Broken Toy

Warnings: Smut, language, angst, err and a piece of het…
Author's Notes:
Want something scary? At least a little bit? *g* Shuddered a bit when I wrote the first part of this chap.

And don’t be angry with me when you read the second part. It had to be this way… Sorry. But I can reassure you, nothing’s quite the way it seems…

Enjoy!

ETA: Thanks for your comment, arealdeal, I changed the phrase in chap 8 right away!

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Chapter Ten

Draco stretched long and extensively. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this relaxed. The hot sun, burning down upon him all afternoon, had heated his body. What a luxury, lying on his back in the soft grass with the two dogs and a cool drink as companions. Relishing his new, unfamiliar freedom, he let out a contended sigh.

He was happy.

It just felt good to take a deep breath, enjoying the warm, sweet scent of green grass in his nostrils. It was fun to reach out and caress the soft fur of the dogs curled up near him. And he couldn’t get enough of the sight of the bright sky above him. How could he have possibly forgotten about how blue a summer sky could be? What pleasure it gave him to watch the progress of the few white clouds up there, changing their form, moving ever so slowly.

He scratched his throat casually. Something had been tickling his skin all throughout the early afternoon.

Stifling a yawn, he turned over lazily to lie upon his stomach. They had spent a peaceful afternoon yesterday. Potter had been out for a while. The dinner he presented when he returned was simple, but delicious. Draco still wondered how Potter had been able to prepare it all by himself. Mixed green salad with a few pieces of chicken breast, spiced so deliciously it still made his mouth water when thinking about it. Just exactly what you wanted on a hot summer night like this…

Draco had removed his shirt some time earlier. The grass he was lying upon was soft, but the ground beneath felt hard, so he propped up the shirt under his chin to get himself into a more comfortable position. If it wasn’t for this annoying tickling on his throat, he would feel quite all right.

Before Potter had gone off to work this morning, he had cast him an earnest look. If Draco hadn’t known better, he would have thought there was anxiety in Potter’s emerald eyes. “Are you all right?”

The question had bewildered Draco, but at the same time he had been pleased about it. Potter? Concerned about his welfare? Cool!

Obviously Draco had made an idiotic face, for Potter had felt obliged to specify his query. And he had hesitated in doing so, as if he had been embarrassed. ”I mean… Do you feel all right?”

Why the hell shouldn’t he? He had slept long and well, had an excellent breakfast, and expected to have a leisurely day.

“Do you miss anything? Do you need anything?”

Hm. Draco managed to withhold his smirk at the last minute. Did he miss or need anything? Come to think of it, there were a few things… A repetition of their hot kisses, maybe? Or another chance to tear Perfect Potter’s shirt to pieces? Or, even better, to jerk Perfect Potter’s pants down his well-shaped bum, grab his penis and give him the most amazing blow job Potter had ever experienced in his perfect life.

Potter’s pleasant voice had sobered Draco up at once. “It’s the second day without your -- BJ. I just wondered…. Do you feel some kind of … err… withdrawal? Do you feel sick, cold, hot, hurt, anything?”

“Ah, no!” Draco had shrugged casually. “It’s just BJ, you know? Beautification Potion. It’s part of the contract. We have to take it to fulfill it. Our good looks,” and he had laughed out loud, “have to be guaranteed, to get and satisfy as many customers as possible. And to earn Pickles as much money as possible, of course. That’s all.” Draco had repeated his laughter. “What did you think would happen? That we’d change into old harpies the minute we’re without it? Probably I’ll get one or two pimples, and that’s it.”

Potter hadn’t seemed convinced, but he hadn’t argued. Just before leaving for good, he had given him a task for today. Potter had wanted him to make a list of every pimp he knew on the Restricted Corner - precisely, please. And please not to forget their “employees”. And where they stayed, exactly. A map would be welcomed, too. Potter would be gone the whole day, and he wanted to “test Draco’s memories”.

Draco’s heart had started to beat at double time. What if…?

The drawling voice inside his head had been jubilant. Justice. Vengeance. Pickles would get what he deserved. Just like Slughorn. Potter’s behaviour had been too obvious. Any information Draco could volunteer would lead to the arrest of Pickles and his blasted chums. And he was too eager to spill every name he knew. It took less than the morning to write down a correct, complete list. Pimps, whores, occupations, possible hideouts. Everything. It had been fun to draw up the list and the map. Draco had relished every line he wrote down.

A warm summer breeze caressed his back. If he was able to sunbathe like this every day, he was sure to have a golden tan in no time.

Scratching his left cheek, Draco’s heart sank. Potter had wanted a list of every pimp, not just Pickles. Maybe he had rejoiced too early. Maybe Perfect Potter really wanted just to test his memories, to keep him occupied during the day.

Lost in thought, he scratched his left calf with his right foot. Yes. Now he was sure. The arrest of Slughorn had been extraordinary. But to arrest a whole bunch of pimps? Potter couldn’t have that much influence. He was Perfect Potter, but to initiate a raid? No.

Something on his buttocks annoyed him, and he scratched himself once more.

The happiness was gone, just as if somebody had extinguished a candle. No. Potter didn’t have a special reason for asking. He wasn’t after information, he simply wanted Draco to be engaged with something.

His throat felt dry all of a sudden, and his skin tensed a bit. He shifted, feeling more uncomfortable every second. No wonder, lying around in the sun during the noon hours. Draco felt like an idiot. Sunbathing when the heat was at its climax, for crying out loud.

He reached out for his drink, but his hand never made contact with the glass.

There was a pimple on his hand.

A big, red, ugly pimple, shining white with pus on top. And it looked as if it was ready to burst.

It wasn’t the only one. There was another one on his wrist, looking even uglier than the first. He could make out about five more on his lower arm. And more on his upper arm, his shoulder, his chest, the other arm. Terrified, he jerked up into a sitting position and wriggled out of his jeans. He knew what he would find before the clothes came down. His legs were literally blotched with red pimples. There were dozens of them, in all possible shapes and sizes, and some were still growing. Most of them seemed to be ready to burst.

Draco didn’t want to, but he had to know. Hands shaking violently, he reached for his face. Pimples. Everywhere on his cheeks, nose, chin, forehead. Even on his eyelids. And his lips.

He felt sick. But his stomach didn’t react. It didn’t give him the relief he needed so badly.

Tears shot into his swollen eyes; his head moved to and fro in a frenzy. Wasn’t there anybody, anything that could help him?

That was when the top of the first pimple broke.

He whimpered.

Pus and blood were gushing out of the boil, now as big as a pea, leaving an ugly crater. His whimpers turned to helpless sobbing. The second boil exploded, spraying its slimy red contents everywhere. The smell was disgusting.

Draco was bawling helplessly like a small child, not able to move. It seemed like every pore of his body was oozing out liquid. He was bathed in it, and the flow didn’t seem to stop.

With the rest of willpower left in him he turned around. He had to get help. Now. He didn’t know where to get help, or what exactly to do. But he had to move. He had to get away.

Crawling on hands and knees, he tried to reach the house. He tried to scream. Maybe one of the twins was around? But he shut his lips tight at once; the pus running into his mouth was revolting.

His vision blurred. The repellent liquid was filling his eyes, making him blink without success.

At last he was able to retch, and he choked out everything his stomach held. When nothing more was left, he continued retching, but just some sour fluid was forced out, burning his gullet.

With a last effort he tried to move on, but his body hurt too much.

A tiny whimper and he simply sank down. He was thankful when he fainted.

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Strawberries.

Draco was lying in a strawberry field, and Harry was right beside him. It was a wonderful summer day, and Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this relaxed. The hot sun, burning down upon them all afternoon, had heated their bodies. Draco sighed deeply.

He could feel Harry’s tender touch on his hair. He sighed again when he felt Harry’s soft lips placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. He was happy.

He stretched his body luxuriantly. Harry was speaking gently to him, and he was relishing every word. Regardless what Harry said, Draco could listen to the pleasant timbre of the voice endlessly.

“Forgive me…”

Oh, yes. Draco would forgive everything, as long as the hand continued to stroke his hair.

“I shouldn’t have listened to you this morning. I should have acted upon my instincts. I knew this wouldn’t be easy. It couldn’t be.”

What?

“But now everything will be all right again. You will see. Honestly. I promise. I’ll see to it. But, just, please… please, open your eyes again… Please…”

Draco’s eyes flew open.

He was lying on the cold kitchen floor. No. That wasn’t right. He was lying in Potter’s arms on the kitchen floor. Potter’s anxious eyes were boring into his, pleading. Draco’s head jerked around. A heap of smashed strawberries was lying right beside him, an empty paper bag next to it. Obviously someone had flung a bag with strawberries to the ground… Why on earth…

Recollection hit Draco like a fist in his face. After his skin had dissolved into a mass of pus and blood, he had made it to the kitchen. Then he must have fainted.

A hand was being laid cautiously on his forehead. The cool touch gave comfort, and Draco relaxed his furrowed brow the very instant. His brow? Heavens!!!

At once Draco wriggled out of Potter’s embrace. Horrified he touched his face.

No pimples. No boils. No blood. No pus.

Nothing. Just the skin on his face. It felt a little bit rougher than usual, though.

“Don’t worry.” Potter’s voice made Draco flinch. “It’s all gone. The mess, I mean. Err, the…you know.” Draco could only stare at Potter.

“Yesterday – you know I was away for a short while, yes?” Draco nodded faintly. “Well, I took the BJ to the Ministry. Sorry, but I was convinced there had to be some unwelcome side effects in case of withdrawal. They worked on it the whole night, trying to find out what’s it all about. I’m not satisfied they found out everything, so they are still on it. But at least they could separate the ingredients; some can be added to a very strong beautification potion, and there are two ingredients we still can’t classify. The rest belongs to the Popping Pocks Potion, though the potion was slightly altered. You know about Popping Pocks?” Popping what? Draco shook his head weakly.

“Popping Pocks, in the combination we found, will turn your whole body into a mass of abscesses of various stages. Literature says it’s highly dangerous, you can bleed to -- never mind that now.” Draco nodded in assent. He didn’t want to imagine any further stages of Popping Pocks. Potter went on.

“We brewed an anti-potion as soon as it was evident that the Popping Pocks Potion would take effect when the whole mixture was withdrawn. So it seems it had been a good idea to return home as soon as I held the potion in my hands, regardless of what you’ve said about feeling good this morning. And it seems it worked out nicely... I stuffed it into your mouth as soon as I found you. - Do you think you can get up?” Nothing was left of the anxious man who had been caressing his hair and his face. Faintly, Draco nodded.

He accepted the hand of a reserved Potter to help him up. He staggered a little when he was led into his bedroom. And he readily agreed that he needed some rest now.

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Draco slept all through the afternoon and night. When he awoke, he felt like he had been reborn. He felt almost enthusiastic when he went down for breakfast.

After about five minutes, he felt highly irritated. Potter treated him like a sick person. And Draco detested it. It was cool to be looked after, but not in this way. He wasn’t old and fragile!

Draco was glad when Potter finally went off to work. He sulked a little, and moved aimlessly about the house.

“Now what the fuck are you doing?” Draco was startled by the well-known, drawling voice. “What kind of dimwit are you?”

Draco stopped his aimless roaming and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Are you blind, deaf, retarded, or what? And you want to be a wizard again?” The arrogant, cool voice continued to ridicule him. “Not to speak of wanting to call yourself a Malfoy?”

Draco flinched.

“No Malfoy acts like such a miserable, complete fool. So get yourself together, man! Didn’t your lovely little brain realize the heap of smashed fruit? Stupid git! Potter was all agitated when he found you in the mess you produced. His pathetic Gryffindor heart reacted to the embarrassing state you put yourself in. And if it’s only pity, WHO THE FUCK CARES? You’ve got an advantage. Now, go and get your wretched little ass into the bath and get yourself presentable.”

Draco spent the whole day bathing, filing his fingernails, brushing his hair. And he waited expectantly for two hours for Potter to return from work.

He settled down in the garden accompanied by Jack and Max, the two dogs. Although they were eying him all the time, he never moved. There wasn’t any time for playing now. He couldn’t afford to be all sweaty when Potter returned.

At last, Jack and Max sprang up simultaneously, fangs bared, as if in laughter. Almost as fast, Draco got up. Potter was back home!

Of course, Draco took some extra time to enter the French windows in the living room. He was just a bit behind the pack. He had planned a spectacular welcome. His skin was heated by the sun, and he was proud to notice that at last his tan looked a little bit healthier than before. And of course he had removed his shirt…

His chest held out, presenting his erect rosy nipples, Draco marched into the living room. He was sure Potter would react in some way or the other to his appearance. Before he entered, he made sure his newly bought shorts were pulled down to expose a part of his hipbones.

It felt like a slap to his face.

On the sofa, on their sofa, Potter was sitting. Directly beside him, he saw a girl with astonishingly red hair. Her curls were sprawled everywhere; Potter’s face was hidden behind the redhead.

Draco instinctively backed away. He gave out two low, short commands. Silently he left the room, heading with determined strides towards the woods, the dogs at his heels.

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After an hour of strenuous walking, not thinking about anything, Draco entered the house by the front door. He held his breath. Not a sound could be heard. Well, snogging didn’t produce much noise, did it?

He went straight into the kitchen. First he filled up bowls with fresh water for the dogs. They would be thirsty after such a forced walk in the oppressive, hot air. Draco poured himself a glass of milk. Thoughtfully, he watched the two animals lapping up their refreshment. If the happy couple was somewhere in the living room, he didn’t want to disturb them during whatever activity they were occupied with. And he definitely didn’t have the slightest desire to meet the Weasel-girl again.

Best thing to do now was to go up to his bedroom and read a little. Or take a nap. Or whatever. Anything would be better than facing the two of them. Draco downed his glass of milk in one gulp. Still licking his lips, he hurried toward the stairs past the living room door. It was firmly closed. A stroke of good luck!

He climbed up the stairs without producing any sound, and crept silently by Harry’s bedroom towards his own room.

Funny that people, when they are walking past an open door, are forced to look inside it instinctively.

Harry’s bedroom door stood ajar as usual. No, not exactly. Usually it was just slightly opened, to let the dogs in and out. This time the door was opened wide, so Draco couldn’t help but have a perfect view of Harry’s generous double bed.

Draco’s brain took some time to figure out what his eyes were able to register at once. He froze immediately in his pace.

Flaming red curls were sprawled all over the white linen. A shock of jet-black hair was buried between full pale breasts with rosy, hard nipples. Masculine hands were groping the bedclothes on each side of freckled shoulders, almost clenched into fists. Tense shoulder blades were twitching, whilst muscular arms were propped up beside the girl’s face. The sun-tanned skin of the perfect back was glistening with sweat. A sheet of linen hid the upturned knees of the girl, and in between, Draco recognized a well-known, constant movement.

Hell, they were fucking!

What did he expect? The two of them sitting modestly on the sofa, holding hands, every now and then exchanging little, wet kisses?

Draco swallowed hard. He had fled instead of claiming his rights. What an idiot…

His hungry eyes took in every movement of the slow thrusts underneath the white sheet, hiding the lower part of Harry’s body. Draco could envision each muscle of Harry’s legs vividly, contracting with every forward push. The well-shaped arse was without doubt tight with tension.

All of Draco’s senses were on the alert. His ears took in restrained panting. He could make out Harry’s breathing; the wild, special gasping met the movement of the arse underneath the linen exactly. The unique, sweet odour of lovemaking was overwhelming.

Getting hard and wanting to make a lunge forward at the same time, Draco felt a burning heat rising up from his neck towards his face. This… mustn’t be.

This… simply mustn’t be!

Quick breath in, deep breath out. Draco tried to control himself by conscious breathing. But it didn’t help. His eyelids fluttered, and he wasn’t able to think coherently any longer. Soon his breathing met the rhythm of Harry’s, and Draco was moving his hips with Harry’s thrusts simultaneously.

Draco’s cock was pulsating painfully against his pants. This… mustn’t be! In front of his mind’s eye he could picture Potter’s hard cock gliding in and out a wet cunt at fast speed.

An all-consuming anger was flaming up. Draco wanted to puke, pull Harry up out of the bed by his damn black, messed up hair, beat him up for good, and jerk off at the same time. And he wanted to cry. Like a baby.

“He’s mine!!!”

Draco’s hands cramped into fists, restraining an urge to beat them against the bulge in his trousers. He bit his lower lip, hard.

Draco kept on focussing on the two moving bodies with despair, still taking in every movement of the thrusting pelvis. And suddenly he wished he was the one who was digging his nails into the muscular brown shoulders, wished he was receiving the powerful thrusts right inside of him, wished he was being touched on his face…

A well-formed female hand emerged slowly beneath the linen and started to stroke the tense muscles of Harry’s back. Fascinated, Draco followed the movement of the long delicate fingers as they increased their pressure on the smooth skin of Harry’s spine. Draco’s nostrils flared unconsciously when the long fingernails left small red traces on the perfect skin of the shoulder blades.

“HE’S MINE!”

Hypnotised, Draco watched the hand moving downwards along the curve of Harry’s back, drawing little circles along the way. He held his breath when the woman’s hand took hold of the white linen sheet and jerked it off the bed with an almost aggressive gesture.

Envisioning it and actually seeing it were two different matters.

The sight of Harry’s two perfectly shaped buttocks, moving rhythmically up and down between those wide-spread legs drove Draco almost insane. His transfixed gaze never wavered, and with each thrust of those luscious round cheeks, contracting forcefully as they were pushing forward again and again, Draco knew exactly how it would feel. How it would feel if he was the one lying beneath Harry.

Hate was flaring up. Now what about dragging this Weasel-woman out off the bed by her hair?

Draco could taste blood. He had been chewing his lower lip feverously to prevent himself from touching himself. But he couldn’t help moving his hips in the same rhythm as Harry pushing his groin powerfully up and down.

A new wave of hate rushed through his body when he saw the hand of the woman grabbing for one of Harry’s cheeks, squeezing it hard.

Draco’s eyes watered when the speed of Harry’s thrusts instantly increased.

YES.

Draco felt the sensation of tension building up, he knew there wasn’t much time left, Harry was coming, oh yes, he was coming… Draco’s fingernails were digging into his palms until it hurt.

A deep, agonized moan forced Draco to tear his eyes off the sun-tanned arse.

He didn’t know when the woman’s other hand had emerged from nowhere. The long, red nails were buried deep into the soft flesh of Harry’s shoulder. Another agonized moan, this time louder, met Draco’s ears when the nails scratched the soft skin of the shaking back, so deep they drew blood.

Harry groaned out loud when the orgasm hit him, and Draco immediately felt his own member twitch violently.

He had to grab the doorframe for support when he couldn’t hold back any longer. His semen shot right into his new silk underpants. Knees weak and sweating all over, he suddenly felt as if he were being watched.

Draco leaned his shoulder heavily against the doorframe. He forced his gaze to let go of Harry’s gorgeous body, still shaking with little spasms.

The feeling of being watched intensified.

He should leave. Now.

But before he crept silently away, Draco allowed himself to cast one last look over the exhausted, sweating body of Harry. Starting at the feet still in a peculiar, cramped position, up the muscular legs reaching those inexpressible cheeks, wandering farther up the beautifully shaped backside up to the soft turn of the neck. And on towards his head with that unbelievable mess of dark hair. His eyes lingered on the black shock for a moment, caressed them with his eyes until…

… he met hazel-brown eyes, sparkling with triumph.

Hell.

The bitch had been watching him the whole time.

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What do you think about it? Did you like it? Or hate it? Or whatever? Please leave a comment and tell me! Thank you!