Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Can I? ❯ Can I? ( Chapter 1 )

Can I?

Rice-Ball247

Draco/Harry

Rice-Ball247: Oooh, new one-shot. I have no idea what brought this about. I was thinking of the genre 'hurt/comfort', and I think I vaguely recall thinking that it didn't exist back in my pre-teen days. -rolls eyes- go figure I'd have to take it literally. So! Here's a Draco/Harry oneshot for all my readers and any lovers of the pairing out there! I don't have a beta, so any mistakes seen here, I blame only me and my long nights.

Hurt, comfort and romance boiled into a cauldron, add a pinch of hotness, a cupful of swearing and copious handfuls of fluff, then mix clockwise for an hour. Promptly drink while hot and then hopefully, if you like my potion, review!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, namely Harry Potter and all characters included, which belong to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: While students studied, preparing notes and completing homework for the next day, Harry James Potter was getting a whole, `nuther kinda education from one Draco Malfoy. But Harry no longer wants a casual shag. He wants romance. Can Draco provide it?

Nothing more than fuck buddies, yeah? Malfoy's always got what they wanted, right? So if Malfoy just wanted it to be this way, it would stay this way, correct?

Harry watched as Draco Malfoy made to leave the toilet stall that they once occupied, his black robes already pristine and clean, billowing out in a fashion that was just a degree less than Snape's. The green-eyed boy listened to the sounds of the second floor bathroom's door open and close with a resounding finality. He stared down at his cum-stained pants and shirt and, casting a quick `scourgify', the sticky, white mess was gone as fast as Malfoy had left.

It was after dinner already, in other words, it was time for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to kick back and relax, or study, before going to bed and starting the day over again. However, that was for the majority of the school's population.

The Boy-Who-Lived was always different. Always, always, different. While students calmed their racing hearts from dashing through corridors to make it to class on time (especially Snape's class), Harry was busy getting his heart beating faster and faster.

While students ate a whole, hearty meal, Harry was eating up Malfoy's cock, and in return, he was eaten up by the older boy. While students studied, preparing notes and completing homework for the next day, Harry James Potter was getting a whole, `nuther kinda education from one Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy probably had a Masters Degree in `teaching'. From the first tentative touch of fingertips and skin, flushed flesh rubbing shyly against each other, to their latest wild and frenzied `fuck-fest', Malfoy always was the experienced one, always taking Harry to the newest height of sexual tension and pushing him towards the proverbial brink of ecstasy.

And Harry fell. Every time, he fell. Hard.

What worried Harry was that he might actually be falling for the blond heir to the Malfoy fortune. Harry stepped out of the stall exactly five minutes later, robes clean, yet slightly rumpled. He fidgeted slightly in front of a cracked, dirty mirror, but it was enough for him to see that he, at least, looked presentable.

“Harry!”

The sixteen-year-old in question turned to catch an eyeful of bushy, brown hair and books, as well as bright red hair and a freckly face - lots of robes too - and found himself tackled onto the floor.

“Ron, Mione! What's going on?” Harry asked rather feebly, wincing as he felt his still-sore backside connect with the stone-flagged floors. The red-haired, gangly limbed male spoke up first, grinning for no apparent reason.

“Nothing, really. Me and Mione were just talking and, contrary to popular belief, the `Golden Trio',” at this, Ron used his fingers as air quotation marks, “don't spend 24 hours, 7 days a week together. Well, not anymore, anyways.”

Harry's eyebrows tasted the tips of his fringe in surprise. Ah, he saw the problem now. Ever since he'd started to `meet' with Malfoy for well-disguised `study sessions', courtesy of Professor Snape's intervention, Harry had indeed stopped hanging around with his two best mate's as much as he would have liked.

“Sorry guys. But you know what happens when I don't go…” at this, Harry trailed off, staring down at his shoes. There was a pregnant pause between the three before Ron slung his arm around Harry's shoulder, on his right, and Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist, on Harry's left.

“Naw mate. Don't worry about it. If Snape is going to give you some diabolical shit about it, then we're okay with it,” Ron assured him, giving the shorter boy a not-so-gentle pat on the back, which would have caused Harry's knees to buckle, had Hermione's arm not been around his waist. “Err...well, not that I'm okay with Snape picking on you, or anything. Anyway, c'mon. I heard that Seamus and Dean smuggled in some food for you in the dorms. I smell crisps and sweets just around the corner.”

“Smart.”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy. Sod off!”

If there was something to know about Draco Malfoy, it was that he was a very intelligent young wizard. So the little snitch-like ball buzzing around Harry's head, butting into it occasionally, was pretty self-explanatory if one mentioned `Malfoy'.

The snitch-wannabe was insistent and butted into his head a little harder. Harry knew what this meant. It was sort of like a booty-call.

Malfoy was, for lack of a better word, randy. Extremely so.

Harry hurriedly shoved his legs into his trousers and pulled on his robe over his shoulders, before grabbing the invisibility cloak from his drawer. He pulled the Marauders' Map from the bottom of his trunk, as well as his wand from his bedside table.

A mere ten minutes later found Harry nestled in Malfoy's arms, his smaller body framed by the blond, in the Room of Requirement. It was agreed between the both of them that if it was Malfoy who wanted something from Harry, then Malfoy would be the one to do the traveling around the corridors, and vice versa if it were Harry.

“I missed your body,” Malfoy admitted to him. Harry screwed his eyes shut tight when they began to water unexpectedly, forehead pressed against Malfoy's clothed chest. Always, it would be his body. Not him. Not his company, but his arse.

Harry felt slender and cool fingers curl around his chin before his head was lifted and he felt slightly chapped, yet warm lips acting like a gentle suction on the skin of his neck. Harry bit back a moan and resisted the sensations that began to flood into his body. Malfoy could almost feel Harry trying to pull back, so in reply, he wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and Harry toppled atop him on the plush couch they sat on.

Harry supposed that Malfoy `required' a place for a good fuck, if the tasteful design of the room was any indication of it. There was even a bottle of high-quality lube and a box of condoms on the bedside table. As soon as one entered the doorway, they would be standing atop sinfully soft carpet - it sent tingles up Harry's spine. One look around the room told Harry that Malfoy really didn't care about Slytherin at the moment, since the colour scheme was mostly a rich, blood red with gold trimming here and there. The carpeting on the floor was red with a gold fleur-de-lis design.

In the very centre of the room, pushed up against one tapestry-draped wall, was a four-poster bed big enough to fit four, fully grown men side-by-side. Midnight blue, satin sheets shimmered almost magically in the light of the fireplace across the room where Harry and Malfoy sat upon a loveseat.

“You're being terribly romantic,” Harry murmured as Malfoy slowly unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing smooth, sun-bronzed skin and a broad spectrum for kissing. Malfoy savoured the first few licks and nips to the juncture of Harry's neck, moving from the soft stretch of skin to the curve and dip of his collarbone. It was one of Harry's erogenous regions and Harry let out an unrestrained moan of pleasure.

“Don't make me sick. Only Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs are into that sentimental romantic bullock,” Malfoy finally replied when an impressive array of hickeys marred the skin of Harry's left shoulder. The right soon was equally matched. Harry pushed Malfoy away slightly and frowned at the older boy.

“What do you mean, sentimental romantic bullock? I happen to-” Harry was silenced when a slender digit covered his lips and the brunet glared up at Malfoy. Oh how he wished he could be silenced with a brush of those velvet lips.

Despite having fucked for nearly a year now, Harry and Malfoy's lips had never once been acquainted. Kissing meant intimacy. And this wasn't intimate. This wasn't love. It was fast, hard and angry fucking - an outlet for frustration that soon turned into a somewhat regular routine for them to release their pent-up whatever. Harry knew that it wasn't vaguely frustration though. To be more specific, unresolved sexual tension was more like it.

Soon enough, Harry found himself on his knees or on his back, crawling or sprawling for Malfoy. Open arms were an understatement. Open legs were understood.

As much as Harry hated the sound of it, he knew that he'd become the one thing he'd been hoping would never come about as a result of this little game they continued. He was Malfoy's personal whore. Slut. Boy-toy. Whatever you wanted to call him, Harry was it.

But not once did they kiss.

And Harry was sick of it. If it wasn't love, it wasn't to be.

Malfoy stared in disbelief as Harry pushed himself off the couch and began to button up his shirt again. One look at the hurt expression on Harry's face caused the lust-induced cloud over Malfoy's head to disperse and gave leeway for his brain-cogs to start whirring.

The room was empty, save to Malfoy and his thoughts. At Harry's departure, he found himself strangely pained in his chest.

Could this be?

It could, he decided.

If they were going to do this again, Malfoy was going to do it right.

No more fucking, but making love. No more teasing, but giving pleasure. No more fooling around, but being serious. No more arguing, but providing healthy debate.

No more punches or fighting, but warm embraces. No more scathing words, but loving and tender whispers. No more glares but longing glances. No more bullying, but support. No more jeopardizing each others potions, but helping each other to succeed. No more quarrelling for the best time for Quidditch practice, but sharing and helping both teams to improve.

No more hatred, no more dislike, no more animosity. It was time for a change.

Malfoy would do this right, and he planned to start it with a kiss.

What would happen afterwards, Malfoy hoped, would be what Harry wanted. For once, he didn't know what to do, much less, what he wanted. He hated this hopelessness. He would have to take action first.

Breakfast the next morning, was expected to be uneventful, as usual. Uneventful meant eating some hot scrambled eggs, with slightly burnt sausages (Harry actually liked it that way, and had informed Dobby), bacon, tomatoes, warm buttered toast and a variety of drinks from orange juice and coffee to pumpkin juice and tea. Uneventful meant greeting his usual mates around the Gryffindor table with the customary smile that usually graced his face (only on a good morning; a bad one was usually a scowl, indicative of a missed breakfast and a Potions lesson for the first class).

Uneventful meant grinning, despite his slight irritation, at the sometimes admittedly stupid antics the Gryffindor boys committed while they ate.

Uneventful meant Hermione either reading a book or chastising `Ronald!' for not studying or doing something completely inappropriate. Uneventful meant Ron doing something inappropriate, or stuffing his face silly with as much food as he could possibly fit on his plate (and eventually, mouth and stomach) at a given time.

Uneventful meant Neville nearly crapping his pants with worry over a forgotten `something' (because in the end, they never really found out what that something was, having no idea about what it could have been in the first place), or Dean and Seamus arguing over which Quidditch team is currently the best (to Ron's delight, the Chudley Cannons had defeated the Holyhead Harpies, which had sparked a sexist riot about inequalities between the male and female sex, but that was today, and Harry expected Puddlemere United to, unfortunately for Ron, knock the Cannons out of the World Cup in a few weeks).

Uneventful meant glaring at Malfoy from the Gryffindor table, without killing each other (or in their case now, raping each other with their eyes - Malfoy had become accustomed to it and took it all in stride, while Harry still `stumbled' while drinking his morning pumpkin juice. Very much like the embarrassing situation with Cho Chang in fourth year).

Uneventful meant the owl-post coming in with carefully bombarded copies of The Daily Prophet (unfortunately for Neville, as usual, the tawny, brown owl that dropped off his mail was extremely clumsy AND buggered the poor boy for some of his bacon incessantly). Uneventful meant either reading with disdain or pride (it was usually the former), or ignoring whatever was written in the Daily Prophet's headlining article that day. Usually, it was about Harry Potter (at that point, Harry had grown immune to the `news' that the blasphemous paper brought about, but he had to admit, it did rather sting at times, considering that the majority of all `information' there was complete and utter bullock).

Uneventful meant usual and usual meant normal.

Today, something else came in the owl-post. Today was not normal. Today was not usual. Therefore, today was most certainly not uneventful, as the arrival of an immaculately wrapped package dropped perfectly above his napkin caused people in the surrounding vicinity to stare. Stare! At him!

Usually the combination of staring and Harry Potter, with the conjunction of at between them meant something better left alone. It was bad, for Harry, at least.

“You gonna open it, mate, or are you expecting a Monster book of Monsters or something?” Ron joked, actually speaking without a full mouth for once. His next forkful of eggs was held in his hand, forgotten, but his face was expectant.

“Or something,” Harry replied, glancing down at the brown wrapping of the package. It was tied with a simple string and more importantly, Harry noticed, there was no note attached. Sucking in a breath, because really, his experience with these types of things weren't exactly favourable, Harry screwed his eyes shut and unwrapped the paper hurriedly.

“Oh, how delightful. Can I borrow it when you're done?” Hermione immediately piped up with a rather pleased tone of voice, causing Harry to open his eyes and stare at the present before him in surprise.

“It's not a bomb?” Harry asked, causing Hermione to snort, and Ron to raise an eyebrow. The red-head merely shrugged and resumed eating in his peaceful, ignorant bliss.

Hermione rolled her eyes in reply, “Last I checked, CD-players weren't bombs. Unless you're expecting a complete genius to implant a bomb-”

As Harry picked up the silver-coloured CD-player, a tiny slip of parchment fluttered out from beneath it, and Harry caught sight of the tiny, impeccable scrawl of Malfoy's hand.

Please forgive me. I can't stop loving you.

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Harry butt in immediately, but upon seeing Hermione's curious (and inquisitive) scrutiny, Harry blushed and made a cover-up story about how he was paranoid about receiving mail nowadays (Hermione understood what he meant and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. Ever since the Rita Skeeter incident two years prior to this, when Hermione had received that rather unfortunate mail that leaked Bubotuber Pus, she'd scanned her mail for anything potentially malicious).

Harry couldn't help but notice that they were lyrics and muggle lyrics, no less. Oh well. If Malfoy thought that using muggles to win him over was going to work - Harry shot Malfoy a filthy glare where he sat at the Slytherin table - he was sorely mistaken. Still, he planned to listen to the CD.

Potions was the first class of the day, so Harry supposed that since he hadn't missed breakfast, it would be an alright day. Alright, considering that this morning hadn't started in the usual, uneventful manner. Snape was being his usual snarky, up-the-arse git, looming over students and glooming in his own dark, unique way. Harry wondered if Cheering Charms were ineffective against extremely moody Potion Masters.

`Probably,' he thought glumly as fifteen more rubies were subtracted from the Gryffindor point tally, thanks to Neville's unfortunate accident. The boy had managed to get into this year's Potions class somehow, yet no class was a normal class without Neville blowing something up, always on accident, of course.

Harry sighed and set to work. Beside him sat Draco Malfoy, and this was only due to the interventions of one slimy git, who shall remain unnamed. Each person was seated in pairs, yet they were doing their own individual work (it was expected that independence wasn't too hard for them, especially since this was now their 6th year). He couldn't seem to concentrate, not with Malfoy in such close proximity to him.

Harry stared down absentmindedly at the assortment of roots he was meant to be slicing and dicing for today's assignment. His fingers moved diligently, yet his eyes gazed down unseeingly at his work.

“Potter!”

Harry glanced up sharply, and instantly regretted it when a painful, stinging sensation began to throb in his left index finger. He looked down in a moment of shock, mouth forming an `O' before he caught sight of the blood.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed, Mr. Potter. Come here,” Snape murmured softly. He stepped forwards, wand held upright. It looked as if he was about to attack him, so naturally, instead of coming to him, Harry backed away.

“Give it here,” Malfoy instantly butted in, grabbing Harry's bleeding digit and promptly lowering his mouth onto it. Harry, as well as a good dozen other students and one teacher, stared on in surprise. Shock, was probably a better word. Malfoy licked the tip one last time, sure it was clear of all blood, and by the time it was healed with a quick spell and he was back to simmering his potion, the class had finally recovered from the initial shock.

“I…” Harry began, turning back to his assorted roots with a distinct flush across his cheeks. “I…”

“You don't have to thank me,” Malfoy cut in, trying his best to sound sincere, yet the smirk on his face gave Harry the impression of an extremely smug child.

“I wasn't going to thank you, bastard. Shut up.”

Harry ignored Malfoy for the rest of the lesson. Or rather, perhaps it had been the other way around. Either way, neither of them spoke until Snape declared it was times up and that they'd better get the hell out of his classroom before he decided to keep them back for cleaning.

The sound of Harry's head connecting with the table brought Hermione's attention away from her book. She glanced up, a little annoyed at the distraction, but upon seeing the expression of anguish on his face, she promptly closed her book and went to comfort him.

“Something you want to tell me?” the brunette asked softly, gently stroking the nape of Harry's neck. The dark-haired boy shook his head and sniffed slightly when his parchment got stuck to his forehead.

“Damn ink,” Harry grumbled, raising his head off the table to glare down at the now ink-blotched essay with irritation. Hermione had to stifle a giggle when she saw his handwriting printed backwards on his forehead and nose.

“Scourgify,” she uttered, and with a wave of her wand in tandem with the incantation, the ink smudges on his face disappeared. She quirked her lip as she looked down at his ruined homework, but a quick tap of her wand got rid of that problem.

“Thanks,” he muttered, rubbing his eye tiredly. He held back a large yawn as Hermione stared at him expectantly. There was a moment's pause between them before the silence was broken in the form of Ronald Weasley.

“Oi Harry! Fancy a quick ride around the pitch?” the red-haired male asked, clapping his best mate on the back. Hermione bristled and snorted at the suggestion.

“Honesty Ron, shouldn't you be studying?” she asked with a hint of annoyance. She turned to Harry immediately and shot him a reprimanding look. “You should be studying. Despite what you say about those study sessions, you don't seem to be getting any smarter.”

Harry shot her an indignant look while Ron guffawed and patted Hermione's head gently. “S'okay, `Mione. We'll be back for dinner.”

“Which is in an hour,” she pointed out, her lips thinning. Upon glancing between the two hopeful faces of her best friends, she sighed and waved her hand in defeat, “Fine. Go. But don't blame me if you fail your studies.”

“We won't fail,” Harry replied cheekily, his tongue poking out slightly. Hermione snorted at him and Ron waved her goodbye as he pushed Harry out the portrait door. Once out on the Quidditch pitch, brooms in hand, the two friends kicked off from the dirt and grass, swiftly accelerating to a suitable height.

Ron watched Harry carefully, watched as his friend made dips and curves and a loop-de-loop around the small arena. Occasionally, Harry would scare Ron by dropping off his broom, only to have himself hang by his entwined ankles.

“Don't DO that!” Ron shouted after the third heart attack. Harry merely smiled from his position upside down and promptly swung himself upright again, glasses slightly askew.

After an hour or so, the pair circled around the Quidditch pitch slowly, savouring the gentle caresses of the evening air and welcome lull of the setting sun on their heated skin. Once they touched down, Harry volunteered to go put the brooms back in the shed and urged Ron to hurry onto have dinner. After only a moment of convincing, Ron made his way back inside the castle to the Great Hall.

Harry returned the brooms to the shed and glanced around. The boys' shower room was just off to the side and he figured that a quick shower would do him good, especially since he smelt of sweat. He stripped off his robes, clothes and underwear and placed them off to one side. He tucked his wand into the folds of his black robe and hurried under one of the cubicles.

Once the water was going, the warm spray cast a soothing remedy on his aching muscles. He shifted his shoulders backwards and rubbed his stiff arms until he could feel them again. Harry closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to wander.

Wonder what's for dinner. Shepard's Pie? Steak? Pot roast? Ooh, I hope they have fried chicken. I'm in the mood for chicken. Ron likes fried chicken.

Harry ducked his head under the water and allowed his hair to soak till the normally unruly mess was flat against his skull. Tendrils of hair plastered themselves to his face and the nape of his neck.

Malfoy doesn't.

Harry scowled to himself as he lathered soap on his arms and chest, rubbing furiously until his skin was raw with a reddish tinge.

To hell with what Malfoy thinks. It doesn't matter to him. It shouldn't matter to me what happens to Malfoy. Fuck Malfoy.

Ooh, but it doesn't work that way, Harry corrected himself, Malfoy does the fucking and I don't complain. Malfoy does a good job of being on top. Makes me come every time…

Before Harry knew it, the once flaccid member on his person was half-hard from thoughts of Malfoy licking and sucking on his skin, biting and leaving marks, spreading his arse cheeks apart and lapping up his very essence. He moaned as images flooded his mind, of Malfoy taking him from above or behind, pushing into his tight heat and thrusting so hard, Harry wouldn't have known the day of the week if Hermione had branded it onto his forehead.

Harry's head lolled about on his shoulders as his hand slowly trailed downwards and gripped his slowly growing erection and gently tugged upwards. Within seconds, he'd worked up a rather intense rhythm, his cock already weeping pre-cum. The white spunk beaded the red tip and as it became too heavy to remain as a single, opalescent droplet, it slowly pulsed out steadily and trailed to the floor.

More thoughts of Malfoy. Blond. Grey eyes. Alabaster skin. Straight nose, slightly pointy chin, slender but lean and extremely fit. Not too large cock, but by no means small. Never. Enough to hurt Harry upon penetration, but big enough to keep him howling wherever they did the deed.

Harry continued to pump, thrusting into his hand with abandon. A low whine rumbled at the back of his throat as his eyes fluttered shut, and shit, he was so close!

The next thing a surprised Harry knew was someone pressing against his back, one hand on his hip and another pushing away his stained hands to grasp his straining cock. It didn't even register that there was another person behind him until his head lolled back onto said person's shoulders. Harry knew who it was without opening his eyes and immediately wanted to get away.

The feel of the chest and lean stomach pressed against his back was familiar. The slender digits and large hand that tugged and stroked at his dick was familiar.

And the not too large, but certainly not small erection pressed up against the crack of his arse was most definitely familiar. Harry groaned as the other male's cock ground into his butt quite nicely, slipping in just inside the crack and rubbing against his entrance.

Harry's eyes widened with shock when he remembered that he was still meant to be angry at Malfoy. He growled, pivoting swiftly where he stood, which in itself was a remarkable feat considering that the tiled floor beneath them was slippery with water and suds.

“SOD OFF!” he yelled, giving the taller boy a forceful push to his chest. Malfoy stumbled but did not fall. Harry glared hard at him, only a mere arm length away. Fury and irritation pulsed through his body in waves. To Malfoy, Harry's thin body was shaking with anger, his emerald green eyes flashing with disgust.

How dare he! How DARE Malfoy touch him!

Harry made a move to step away from the platinum blond, only to be stopped when a slender arm blocked his course. Harry stared at the impediment to his destination (his clothes and then the Great Hall, if he could calm himself down enough for dinner), wishing very much to just break the damn thing and be on his way.

“Harry, I'm sorry.”

“Fucking prove it, you bloody wanker!” Harry seethed, the hairs on his body bristling. Malfoy couldn't help it and smirked slightly at Harry's choice of words. “Argh! You're such a jerk!”

Malfoy didn't budge, so Harry took it upon himself to make the first move. He drew his right hand back in a tight fist and sent it careening towards Malfoy's jaw. It met, connected and both boys staggered from the blow. Harry winced when he heard a quiet crack and then the inevitable sting took over from his red knuckles. He winced as he shook his hand to dissipate the pain.

Malfoy didn't fall, but he had been pushed back considerably far, even by Harry's smaller frame. He flinched as he touched his sore jaw but, like a moth drawn to a bright flame, he moved closer yet again. Already, the redness on Malfoy's jaw was turning from an ugly red to almost purple-black.

Harry's eyes narrowed, chin lifted defiantly as he stared Malfoy down. For a second, neither of them moved.

And then the next, Harry was pushed up painfully against the wall, the mixture of stone and tiles scratching at his pale, abrasion-free skin. Harry, despite looking calm on the outside, was a frenzy on the inside. How? He had left Malfoy last night and just now, he'd punched him in the jaw.

“That's not very nice, Potter,” Malfoy hissed, stormy-grey eyes flashing dangerously, before taking on a subtle glint. His expression relaxed, almost peaceful and his grip on Harry's body loosened. Harry was about to take the opportunity to push Malfoy away, when lips pressed against lips and his heart went blank yet again.

Harry's once panicked mind-gone tranquil, yet again found reason to be back in a state of emergency. Why was Malfoy being so gentle?

WHY was MALFOY kissing him?Kissing!

It was his first kiss with Malfoy. First. Kiss. Malfoy.

Harry blinked in surprise and made a noise of protest from the back of his throat. Malfoy's lips were soft and wet. It wasn't that he was a sloppy kisser, but from the sucker-punch thrown his way, as well as the spray of water, Harry supposed that Malfoy was trying his best to be gentle so as to not hurt himself.

The brunet made a move to push the older boy away, helpless hands on his chest in an attempt to make a distance between them. But Malfoy, once again, did not budge. He pressed his lips more forcibly onto Harry's as one hand trailed down between them to grasp both Harry's hands in his own, while the other went to Harry's neck.

Harry shuddered as he felt slender digits stroking his pulse-point, his Adam's apple and then the dip in his collar, were tender flesh reigned - where Malfoy had bitten him, suckled him, licked him so, SO many times in the midst of angry, frustrated fucking.

And the spell was broken.

“I TOLD YOU TO FUCK OFF!” Harry screamed, pushing Malfoy back with all the strength he could muster. This time, Malfoy did fall indeed. He staggered and fell with a loud thump. As Harry made an attempt to run, Malfoy grabbed his ankle with seeker-like speed and precision, and tugged the younger boy down.

Harry winced in pain as he felt his body connect with the floor and shit his ankle was stinging like hell! He'd probably sprained it, thanks to that PRAT!

“Malfoy!” Harry hissed angrily, glaring venom at the blond who moved closer yet. Harry backed away as much as he could while on the floor, but Malfoy had grabbed him and pushed him back into the shower stall. “What the bloody fu-”

Again, lips were on his own, silencing him effectively. His ankle hurt, his wrist, where Malfoy had grabbed him, hurt and he was sure he'd gotten bruises on his ribs where he'd tried to break his fall. The tiled wall behind him was all that held him up, his body protesting in pain as Malfoy kissed him harder.

Harry wasn't down for the count just yet. He kicked Malfoy off him and struggled to get up. Malfoy aimed a punch to the back of his knee as he attempted to stand and he tottered dangerously close to the wall and collapsed. He cried out in pain as the floor scraped his palms, elbows and knees.

“What do you want from me?” Harry screamed, whirling around from his position on the floor to see Malfoy heaving an almost painful breath. The bruise was more visible on his face and Harry felt pleasure in seeing the boy in pain.

“You. I want you,” Malfoy told him icily. Really, Harry would have laughed at the situation. Somehow despite the pain they had caused each other, BOTH were stark naked and Harry could see they were both very much turned on.

Harry snorted and flipped Malfoy his middle finger. “Yeah right, you bloody piece of shit. You just want to fuck me again, don't you?”

Despite himself, Harry had managed to stand up rather sorely and moved back towards Malfoy. He sneered down at the blond before punching him again, this time on the opposite cheek. Malfoy careened towards the floor and fell onto his back. Harry took this chance to straddle the blond and grabbed him by the flesh of his neck.

“You want this, do you MALFOY?” Harry leered, his grip on the other boy's neck tightening. Malfoy was beginning to turn red and then purple, so Harry let him go. “Do you want this?”

Malfoy's eyes met his readily. “Yes.”

“You asked for it.”

The next thing Malfoy knew, he was being punched repeatedly in the face. He was sure he'd broken his nose or something, if the sickening crack and dripping blood was any indication of it - and bloody hell, it hurt! However, although he felt as if his face was on fire, not once did Malfoy fight back. He allowed himself to be beaten, his face bruised and broken. He allowed Harry this one chance to release his own frustration in a way that wasn't sex.

“I fucking hate you,” Harry spat, his lip curled in disgust, before he smiled almost eerily and pressed his lips against Malfoy's. He came up for air once again and pressed his forehead against the blood and sweat on his lover's. “I hate you.”

Malfoy nodded shakily, and reached one hand out tenderly to brush some strands of hair away from Harry's face. The tenderness of the action seemed to surprise the both of them before Harry slapped his hand away and kissed him.

“Make love to me, Malfoy. That's all I want.”

Malfoy didn't have to think. He would start this over again, the right way. He felt Harry reach up to cup some water from the spray beside them and then, ordering Malfoy to close his eyes, he gently dripped it onto his face. Malfoy felt the blood, sweat and tears caking his skin begin to soothingly be wiped off. His nose stung painfully and was sure that he would have to pay Madam Pomfrey a visit for a solution.

He pushed Harry away for a moment and left, before returning with his wand. He didn't know how to fix broken bones, so he wasn't going to blotch this up. He'd leave that to the school matron.

“Can I touch you Harry?” Malfoy asked quietly, standing with his head hung and staring at the blood-stained floor beneath them. Harry made a small noise of affirmation and Malfoy's shaking hands grasped his shoulders. Harry was sure that Malfoy had winced when their skin made contact, but didn't take anymore notice of it.

The two stood there awkwardly, Malfoy's hands on his wet shoulders. For a moment, neither one of them knew what to do. It was funny, really. All this time they had been fucking, only one kiss (which was today) and now, they were standing there, staring at each other like the awkward teens they had come to realize they were.

“Erm…what now?” Harry asked when silence reigned. Malfoy shrugged and leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against Harry's. For a moment, they both felt a trickle of water drip down from where their hair was meshed together, down onto their noses.

Malfoy closed his eyes and breathed in what he identified to be simply Harry. He spoke softly, as if someone was listening to their conversation that very moment.

“I don't know,” a pause, and then, “Can I hold you, Harry?”

Harry didn't speak as he wrapped his arms around Malfoy's waist and the two pressed clammy and sweaty skin against each other. Again, it was awkward. Harry could feel sharp hipbones against his own protruding hips. Malfoy was all planes and angles. He had a very angular chin and slender body, almost to the point that there wasn't an unhealthy ounce of fat on him. Harry too, was extremely thin, but thanks to Mrs. Weasley's and Hogwart's feeding, he'd at least fattened up to a healthy weight.

Harry shivered as a slight breeze passed over their naked forms. He ignored the arousal that swept through his body, as well as the obvious erection from Malfoy. The blond suddenly shifted and Harry found himself staring clearly into grey eyes yet again.

“Can I kiss you, Harry?”

Harry made a soft noise from the back of his throat, a shaky nod, and Malfoy's lips were against his again. Slowly, tentatively, like the first touch of two shy virgins. Good God, he could actually feel himself blushing!

And his heart! Oh, calm down, he told it, many, many times. It was racing to a completely unknown rhythm, yet as he pressed himself against Malfoy, and felt lips shyly touch his own, he realized that his heartbeat was not a rhythm, but a steady beat that matched Malfoy's.

Together.

Slowly, they pushed apart and Harry had to avert his eyes from Malfoy's as soon as he had sighted the pink cheeks of the Slytherin.

“Again,” Harry whispered, stroking the bruised cheek of Malfoy's. He leaned in and gently peppered kisses along the older boy's jaw. Harry had never been so aware of the situation before.

Whenever they had fucked, it was merely, “Hi,”, a few grunts here and there and then a quick “See you later”.

Whenever they had fucked, it was a rough grab, a smooth stroke, quick, fast and just long enough for them to get off, but not be late for class.

Whenever they had fucked, their eyes never met in the throes of passion, nor, for that matter, had their lips.

Harry had never been so goddamn aware of every glance, every touch, every breath that Malfoy took. And every time he would, Harry could feel the very feeling in his stomach, the one that had started this whole `mess', start to unfurl and grow.

The brunet licked Malfoy's busted lip, swollen from the punches and kisses, hot with pain, not pleasure. But he'd fix that soon enough. Harry whispered quiet `sorry's' and hushed `please forgive me's' as his lips gently caressed Malfoy's lovingly. A tender peck to Malfoy's closed lips sealed the deal before Harry coaxed the blond's lips open and made quick work of their tongues.

Malfoy moaned as he felt Harry take control of their kiss. Despite the pain of it, Malfoy felt so much pleasure, and smiled against Harry's lips.

There was one thing that Malfoy wanted to say to Harry. He wasn't sure if he was ready to say it though, so this would have to suffice for now.

“Can I make love to you, Harry?”

A strangled cry pulled Malfoy towards Harry, as the latter pushed their lips together yet again, as if Malfoy would disappear if he didn't kiss him. He didn't want this to be another hopeless dream. He would make sure of it.

What seemed to be an eternity later, found Harry and Draco nestled in each other's arms in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione had given Harry the longest lecture of his life for not only skipping dinner, but breaking his promise to come back on time. Harry didn't recall making such a promise (Hermione had probably interpreted it as such), because his mind was too busy remembering how Draco had taken him.

It was as if it was their first time together. Not even their first `fuck-session' had been as explosive as when Draco had actually touched him tenderly and kissed him and worshiped his body. Harry had made sure to do the same.

Draco had to, of course, go to the Hospital Wing, but Harry was there to defend him, which had shocked the matron, Madam Pomfrey. She'd never seen two supposed rivals being so friendly with each other, especially a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, that she couldn't bring herself to ask how such injuries (on both of them) had come about.

Harry buried his head into the crook of Draco's neck and sighed contentedly. Draco made a quiet hum of approvement and stroked the mess of hair on Harry's head. When Harry glanced up to smile at Draco, he felt lips on his head, his forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheeks, his chin and finally, his lips.

He could feel both of their smiles melding against each other. Draco was happy, causing Harry's heart to flutter with pride, and then that something in his stomach caused it to do somersaults and flips and loop-de-loops. Harry almost felt like he were on a broomstick (because really, he'd never been on a muggle rollercoaster before, but he supposed the experience was the same).

As he voiced this opinion, Draco laughed and kissed him again. Surprisingly, Draco had been on a muggle rollercoaster and promptly informed Harry that being on a broom was far more exhilarating, especially since they had control over whatever ups, downs and twirls they would use to achieve their means.

Oddly enough, Harry felt tears spring to his eyes when Draco had said that. He felt as if he had understood exactly what Draco had meant.

Green eyes met grey, and for the first time, Harry could name that something that caused him to become this way. Draco leaned in again, a smile on his now healed lips.

“Can I love you, Harry?”

Harry didn't answer, but pressed his lips against Draco's and finally, he whispered, “Yes. Forever?”

Draco smiled, “And a day.”

The End

Rice-Ball247: Remember, if you liked my 'potion', please tell me so! Oh and -pops champagne- yay for my first Drarry!