~~t00by smut!fic time...!

[reenka]

dracopottamus drew this which basically puts any attempt by me to draw h/d smut to shame, baby shame. then again i wasn't -trying- to be that explicit. anyway. w00t! go and thank me later :D
~~

so, this is my smut entry, i guess. i finished my smut!fic, yeay! now i can finally follow up on my actual "oh-so-serious" oh-so-betaed fic that actually may have any value whatsoever. but. but. even though this isn't high art, i am posting it, just so i don't get the urge to add more scenes to it in the middle of the night, dammit all. that's really frustrating, btw. there you are, trying to get some sleep, and harry & draco are dancing naked before your eyes and squealing, "write us, wriiiiiite uuuuuusssss!!". ok, so it's not so bad :D
   plus, according to jediginny's brilliant quiz, i am

Which H/D Fanfic Cliche are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

~~
...


Disclaimer: jkr owns their souls. *sob* but she's not the devil. no. really.
Warning: two boys, going at it, baby.
Rating: nc17, whoo-hoo...!
Dedication: to Aja-- here's that smutfic you wanted, heh.
& to Thamiris-- who encouraged me to write lots of naked man-flesh




~~ Come Morning.

Harry was staring out the window of the Astronomy Tower, watching the stars come out. He wasn't brooding, but he wasn't doing much else, either. He was staring, and with the moon hiding behind a perpetual cloud-cover, he wasn't staring at much in particular. The stars reassured him. They were the same stars as last year, and they will remain the same for long after his death. These were his parents' stars. They may have sat in this same spot in Astronomy Tower, so famous as a snogging corner. They may have held hands and assured each other they'll never part. Harry was almost sure they must have. People in love did that sort of thing, didn't they? Not that he had anything better than a very uneducated guess to offer himself.

He was far from in love. He was here escaping the travesty that passed for romance in his life. He had no idea how he got himself involved in such a stupid, empty relationship. He had no one before, and he still had no one, except now it was almost worse because, sometimes, right before he fell asleep, he let himself imagine he was wrong, just for a moment. And he went to sleep happy, ridiculously, hilariously happy. Harry snorted. If only people knew what a sodding fool he was. If only. Of course, they're not likely to, since his so-called partner in crime had as much to lose as he did, if not more. Thank Merlin for small favors, indeed. Harry didn't sigh, only clasped his knees tighter to his chest, his brows slightly furrowing. He wanted closeness, and belonging, and he had that, really he did. Even now that Ron and Hermione were together, he was together with them, he knew that. This-- this was nothing. A brief, unfortunate flicker-- a blip in the random noise of his existence.

So what was he doing, waiting, what was he doing, hoping? He didn't tell him he'd be here, and the other was many things to many people, but psychic he wasn't. Harry buried his cool, wind-smoothed face in his knees. What, indeed. If Malfoy just wanted to fuck him and hurt him and leave him, he'd understand. The terms would be simple, at least, and he'd realize the only thing he stood to lose was his self respect, if he didn't end things. Naturally, Malfoy never told him what he wanted, and just when he thought he'd hit him and snarl, he would hold him and kiss his eyes closed instead, and they would say nothing and stay very still as the minutes and the hours passed them by unnoticed. If he thought too much about this he felt dizzy and disoriented, and the only thing that grounded him, the only thing that seemed to explain anything and anchor him in reality was Malfoy's lips once again fastened to his. Worked like a charm every time. Something clicked into place, with their first stupid heated kiss, as angry and dominating as they both tried to be. Something that calmed him, something that sheltered him from himself for long enough, just long enough to touch and be touched in return. He was feeling jittery and listless and irritated, and for no apparent reason, if he weren't honest with himself. He was rather honest by nature of course, so he couldn't hold off the realization for long.
~~

It had been raining, cold and fierce and not at all gentle, and he was swallowing down copious amounts of tasteless water and scowling at the one person he'd thought he wanted to see the least. He had never wanted Draco as much as he did at that moment. Everything seemed transparent, standing there in the pouring October rain-- Draco's shirt clinging shamelessly to his body, his skin, pale and faintly glittering with countless stray water-droplets, barely veiling the snaking blue veins weaving traceries beneath it. His eyes, perhaps most transparent of all, shimmering grey like the pale sky drenching them.

A fragile rosy blush had stolen over Draco's cheeks, watching Harry, who was still panting slightly, having run to catch up to him. He seemed mesmerized, watching Harry's mouth, slightly open and glistening with moisture like the rest of him was, by now.

The rain was only getting fiercer. They stood there, barely five steps away from the Hogwarts entrance, their breaths hitching, not saying a word. Harry watched a rain droplet teetering on Draco's embarrassingly long eyelashes. A number of others could be seen sliding down his pale cheeks, dripping from his rain-slick hair, slipping under his chin. Harry got the irresistible urge to catch one on his tongue. He found himself taking one halting step, then another. The muddy grass moving under his feet and the soft tapping and whispering of the rain was all he could hear, besides the frantic pounding of his own heart.

They couldn't seem to look away, their eyes locked, chests rising and falling gently, in unconscious rhythm. And then Harry was tilting his head back, and closing his eyes, and his mouth was filling up with rain, some of it running down his throat, some of it pooling on his tongue. He couldn't have described the way he was feeling right then-- perfectly free and exhilarated and aching all over, dizzy with desire. Draco took the last step towards him, his cool, slick fingers dancing along Harry's jaw, bringing his head back down. Harry swallowed convulsively, his mouth still parted gently, the green in his eyes mostly devoured by pupil. Draco leaned forward, his lower lip brushing smoothly against the upper lip of the other's mouth, widening it further, making Harry moan uncontrollably. They were looking intently at one another once again, and beginning to shake, from cold and need and a slight amount of fear. This was too big, too frightening, too alien to have imagined, and yet there it was, drenching the both of them as surely as the chilly rainwater, extravagant in its sudden excessive force.

Their eyes stayed open, when Draco had finally brought his mouth towards Harry's again, and when Harry's hands clasped painfully at his shoulders, and when his tongue first swiped at Harry's wet open mouth, almost cat-like and utterly serious. Harry made a strange, strangled sound, biting down on Draco's bottom lip ferociously, sucking at the faintly bleeding flesh, his knees having gone weak, his balance disappearing. There had been no going back even then.
~~

He missed him. He missed that mouth branding his with pale wintry fire. He missed those hands, burning fresh scars down his back every time. He missed abandon and completeness and the freedom of rage and the safety of lies. He hated himself for it, and he knew he was cheating himself and his friends and even Malfoy to some extent, but he couldn't stop, not now, and maybe not ever. He was biting his lip and making soft, pitiful, lost sounds, still sitting with his head buried in his knees, when the door creaked open.

"Potter?" came the too-familiar voice, thick with affected surprise. "Don't tell me. You come here to mope, and bemoan the tragic loss of mum and dad, am I right? Well, of course I am," he added as an afterthought.

Harry's eyes riveted on Malfoy's own, trying to bring thick rusty nails to bear on the center of the Slytherin's skull with willpower alone. "Shove the fuck -off-, Malfoy."

"Now, now, Potter. Language, language. Is that any way to address the Slytherin prefect?" Malfoy drawled, smirking, self-satisfied as usual. Advancing further into the drafty stone chamber, leering, the change of expression as sudden as it was predictable. "And the wizard who fucks you, I might add," he continued, his eyes sparkling at Harry's equally predictable blush, accompanying the glare of course. "Still not used to the idea of it, eh, Potter?"

Harry growled, refusing to play this stupid game they had going for weeks now. No one ever won-- unless you counted him fucking Malfoy raw and insensate to be winning, which Harry didn't.

"Come now," Draco cooed, voice smooth as honey dripping over razorblades. "Don't spoil the fun. I only just got here."

"Yeah, and now you can leave," Harry said, his voice rising unevenly into clear hostility, his face turned away.

Draco laughed. "Ah, one of -those- days, I see," he said, still chuckling.

Harry's eyes flew to his, and he had to swallow a faint gasp. There was pure, unmitigated hate, burning resentment like he hadn't seen for months now, spilling free within that gaze. He'd thought nothing could shock him, but he was, apparently, wrong. His pulse speeded up, his breathing quickened, and a low, almost imperceptible purr buzzed throughout his body. Harry, as attuned to Draco's body as he'd become, to his everlasting regret, turned a disgusted look his way.

"Ugh. Please, Malfoy, don't make me sicker than I am. Is that -all- you think about?" He looked about ready to bolt. Draco schooled his features in an instant.

"Oh, spare me your raging ego, Potter. Think what you will, but I'm here to meet someone, so if you'll kindly leave...." He trailed off.

Harry was unable to conceal a slight flinch before his mouth thinned and his face snapped into the familiar disdainful mask he'd worn all of fifth year, the one that had made Malfoy want to smash his stupid stony face into crumbling pieces. His mouth lifted at the corner in a snarl.

Harry had gotten up and looked like he was just going to brush past him without another word. The old, familiar furious heat began to gather in Draco's belly. He shot out a hand, casually, as the other passed him, grasping Potter's wrist in a death-like grip, squeezing viciously.

A soft gasp, a tiny, telling shiver, and then Potter was glaring at him even more heatedly than before. Draco smiled to himself. He knew where he was, now.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Potter ground out each word slowly, not moving, looking like he was holding himself in check with sheer stubbornness.

"I don't think so, lover," Draco said, pulling Potter roughly to him, their chests knocking together, his mouth now wet and open against the ridge of Potter's ear. A second shiver raced down Potter's rigid frame, and Draco heard a low, heartfelt curse.

"You said--"

"I know what I said, thank you very much. I, for one, have all my faculties intact," Draco smirked, entirely confident now.

"You lied," Harry accused, his voice soft and resigned and throbbing with pent-up anger, some of it probably directed at himself, because he knew he could get out of this if he'd really wanted to. Draco had to fight his own series of shivers at the hard edge threading the dark-haired boy's tone with steel. His trousers suddenly felt a whole lot more uncomfortable, and, never having been one for subtlety, he promptly ground his erection against Harry's thigh.

Harry's breath hitched noticeably in his throat, and he tore his way out of Draco's admittedly relaxing grasp to clamp both hands angrily around Draco's forearms, hissing senseless obsenities, his teeth pale flashes of feral aggression in the sudden moonlight.

"Slut," Harry might've hissed at one point, his teeth tearing blissful angry monologues down Draco's throat, ripping open crevices on his skin with word after unsaid, blistering word. Draco's eyes were shut in spite of himself, and he allowed himself these few, electrifying moments of startled submission. Harry was livid and rough and utterly beside himself now, and at times like these, all Draco could do was hold on as tight as he could.
~~

He knew he wanted this, and like every other time, he couldn't continue lying to himself. He wanted this, he wanted every searing maddening fracturing moment. He knew why he was here. Because he needed the other boy. Needed his heart and lungs and tissues, mixing with his, inside him, around him, touching him deeply enough so that finally, this feeling of cold and lonely emptiness could abate, if only for just this one night. He stared wonderingly at the gleam of skin above the other's lips, before he licked at it, slowly tasting, memorizing the exact composition of his sweat, of the tears leaking helplessly out of his eyes, of the saliva mixing with his own, now that the mouth had opened and consumed and nearly swallowed him, as needy and bare and desperate as he'd ever thought he was or could be.

They scrambled at each other blindly, breathlessly ripping at cloth, scratching and pulling at skin, fingers leaving marks and bruises, lips pulling back in what was almost a snarl, something primal, needful, unstoppable. Malfoy's hand was between his legs almost immediately, rubbing and kneading the bulge tenting the much-abused fabric.

"Harder. -Harder-," Harry whimpered.

Malfoy hissed.

"Make... me... forget... oh-- fuck--" He saw stars, red and green and gold, explode behind his shut eyelids. He might've been bleeding where Malfoy bit his throat, greedily sucking at his sensitive flesh. He wanted more, only more. He was bucking against Malfoy's hand, the fabric of his worn jeans scraping roughly against his overly sensitized skin, making it burn, but he didn't care. He was close, so close....

And then Malfoy stopped, wrenching his hand away, leaving Harry gasping incoherently, the wet spot spread across the pale blue fabric evidence enough of his condition. He stood there, dazed, about to simply crumple to the ground, unable to take any more of Malfoy's usual teasing, unable to bear one more second without skin meeting skin, without sheer contact. He heard someone making soft, plaintive sounds, and distantly, he realized it was himself.
~~

More than anything, he wanted to suck his cock. To feel that hot fullness filling his mouth, to taste the smooth skin, slick with precome, so firm and thick and invasive, scraping against the roof of his mouth, seeping fluid down his raw throat. Without thinking, he just dropped to his knees, only barely managing to withold incoherent words and phrases threatening to spill past his lips. And then his mouth was where it wanted to be, and his eyes were rolled back in his head, and all he knew was the rhythm and the scent of Harry saturating his skin, melting into his pores until he drowned in it.

The words still buzzed, slipping out with his every breath, caressing delicate skin, as implicit as the sweat and spit and the viscous bitter liquid beginning to pump heavily into his mouth. Through it all, he might've been saying, "Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry...."
~~

Afterwards, when Harry had come to, he was standing dazedly in the center of the dimly-lit room, his head strangely clear, not quite sure what had gone on before, and completely befuddled as to what could possibly come after. Draco was sitting back on his heels, looking up at him with unforgivable merriment in his eyes, licking his lips and smiling with what had to be satisfaction. He was holding Harry up by the backs of his knees, surprisingly strong and steady. Harry realized he would've collapsed even now if Draco wasn't there to support him. It was not a pleasant realization. His trousers were hanging open and his robes were almost entirely off him, and he was still feeling entirely too pleasant about everything. He slid to the ground forcefully, beginning to withdraw into his familiar opaque shell.

"Oh no you don't, Potter. Not yet anyway. I haven't gotten what I came here for, after all."

Harry glared at him, happy to be back in resentment mode. "I'll never give you what you want, Malfoy."

Draco smirked. "You always give me what I want, Potter, and we both know it."

Harry tackled the other boy, a flash of sudden movement and Malfoy's breath was knocked out of him, and he was on his back, all wide-open eyes and un-eraseable smirk. Harry was straddling his hips, his eyes flashing dangerously, his fingers clamped down hard, keeping Malfoy's wrists restrained, not that the infuriating silver-haired creature now splayed beneath him was putting up a fight, really. He rolled his hips and allowed himself a smile, as Harry had to swallow a startled gasp. His fingers left the other's wrists abruptly and clamped down around his throat.

"Is this what you want?" growled Harry, grip tightening, of his thighs and hands both.

"Really not complaining here, Potter," came the somewhat harsh-sounding whisper. The silver eyes were still soft and almost amused, twinkling up at him. Harry realized that he didn't look exactly like someone intent on rejecting unwanted advances himself, which was only making him madder by the second. His body seemed to have a mind of its own, as he was presently driving one painfully tender part of it back and forth against the rough fabric covering Draco's muscular thigh and whimpering. His wits were quickly leaving him and the urge to feel skin underneath him was completely overwhelming.

It took barely a moment to rip away the offending obstruction, and he was slamming on top of the other boy's cock, almost incoherent with fury. He was choking on his own saliva, his throat closing, his eyes watering from the sudden fullness, the sensation hot, raw, sizzling painfully down nerve-endings he didn't know he had, slamming down into his toes, pooling in his stomach, streaking up his arms to tingle maddeningly in his armpits. It hurt, and he burned, and he bled, scalding fluid running down his inner thighs, and he wanted it deeper, harder, faster.

"Fine--" A gasp. "Are you--" A moan. "-Happy- now?" A strangled scream.

Rough fingers grasping at his hips, pushing them back whenever they lifted.

"No," came the breathless reply, then just the sound of wet flesh slapping together. "More." A groan. "Always. More. More. More."

"Yes," came his soft, low whisper. "Yes." A growl. "Yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyes...."

"Don't you dare come yet--" Eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open, limbs shaking, seeming on the verge of it himself--

"Damn you. Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh, oh, Draco, oh, fuck, oh, oh--" Leaning down, tongue thrusting into the other's gaping mouth, and again, and again.

"Potter." Biting at his neck, teeth scraping down his collarbone. "Potter...." Almost tender.

"Now...."

A desperate pumping of hips upward, a ragged scream, fingers pinching brutally at pebbled nipples, clamping down, jerking, as the final scream built, approaching ever closer.

"Mine... mine... mine, Potter...."

"No!"

A cessation. Utter stillness. A frustrated moan. "Draco...."

"No?" Fingertips lightly slipping down a wet, sweaty chest. Resting, comfortable, unmoving, in a thick thatch of pubic hair.

"No." Gasping. "No, no, don't... don't... not now... fuck, Draco--" Wiggling helplessly, and Draco's eyes were rolling back momentarily as he felt himself move a second or two away from orgasm. He exhaled harshly, thinking of his last encounter with Millicent. Groaning, in utter horror, because sex with just about anything sounded good right then.

Eyes snapping open. "Oh?"

Wishing he had the will to keep Potter still, his hands refusing to obey him. Potter, moving slowly, seemingly unconsciously, tiny miniscule movements. "Fuck--"

Potter, throwing his head back, obviously unable to follow what little conversation they were in the midst of, even though they weren't even actively fucking at the moment. Even sitting still he seemed to be moving towards release. Draco almost envied such single-mindedness.

"Well?" Draco whispered, bucking his hips. Potter's attention snapped back to him immediately. His eyes were completely glazed over, his forehead covered with a fine sheen of sweat. His fingers were still twitching mindlessly on Draco's nipples. Draco knew a few thrusts upwards would be all it'd take. He ground his teeth together. He wouldn't let Potter have this. He was his. He was going to admit it. His to do with as he pleased, not the other way around. He forced himself to grip Potter's hips, almost painfully, lessening some of the glaze in Potter's eyes.

"Malf-f-foy?"

"Potter," he drawled. He really amazed himself sometimes.

Harry's mouth twitched, and settled into a frown. His erection began to subside. Oh, great, Draco thought. This was definitely not his intended result.

"You're still... playing, aren't you," Harry said, softly, his fingers still upon Draco's chest, his palms flat now, and spread gently.

Draco managed a chuckle. "Always."

Potter's scowl deepened. "Bastard."

Draco's hand clamped firmly around Potter's cock, squeezing. Potter's eyes closed, moving behind shut lids, rolling back, his mouth hanging open, no sound emerging, except for the softly ragged puffs of air. Draco smirked, feeling viciously satisfied.

"Tell me you're mine, and you can blow your load, Potter. Doesn't that sound good right about now?"

"Fuck... you... Malfoy."

"That's the idea," Draco agreed, languid, as if he had all the time in the world, and wasn't actually strung tense as a bow.

"Bastard," Potter spat, as if he never got tired of saying that, breathing raggedly, his fingers clenched painfully at Draco's sides, his eyes flashing green death. Draco, impossibly, got harder, his cock twitching inside Harry, betraying him. Potter's eyes widened slightly, remembering his power. He smiled slowly. "You want this as much as I do, you tosser," he breathed, before his mouth was on Draco's, shoving his way in, all wet driving force and heat and suction, all in a rush, all of it Harry, Harry inside of him.

Draco choked, swallowing spit and curses, trying to swallow Potter's tongue. His hands were running up and down Potter's sides, slipping around to cup his lover's cheeks, traveling impatiently up his spine, searching for clues or further entrances into Potter, he couldn't tell.

Potter was pumping against him in earnest, grinding his hips and hissing and then, just a moment too soon, it was Draco who savagely bit back a furious scream, it was Draco stiffening, rigid with equal parts white-hot rapture and shock and blinding, agonizingly total unravelling. He shot again and again, his mind wiped out in the vindictive onslaught of witheld pleasure. His nails dug bloody crescents into Potter's hips, but he was otherwise frozen, his body painfully arched, suspended over that one moment in time where nothing but Harry, nothing but his cock buried inches deep within his enemy and throbbing out its surrender, nothing else whatsoever mattered or existed.

Potter's soft moans were lost to him, as was Potter's rhythmically pulsing cock, still grinding against his stomach even after his penis had slipped out, utterly spent. Potter's mouth was a soft, lulling "o" of suction against the base of his throat, a languid communion of tongue meeting salty-slick skin once more, slowly now. Draco was lost in a silent world of darkness and heat and the endless echoes of deepest pleasure.

"Draco," came the shaky, tentative whisper, after a while. "Draco." He couldn't answer, couldn't hear. All was black. `I'm here. I'm here. Trust me,' Draco seemed to say with the feel of gentle hands resting on Harry's body, with a soft, sated smile peeking from a kiss-swollen mouth, with the tiny sighs bubbling quietly at the back of his throat every now and then.

I could be yours, Harry thought wonderingly, and it was okay, it was allowed, in the darkness and the stillness and the feeling that he could be anyone, anyone at all, and they had no history, and if there was only tonight, maybe. Maybe then everything could fall into place. I want to be yours, he thought, and shivered even though he was drowning in warmth.

He licked at the underside of Draco's jaw, nipping slightly. `When we're here like this-- and I'm holding you-- I can almost believe-- that I can trust you,' he said silently, his forehead resting against Draco's own. `That you'll be mine if I'm yours.'

He kissed Draco's chin, a tiny secret flutter of a kiss, and as wiped out as Draco was, he still shivered, making Harry smile sadly. As his eyes drifted shut, and his fingers came to rest, tangling lightly with the other boy's, he let himself believe, if only temporarily, that not everything had to slip through their fingers, come morning.