FIC: Egoist H/D
Title: Egoist
Author: zoon_politikon
Rating: R?
Pairing: H/D
Summary: He had taught Harry well.
Warnings: Slash, kind of dark.
A/N: Wrote this in response to a challenge over at the ‘glasses reflects’ yahoo group. Took me a while to finish, as I didn’t know where this story was heading. Every day a new sentence or word would pop into my head and I would incorporate it into the story until the ending just wrote itself out. The first two sentences are what I HAD to include in the story since the challenge was working around that quote. Hope you all enjoy.
"You're weak. Daddy's little stooge, relying on his money, following his orders. You can't even think for yourself and form your own opinions. When will you grow up little boy?" Harry hissed. Causing a current of shivers to run down the flushed body before him as hot breath caressed an elegant ear and a searing hand squeezed the already weeping prick.
The spiteful muttering was met with a quick intake of breath from the Malfoy scion, released much too quickly. As if the delicate lungs had rejected the lust-filled air. His lack of a proper response was predictably met with indignation from the young lech pressed against him, revealed by his sudden hard nibbling on Draco’s neck. Leaving behind a disarray of angry, red blemishes.
“No, no. Not his…I’m yours. Yours.”
He knew his answer had met Harry’s approval when Harry indulged him and pressed their lips together, forcing his tongue past the weak barrier Draco had tried to instill. He played his part well. Teeth clashed and Draco whimpered as semi-crooked teeth bit into his lower lip, tearing the already swollen flesh.
“Tell me.” Rosy lips uttered the familiar request as the slightly shorter boy slid down onto his knees, unbuckling Draco’s belt and lowering the black trousers as he descended. Never once breaking contact with the lecherous body before him.
“Need you. I’mm…” The worn out mantra was cut short as Draco’s cock was enveloped in the wet heat of Harry’s mouth. A mouth that knew exactly how to make Draco plead.
And beg.
And moan.
And cry out his name in ecstasy. A mouth that had once belong to Saint Potter. No longer, though, for Draco had made sure to cleanse Harry and teach him that as a Gryffindor he could never win the war. A war needed by the troubled heir of the Malfoy name to regain its rightful throne, temporarily lost.
He had single-handedly made Harry see reason and ingrained within the once self-loathing savior that in order to best Voldemort, he needed the sort of cunning only a shrewd Slytherin is capable of. He needed to break the gold chains holding prisoner his judiciousness and let his inner Slytherin enveloped him so thoroughly that bravery and courage were replaced by ambition. Transforming him into the pure embodiment of deceit, capable of manipulating those not able of grasping the bigger picture.
His picture. And after that final battle defined by death and sin, destined to take place, he would know no inner qualms concerning his death-stained hands and would instead be able to innocently return to his paramour and wash them in his seed as Pilate had done with that basin of clear water.
It had been a difficult to wield Harry. Initially, he doubted Harry’s facile acceptance of his new faith. But every time Harry got on his knees and swallowed his seed, his doubt was replaced with the assuredness that Harry would not fail him.
After all, Harry had finally cut the crap and stopped claiming he was in love with Draco. He willingly accepted all the Dark Magic teachings bestowed upon him, memorizing all the spells and devouring the books in days. He even learned how to fool both the Mudblood and the blood-traitor with his lies, concerning their study sessions. Study sessions that never ended without round-headed pricks being encased in the scathing heat of a tight arse.
Oh yes, he had taught Harry well. So well that pale lids didn’t hesitate to conceal grey eyes as tanned hands grasped the soft flesh of his arse, forcing him to roughly thrust into the wet abyss that is Harry’s mouth. And as his world explodes into a heaven of blinding light, he knows that Harry cannot. Will. Not. Let him down.
End.
Feedback is much appreciated.
Author: zoon_politikon
Rating: R?
Pairing: H/D
Summary: He had taught Harry well.
Warnings: Slash, kind of dark.
A/N: Wrote this in response to a challenge over at the ‘glasses reflects’ yahoo group. Took me a while to finish, as I didn’t know where this story was heading. Every day a new sentence or word would pop into my head and I would incorporate it into the story until the ending just wrote itself out. The first two sentences are what I HAD to include in the story since the challenge was working around that quote. Hope you all enjoy.
"You're weak. Daddy's little stooge, relying on his money, following his orders. You can't even think for yourself and form your own opinions. When will you grow up little boy?" Harry hissed. Causing a current of shivers to run down the flushed body before him as hot breath caressed an elegant ear and a searing hand squeezed the already weeping prick.
The spiteful muttering was met with a quick intake of breath from the Malfoy scion, released much too quickly. As if the delicate lungs had rejected the lust-filled air. His lack of a proper response was predictably met with indignation from the young lech pressed against him, revealed by his sudden hard nibbling on Draco’s neck. Leaving behind a disarray of angry, red blemishes.
“No, no. Not his…I’m yours. Yours.”
He knew his answer had met Harry’s approval when Harry indulged him and pressed their lips together, forcing his tongue past the weak barrier Draco had tried to instill. He played his part well. Teeth clashed and Draco whimpered as semi-crooked teeth bit into his lower lip, tearing the already swollen flesh.
“Tell me.” Rosy lips uttered the familiar request as the slightly shorter boy slid down onto his knees, unbuckling Draco’s belt and lowering the black trousers as he descended. Never once breaking contact with the lecherous body before him.
“Need you. I’mm…” The worn out mantra was cut short as Draco’s cock was enveloped in the wet heat of Harry’s mouth. A mouth that knew exactly how to make Draco plead.
And beg.
And moan.
And cry out his name in ecstasy. A mouth that had once belong to Saint Potter. No longer, though, for Draco had made sure to cleanse Harry and teach him that as a Gryffindor he could never win the war. A war needed by the troubled heir of the Malfoy name to regain its rightful throne, temporarily lost.
He had single-handedly made Harry see reason and ingrained within the once self-loathing savior that in order to best Voldemort, he needed the sort of cunning only a shrewd Slytherin is capable of. He needed to break the gold chains holding prisoner his judiciousness and let his inner Slytherin enveloped him so thoroughly that bravery and courage were replaced by ambition. Transforming him into the pure embodiment of deceit, capable of manipulating those not able of grasping the bigger picture.
His picture. And after that final battle defined by death and sin, destined to take place, he would know no inner qualms concerning his death-stained hands and would instead be able to innocently return to his paramour and wash them in his seed as Pilate had done with that basin of clear water.
It had been a difficult to wield Harry. Initially, he doubted Harry’s facile acceptance of his new faith. But every time Harry got on his knees and swallowed his seed, his doubt was replaced with the assuredness that Harry would not fail him.
After all, Harry had finally cut the crap and stopped claiming he was in love with Draco. He willingly accepted all the Dark Magic teachings bestowed upon him, memorizing all the spells and devouring the books in days. He even learned how to fool both the Mudblood and the blood-traitor with his lies, concerning their study sessions. Study sessions that never ended without round-headed pricks being encased in the scathing heat of a tight arse.
Oh yes, he had taught Harry well. So well that pale lids didn’t hesitate to conceal grey eyes as tanned hands grasped the soft flesh of his arse, forcing him to roughly thrust into the wet abyss that is Harry’s mouth. And as his world explodes into a heaven of blinding light, he knows that Harry cannot. Will. Not. Let him down.
End.
Feedback is much appreciated.