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Hi! This is my first post on this one, obviously. I just thought you'd all enjoy this little story. It's got serious spoilers for book 6, and it has nothing to do with Impropriety. It's also got hot boy sex. If you don't like it...oh, wait, nevermind, you're not that stupid.
How did all of this happen? I’m only 16. It doesn’t seem like all of this should happen to a 16 year old.
Well. Potter has been through quite a bit more than I have. Potter, the golden boy. The famous Boy Who Lived. Merlin, how I hated him. No matter what I did to try and stand out, he’d have done it, and ten times better. And the one time, the only time that I could have brought glory of any sort to myself and my family, I chickened out. Severus Snape, that two-timing asshole, had to do my part for me. And I get quite physically thrown into Azkaban for attempted murder. Yeah, as if that’s a crime. So while I lounge around in this disgusting cell, with what few dementors are left sucking any energy that might have been there away from everyone in here, I think not about the assassination of Albus Dumbledore, but of the fact that no matter what happens to me, I will never have that victory, that defeat, of the one person who deserves it most; Harry Potter. And it’s funny, because just as I’m thinking this, I hear footsteps outside my cell.
“Malfoy, Draco.” I look up. It’s the stringy man who brings us meals, the one who looks like he’d snogged a dementor at some point, and needed a job afterward. There was someone with him, though in this light I couldn’t quite tell who it was.
“Who else,” I mutter, looking away.
“You’ve got a visitor, master Malfoy,” he says, dragging out the word Malfoy like a bit of gum under his shoe. I nod, looking back at the pair. They walk in, and the visitor steps into the light. My eyes narrow.
“Potter. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Save it, Malfoy. I want to be here like you want me here.”
“You have no idea what I want, Potter.”
“Whatever, Malfoy,” he sighs irritably. He turns to the man. “Can we have privacy, please?” The man bows and leaves the room, locking the door and putting a silencing charm on it. Potter removes his-what do muggles call those things? Trench coats?-and sits on the grimy chair across from my bed. His emerald green eyes sweep the cell, displaying the slightest bit of disgust. “You have to live here?”
“It is prison, Potter. They don’t exactly have room service.”
“No, it’s just…I can’t see you actually living here.”
“I don’t have a choice, Potter. You witnessed me, remember?” Potter looks back at me, and I feel chills I haven’t felt since the last time I saw him. Chills, delicious chills, which start in my brain and work their way down through my spine, my stomach, and finally to my cock. Just like the first time that happened, sometime in the middle of 4th year, it shocks me completely, though in the last few years of school I had become used to seeing his face when I was wanking in the showers.
How on earth could the Golden Boy be so fucking hot??
“Yes. I remember what happened.” His voice cuts into my thoughts, though it’s nothing but a whisper. He’s looking away. Like he can’t bear to look at me. And for the first time since I’ve been in this hellhole, I feel the slightest bit of remorse for what happened.
Not much, mind you. Just a bit.
I try to cover for myself, adopting my usual sneer, though it’s probably strained. He’ll probably think it’s because of the dementors, and I’ll just let him think that. “What are you doing here, Potter?” I drawl. “Did you miss me that much?”
He suddenly looks uncomfortable, for some reason. Could be because that dementor just passed by. “Not especially, Malfoy. Though Blaise has been moping around the castle since you’ve been gone.” My eyes narrow. “No, the minister wanted me to tell you something.”
“Why you?”
“Search me.” I decide not to say how much I’d like to. He himself looks like he’s forgotten why he’s here. There’s a moment of silence, him looking downward and me growing impatient.
“Potter.” He looks up, and I feel the chills again, though this time I was a bit more prepared. “What did the minister want you to tell me?” Sodding minister, sending Potter to do his dirty work…
“Oh.” He shakes his head a couple times. “Right. You know you have a trial in a week, right?” Actually, I didn’t know that. I don’t let him know that.
“What of it, Potter, I’m getting bored here.” I almost miss the brief, slightly stung expression on his face. Almost.
“Yes, well, Malfoy, you probably shouldn’t get too bored, because this concerns your ever-shrinking chance at freedom.” I perk up a bit at this.
“Go on, Potter.” He rolls his eyes.
“He says that you will be acquitted if and only if you name names-“
“Well, obviously, Potter, I’m not an idiot.” He glares, his green eyes darkening, and my cock hardens even more.
“May I finish?” I roll my eyes. Take that. “You’ll be acquitted if you name names, and if you reveal to the Wizengamot where your father is.” I blink.
“My father?” He nods. “I don’t bloody know where my father is.” He stands.
“Well, then you’ll be in here for a long time, won’t you?” He turns to leave. I stand and grab his shoulder.
“Wait a fucking second. I either tell them where he is or I rot in here for the rest of my life, even though I have no idea where he is?” Potter turns to look at me. His face is calm, but his eyes swirl briefly with a variation of emotions I’ve never seen before before they freeze and harden.
“That’s terribly astute of you, Malfoy. You are a regular Vincent Crabbe.” In a flash he’s pinned to the wall under my arms, and my face is centimeters away from his. His eyes widen, and anger fills the once clear emerald depths.
“Never insult me, Potter. I’m much more intelligent than you will ever be, and don’t you fucking forget it.” Hatred joins the anger in those eyes. It would’ve been easy to pretend it didn’t hurt. Not now, not when I feel that warm breath on my lips, not while I’m drowning in those turbulent green seas.
“It seems like you’d know, then, that you could get the kiss from assaulting someone like this.” I chuckle. Harry Potter doesn’t realize just how much better that would be than Azkaban. Nor would he. And so I do something unlike me, unlike a Malfoy, unlike a Slytherin. Something positively Gryffindor.
I make a snap decision.
His lips are warm and soft beneath mine. I feel him tense, and of course I’m expecting him to push me away, to call for a dementor to administer its soul sucking kiss to me, or even just to curse me into oblivion. But he doesn’t. Instead, after a brief moment of what I can only assume is shock, he parts his lips slightly, just coaxing my tongue inside. I hide my own shock and enthusiastically accept his offer, and I spend several long moments exploring his mouth. We break apart, gasping for air, and he stares hard into my eyes. It’s one of the most erotic looks I’ve ever seen, and I’m ready to jump him right here. Then his mouth moves, and I’m transfixed by his lips. They’re full, but not too full; pink, but not too pink; male, but almost feminine in their beauty. It’s a minute before I realize what he said.
“This is wrong.” I can’t help my heart sinking. He’s looking in my eyes, and an emotion that I belatedly realize is lust is darkening them so much that they’re almost black, and I like it.
“What do you mean?” I ask. Or, rather, I mean to ask that. What comes out of my mouth is a small “guh” as I’m spun around and Potter’s insistent weight is pressed against me. He leans in close to me, breathing on my ear, making me shiver.
“I should be on top.” I moan, I can’t help it. The bastard. How does he know my fantasies? His entire body is pressed into mine, and I feel a rather large hardness pressed into my thigh. That makes me moan again, and I catch his mouth in another, more desperate kiss. He moans back into my mouth and aligns his body so that our erections meet. We break the kiss then, arching our heads back and moaning in unison. His hips thrust against mine, and I hiss out a “yes.” He sticks his mouth right next to my ear and thrusts again. “You like that, Draco?” I moan, from the friction and from the sound of my name dripping from those perfect lips, like molasses, sweet and slow and oh so thick, and I’m rendered completely speechless. I nod, breathing hard, and he thrusts again, and again, whispering in my ear, blowing in my ear. I don’t even notice his hand sneaking down my front torso until it comes in contact with the waistband of my dirty pants, and my hips surge forward. It snakes down the front, and five amazing fingers wrap themselves around my twitching cock. I buck and almost scream. I’m so close to coming already, and from his flushed skin I’m assuming he is, too. He moves his hand shakily on my penis, thrusting at the same time, and I feel like I’m about to explode.
“ah, Harry…” he moans at my voice and lowers his head to suck on my neck, probably leaving a bruise, but at the moment I couldn’t care much less if I wanted to. “Harry, baby, I’m gonna come…”
“Do it,” he whispers into my neck, and the vibrations along with the command push my over the edge. With a hoarse cry my entire body seizes up, and I’m coming harder than I ever could have done while wanking, covering Harry’s hand and my pants with hot semen. After a couple more thrusts Harry climaxes as well, biting on my neck and definitely leaving a bruise and even breaking some skin, I think. We both slide to the floor, too weak in the knees suddenly to hold ourselves up. We hold each other through the aftershocks, cliché as that may sound, and it’s a while before Harry picks his head up. “Draco, what was that for?”
“What was what for?”
“That whole…thing. Why did you do it?” I sigh.
“Potter, if I remember correctly, it was you who was dry humping me and wanking me off.” His skin reddens, and I find that I like a blush on him. I’d prefer a blush and nothing else, but it is prison. Gotta sacrifice something. Never mind that I’ve never had that to begin with.
“Well, yes. But you instigated it. You kissed me. Why?” I look away from those eyes, the eyes that are as effective as truth serum.
“I…I don’t want to be here. I thought if I did that, you’d call for a dementor, and…”
“Draco, it’s not worth losing your soul just to get out of jail.”
“And what the fuck would you know, golden boy?” I snapped. “This is the only time you’ve been here, and you get to leave. I have to stay here forever, so yes, being an empty shell is preferable to sitting in this cell for the 80 or 90 years I have left.” Harry is looking at me now with that same strange look from earlier. He opens his mouth to speak, but-
“Mr. Potter?” We both look up swiftly. It’s the stringy man. He bows, giving me a dirty look.
“Yes,” Harry replies.
“The minister is here. He’s to escort you home.” Harry’s eyes widen, but he otherwise keeps his cool.
“Thank you. I’ll be out in a moment.” The man bows again. Come to think of it, he looks a bit like a house elf.
Strange.
Harry turns to me. “Listen, I’ll be at your trial.” I shook my head.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do, actually. As witness.” I look away.
“Oh.” I sighed, not meeting his eyes. He draws my chin up with one finger and kisses me almost chastely.
“You’re lying, you know,” he says when he pulls away. I narrow my eyes.
“How so?”
“When you said you kissed me because of the dementors. You were lying.”
“What are you talking about? I was telling the truth.” He shakes his head.
“You may have told yourself that. But you’re lying to yourself as well as to me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He opens his mouth to respond, but we are again interrupted.
“Mr. Potter, I apologize, but the minister grows impatient.” Harry nods. He turns to me. “See you next Thursday, Mr. Malfoy.” He shoots me a small smile, the pulls his coat around himself to hide the wet spot in the front of his trousers. He then follows the man out of the cell. I’m left standing there, alone and slightly confused about what had just happened.
Now, how did all of this happen?
How did all of this happen? I’m only 16. It doesn’t seem like all of this should happen to a 16 year old.
Well. Potter has been through quite a bit more than I have. Potter, the golden boy. The famous Boy Who Lived. Merlin, how I hated him. No matter what I did to try and stand out, he’d have done it, and ten times better. And the one time, the only time that I could have brought glory of any sort to myself and my family, I chickened out. Severus Snape, that two-timing asshole, had to do my part for me. And I get quite physically thrown into Azkaban for attempted murder. Yeah, as if that’s a crime. So while I lounge around in this disgusting cell, with what few dementors are left sucking any energy that might have been there away from everyone in here, I think not about the assassination of Albus Dumbledore, but of the fact that no matter what happens to me, I will never have that victory, that defeat, of the one person who deserves it most; Harry Potter. And it’s funny, because just as I’m thinking this, I hear footsteps outside my cell.
“Malfoy, Draco.” I look up. It’s the stringy man who brings us meals, the one who looks like he’d snogged a dementor at some point, and needed a job afterward. There was someone with him, though in this light I couldn’t quite tell who it was.
“Who else,” I mutter, looking away.
“You’ve got a visitor, master Malfoy,” he says, dragging out the word Malfoy like a bit of gum under his shoe. I nod, looking back at the pair. They walk in, and the visitor steps into the light. My eyes narrow.
“Potter. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Save it, Malfoy. I want to be here like you want me here.”
“You have no idea what I want, Potter.”
“Whatever, Malfoy,” he sighs irritably. He turns to the man. “Can we have privacy, please?” The man bows and leaves the room, locking the door and putting a silencing charm on it. Potter removes his-what do muggles call those things? Trench coats?-and sits on the grimy chair across from my bed. His emerald green eyes sweep the cell, displaying the slightest bit of disgust. “You have to live here?”
“It is prison, Potter. They don’t exactly have room service.”
“No, it’s just…I can’t see you actually living here.”
“I don’t have a choice, Potter. You witnessed me, remember?” Potter looks back at me, and I feel chills I haven’t felt since the last time I saw him. Chills, delicious chills, which start in my brain and work their way down through my spine, my stomach, and finally to my cock. Just like the first time that happened, sometime in the middle of 4th year, it shocks me completely, though in the last few years of school I had become used to seeing his face when I was wanking in the showers.
How on earth could the Golden Boy be so fucking hot??
“Yes. I remember what happened.” His voice cuts into my thoughts, though it’s nothing but a whisper. He’s looking away. Like he can’t bear to look at me. And for the first time since I’ve been in this hellhole, I feel the slightest bit of remorse for what happened.
Not much, mind you. Just a bit.
I try to cover for myself, adopting my usual sneer, though it’s probably strained. He’ll probably think it’s because of the dementors, and I’ll just let him think that. “What are you doing here, Potter?” I drawl. “Did you miss me that much?”
He suddenly looks uncomfortable, for some reason. Could be because that dementor just passed by. “Not especially, Malfoy. Though Blaise has been moping around the castle since you’ve been gone.” My eyes narrow. “No, the minister wanted me to tell you something.”
“Why you?”
“Search me.” I decide not to say how much I’d like to. He himself looks like he’s forgotten why he’s here. There’s a moment of silence, him looking downward and me growing impatient.
“Potter.” He looks up, and I feel the chills again, though this time I was a bit more prepared. “What did the minister want you to tell me?” Sodding minister, sending Potter to do his dirty work…
“Oh.” He shakes his head a couple times. “Right. You know you have a trial in a week, right?” Actually, I didn’t know that. I don’t let him know that.
“What of it, Potter, I’m getting bored here.” I almost miss the brief, slightly stung expression on his face. Almost.
“Yes, well, Malfoy, you probably shouldn’t get too bored, because this concerns your ever-shrinking chance at freedom.” I perk up a bit at this.
“Go on, Potter.” He rolls his eyes.
“He says that you will be acquitted if and only if you name names-“
“Well, obviously, Potter, I’m not an idiot.” He glares, his green eyes darkening, and my cock hardens even more.
“May I finish?” I roll my eyes. Take that. “You’ll be acquitted if you name names, and if you reveal to the Wizengamot where your father is.” I blink.
“My father?” He nods. “I don’t bloody know where my father is.” He stands.
“Well, then you’ll be in here for a long time, won’t you?” He turns to leave. I stand and grab his shoulder.
“Wait a fucking second. I either tell them where he is or I rot in here for the rest of my life, even though I have no idea where he is?” Potter turns to look at me. His face is calm, but his eyes swirl briefly with a variation of emotions I’ve never seen before before they freeze and harden.
“That’s terribly astute of you, Malfoy. You are a regular Vincent Crabbe.” In a flash he’s pinned to the wall under my arms, and my face is centimeters away from his. His eyes widen, and anger fills the once clear emerald depths.
“Never insult me, Potter. I’m much more intelligent than you will ever be, and don’t you fucking forget it.” Hatred joins the anger in those eyes. It would’ve been easy to pretend it didn’t hurt. Not now, not when I feel that warm breath on my lips, not while I’m drowning in those turbulent green seas.
“It seems like you’d know, then, that you could get the kiss from assaulting someone like this.” I chuckle. Harry Potter doesn’t realize just how much better that would be than Azkaban. Nor would he. And so I do something unlike me, unlike a Malfoy, unlike a Slytherin. Something positively Gryffindor.
I make a snap decision.
His lips are warm and soft beneath mine. I feel him tense, and of course I’m expecting him to push me away, to call for a dementor to administer its soul sucking kiss to me, or even just to curse me into oblivion. But he doesn’t. Instead, after a brief moment of what I can only assume is shock, he parts his lips slightly, just coaxing my tongue inside. I hide my own shock and enthusiastically accept his offer, and I spend several long moments exploring his mouth. We break apart, gasping for air, and he stares hard into my eyes. It’s one of the most erotic looks I’ve ever seen, and I’m ready to jump him right here. Then his mouth moves, and I’m transfixed by his lips. They’re full, but not too full; pink, but not too pink; male, but almost feminine in their beauty. It’s a minute before I realize what he said.
“This is wrong.” I can’t help my heart sinking. He’s looking in my eyes, and an emotion that I belatedly realize is lust is darkening them so much that they’re almost black, and I like it.
“What do you mean?” I ask. Or, rather, I mean to ask that. What comes out of my mouth is a small “guh” as I’m spun around and Potter’s insistent weight is pressed against me. He leans in close to me, breathing on my ear, making me shiver.
“I should be on top.” I moan, I can’t help it. The bastard. How does he know my fantasies? His entire body is pressed into mine, and I feel a rather large hardness pressed into my thigh. That makes me moan again, and I catch his mouth in another, more desperate kiss. He moans back into my mouth and aligns his body so that our erections meet. We break the kiss then, arching our heads back and moaning in unison. His hips thrust against mine, and I hiss out a “yes.” He sticks his mouth right next to my ear and thrusts again. “You like that, Draco?” I moan, from the friction and from the sound of my name dripping from those perfect lips, like molasses, sweet and slow and oh so thick, and I’m rendered completely speechless. I nod, breathing hard, and he thrusts again, and again, whispering in my ear, blowing in my ear. I don’t even notice his hand sneaking down my front torso until it comes in contact with the waistband of my dirty pants, and my hips surge forward. It snakes down the front, and five amazing fingers wrap themselves around my twitching cock. I buck and almost scream. I’m so close to coming already, and from his flushed skin I’m assuming he is, too. He moves his hand shakily on my penis, thrusting at the same time, and I feel like I’m about to explode.
“ah, Harry…” he moans at my voice and lowers his head to suck on my neck, probably leaving a bruise, but at the moment I couldn’t care much less if I wanted to. “Harry, baby, I’m gonna come…”
“Do it,” he whispers into my neck, and the vibrations along with the command push my over the edge. With a hoarse cry my entire body seizes up, and I’m coming harder than I ever could have done while wanking, covering Harry’s hand and my pants with hot semen. After a couple more thrusts Harry climaxes as well, biting on my neck and definitely leaving a bruise and even breaking some skin, I think. We both slide to the floor, too weak in the knees suddenly to hold ourselves up. We hold each other through the aftershocks, cliché as that may sound, and it’s a while before Harry picks his head up. “Draco, what was that for?”
“What was what for?”
“That whole…thing. Why did you do it?” I sigh.
“Potter, if I remember correctly, it was you who was dry humping me and wanking me off.” His skin reddens, and I find that I like a blush on him. I’d prefer a blush and nothing else, but it is prison. Gotta sacrifice something. Never mind that I’ve never had that to begin with.
“Well, yes. But you instigated it. You kissed me. Why?” I look away from those eyes, the eyes that are as effective as truth serum.
“I…I don’t want to be here. I thought if I did that, you’d call for a dementor, and…”
“Draco, it’s not worth losing your soul just to get out of jail.”
“And what the fuck would you know, golden boy?” I snapped. “This is the only time you’ve been here, and you get to leave. I have to stay here forever, so yes, being an empty shell is preferable to sitting in this cell for the 80 or 90 years I have left.” Harry is looking at me now with that same strange look from earlier. He opens his mouth to speak, but-
“Mr. Potter?” We both look up swiftly. It’s the stringy man. He bows, giving me a dirty look.
“Yes,” Harry replies.
“The minister is here. He’s to escort you home.” Harry’s eyes widen, but he otherwise keeps his cool.
“Thank you. I’ll be out in a moment.” The man bows again. Come to think of it, he looks a bit like a house elf.
Strange.
Harry turns to me. “Listen, I’ll be at your trial.” I shook my head.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do, actually. As witness.” I look away.
“Oh.” I sighed, not meeting his eyes. He draws my chin up with one finger and kisses me almost chastely.
“You’re lying, you know,” he says when he pulls away. I narrow my eyes.
“How so?”
“When you said you kissed me because of the dementors. You were lying.”
“What are you talking about? I was telling the truth.” He shakes his head.
“You may have told yourself that. But you’re lying to yourself as well as to me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He opens his mouth to respond, but we are again interrupted.
“Mr. Potter, I apologize, but the minister grows impatient.” Harry nods. He turns to me. “See you next Thursday, Mr. Malfoy.” He shoots me a small smile, the pulls his coat around himself to hide the wet spot in the front of his trousers. He then follows the man out of the cell. I’m left standing there, alone and slightly confused about what had just happened.
Now, how did all of this happen?