FIC, A Lesson in Ownership, D/H, NC-17
Title: A Lesson in Ownership
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Anal sex, non-con, bad words, violence, disturbing imagery, a bit of D/s, general nastiness of the Malfoy persuasion
Summary: “A vein glowed blue and milky under the thin transparency of his skin, and Draco licked it.” D/H. Vampire!Draco. Bottom!Harry.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.
Author’s Note: This one’s a bit filthy even for me. O_O #blushes#
Draco nudged the edge of Harry’s jaw, just a little, with his nose, wordlessly tilting Harry’s face to the side: exposing the white, untouched length of Harry’s neck. A vein glowed blue and milky under the thin transparency of his skin, and Draco licked it.
Harry’s pulse fluttered viciously under his tongue, and Draco kissed and kissed it, tasting him and treasuring the small movements of his neck as he swallowed; as he edged away-or tried to, anyway-as much as he dared.
“Don’t draw this out, Malfoy,” said Harry, sounding strained; his hands fisted impotently at his sides.
If he pushed him away-if he ran for it now-Draco was liable to tear his throat out. He would have to wait; would have to endure until he found an opportunity to get away.
His voice, vibrating in his larynx, tickled Draco’s lips, and Draco smiled humorlessly and nipped at all that glorious skin-not breaking the surface, not just yet; that was something he was going to savor, was going to look forward to-and said, “But you taste so especially good, Potter. I intend to take my time with you.”
Harry shuddered, and Draco was so close that he felt that, too.
“You sick fuck,” said Potter. His pulse-point was delicate and trembling-filled with all the frail, temporal passion and helplessness of life, of mortality; filled, most of all, with anger-and Draco watched it interestedly.
“You absolute sick fuck,” said Harry. “I always knew you must be sadistic. You were then, and you are now. You can dish out pain, but you can’t take it.”
“I don’t need to endure pain,” said Draco, snarling. “You, on the other hand, do.”
And then he bit him-restraint forgotten; there’d be time, plenty of time, for that later-and the scream got stuck halfway up Harry’s throat, so all that escaped was a tiny, terrible groan.
Draco’s fangs had pierced the flimsy barrier of Harry’s skin, sticking themselves into his throat and sucking-messily, so what he didn’t drink ended up trickling down Harry’s neck and collarbone, soaking into his clothes.
“No,” said Harry, struggling under him weakly; though, considering the mindless, unresisting stupor victims usually fell into while he fed, the effort was pretty impressive.
“Get-off me-Malfoy,” said Harry, and his knees buckled (the sedative Draco was forcing into him could have knocked out someone twice his size, but Harry had to be stubborn in all things), and Draco caught him and held him easily when he did this, and Apparated them into his bedroom.
“Leav’ me ’lone,” slurred Harry, and Draco licked harshly at the puncture-wounds on his neck, and dropped him backwards onto the bed.
“Not a chance,” said Draco, and tugged off Harry’s trainers and socks.
He pushed up the worn, frayed hem of Harry’s shirt until it was rucked up under his underarms, and Harry looked at him dazedly.
“Wha’?” asked Harry, and Draco licked at his belly-button, and then a little under that, and Harry was no longer interested in questions.
“’S good,” said Harry.
“It’ll get even better soon,” said Draco, unbuttoning the top of Harry’s jeans and then unzipping the fly; it was a momentous sound in the unnatural quiet of the room. The only other audible thing was the ragged pattern of Harry’s breathing.
Harry’s head lolled to the side, as listless and beautiful as a doll’s, as Draco lifted his hips to pull down Harry’s jeans and boxers (red, with gold snitches, which made Draco snicker).
He let Harry’s naked hips fall back onto the bed and yanked down the clothing the rest of the way-pulling them off Harry’s legs completely and throwing them somewhere to the side. He took off Harry’s bloodstained t-shirt, too; and his own clothing, after that.
Harry blinked at him when Draco pulled his legs open wide, and gasped when the crease of his thigh was bitten; was punctured and drunk from.
“Oh,” said Harry, as Draco’s hand fondled his bollocks, and, “Mmm,” as Draco pumped him quickly to hardness, his thumb rubbing and pressing the head of Harry’s cock-gone slippery, now, with precome: sensitive and glistening and pink.
“You like this, Potter, don’t you?” asked Draco, and his lips were smeared red-as red as lipstick on a collar; as red as the wine men buy the women they plan to fuck; as red as the unhealthy flush of a rash, or the tapestries in the Gryffindor common room-and Harry’s neck and the curve of Harry’s thigh were wet and sticky with it, too, but it didn’t make any difference, because Harry said, “Yessss.”
“Of course you do,” said Draco, and shoved his finger into Harry’s mouth, and when Harry didn’t do anything, he said, “Suck. It’s this or nothing.”
He had lube in his drawer, of course, but Harry would have to earn that. He’d been so very bad to Draco, after all. He’d have to start making up for it.
And Harry sucked-hesitantly, but compliantly, the way a child might-and his soft, warm tongue curled around Draco’s long finger again and again, and licked its way up-and-down it from knuckle to nail.
Draco decided that a talented mouth like that would have to be put to work; but that would be later, because now it was time for Harry to be taught a lesson-to learn just who he belonged to, and how. Draco would make sure he wouldn’t forget.
“That’s enough,” said Draco, and took his finger away, and rubbed it against Harry’s sphincter. Harry looked at him curiously, and jerked when Draco’s finger pushed inside: breeching him.
“M’lfoy?” he asked-and there was no comprehension there, no understanding; his pupils were so dilated, only a sliver of green was showing: and even that was clouded and dull-and Draco said, “Shut up, just shut up,” and wriggled his finger around and around, stretching Harry open.
When he was done with that, he took his finger out and held it, together with a second, to Harry’s mouth, and Harry sucked at them without needing to be told; and when those two fingers were ready, Draco nudged them into Harry’s arse and twisted them-rocked and curled and scissored them: opening Harry’s arsehole up around them until Harry pressed his arse down, and groaned.
Then Draco licked his own palm and fisted himself (not enough, not nearly enough saliva to help Harry, but he didn't care), settling his hips firmly between Harry’s thighs and putting Harry’s legs up over his shoulders.
His cock was positioned at Harry’s entrance, and he pressed forward until just the head of it was inside of Harry; just the tip of it was sheathed in the swallowing-tight heat of Harry’s arse.
“Time to wake up now, Harry,” he said, and, with a thought, the sedative pumping its way through Harry’s bloodstream dissolved and disappeared; his pupils contracted, and his big green eyes were brilliant, again: clear and totally aware, and full of fury-and what might have been fear.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” he said-the last thing he’d been aware of, Draco had been biting him; he had no idea how he’d gotten here, on his back in a bed; naked and penetrated.
His body tensed all over, and Draco said, “Fuck,” and tightened his grip, painfully, around Harry’s knees, and shallowly thrust forward further-just an inch or two-into Harry’s body.
The feeling of Harry’s arse tensing around him felt fantastic.
“Oh my God,” said Harry, and started struggling-Draco had known he would; he had wanted him to-and Draco held those skinny, flailing legs in place over his shoulders, and inched his cock in and in, making the other man scream and try to push him off even more frantically than before, without success.
“Get off! GET OFF!” said Harry, and tried to kick and buck and roll and scratch at him, but none of that did anything against the man pinning him to the bed and forcing his long, thick cock further and furtherandfurther into Harry’s clenched arsehole.
Harry was trapped, and the one thing Harry hated most was being trapped.
Draco grunted, having to fight to keep himself in place in the small Gryffindor; not letting him get away. Harry was stronger than he looked, he decided; Draco had the advantage of height and weight, but he had not expected such panicked ferocity.
“Please,” said Harry, twisting and bucking his hips-but it only pushed him further onto Draco’s cock; it didn’t help at all-and his breathing was quick and wavering.
“Please, I don’t-I don’t want this-” he said, and, yes, there it was: his eyes were wide and terrified and glittering, and he stifled a sob with his hand; and this was what made it all worth it. This was what Draco had wanted to see, to hear.
This was what Draco had been needing: Harry Potter, naked and vulnerable and tear-streaked, impaled and immobilized on his cock-and, yes, yes, this was worth everything, this was what Draco had wanted ever since he’d known enough to want.
“Does it look like I care, Potter?” said Draco (he’d been planning and planning on saying it, planning it for years, and now he finally had; this was his moment, this was his victory), and he thrust, and thr-thrust, and ugh, yeah, sogood, Potter, sotight, he thrust, and thrust, and he thrust.
When Draco hit Harry’s prostate, Harry yowled-hopelessly, like an animal whose throat has been slit. Draco had never heard anything quite like it; it was beautiful-and Draco said, “You fucking whore, you’re mine, you’re mine, I should fucking kill you, you’ll always be mine,” and Harry whimpered and said, “No,” but he came, anyway, and the shame and the tears were hot and sweet enough to lick, so Draco did; and Harry came and couldn’t stop coming all over their bare stomachs, and he said, “Oh, no, no, no-” and Draco said, “Yes,” and filled his fucking whore all full of spunk.
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Anal sex, non-con, bad words, violence, disturbing imagery, a bit of D/s, general nastiness of the Malfoy persuasion
Summary: “A vein glowed blue and milky under the thin transparency of his skin, and Draco licked it.” D/H. Vampire!Draco. Bottom!Harry.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.
Author’s Note: This one’s a bit filthy even for me. O_O #blushes#
Draco nudged the edge of Harry’s jaw, just a little, with his nose, wordlessly tilting Harry’s face to the side: exposing the white, untouched length of Harry’s neck. A vein glowed blue and milky under the thin transparency of his skin, and Draco licked it.
Harry’s pulse fluttered viciously under his tongue, and Draco kissed and kissed it, tasting him and treasuring the small movements of his neck as he swallowed; as he edged away-or tried to, anyway-as much as he dared.
“Don’t draw this out, Malfoy,” said Harry, sounding strained; his hands fisted impotently at his sides.
If he pushed him away-if he ran for it now-Draco was liable to tear his throat out. He would have to wait; would have to endure until he found an opportunity to get away.
His voice, vibrating in his larynx, tickled Draco’s lips, and Draco smiled humorlessly and nipped at all that glorious skin-not breaking the surface, not just yet; that was something he was going to savor, was going to look forward to-and said, “But you taste so especially good, Potter. I intend to take my time with you.”
Harry shuddered, and Draco was so close that he felt that, too.
“You sick fuck,” said Potter. His pulse-point was delicate and trembling-filled with all the frail, temporal passion and helplessness of life, of mortality; filled, most of all, with anger-and Draco watched it interestedly.
“You absolute sick fuck,” said Harry. “I always knew you must be sadistic. You were then, and you are now. You can dish out pain, but you can’t take it.”
“I don’t need to endure pain,” said Draco, snarling. “You, on the other hand, do.”
And then he bit him-restraint forgotten; there’d be time, plenty of time, for that later-and the scream got stuck halfway up Harry’s throat, so all that escaped was a tiny, terrible groan.
Draco’s fangs had pierced the flimsy barrier of Harry’s skin, sticking themselves into his throat and sucking-messily, so what he didn’t drink ended up trickling down Harry’s neck and collarbone, soaking into his clothes.
“No,” said Harry, struggling under him weakly; though, considering the mindless, unresisting stupor victims usually fell into while he fed, the effort was pretty impressive.
“Get-off me-Malfoy,” said Harry, and his knees buckled (the sedative Draco was forcing into him could have knocked out someone twice his size, but Harry had to be stubborn in all things), and Draco caught him and held him easily when he did this, and Apparated them into his bedroom.
“Leav’ me ’lone,” slurred Harry, and Draco licked harshly at the puncture-wounds on his neck, and dropped him backwards onto the bed.
“Not a chance,” said Draco, and tugged off Harry’s trainers and socks.
He pushed up the worn, frayed hem of Harry’s shirt until it was rucked up under his underarms, and Harry looked at him dazedly.
“Wha’?” asked Harry, and Draco licked at his belly-button, and then a little under that, and Harry was no longer interested in questions.
“’S good,” said Harry.
“It’ll get even better soon,” said Draco, unbuttoning the top of Harry’s jeans and then unzipping the fly; it was a momentous sound in the unnatural quiet of the room. The only other audible thing was the ragged pattern of Harry’s breathing.
Harry’s head lolled to the side, as listless and beautiful as a doll’s, as Draco lifted his hips to pull down Harry’s jeans and boxers (red, with gold snitches, which made Draco snicker).
He let Harry’s naked hips fall back onto the bed and yanked down the clothing the rest of the way-pulling them off Harry’s legs completely and throwing them somewhere to the side. He took off Harry’s bloodstained t-shirt, too; and his own clothing, after that.
Harry blinked at him when Draco pulled his legs open wide, and gasped when the crease of his thigh was bitten; was punctured and drunk from.
“Oh,” said Harry, as Draco’s hand fondled his bollocks, and, “Mmm,” as Draco pumped him quickly to hardness, his thumb rubbing and pressing the head of Harry’s cock-gone slippery, now, with precome: sensitive and glistening and pink.
“You like this, Potter, don’t you?” asked Draco, and his lips were smeared red-as red as lipstick on a collar; as red as the wine men buy the women they plan to fuck; as red as the unhealthy flush of a rash, or the tapestries in the Gryffindor common room-and Harry’s neck and the curve of Harry’s thigh were wet and sticky with it, too, but it didn’t make any difference, because Harry said, “Yessss.”
“Of course you do,” said Draco, and shoved his finger into Harry’s mouth, and when Harry didn’t do anything, he said, “Suck. It’s this or nothing.”
He had lube in his drawer, of course, but Harry would have to earn that. He’d been so very bad to Draco, after all. He’d have to start making up for it.
And Harry sucked-hesitantly, but compliantly, the way a child might-and his soft, warm tongue curled around Draco’s long finger again and again, and licked its way up-and-down it from knuckle to nail.
Draco decided that a talented mouth like that would have to be put to work; but that would be later, because now it was time for Harry to be taught a lesson-to learn just who he belonged to, and how. Draco would make sure he wouldn’t forget.
“That’s enough,” said Draco, and took his finger away, and rubbed it against Harry’s sphincter. Harry looked at him curiously, and jerked when Draco’s finger pushed inside: breeching him.
“M’lfoy?” he asked-and there was no comprehension there, no understanding; his pupils were so dilated, only a sliver of green was showing: and even that was clouded and dull-and Draco said, “Shut up, just shut up,” and wriggled his finger around and around, stretching Harry open.
When he was done with that, he took his finger out and held it, together with a second, to Harry’s mouth, and Harry sucked at them without needing to be told; and when those two fingers were ready, Draco nudged them into Harry’s arse and twisted them-rocked and curled and scissored them: opening Harry’s arsehole up around them until Harry pressed his arse down, and groaned.
Then Draco licked his own palm and fisted himself (not enough, not nearly enough saliva to help Harry, but he didn't care), settling his hips firmly between Harry’s thighs and putting Harry’s legs up over his shoulders.
His cock was positioned at Harry’s entrance, and he pressed forward until just the head of it was inside of Harry; just the tip of it was sheathed in the swallowing-tight heat of Harry’s arse.
“Time to wake up now, Harry,” he said, and, with a thought, the sedative pumping its way through Harry’s bloodstream dissolved and disappeared; his pupils contracted, and his big green eyes were brilliant, again: clear and totally aware, and full of fury-and what might have been fear.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” he said-the last thing he’d been aware of, Draco had been biting him; he had no idea how he’d gotten here, on his back in a bed; naked and penetrated.
His body tensed all over, and Draco said, “Fuck,” and tightened his grip, painfully, around Harry’s knees, and shallowly thrust forward further-just an inch or two-into Harry’s body.
The feeling of Harry’s arse tensing around him felt fantastic.
“Oh my God,” said Harry, and started struggling-Draco had known he would; he had wanted him to-and Draco held those skinny, flailing legs in place over his shoulders, and inched his cock in and in, making the other man scream and try to push him off even more frantically than before, without success.
“Get off! GET OFF!” said Harry, and tried to kick and buck and roll and scratch at him, but none of that did anything against the man pinning him to the bed and forcing his long, thick cock further and furtherandfurther into Harry’s clenched arsehole.
Harry was trapped, and the one thing Harry hated most was being trapped.
Draco grunted, having to fight to keep himself in place in the small Gryffindor; not letting him get away. Harry was stronger than he looked, he decided; Draco had the advantage of height and weight, but he had not expected such panicked ferocity.
“Please,” said Harry, twisting and bucking his hips-but it only pushed him further onto Draco’s cock; it didn’t help at all-and his breathing was quick and wavering.
“Please, I don’t-I don’t want this-” he said, and, yes, there it was: his eyes were wide and terrified and glittering, and he stifled a sob with his hand; and this was what made it all worth it. This was what Draco had wanted to see, to hear.
This was what Draco had been needing: Harry Potter, naked and vulnerable and tear-streaked, impaled and immobilized on his cock-and, yes, yes, this was worth everything, this was what Draco had wanted ever since he’d known enough to want.
“Does it look like I care, Potter?” said Draco (he’d been planning and planning on saying it, planning it for years, and now he finally had; this was his moment, this was his victory), and he thrust, and thr-thrust, and ugh, yeah, sogood, Potter, sotight, he thrust, and thrust, and he thrust.
When Draco hit Harry’s prostate, Harry yowled-hopelessly, like an animal whose throat has been slit. Draco had never heard anything quite like it; it was beautiful-and Draco said, “You fucking whore, you’re mine, you’re mine, I should fucking kill you, you’ll always be mine,” and Harry whimpered and said, “No,” but he came, anyway, and the shame and the tears were hot and sweet enough to lick, so Draco did; and Harry came and couldn’t stop coming all over their bare stomachs, and he said, “Oh, no, no, no-” and Draco said, “Yes,” and filled his fucking whore all full of spunk.