Bleed Me An Ocean

Ten a.m. the next morning found Draco sitting in the dusty classroom staring at the robe spread over his lap. He had once again skipped classes, though this time his avoidance wasn't hangover related. It was fear and shock . . . and a little more fear. His memory of the night before was almost nonexistent. Everything after the beating he took was either so blurry as to be useless, or it was simply a blank. Although he was pretty sure that, yes, he had come to this classroom, he was also equally sure that he hadn't went to sleep there.

He had woken up with a grimace, a nasty taste in his mouth and nostrils clogged from all the dust in the room. Intending to go back to sleep until his discomfort passed, he had snuggled deeper into the robes he'd cocooned himself in when he paused. Those weren't his robes, they didn't smell like him, and then he realized he was wearing his. What the fuck?, was his first thought as he awkwardly shoved himself into a sitting position. Biting back the wave of nausea that had threatened to overtake him, he'd lifted the robes to squint at them, his tired eyes widening in surprise at the insignia stitched onto the left side. The Gryffindor insignia.

What happened? What have I done?, he thought anxiously, trying with all his might to recall what he'd done the night before. Cautiously, as though afraid it would bite him, he brought the rumpled cloth to his nose and inhaled deeply. His face drained of color, making the dark bruises that littered his pretty features look even more livid. He groaned softly as a familiar odor flooded his senses, a spicy smell much like sandalwood or patchouli, a smell he knew all too well. Harry's scent. These are Harry's robes, he thought, anxiety washing over him, Oh gods, why do I have Harry's robes?

Unable to help himself, he buried his face in the black fabric and sucked in more of the warm scent. It was a comforting smell, something he felt he could wrap himself in and be lost forever without a care in the world. Harry wore these, he moaned in his mind, his stomach dropping as his groin stirred. He clenched the cloth furiously in confusion though, he didn't know why he was now in possession of them and he couldn't stand it. It meant that he would have to speak to Harry and he certainly did not want to do that. Something about suffering was addictive and by denying himself even that small satisfaction, Draco felt like he had accomplished something by not allowing himself the small pleasure before. But now . . . now he felt like he had no real choice in the matter any longer and it terrified him.

What if he had somehow stolen them from Harry and he was angry with him? He cringed at the thought, he'd always hated the anger those green eyes spat at him when they'd argued in the past and he really wasn't sure if he could take it anymore. It'd killed him a little bit each time Harry had glared at him or hurled an insult back at him. Appearances, appearances, always had to be such a bad ass for your 'friends' didn't you, moron?, Draco snarled in his head, hating himself even more as images of Harry's face contorting in rage when he discovered Draco had his robes rushed through his brain. It never once occurred to the boy that Harry had willingly gave them to keep him warm. In Draco's hollow and sad world, such a notion was absurd, it was merely a thing of daydreams and fantasies. It could never, in Draco's mind, be reality.

Shaking violently as the ever-present alcohol withdrawal began to settle in for earnest, Draco wadded the robes up and curled around them, holding them close as his eyes rolled in his head. Willing his aching and trembling body to stand took more willpower than it ever had before. The desire to stand, to move, had become increasingly lacking over the years. It was becoming harder to motivate himself every single day. All he wanted to do was let the pain and shakes wrack his body while he lay there, ambivalent, until the desire for alcohol became too strong to ignore.

"Vicious cycle," Draco mumbled, cynicism hardening his features for a moment as he forced his shaking legs to stand.

Clutching the wadded robes tightly against his chest, he moved toward the door, then stopped. In the dust all around him were footprints that he had never noticed before, footprints that weren't his. "Noooo," his voice came out almost a whine. This wasn't happening. Looking at the robes in his arms and back down at the footprints that trailed into the corner and out the door, he shook his head in disbelief. Here. He was here, was all Draco could think as he rushed to the door and fumbled with the handle. Images of ghostly hands touching him raced back to his mind as he flung the door open, eyes blind to all around him, only seeing the jumbled images that rushed through his mind. Cool lips . . . that kiss . . . that kiss . . . . Those hands on me, all over me, making me come, were his thoughts.

Had it been Harry? It couldn't have been, it was just a horny castle spirit, that was all. He hadn't seen anyone, but all the signs pointed to it having been Harry. Draco felt like he was finally losing his mind, that the tenuous threads of sanity he'd clung to for so long were starting to snap. Racing into the hall, startling a group of fourth year Ravenclaws, Draco beat a hasty retreat back to the Slytherin house, mind whirling in fear and confusion.

He fled like the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels, rudely plowing through the small groups of students he encountered on the way, ignoring the gasps of shock as they glimpsed his battered face. Finally reaching the entrance to the Slytherin house, he practically yelled the password and stood, fidgeting and impatient as the stone began to slide open. Hardly waiting for the opening to be big enough he forced his way through the small gap and sped through the common room to the boy's dormitory.

As he reached his bed, he paused only long enough to cast a terrified glance about the room to make sure he was alone. Confirming this, he scrabbled under his bed for the trunk that held his liquor. Yanking it into the open he flung the top back and grabbed a bottle before hastily slamming the lid and shoving it back under the bed. Calm down, you fool, you're panicking, he told himself, all to no avail as he clambered onto his bed, spelling the curtains closed around him, locking them securely as an afterthought. "Can't. I don't believe this. It's not real," he spoke, voice trembling and almost unrecognizable to his ears. The blood pounding in his skull only elevated his panic and he twisted the cap from the bottle in his hand desperately.

Tilting the bottle to his mouth he guzzled noisily, his head tipping back to ease the liquor's passage down his constricted throat. Strangling on it as it rushed down his throat he forced himself not to cough, he needed the whiskey more than he needed to breathe. Finally becoming overwhelmed with the need to cough he moved the bottle away and did so, a loud, barking, hacking cough that he thought would never end. He coughed and spluttered until he gagged. Making himself stop, he drew a ragged breath as his eyelids began to feel heavy and he sagged back onto the bed. Drawing Harry's robes that he still clung to with his left hand under his chin, he whimpered as he once more buried his face in the cloth, drowning in Harry's scent. The alcohol coursed through his bloodstream, calming his nerves as it sang its intoxicating melody, lulling Draco into a fitful sleep.

=*|*=

Damn him, he didn't show for any classes today either, Harry fumed as he left The Great Hall after dinner that evening. He had looked for any sign of Draco all day and had found none, growing more and more worried after every class he didn't attend. He had looked all over for him, in the library, in the old classroom, he'd even went down to the lake before dinner to see if he was there. Not having a chance to check his map, he could only assume he'd went back to the Slytherin house and hoped that he was alright.

He'd overhead a group of Slytherins during lunch that day talking about how Malfoy'd gotten his ass stomped the night before, their voices dripping with hateful delight. It had been all Harry could do to keep from screaming at them for their ignorance and cruelty. He knew it would've done no good and could only serve to make him look suspicious. That was the last thing he needed. Hermione had already started giving him funny looks and asking why he was so tired and distracted all the time. Ron, thankfully, seemed oblivious and swallowed Harry's lies about not sleeping very well.

Harry was also a little apprehensive about what Draco's reaction had been about the robes. He hadn't realized he'd left his embroidered set with the other boy until after Transfiguration that day and he'd smacked his head at his stupidity. He'd been so tired at the time it had never once occurred to him which robes he'd been wearing. He could only chew his increasingly brutalized lip and wonder what Draco would think. Would he know they belonged to him? Would he be angry? Harry figured if he knew who the robes belonged to, he would be furious. Draco may have feelings for him, but he still thought that the blonde wouldn't care for him meddling with his private affairs, no matter how good his intentions had been.

Walking slowly back to the Gryffindor house, taking a rambling, out of the way route, he pondered silently, trying to form a plan. He needed to speak with Malfoy, and soon. His thought that things couldn't go on like they were still held true and the sooner he talked to the other boy, the sooner he could start getting to the bottom of things. If Draco would actually talk to him, that was. Lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the thin figure trailing behind him, pausing with hesitation every few steps. It drew ever closer until it was close enough to touch Harry.

Finally resolving not to flee, Draco reached out a pale hand and tentatively tapped Harry's shoulder. With a startled gasp, Harry turned to face whoever it was that'd touched him. His heart froze in his chest when he saw that it was Draco standing there, his light eyed gaze aimed down at his shuffling feet. Glancing up to rake his eyes over Harry's face before dropping them again, Draco shuddered in relief. He didn't look angry at all, just a little stunned.

"I . . . I . . . I think this belongs to you," Draco stammered out, thrusting Harry's robes into his face unceremoniously.

Trying to play it cool, Harry gently took the proffered robes from the slender hand, noting with vague amusement at the momentary reluctance he felt in the grasp. "Thank you for returning them," Harry spoke softly, the blonde looked ready to bolt. He's so nervous he can't even look at me, Harry thought.

"You're welcome," was all Draco could manage to say, kicking himself for being such a coward. Steeling himself, he forced his gaze back up and looked into Harry's eyes.

Harry noted then that the bruises were gone from Draco's face, courtesy of a strong glamor he was sure. Then he bit back a giggle. While the glamor was excellent, Draco had made a slight error - one of his silver-grey eyes was now brown. Wondering how he'd managed to do that, he took an even closer look, noticing the silver ring hanging from Draco's septum. So that's what that little glimmer under the blood was last night, he mused.

Draco shrank from the scrutiny of Harry's stare, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. His heart lobbed madly in his chest. Stop staring at me, please, please don't look at me like that, Draco pleaded silently.

Clearing his throat and forcing himself to stare back, thankful that he was tipsy, Draco took the plunge and asked, "Um . . . Why did I have your robes?"

"Because I left them with you to keep you warm," Harry replied, deciding to bite the bullet himself.

Draco blanched, but continued on, "And the footprints . . .?,"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck as he took in the boy’s form. He was truly beginning to worry when he noticed how much more pale Draco had become since asking his questions and his odd-colored eyes held a strange glint in them. He was afraid. It was an emotion he never thought he would see directed at him and it made his stomach clench uncomfortably. “Those are mine too.” Harry stated simply, afraid himself now that if he said too much, it would ruin everything.

Bracing himself as best he could, Draco asked the one question that he didn't want to know the answer to, but couldn't avoid posing, "How long have you been doing this?"

Harry sighed heavily, his gaze slipping from Draco's face, he began to chew his lip with renewed vigor. Looking up once more, he answered quietly, "Every night since the start of term."

Taking a shaky step backward, Draco uttered a pained "No."

Shaking his head as if in an effort to make everything he had heard unreal, he repeated that single word over and over like a mantra as he backed away from the one he so dearly cared for. This was something that was never supposed to happen. Sure, he had entertained ideas of confessing to Harry and making him his, but the green-eyed boy had seen too much. He was never supposed to know what a mess he was. He didn’t want that . . . ever.

"Draco," Harry started, taking a step closer to the horrified looking young man, "Draco please wait."

He’s using my first name, oh fuck me, he’s speaking to me, Draco screamed in his mind, eyes darting around anxiously for the nearest exit. He had to get away, and now, before he lost the tenuous grip he had on his emotions and said something stupid, something damnably stupid. He had already slipped and let Harry see the chaos that was his life. He couldn’t take any more humiliation and everything that had come to pass since the day before was too much for his tired brain to process. When his eyes came back to focus on those emerald depths, he saw blatant concern and worry; that was all it took for him to turn away quickly, mumbling, “I’m sorry . . . so, so sorry,” as he took off down the hall, his speed increasing with every step.

"Stop!," Harry yelled, knowing it was useless even as he uttered the words. Bailing after Draco would only make things worse, but even that knowledge was barely enough to keep him rooted where he was. He wanted to chase after Draco, to catch him and crush his thin frame against his body in a tight embrace. Harry wanted to tell him that it was ok, that he didn't care about anything he'd seen. Only that I care about him, Harry thought as his heart dropped to his feet. Eyes sparkling with frustrated tears, he turned and began his trek back to the Gryffindor house.

Harry resolved to wait a couple of hours before he tried to find Draco, even though that was the last thing the impulsive Gryffindor wanted to do. The tall blonde was teetering dangerously close to the edge of true madness at the moment and he didn't want to push him over with declarations of adoration while he was in that state. He would wait as long as he could stand, he decided, then he would take his map and his cloak and track him down. They needed to talk and if it took cornering the troubled Malfoy, then he would do so. Consequences be damned.

Finding himself in front of the painting of the Fat Lady, Harry uttered the password and wearily trudged into the bustling common room. Giving a feeble wave to Ron and Hermione, he made some excuse about needing to try and get some sleep and made his way up the winding stairs to wait.

=*|*=

Two hours later Draco was no calmer than he had been when he first started. Just a lot drunker. Once again huddled in a stall in the dungeon lavatory he licked his lips nervously. Having removed the glamor, his eyes were both the same color and the mottled bruises were visible again. He had taken to fingering the cut on his left cheekbone, seeking solace in pain once more.

Leaning his head against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, he groaned. He simply could not cope with all that he'd heard that night. Harry had been watching him all this time. How he'd managed to do it without Draco's notice, he could not imagine. He may be a drunk, but he wasn't blind. Yet, he knew that it hadn't been a spirit touching him so deliciously, it had been Harry. Maybe he was blacking out, he knew that happened to people that drank as much as he did. He was quite sure he'd done it a time or two himself. It definitely explained the gaps in his memory after getting thoroughly loaded.

"What have I become?," he asked himself, eyes clouding in sadness. Nothing, he answered in his mind, I have become nothing, which is all I have ever really been anyway.

It hurt to be feeling as much as he was right then. Harry had seen, Harry knew all about what he did to himself every single day of his life. It had been more than he could bear to see the worry and concern in his bright eyes. Anger would've been preferable, disgust would have made more sense. He could understand those things, those feelings. It was what he had come to expect from people and he was rarely disappointed. Having grown so accustomed to those looks, the care in Harry's lightly tanned face had been like a knife in his heart.

Knives, he thought, Sharp, beautiful, deadly blades, his deft fingers tracing lightly across the outline of the dagger in his pocket. A dreamy expression crept across his face and his eyes glazed over, his anxiety melting away. A flash of Harry’s concerned green eyes passed across his mind and he froze. “Not tonight, not tomorrow. Never again,” he spoke in a harsh whisper. He snapped from his daze and jerked his fingers away from his normal reassurance as though he had been burned.

He really wanted to believe his words, but it was too late. The idea had crossed his mind and all the whiskey in the world could never wash it away. Images of his pale, alabaster skin giving way to a glinting, razor edge taunted him from the corner of his mind. Heavy, crimson drops of his life blood flowed down his fingers to splatter and pool on the ground in his mind’s eye and a needy shudder coursed down his spine. The want for that release from everything was so strong it was almost a physical ache.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to stand on unsteady limbs as he spoke rapidly, his words becoming clear through his drunken haze as adrenaline scorched through his veins, “Don’t want to. Don’t need to.” Abandoning the minimal comfort of the tiny stall, he lurched out into the open, making his way to the corridor of the dungeons. A walk, he thought to himself. He needed to walk it off. The urge to spill his blood would certainly go away. Certainly. Even as those thoughts crossed his mind, he knew he was only lying to himself. The desire to cut would only go away when he gave in to it.

Desperation clutched at Draco's heart as he rapidly walked corridor after corridor. He had nowhere to go now. He couldn't go back to the classroom, Harry knew where that was. The chances of getting caught in the dungeon restroom were too great and he was aware of that, he'd just gotten lucky the last two times. Even his own bed was no longer safe. Fighting back images of a blade slicing into his skin he felt totally adrift with nowhere to hide. All he wanted was a sanctuary, a place to rest and try to organize his thoughts. Turning down yet another corridor, he lit upon an idea: The Room of Requirement.

Now, to determine where he was in the castle at the moment and find his way back to where he'd decided to go. Looking around the hallway, he pulled his whiskey out and took a furtive sip, hoping that no one would see. Squinting his eyes shut he shuddered when the alcohol hit his tongue just as another unwanted image of torn flesh filtered through the liquor induced fog in his brain. It was so hard to resist the need; the want, to bleed himself dry. The desire simply would not leave him alone, it tormented him overpowering his will to disobey its call even as he battled against it. He had known it wouldn't go away and had been foolish to think that this time things would be different.

He knew what he had to do and promised the longing that seemed to live in his very bones that as soon as he was safe inside the Room of Requirement he would placate his hunger for pain. He would wash away the ache of that day with the only hurt he could truly understand. The hurt that he could see; the hurt that had left its permanent reminders all over his flesh.

Getting his bearings, he turned back the way he had just came, the memory of Harry's concerned face haunting his every step.

=*|*=

Harry watched the tiny dot of Draco on his map as he raced through the now empty corridors of the castle, turning at random. He'd been at it for quite some time and Harry was a good distance away from catching up with him when he saw the dot pause in one of the castle's many hallways. "What're you up to now?," Harry asked the speck on the parchment, watching as it turned and went back the way it had come.

Picking up his pace, Harry hurried after the increasingly faster dot. His breath caught in his throat as he realized where Draco was headed and he broke into a sprint. If he didn't reach him before he got to the Room, then he would be lost to him the entire night. Running as fast as he could he pelted down corridors and short flights of stairs, his heart pounding at the exertion.

I have to get there before he goes inside, was all Harry could think as he jumped the last three stairs of another short flight. Taking a shortcut that would hopefully put him there before Draco, Harry ran even faster, his breath coming in burning gasps now. Entering the hallway that led to the Room, Harry finally slowed his pace after checking the map once more. Draco was two hallways over. He had made it in time.

Standing by the tapestry that indicated the location of the hidden door, he rested his hands on his knees, drawing cool lungfuls of air down his burning throat. He didn't have to wait long before Draco came into view, his weaving gait a sure indicator of his level of sobriety. A frown creased Harry's brow as he took in the sight of Draco's drunken figure, the glamor now gone and his face pitifully marred. The frown deepened as he realized that Draco was no calmer than he had been earlier, in fact, he seemed even more upset. The other boy's face would twist into a grimace only to relax and take on the same vacant look Harry had seen the night before. This isn't good, he told himself, listening to Draco's shaky exhalations as he began to pace in front of the doorway.

The door appeared and Draco anxiously twisted the knob, flying into the room as Harry bolted in behind him. He wasn't fast enough that time though. He had barely ducked out of the way when Draco kicked the door shut behind him, trapping the edge of Harry's cloak in it.

Harry couldn't move, he was trapped where he was unless he wanted to take the cloak off. And he most assuredly did not want to do that just then. His eyes widened with unease as he gazed at Draco who was once again pacing the floor. Only this time it was a little different, a little worse. The taller blonde seemed embroiled in some silent struggle, his hands going to his ears as though to block out some unpleasant noise. Shaking all over, he doubled up on himself, arms wrapping around himself in a pantomime of a hug. His eyes were clenched shut and Harry could see the muscles in his jaws bulging as he ground his teeth at whatever it was that was eating at him. He looked as though he were being tortured, the lines of his face taut in a rictus of torment.

"I said I would, but I can't. Don't want to. Nononono," he moaned, his voice trailing off into a low, keening wail of sorts.

Harry's heart broke at what he was seeing, yet he was too scared to move. He had told himself he didn't give a damn about the consequences of speaking with Draco, but looking at what he was now, he could not bring himself to speak. This is my fault. I should never have left my robes, if I hadn't, none of this would be happening, he thought, furious with himself. Yet, he knew just as well that it had only been inevitable before Draco had found out, he would've slipped up some other way and he was kidding himself to think otherwise.

With a rapid motion Harry watched as Draco tore off his robes and then his shirt, leaving himself naked from the waist up. Eyeing the pale scars that he had only felt before, Harry shook his head in disbelief. Taking in the starkness of the white scars against the dark bruises on Draco's sides and lower torso, he tried to take them all in. There were just so many, they ran the ridges of Malfoy's ribcage and looped across his chest and stomach. He could tell from looking at them that so, so many had desperately needed stitches, including the fresh cuts from the night before and the older, almost healed cuts he had seen on the train. He was too ashamed to even see a healer, Harry thought, the corners of his mouth turning into a frown of the deepest sadness.

He watched in silent horror as Draco's face went slack, all the fight draining from his eyes as he held a small dagger to the light. He was frozen, speechless with shock as Draco brought the blade to the flesh of his left collarbone, smoothing the wicked blade gently across his skin for a moment, as though savoring the cold and lethal metal. Then, raising his hand slightly, he brought the blade back down in a wicked diagonal arc, hissing, "Worthless," as the blade parted white flesh to reveal the whiter tissue beneath. He quickly brought the blade to the rest just beneath the hollow of his throat, yanking it down with a viciously uttered, "Fucking," as the skin there split as well, leaving another deep furrow in the soft tissue. Switching hands, he brought the blade to his right collarbone and repeated the diagonal stroke, whispering, "Nothing," in a voice that was dead and defeated.

Harry could only watch helplessly as blood began to fill the deep cuts, it was as though Draco's flesh had been stunned by the sudden attack on it that it hadn't been able to summon the fluid to flow. But it was now, rapidly filling the gashes and spilling over the edges to slip down Draco's snowy skin, turning it vermillion. He yanked his green eyed gaze from the running blood just in time to see Draco raise the sharp edge to his right bicep, angling the blade and preparing to attack his body once more.

I will NOT watch this, Harry thought, a broken hearted fury clouding his mind. Stepping forward, leaving his cloak in the doorway he yelled, "Draco! Stop! Please STOP!!"

Haunted pale grey eyes met Harry's own troubled emerald ones and he whispered in a pained and lifeless voice, "I don't want this." Then he did the one thing Harry never thought he would see: Draco Malfoy began to weep.

Listening as the first few sniffles became sobs that wracked Draco's entire frame, Harry did the only thing he could think to do. Rapidly closing the gap between them, he gently touched Draco's mercifully uncut arm in the same place he had seen the deadly blade aimed for. Doubling up on himself, Draco wept all the harder at the warmth of Harry's touch.

"Shh," Harry murmured softly as he pulled the trembling young man to him, wrapping his arms around the pale shoulders. Sobbing loudly, Draco allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace. It was all he had ever wanted and everything he had denied himself. He was too weak to fight it any longer and he sank into the strong arms that wrapped tightly and protectively around him.

Unmindful of the blood soaking through his clothes to cling wetly to his skin, Harry tilted Draco's head up to look into his eyes. "Draco," he whispered as he stared into the tear filled orbs. It was like staring down a tunnel full of nightmares. There was so much pain in that look that the terror that swam in them was almost blotted out.

"Please don't be afraid," Harry pleaded as he leaned towards the tear streaked face, his breath tickling Draco's lips.

"Ok," he whimpered back, unsure, but wanting what he thought was going to happen so badly that he almost meant it.

Harry didn't hesitate, he knew that any sort of hesitation on his part would cause him to lose this moment and he didn't want that to happen. Gently pressing his lips against Draco's he felt the bloody young man gasp softly at the feeling. Much to Harry's relief he felt him relax against him, melting into the touch.

Moving a little more insistently at the encouraging movement, Harry slid his tongue out to caress Draco's pouting bottom lip, tasting the salty brine of his tears. He grinned as those lips parted, granting him access. He delved his tongue into Draco's warm mouth, slowly and sensuously exploring the orifice. The flavor of Draco's whiskey mingled with the already present taste of his tears, creating an exotic flavor that Harry revelled in. Deepening the kiss, he massaged Draco's tongue with his own as the blonde began to respond in like, kissing him back with such a fervent passion that Harry was left reeling and amazed.

Harry pulled away, grasping Draco's bottom lip between his teeth as he did so, pulling it gently as he nipped it. A small hiss from the other boy reminded him to be careful. He had almost forgotten about the splits in the delicate pink flesh there. Then he paused for a moment, yes, that had been a hiss of pain, but there had been an undertone of something else to it as well. Pleasure? Experimentally Harry nipped Draco's bottom lip again and heard the same hiss, followed by a pleasured whimper. He DOES like pain, Harry thought, excited by his discovery. He had never experienced anything like this, but he was more than willing to explore it. He wanted to make Draco feel good, and if hurting him a little bit was what did it, then he was happy to oblige.

Pulling away from the kiss in earnest, Harry began to lick and suck the tendons in the side of Draco's neck, remembering to nip him once in a while. His fingers delicately traced Draco's ribs, dragging through the sticky wetness of the blood every now and then. Draco was moaning openly now, gasping as Harry moved lower to trace his lips lightly across Draco's bloody shoulder. Pausing to lick the garnet drops from his lips, his eyes slid closed in ecstasy.

Draco's voice brought him back. In a tentative whisper that was hoarse with need, Draco said, "Please, Harry, I want to see you."

"Sure thing," Harry grinned seductively as he stepped back a bit. Removing his robes and shirt he tossed them to the floor and stood before Draco as his eyes drank him in.

Corded, lithe muscles flexed as Harry stepped back toward Draco. Grasping a pale, elegant hand in his broader one, he brought it to rest on his chest. Taking the hint, Draco stroked him from shoulder to shoulder, his touch halting and unsure, yet in a way reverent. His eyes never left Harry's as he leaned forward to press his lips to a nipple. A sharp intake of breath pushed Draco on and he flicked his tongue out, circling the stiffening peak with the tip before drawing it into his mouth to suckle it gently.

"Gods," Harry moaned, his fingers threading through the fine light blonde hair as he lost himself in the sensations that prickled and raced through his body. His cock was so hard he felt like it was going to burst from his pants.

As if sensing this, Draco unbuttoned Harry's trousers, then unzipped them. Tugging them down, Draco looked into Harry's green eyes that seemed to have become even brighter. Pulling his boxers off as well, Draco delicately stroked the stiff member, his fingers circling the base and sliding back up Harry's thick length. Thrusting his hips forward, Harry groaned. It felt good, so very good to have Draco touching him like that. It felt right.

A tug on his hair made Draco look at Harry, questioning. "Come here," Harry spoke between teeth clenched in ecstasy. Never releasing his grip on Harry's cock, Draco pressed himself against Harry, feeling his blood smear on Harry's chest. Kissing him gently one time, Harry pulled back and dipped his head to press his firm lips against the cut in the center of Draco's chest. Running his tongue lightly over the smooth edge of the wound, he heard Draco cry out in pleasure, his grip loosening on Harry's dick. Gathering the blood on his tongue and savoring the thick, iron rich fluid, he raised his head once more.

Pressing his blood smeared lips to Draco's, he kissed him passionately, pressing himself against the taller boy. Draco moaned as the taste of his own blood entered his mouth and ground himself against Harry's thigh.

Pulling back, both boys gasping with need and desire, Draco looked into Harry's eyes and whispered huskily, "Take me to bed and rip me apart."

Taken by surprise, Harry only nodded dumbly as he clutched Draco to him once more and walked them to the bed that had appeared in the corner of the Room.

A/N: I know you all are going to think I am evil and awful ending like this, but this chapter was getting way too lengthy. There WILL be smut in the next once, graphic, hot sweaty boysex. I promise. Thanks for reading and as always, please review.