A Fine Line [Harry/Draco NC-17 Standalone]

[silver_etoile]

And now for something completely different...

Title: A Fine Line
Author: silver_etoile 
Rating: NC-17
Complete: Yes
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter and/or any other characters in this fic. They are all property of J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Maybe Draco starts these fights for a reason, and maybe Harry reacts for another.
A/N: Woah. HD slash. Amazing, right? Anyway, silverdragon87 sent me this picture a while ago and insisted I write a fic to accompany it. So I did. Enjoy :)

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A/N: Based off this picture by 
lizardspots.

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His lip was bleeding and his hair was a mess. He could feel the weight bearing down on him and his grey eyes flicked up to Potter’s, catching the flash of brilliant green behind the burning irises. He gasped for breath, his hand pressing weakly against the body on top of him.

How he had got into the position was no mystery. Insulting your arch-nemesis tended to get messy, although he certainly hadn’t expected Potter to jump him like they did in Muggle films and proceed to punch his face.

He could taste the coppery blood on his tongue and swallowed hard. Potter was bearing down on him, his hand poised as though ready to strike again. Draco’s hand was raised feebly to his chest in a vain attempt to stop what would inevitably be another blow to his face.

“Potter!” he managed to say, barely able to hide the waver in his voice.

He was scared, which was not something he ever thought he’d say when it came to Potter. After seven years, though, he had never expected this sort of reaction. Potter almost always restrained himself when it came to Draco’s taunts.

This time, it had been different. It was late and Draco had been coming back from the library when he’d caught Potter out of his Invisibility Cloak. Seizing the opportunity, Draco had chosen to taunt him about where he’d been going. Off for a midnight snog with the Weaselette? Or maybe just the Weasel. That was when Potter had lunged at him, hitting every inch he could reach.

Draco had never been very good at Muggle dueling, as his father said it was for the weak. Unfortunately for Draco, his wand had been knocked out of his hand almost immediately and clattered across the stone floor.

His shirt was torn and hanging off his shoulder as he was pressed back against the cold stone, Potter looming over him.

He was staring Potter in the eyes, trying to make out what he was thinking, but it wasn’t working. Potter’s eyes were dark and angry, his chest was heaving as he glared at Draco. Potter’s hair was messier than usual and his shirt was wrinkled. His tie hung from his neck onto Draco’s chest and Draco had to admit he was fearful of what would happen next.

He knew teasing Potter was a bad idea, but it stemmed from years of rejection and habit. Pansy was constantly telling him that if he wanted to be normal, he should stop egging on Potter. Sometimes, he wondered when she’d started sounding like Granger.

Draco had been harboring a secret for quite a while now that held Potter in close quarters. Prompting a duel had not been the best idea in this particular case.

Draco’s eyes widened as Potter raised his fist higher. He felt his heart pounding and was sure Potter could hear it. His mouth was open slightly and he tasted more blood as he licked his lip.

Potter stared at him, his eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched. “Why the hell do you have to say those things, Malfoy?” he demanded suddenly and Draco was surprised.

His first instinct was to reply snidely, as usual, but he knew it would be a horrible idea in his current situation. Instead, he chose to give a shrug, or what he could of a shrug, one arm pinned to his side and the other pressing vainly into Potter’s warm chest.

He forced himself to think of something other than how warm Potter was, realizing he wasn’t in the clear yet. He had no means of escaping and his wand was all the way across the hall. Potter didn’t even have his wand in his hand. It just hovered over Draco’s face.

Potter didn’t look satisfied with Draco’s answer and shifted, drawing his knees tighter to Draco’s sides.

“Why can’t you keep your mouth shut and act normal?”

“I’m not normal, Potter,” Draco drawled. “I’m better than normal.”

“See! Right there!” Potter exclaimed, his fist tightening. “Why do you have to be such a prick?”

Draco didn’t know how to respond to that, and he was pretty sure he was forgetting how to breathe as Potter shifted again. He felt helpless, something he never wanted to be, underneath Potter.

His lip was still bleeding but he didn’t bother to stop it. He hoped it wasn’t a lasting injury. He took a weak breath, staring up at Potter and trying to figure a way out of the situation.

“Learned it from my father, I guess,” he said finally. “It’s where most people do. But you don’t have a father, do you, Potter?”

He winced as Potter drew back his fist sharply, and braced himself for another blow. When nothing happened, he glanced back at Potter carefully.

Potter was glaring at him with as much hate as he could muster and Draco felt his heart drop. Pansy was right, damn her. Potter would never see him as anything more than a childhood rival. He just couldn’t kick the habit. It came so naturally.

Potter’s jaw was set and his eyes burned emerald. “I don’t know why I waste my time fighting you.”

“Because you can’t be normal,” Draco quipped before even thinking. “Now that the Dark Lord is gone, you don’t know how to.” His tone was knowing and snide, poking at Harry’s ego.

“Yeah?” Potter sneered in reply. “What do you know about normal?”

“I know that if you’re going to fight with your enemy, you don’t punch him and then proceed to have a discussion on the floor.” Draco was trying to overcome his fear of being pinned under Potter without a wand, but it wasn’t working too well when Potter’s fist tightened again.

He gave a sudden yelp as Potter’s other hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back roughly. His mouth fell open and he gasped for air. He’d had no idea Potter could be so rough. His breaths were coming in short pants and he felt Potter’s fingers tightening over the strands of his hair.

“Maybe I want to have a discussion on the floor,” Potter growled finally, tugging harder and Draco gasped.

“Fuck, Potter!” he exclaimed, wincing slightly. If anyone was going to pull his hair, he would at least be on top.

Potter didn’t listen to him, though, just tilted his head back. He could feel the blood trickling over his lip.

“Don’t you ever think about what I want, Malfoy?” Potter asked angrily.

“No,” Draco replied honestly and then mentally slapped himself for not thinking again. He was supposed to be smarter than this. He was a Slytherin for Merlin’s sake!

“You’re so fucking selfish!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked Selfish, but probably his brother.”

There went his mouth again, saying things before his brain approved. Draco saw the flash of anger and frustration in Potter’s eyes and wondered how far he’d gone this time.

“You’re really stupid, you know?”

Draco’s mouth dropped open, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, he was upset at being called stupid. “I am not!”

“Well, you’re obviously blind, then.”

Draco stared at Potter. “Do I look blind to you, Potter?”

“Yeah, you do,” Potter replied simply before swooping down and taking Draco’s lips in a surprised kiss.

Draco’s eyes were open wide as Potter kissed him, his tongue flicking over the blood on his lower lip, his fingers releasing their death-grip on his hair. Draco didn’t know what to do.

A part of him was screaming that this was wonderful, exactly what he wanted! But the other part, the logical part, was demanding to know what the hell was going on. In the end, his heart won out over his brain and he relaxed into the kiss, opening his mouth to Potter’s seeking tongue.

His free hand that had been weakly keeping Potter at bay tugged at the half-undone buttons on Potter’s white shirt, ripping them further and hearing a few ping off the stone floor as they broke. His mouth was pressed hard against Potter’s, biting his lower lip.

Potter tasted like strawberries, probably from that night’s dinner, and he smelled musky, a little like the forest as though he’d been rolling around in there. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

Potter’s fist had finally melted and was tugging Draco’s half-torn shirt off the rest of the way. His chest was exposed to the cool air of the corridor and he gasped. His muffled moan was lost to Potter’s mouth, though, when Potter’s nimble fingers slipped over his chest to tweak his nipple.

His body arched off the cold floor, craving the warmth of Potter’s body. His hands had gotten most of Potter’s shirt off and it fell to a rumpled heap on the floor beside them. When they pulled apart, they were both panting and Draco stared up at Potter.

Potter looked slightly confused, as though he wasn’t sure what he was doing. He licked his lip and his eyebrows came together as he stared down at Draco.

Draco stared for just a second longer before his mouth curved into a smirk. “Been hiding something, Potter?”

Potter automatically scowled and pushed Draco’s shoulder back against the hard stone. “I’m not hiding that I like guys.”

“I meant something bigger than that.” Draco smirked and chuckled for a second. His eyes traveled down Potter’s body. “Shall we see how much bigger you are, Potter?”

He could swear Potter blushed a little, but if he did, he hid it well. Instead, he seemed to gather his wits and arched an eyebrow. “We don’t have to worry about me. You, on the other hand…”

Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open indignantly. “I’ll have you know, I am perfectly fine.”

“Fine?” Potter asked. “Or just adequate?”

Draco arched a delicate eyebrow. “Care to find out, Potter? Or are you too scared?”

“You wish,” Potter muttered, his hands going immediately for Draco’s fly and tugging it open.

Draco was surprised at his determination and jumped a little as his rough fingers brushed against his pelvis. His slacks were tugged down at a surprisingly quick rate and he was left practically naked in the third floor corridor. It didn’t really matter, though, since he had a half-naked Potter on top of him. He was eager to get him completely naked.

His thoughts of disrobing Potter were interrupted by Potter’s hand on his cock, grasping the length and stroking slowly. His hands stilled on Potter’s slacks, sliding up to his shoulders quickly when Potter’s hand tightened over his prick.

A small groan escaped his lips as his cock hardened rapidly, his hips twisting up into Potter’s hand. He didn’t know why Potter was doing this, but he wasn’t going to complain now that he was finally getting what he wanted.

Potter’s skin was warm under his fingers and they pressed into his muscular shoulder harder as Potter’s hand tightened around his cock. He was biting his lip and could taste the blood again.

“God, Potter,” Draco gasped when Potter’s fingers gave an unexpected twist. “When did you get good at this?”

“I’ve always been,” Potter replied, whispering in his ear. “You just never knew.”

Draco gave an involuntary shiver at the dark tone of Potter’s voice.

He glanced down at Potter’s hand stroked his cock easily, brushing his fingers over the sensitive flesh. His teeth were cutting into his lip and he gasped, his eyes closing and his head falling back.

“Oh, shit, Potter,” he breathed, unable to stop his hips from jerking upward into Potter’s hand.

Potter didn’t respond except to smirk and slide his hand down Draco’s prick, slowly releasing the throbbing flesh. Draco opened his mouth to demand Potter return his attention, when he felt Potter’s mouth on his inner thigh, biting at the warm flesh, his tongue dragging over the soft skin.

Any rational thoughts he had were banished in seconds as Potter’s fingers crept to his back side. They caressed his bare ass, stroking the pale skin slowly, drifting tauntingly over his entrance.

Draco shifted restlessly. He hadn’t expected Potter to be so good at this, and he didn’t deny that he’d thought about it from time to time. He growled in the back of his throat as Potter’s fingers dipped in but then quickly pulled back.

“Fuck, Potter,” he ground out. “If you’re going to be such a pansy, you might let me up.”

Potter glanced up at him, a dark glimmer in his emerald eyes, and smirked. He pulled his fingers back completely, inserting one and then two in his mouth. His eyes never left Draco’s as he sucked on the digits.

To say Draco was turned on would have been a gross understatement. His mind melted at the sight of Potter, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his own fingers. His cock twitched and hardened even more, if that was humanly possible.

Potter pulled the fingers out and trailed them over Draco’s backside before shoving one inside him unceremoniously. Draco’s back arched and he cursed loudly.

“Shit!”

Panting, he stared down at Potter, who seemed to be concentrating on moving his fingers, threading them delicately into Draco’s body.

“I’m not a fucking porcelain doll,” Draco growled when Potter moved torturously slowly.

Potter glanced up, an eyebrow raised, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he removed his fingers and grabbed his wand, muttering a quick Lubrication and Protection Spell.

Draco’s gasp was loud and echoed around the empty hall when Potter pushed in. The cut on his lip had stopped bleeding, but he could still taste the coppery remnants of blood when his tongue flicked over his lips.

Potter pushed inside, his cock filling Draco’s body until he didn’t know if he could ever breathe again. His eyes were closed and his hands were tight on Potter’s hips, nail digging into the skin. He hoped there would be marks later.

“Move, Potter,” he commanded impatiently, pulling Potter’s hips down to accentuate his point.

Potter got the point quickly, luckily, and began to move, thrusting his hips down, pushing his cock in and out of the tight muscles. His thrusts were shallow at first, but as he built momentum, became harder and deeper.

Draco could feel the tingles of pleasure racing up his spine as Potter moved. The familiar pooling of warmth in his stomach had begun and he couldn’t help the small moans and mumbled words that escaped his lips. His fingers were tight on Potter’s hips and he pulled down to his hips with each thrust.

“Shit-fuck-Potter, you-God!” Draco was panting harshly, his teeth gritted as his back arched and he couldn’t hold back the wave of pleasure crashing over his body.

Warm come painted Potter’s stomach and Draco slowly sunk down to the cold, stone floor. Potter was still inside him, muttering something against his neck, his mouth pressed to his shoulder as he moved, reckless and hard.

Draco felt Potter coming, a long groan followed by short, panting breaths as he returned to reality.

Draco didn’t know how long they lay there, but soon, he was pushing at Potter.

“Get off me,” he grumbled, pushing at the boy’s shoulders.

Potter shifted unwillingly, rolling to the side. He stared at the ceiling and Draco sat up. He felt a little confused by what had just conspired.

“What the hell was that, Potter?” he asked finally. “I didn’t think Muggle dueling was a courting ritual.”

Potter glanced at him, his eyes large and innocent-looking. “It’s not.”

“Then what the hell is it?”

Draco arched an eyebrow, waiting for what would likely be a muddled response.

Potter hesitated, shrugging a little. “Fucking?”

Draco was not amused. He just stared at Potter.

Potter sighed. “I don’t know, Malfoy. What the hell do you want?”

“An explanation.”

“Or what?”

Draco paused, then pushed himself up from the floor, pulling on his pants and shirt. He turned back to Potter, who was still on the floor, and smirked.

“Or we won’t be doing that again.”

Potter’s eyes widened as Draco quirked an eyebrow and turned to walk away. He stayed on the floor for just a minute before scrambling to his feet, pulling on his jeans, and taking off after him.

“Mafoy, wait!”

Draco just smirked and continued on his way, waiting until Potter would catch up with him and try to explain just what had happened.

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FIN.