With Teeth

**I feel it coming and I\'ve gotta get out of its way

I hear it calling and I come cause I can\'t disobey

I should not listen and I shouldn\'t believe

But I do, yes I do**





--





Staring ahead, missing an entire night’s sleep, and not caring…



This was Harry Potter.



If he hadn’t been under the influence of an experimental (and VERY strong) potion, the unease in his heart would have motivated him to do something.



But he was.



So he didn’t.





**





At the same time that Harry Potter was staring, unseeing eyes wide and glassy, into a far distant oblivion, Draco Malfoy was staring into his mirror. His eyes sought out his own gaze, searching for anything that told him he was still himself. His behaviour over the past few months was absolutely inexcusable, and after the disastrous potions incident earlier in the day he was furious with himself. To think he’d let some… CLIENT get the best of his control was enough to make him want revenge.



He figured, however, that the best course of action was to completely avoid anything Potter related. He was going to restart his practice; build fresh from the ashes (quite literally) and offer his services again. Whoever wanted him, he was their’s. He only knew this would work because there was no way His Harry, no POTTER, wanted him any longer. If he wanted him, he wouldn’t stare so vacantly past him.



So in his course to comply with ridding himself of it all and starting anew, he stormed composedly (a dichotomy, but possible) down the halls towards his ‘office’. Standing in the doorway, he sneered at all the white that bombarded his senses.



Much too practical, and much too clean; it reminded him sickeningly of everything he’d done to His Harry… That bastard… in his room.



He closed his eyes, and concentrated through the knot he conveniently ignored in his chest. He lifted his wand, swished it three times, and opened his eyes again. Before him stood a completely new room. Comforters, pillows, and draperies littered the floors, and the colouring turned much darker. The one thing he kept the same was his desk. He could never get rid of his desk. He conveniently ignored the memory of his first night with His… That boy.



He also conveniently ignored the fact that he forgot to get rid of His Harry’s charm. It lay snugly against the inside of his wrist, water repellant charm firmly in place. Never would he worry over it getting wet and ruined. Never would he worry over it being lost. Not that he cared…



Walking over to his desk, sitting lightly in his chair, he opened drawers and cabinets. He was satisfied to find that all items were still in their places. He lingered over the door with the hooks, wondering if he would ever build up his base again. Would he have to go and apologize? Offer new charms?



Then he remembered who he was.



He was Draco fucking Malfoy.



They would come to him.





**





Bliss.



Bliss would be what he felt if he could feel.



Instead of bliss it was actually more of a sedate, complacent sort of numbness. He was perfectly content, because he just didn’t care.



The weight in his chest was gone, though the warm glow was never present. The twisting in his gut was a pale memory, though the butterflies were absent. Compared to the agony he felt he was perfectly at peace, completely unaware of the fact that he didn’t feel good either. He just didn’t… and it was alright.



Sure any movements he attempted were sluggish and dragged out. If he wanted to stand, he simply wouldn’t. In fact, the bathroom floor was quite comfortable. It was cold and hard against his back. Not that he could really feel the temperature, or even the texture. Not that he cared.



In all honesty the absence of anything substantial was much preferred to the sharp pain. In this dull haze he couldn’t even remember it. Without the context he couldn’t remember pleasure either, and that was perfectly okay.



What had he been thinking, to expect he could go through life the way he had been trying. Why had it taken him so bloody long to get around to making this potion?



Could he make another batch?



Did it matter?



The bathroom floor was so nice.



Or rather, the bathroom floor was so not bad.



And that was enough.





**





He really shouldn’t have worried. He should have known it would be so easy to jump right back into the swing of things. He was Draco fucking Malfoy. He knew what he was doing.



All it took was a casual position: in a chair, book in lap, not paying attention but not looking lost in thought... He was completely approachable, but completely self sufficient. Why, it was only natural that some poor soul reached out tentatively and touched him gently on the shoulder.



And yes, that poor soul deserved the glare that was settled upon them, for no one touches Draco fucking Malfoy without permission.



A pale eyebrow decorating the glare and the perfunctory ‘can I help you?’ is all it takes, and he’s got them in the palm of their hand.





**





A distant memory of a sensation tugged at his insides, but he couldn’t place where it came from or even what it was. His fingers twitched with some buried desire to move from his position; he was still on his back on the bathroom floor. He didn’t make it far in his thought to move before giving up. Was there a point? He was perfectly fine where he was.





**





“I- I heard you had some free time, Draco…”



Her eyes were downcast, not daring to look into his own. She was smart. She remembered.



“And where would you have heard that?”



“I’ve got my sources.”



Fucking Slytherins.



“And what would you propose I do to fill my time?”



The icy tone was definitely not lost on the girl standing primly above him. He noted the soft tremble to her lip, and the nervous twitch in her right fingertips.



“I’m sorry, Draco. I… needed some help.”



This girl was a friend of his. He knew what sort of help she needed, and he wasn’t sure if he could entirely comply with what he knew she was about to ask for. He looked her over, sensing what was probably wrong. He couldn’t hurt her.



“You know what I do…”



“I know, Draco… Just this once?”



Instead of answering, he rose, discarding his book. Moving towards the portrait, he felt her soft fingertips on his wrist, brushing against His charm. He stiffened, turning a muted stare on her.



“Could we…” She glanced back to where she knew his room to be, “Please?”



Stony stare met watery depths. He couldn’t move on this one.



“No. But I’ve changed things up, you might like it.”





**





Through his murky haze, his numbed state of mind, he felt a sharp tug in the direct center of his chest. It surprised him so much that he managed a muffled croak. Quite an achievement considering he had no will to speak. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, the sensation of surprise leaving just as suddenly. Seconds later he all but forgot it happened.





**





The door clicked shut behind him, a gentle locking spell warming the wood for a moment. The girl stood still, looking around with an unreadable expression clouding her eyes. Finally she turned towards him, careful not to meet his gaze.



“I like it.”



It was soft, gentle, inconsequential.



“I’m glad.”



A silence stretched between them, before:



“You know what I do…”



“You already asked that.”



“I need to be sure you understand.”



“I understand, Draco…”



He stepped towards her, finger tracing her jaw, pulling her gaze up. He knew what she wanted, but she needed to say it. He needed to hear it.



Their gazes met, and she understood.



“Make me feel again.”



A faint smile twitched at the corners of his lips, and he was still for just long enough to savour a deep breath in. Then he slid his hand to her throat and slammed her back against the wall next to the door.



Her gasp, as much from surprise as from the pain, echoed through the room before the look in his eye silenced her. He turned so completely feral in the blink of an eye, and while she knew she was in control, his demeanor scared her. She shut her eyes, lest the tears start falling, and bit her lip as his mouth descended on her neck. He wasn’t nipping gently, but biting and sucking in such a way there was no doubt that abused and raw flesh would be left behind.



It was exactly what she needed; the intensity of his actions and the strength of his hold. She could feel all of it, and it made her want to cry with relief. The shocks of sensation coursing through her skin sparked at each touch, and she hardly acknowledged her school shirt opened, hanging loose around her frame. She wasn’t caught up in the passion and she knew better than to think Draco was either. His job was clear: hurt her. Give her something to feel, and maybe let her cry about it. No words were needed for this job. No intricate thought out steps. Just touch, and hold. And if he made her scream, that wasn’t really here nor there.





**





He still couldn’t feel anything.



But if he could, it would be the gentlest sort of sensation; right in the middle of his chest. A sort of a shadow of a sensation, really. Not even a true feeling. He would have wondered what it was or where it came from, if only he could bother to care to try.





**





She was on her back, reclining on some of the newly conjured throws decorating the room. Her eyes were shut tight and his hands were dragging sharp nails down her torso, enlivening her nerves. This exercise was as much for him as it was for her. His first client since He’d left him. He was testing his ability to immerse himself in his work, and he couldn’t get his head into it. Closing his eyes didn’t work, because all he could see was Harry, and keeping them open didn’t work because she wasn’t Harry.



Biting his tongue, he forced the boy from his mind, focusing completely on the girl beneath his hands. He conjured rope and an eyebolt. Her hands were stretched far above her head and attached to the floor, and her eyes snapped open. She had not been expecting this turn. Her stare unnerved him, so unlike His Harry’s, and moved his hand over her eyes. A blindfold appeared beneath his palm, wrapped around her head.



Her shaking grew at the inability to gauge her surroundings, but she never said a word. Her sharp pants punctuated the air, and she swallowed any whines or sobs that may have threatened their way out. She simply lay where she was, and took what was given to her. Only when the hands fell to her hips, spreading her thighs, did she let out a squeak. Not of protest, less of surprise, more of fear; but it was welcome. The contrast of gentle fingertips with the sharp bite of rope… she was feeling.



Draco methodically pulled her body close to his, thighs bent and spread wide. He ignored her hiss of pain as her arms stretched tighter, and with a single hand fumbled apart his own fastenings. He was getting nothing out of this (not even the satisfaction that he was serving a client well) and he wanted it done and over with. He was grateful to help a friend, honestly he was, but he just wanted to go to his rooms to be alone.



In the meantime, he had to focus on his task.



Finally reaching into his trousers, clinking his belt rather obviously, he surreptitiously massaged his own length, careful not to let her know. He went from semi-turgid to hard enough with just a few quick strokes. Luckily the girl was too focused on the fact that she’d not given explicit permission for a fucking and her quakes were teeth-chattering. But still she didn’t protest. She never protests. She’s got what’s coming to her and she needs it.



So when Draco laid his arm across her chest, forcefully holding her down as he lined himself up, she didn’t say a word. She simply tensed, waiting for it. Pausing, almost delighting in her panting, he let her worry over what exactly was going to happen before shoving forward. He didn’t bother to guide himself in. He knew it hurt more that way.



She cried out at the intrusion and bit her lip hard. She wasn’t given the chance to adjust; he pulled back almost immediately and slammed in again, never stopping.



The sensations: bruising, full, hasty… it was everything she needed, and she couldn’t hold back her tears soaking the cloth against her eyes. He shoved into her over and over with tarnishing force, and she knew something had to be broken inside because she felt broken.



But at least she could feel.



Draco stretched his hand around her throat once more eliciting a strangled gasp, and he pressed down, holding off her air. He thrust harder, hitting something deep inside that lit fire down her nerve-endings. She arched against him as best as his weight on top of her would allow, but with the hand on her throat she was unable to make any noise beyond an ugly choked off groan.



Draco balanced on a shaky arm, putting everything he had into finishing. Sure it felt good, and he only ever truly felt at home when on top of somebody, but that was before His Harry.



Dammit, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him. Least of all when he’s buried balls deep in a restrained body, quaking at his every touch.



Yet at the thought of His Harry something stirred along his edges, implanting itself deep in his center, and his hips sped up a fraction. He kept his eyes open, out of responsibility, but he certainly didn’t see anything that was truly before him. It was rather easy to imagine the hair splayed across the throws was His Harry’s. And the eyes, conveniently hidden beneath their blindfold, could be any colour. Sure there were breasts to contend with, and a decidedly conspicuous lack of anatomy. And the unavoidable fact that a man and a woman’s hole were two completely different experiences.



But he could imagine.



And if it made it that much easier to reach completion? That was alright with him.



She felt the hand closing on her throat squeezing harder from the effort to not collapse, and the shaking of the body above her and the sheer feeling of being used… She was in heaven.



No, she never got an orgasm. She wasn’t expecting one, and frankly it wasn’t necessary. If she had gotten one it probably would have cheapened her experience. She lay perfectly still under his weight, listening to his shuddering breaths. The air was thick, and her head spun, but she figured that was a result of the unorthodox treatment. Finally the weight rolled to her side, and away from her body. Her bindings vanished with the weight, and she risked a glance at the quivering form. Before she had a chance to ask…



“I’m sorry, but could you…?”



She understood, could see the clouds in his eyes, and moved to sit up, gathering her clothing around herself. He would have offered to heal her stiff joints, or her bruising, but he knew better. She was never bitter or ungrateful at being moved out early, or even at the fact he couldn’t look at her. She wouldn’t be able to look at her either.



At the soft click of the door being closed, he flicked a stronger charm against it. Finally putting his hand to his eyes, hiding them from who knew what, he couldn’t stop the spasms wracking down his limbs and his chest quivered with the effort to hold something back.



Who was he fooling?



He wasn’t Draco fucking Malfoy…



Not anymore.





--





**Now I just stare into the sun

And I see everything I\'ve done

I think I could\'ve been someone

But I can\'t stop what has begun

When everything\'s been said and done

And there is no place left to run

I think I have to be someone

Now I just stare into the sun**