
With a quiet grunt, Potter came down Draco’s throat, tugging Draco’s hair hard enough to hurt. He pulled back a little and let Draco lick him clean before tucking himself back in and doing his trousers up.
“Good boy,” he said. “Stand up and come with me. We’re going to make you even prettier. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
Draco looked up at him, already dizzy with submission. “Yes, sir,” he replied, even though he had only the vaguest idea of what Potter had said. He unclasped his hands and stood, rolling his shoulders to dispel the ache that had resulted from holding his arms behind his back.
Potter took him by the elbow and led him upstairs to the master suite. Draco was glad he didn’t have to worry about seeing pictures or other reminders of Potter’s family here; they lived in a different house, one that was far from London. Potter only used Grimmauld Place to fuck.
Twenty minutes later, Draco was standing in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom. There were gold cuffs that matched his collar around his wrists and ankles, jeweled clamps hanging from his nipples, and a jeweled ring settled snugly around the base of his cock. His eyes were rimmed with kohl and his lips slightly pinkened with a subtle gloss. He stood with his stockinged legs spread and his hands clasped behind his neck as Potter worked a golden plug with a large ruby set in the base into his arse.
“Look how gorgeous you are,” Potter whispered into Draco’s ear.
Draco had to agree, even if he didn’t think gold and rubies were exactly the appropriate choice for his skin tone. He did look gorgeous, and the sight of himself decorated for Potter’s gratification appealed to both his vanity and his submissiveness.
Potter kissed Draco’s neck. “My beautiful slut. Do you like looking pretty for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Potter let his hands travel over Draco’s body, tugging on the nipple clamps and stroking his cock. “Nobody else ever sees you like this. Just me.”
Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained silent. Potter used one hand to rock the plug back and forth, making it slide against Draco’s prostate, and Draco moaned, his knees weakening.
“You know what would make you look even better?” said Potter. “If we got some colour on that lily-white arse of yours. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, sir,” Draco said, trying not to sound overly eager. It had only been a week, but he was already impatient to be beaten again.
Potter used his wand to conjure a chain between Draco’s wrist cuffs, then lifted Draco’s arms above his head and hung the chain over a hook that hung from the ceiling. The distance made Draco’s body stretch out fully, but without forcing him to stand on his toes. Potter kicked Draco’s legs even further apart and attached a spreader bar to his ankle cuffs, keeping his legs wide open.
It was a terribly vulnerable position, and Draco gripped the wrist chain tightly as arousal sparked white-hot up his spine and through his veins. In the mirror, he could see Potter unbuckle his belt and take it off. Potter ran the leather over the skin of Draco’s backside in a slow, sensual slide.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes, please, sir.”
“Ask for it,” Potter commanded.
It was always difficult for Draco to beg - especially with Potter - but he’d found that once he got the first few words out, the rest followed easily. There was something freeing in being so honest about his most base desires.
“Please, sir…” Draco took a deep breath and forced himself to say it. “Please whip me. I deserve to be beaten, I need it -”
As soon as he’d admitted it, Draco felt better, lighter, his anxiety quickly dissipating. This was why he came here - to feel the mindless ecstasy that he only found in submitting to pain and humiliation.
Potter chuckled. “Deserve to be beaten, hmm? Have you been a bad boy?”
“Yes, sir. Very bad.”
“I know. Look at you, coming here and spreading your legs for me while your husband waits for you at home.”
Draco stiffened, his pleasure fading a little. At the very start of their little arrangement, Potter had promised to never mention Severus during their sessions. He’d never broken that promise before today.
“That’s horribly naughty,” Potter continued. “I think you need to be punished for being such a dirty little whore.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Draco managed, hoping it had just been a one-time fluke. If he thought about Severus here, he’d never be able to submit completely, and that would leave him unsatisfied. “Please.”
“Arch your back for me, baby. Show me where you need it.”
Draco complied, lifting his arse up as much as he could, and he didn’t bother to censor his reaction at the touch of leather against his skin. Potter strapped him expertly, starting out slow and soft at first and gradually intensifying the strokes until the belt was cracking down on Draco’s arse in rapid, stinging blows. Draco cried out with every hit, the pain and pleasure swirling together as his arse heated up and then started welting.
Just as tears started springing to Draco’s eyes, Potter stopped. He reached around Draco and released both the nipple clamps at once, making Draco scream as the blood rushed back into his nipples. Potter pinched them hard and tugged viciously, prompting another scream from Draco.
“Painslut,” Potter muttered.
He resumed the whipping, striking Draco’s legs and back now as well. Draco gave himself completely over to it, losing himself in the pain and submission as he fell into that euphoric, trance-like state where nothing existed but Potter’s will and his own intense need to obey it. Tears fell freely down his face as he sobbed and writhed. By the time Potter finally stopped, Draco felt like his entire back half was on fire, and his cock was aching with the need to come.
Potter walked around to Draco’s front and ran his thumb over Draco’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful when you cry.”
He licked the tears off Draco’s face, then lowered his head to suck one of Draco’s tender nipples. Draco gasped.
“Oh, please, please -”
“Please what?”
Potter reached down between Draco’s legs to play with the plug, thrusting it in and out shallowly. Draco squirmed.
“Fuck me!”
Potter’s hand stilled. “Are you telling me what to do, Draco?” he said in a dangerous tone.
“N-no. Asking. Sir. Please. Need…”
Draco made a frustrated noise at his inability to form a coherent sentence, but he was never able to communicate properly when he was this deep into subspace.
Potter kissed his mouth and rubbed his sides soothingly. “Shhh. It’s all right, baby. I’ll take care of you. Don’t I always take care of you, Draco?”
“Yes, sir,” Draco said with a contented sigh. He didn’t have to think here. Potter always gave him what he needed.
Potter took Draco’s arms down from the hook, though he left his wrists chained together. He rubbed Draco’s shoulders. “There’s nobody else who takes care of you like I do, is there, Draco?”
Draco shook his head, although there was something about the words and the way Potter said them that felt wrong to him. Potter removed the spreader bar from between Draco’s ankles.
“Get on the bed, pet. Elbows and knees.”
Once Draco had assumed the position, Potter fastened the wrist chain to a hook on the headboard, forcing Draco to stay flat on his elbows and forearms. He enlarged the ankle cuffs just enough to slide them up Draco’s legs - stockings ripped and torn now from the belt - so that they tightened again right below the knees, then pushed Draco’s knees even closer to his chest, exaggerating his position.
“Get that arse up nice and high for me. Yeah, that’s it.” He put the spreader bar back in place, between Draco’s knees. “God, you look good like this. All spread and eager for me, just like a whore should be.”
Potter smacked Draco’s sore arse, making Draco cry out.
“Are you a whore, Draco?”
“Yes, sir.”
Potter smacked him again. “Say it.”
“I’m a whore.” Draco gasped as another slap made the heat in his arse flare.
“Whose whore?”
“Yours! Your whore, sir.”
“That’s right. Mine. Nobody else’s.” Potter worked the plug in and out of Draco’s arse. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”
Draco couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more in his entire life. “Oh, yes, please, sir. Please.”
Potter started to slam the plug in roughly, and Draco made a strangled noise. “You’re always so desperate for my cock. I knew Snape wasn’t giving it to you properly.”
It was as if Potter had thrown ice water over him. “Wh-what?” Draco said in disbelief.
Potter ignored him, withdrawing the plug and setting it aside. He lowered his head and licked a broad stripe from Draco’s perineum to the top of his arse. Draco whimpered.
“You taste as good as you look.” Potter started to lick and suck Draco’s hole in earnest, then pushed his tongue in. Draco shuddered and moaned, his body trying to writhe but unable to in its locked-down position. Potter bit Draco’s welted arse and then knelt up. A moment later, Draco felt the head of Potter’s cock against his hole.
“Beg me for it, pet,” Potter said.
“Please fuck me, sir, please, I need it so badly -”
Potter pushed in roughly, slamming forward so that his hips knocked unforgivingly against Draco’s tender flesh. Draco screamed and pushed back. Potter set a brutal, violent pace, and Draco met every thrust enthusiastically.
“So eager,” Potter groaned. “So fucking frantic for it. Cockslut.”
“Yes, yes,” Draco panted.
“You’d never get this from Snape, you know.”
Draco’s rhythm faltered, though Potter kept pounding him hard, his hands gripping Draco’s hips bruisingly. Three times was not a fluke. Potter was doing it on purpose.
“He’d never do this for you,” Potter said, confirming Draco’s suspicions. “Tie you up and beat you, fuck you like the nasty slut you are.”
Draco flinched. “Don’t.”
“He doesn’t know what you need. Not like I do. He’ll never own you the way I do.”
“Stop.” Draco struggled, trying to squirm away, but his body was effectively immobilized. He couldn’t go anywhere; he could barely move at all. Gods, why had he ever agreed to Potter’s demand that they have no safeword? “Potter, stop.”
“No.” Potter leaned over Draco’s back in a way that brought his cock right against Draco’s prostate. Draco wailed despite himself as Potter fucked him in short, sharp strokes that made his arse blaze with pain and his insides light up with pleasure.
“Mine,” Potter growled.
“No!” Draco moaned. He didn’t belong to Potter, he didn’t, he shouldn’t even be here. It was wrong, and it wasn’t what he wanted. “No, don’t - ah!”
Potter reached around to tug Draco’s cock in time with his aggressive thrusting. Draco’s entire body shook.
“You’re going to come with me owning your arse,” Potter said, “and you’re going to love it.”
He released the cock ring, and Draco’s orgasm crashed through him, making him scream and buck under Potter, who kept on fucking him roughly.
“Fuck. Fuck, Draco, yeah -”
Potter shouted as he climaxed, filling Draco with his come. Draco waited for him to finish, trembling and crying a little. He felt sick with hatred and self-loathing.
Potter finally pulled out and fell to the side, muttering the spell that released Draco’s bonds and collar. Draco scrambled off the bed.
“Where are you going?” Potter said, looking surprised.
“I told you to stop!” Draco was shaky and dizzy, not just from disgust, but from being so unpleasantly brought out of subspace too fast and too jarringly. That was dangerous, and Potter should have known better.
“You tell me to stop all the time. You never mean it.”
“That’s why normal people have safewords!” Draco shrieked.
He looked around for his clothes before remembering they were downstairs - and so was his wand. He grabbed a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around himself.
Potter raised his eyebrows. “What’s the problem? You obviously enjoyed yourself.”
“That’s not the point!” Draco realized he was starting to hyperventilate and tried to slow his breathing. “You told me you would never mention him. You promised.”
“Who, Snape? Wait - that’s what you’re upset about?”
“Yes!”
“Draco, come on. You know everything I said was true.”
“It wasn’t even in the neighbourhood of true,” Draco snapped. “You do not own me.”
“No? So that wasn’t you calling yourself my whore twenty minutes ago?”
Draco made an incoherent noise of rage before turning and heading for the door. Potter Apparated in front of him, making Draco yelp in surprise.
“Snape can’t give you what you need,” he said. “You know that.”
“You…” Draco trailed off, an extremely unpleasant insight dawning on him. “Merlin. You’re jealous.”
Potter didn’t deny it. “He doesn’t deserve you, Draco.”
“And you do?”
“Yes,” said Potter, in a tone that implied it was rather silly of Draco to think otherwise.
“He’s my husband,” Draco said. “I love him.”
Potter snorted. “Yeah, you love him so much that you’ve cheated on him for years with dozens of strangers.”
Draco punched him in the face. Of course, he wasn’t particularly skilled at Muggle fighting, so it ended up startling Potter more than it hurt him, but there’d be at least a small bruise. “How dare you,” Draco spat.
“Leave him.”
Draco’s mouth dropped open.
“Come and stay here,” Potter said. “With me. I can take care of you.”
Draco struggled to process this new development. “And are you intending to leave Weasley?”
Looking taken aback, Potter said, “Of course not. We have kids.”
“So, what - you would just keep me here?” Draco said in revulsion. “Like a pet, waiting for you to visit and throw me whatever scraps of attention you have left over from your wife and children?”
Potter shrugged. That was clearly what he had been intending to do. Draco resisted the urge to hit him again.
“Fuck you. Get out of my way.”
“No,” Potter said, grabbing his arm. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Oh, yes, you are. Let go.”
“Draco, you get your arse back on that bed right now.”
Draco yanked his arm away. “No! I’m serious, Potter. Let me go. I’m not playing.”
Potter stared at him, and for a long, terrible moment, Draco was certain that Potter was going to drag him back to the bed and rape him. Without his wand, there would be nothing Draco could do to stop him. Hell, even with his wand, it was unlikely Draco would be able to stop him. That was the danger inherent in getting involved with a person far more powerful than oneself.
Then Potter stepped aside.
Draco hurried downstairs and changed into his clothes as quickly as he could, slamming the front door to the house as he left.
***
Of course, once he’d left the house, Draco faced a bit of a dilemma. He always used Potter’s bathroom to clean up and remove the marks after they finished; before Potter, he’d used the facilities at the club. He definitely couldn’t go home like this - beaten, bitten, and reeking of sex. For Merlin’s sake, Potter’s come was still inside him. Draco usually enjoyed the psychological effects of that particular sensation, but now it just made him feel dirty in more ways than one.
He ended up checking into a moderately-priced Muggle hotel. It wasn’t a place he would ever have stepped foot into under normal circumstances, but it was clean enough, and the chances of him running into someone he knew were nil.
Draco started the water in the shower and stripped out of his clothing, hitting each article with the strongest cleaning charms he knew. He would have preferred to burn them, but that was obviously impractical. He could get rid of them once he got home.
The ruined stockings, however, he could burn, and he did so with vicious satisfaction. He’d hated them anyway.
He glanced at himself in the mirror and winced. No wonder the girl behind the check-in counter had given him such odd looks; his face was still tearstained, his eyes red from crying, and there were a few marks on his throat that would definitely have been visible above his shirt collar. Draco could only be grateful that she hadn’t been able to see the bruises decorating the rest of his body, or the violent welts that covered his arse, back, and thighs.
Thanks to his father’s rather unique concept of education, Draco was well-acquainted with a spell that removed all visible signs of physical trauma without lessening the pain of it in any way. He’d never used it on another person, though - only on himself. It was a handy way to hide the evidence of his transgressions from Severus while still enjoying the aftereffects of a good beating.
The thought of keeping this pain, after what Potter had done, made Draco’s stomach lurch in a way that had him eyeing the distance to the toilet, just in case.
He healed every single wound with a thoroughness that would have impressed any Healer.
Afterwards, Draco stood under the shower spray, turning the knob hotter and hotter until it stung his skin uncomfortably. He let the near-scalding water run over his body for close to an hour, but it didn’t make him feel any cleaner. He wasn’t sure anything would.
Gods, what had he allowed himself to become? Letting someone he could barely tolerate beat him, humiliate him, fuck him like a cheap whore, while the man he actually loved trusted him to be faithful. Draco pressed shaking hands against his face, as if that could help him hide from the truth about himself.
Never again.
He’d made that vow to himself before, of course. Hundreds of times. Every time, in point of fact.
I mean it this time.
Draco stifled a sob that was full of self-disgust. He always meant it. And he always broke it. Why would this time be any different?
Well, for one thing, because he could never, ever go back to Grimmauld Place. Leaving aside the fact that the thought of Potter touching him now made Draco’s skin crawl, it just wouldn’t be safe. He couldn’t be alone with Potter again. The man had let Draco go once - there was no guarantee he’d do so a second time.
Draco froze as that thought prompted another, more frightening one. An icy pit formed in his stomach and a chill went up his spine, despite the heat of the water.
It was over between him and Potter, that was certain.
Which meant their deal was off.
Which meant Potter could tell Severus about Draco’s infidelities at any moment - could have already told him.
Draco shut off the water and dried himself with a spell, practically leaping into his clothes. He had to get to Severus before Potter did. Even if he had no idea what he could possibly say, Severus hearing about Draco’s exploits from anyone but Draco - especially Potter - would be exponentially more disastrous.
There was the slight possibility that Potter was arrogant enough to think that Draco would come to his senses, or some such rot, and go back to him in time. If that was true, then Potter wouldn’t say anything to Severus.
Alternatively, Potter might just be arrogant enough to think that if he broke Draco and Severus up by revealing the truth, Draco would go back to him anyway.
Draco made a noise of fear and frustration and tossed some Muggle money onto the desk, more than enough to cover the bill, before Apparating directly home.
Part Two