Aggressive Behavior

Author’s Notes: Yeah, I know I said each week… explanation at the end so you can get down to business!
Warnings: If you’ve come this far, you should know about the nastily delicious things the characters do or are going to do to each other. But I suppose it does get a bit more violent this time around… ^_^ Hee
Disclaimer: Harry Potter world isn’t mine, just the slashiness that goes along with it… Which I have a funny story about at the end if ya wanna hear…

On to the fic!

Aggressive Behavior: Mixed Emotions
By: CrossworldNoMiko (slashnomiko@aol.com)

Arguing.

They’re arguing again. Their blaring voices filter through the Prodigy’s Breathe with ease, and surprisingly, the thing that bothers me isn’t the interruption, but the reality that I crave to know what words are being spoken. I reach for the round knob on my stereo system and turn the music down a few notches. The electronic melody lowers as the heated conversation grows more voluble.

Him. They’re arguing about him again. That’s all they ever argue about. Ever since the day he came to Privet Drive, left on the doorstep with nothing but a blanket and a note. I think that’s when my life turned upside down. Before then, I was always the center of attention. Dudley, darling. Dudley-kins. Dudders. Dud-muffins. Fine boy. Sweet child. Precious child. But he had to come and ruin it. The change occurred rapidly and even in infancy I could tell. I can almost see my mother rushing to answer the incessant chime of the doorbell...

Shock… Dadt out out after her… Panic…. And for a few brief moments… for the first time in my life… they forgot me… I screamed… I kicked at them as they passed…

‘Stop it.’

‘Shush.’

Tears. Not the usual forced tears, accompanied by deafening wails and exaggerated sobs. Real tears. And even then, it must have dawned on me that that moment…was the first time I cried.

I grew to hate him. Everything about him. His unruly raven-like hair, that stood up no matter how much mum brushed. His scrawny little frame, smallest in the neighborhood. Those thick plastic glasses that concealed bright emerald eyes….innocent eyes. So I fought. I pulled. I tore. I cuffed. I poked. And I ridiculed. And for years, that was enough. Enough to satisfy my anger. Enough to calm the resentment that threatened to overcome me.

That is, until he got the letter, went off to that school and… And it should have felt better. He was gone and that’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? For him to leave me alone, give me back the parents that saw me and only me. But instead, it unnerved me. And if possible, my resentment grew into a loathing that I had never known. And the worst thing… the absolute worst thing was that it wasn’t directed toward him…but toward myself. Because for all the years I hit him, made fun of him, tortured him, I hated him. Yet, just like my parents, I was frightened of him, obsessed with him. Infatuated with his abnormality, only to be abruptly battered with the truth.

That year, I realized one thing about that boy… the one thing I forgot to hate… that separated him most from the neighborhood, the family, the world… It was his scar. Plain as daylight, the pale brownish marking shone like a trophy on his forehead, a subject never breached, rarely touched. And I knew. I knew that this was what made him special, what made my parents cringe each time he passed. What made them scold me when I pointed at it and made jokes. What caused strange people to tip their hats at him and shake his hand. Its what marks him… as one of them. And where does that leave me? Stupid Dudley Dursley. Fat. Ugly. Alone. And most of all…normal. Painfully normal… and jealous… jealous of the one person whose presence caused everything to go wrong, the one person I abhorred…

I can’t remember when I stopped hating him, when I started to detest myself, repulse myself, destroy myself. Was I always such a coward?

‘He k-kissed me. And then he…t-touched me…’

Bastard. I find myself laughing. Only it lacks the amusement of anything comical. So I stop abruptly. This isn‘t funny at all. It hurts too much for that. Harry will never touch me like that. Never…kiss me. Disgusting.

I perk an ear towards the door. The arguing has stopped. But now I can hear her crying, her sobs growing louder and more distressing. So I turn my radio back up. That’s something I don’t want to hear, am too afraid to hear. When did I become so heartless? I’m afraid, because I know she’s crying because of him. Because of the trouble he… well, the trouble I caused. But I don’t want to think about it anymore, so I close my eyes and try to get to sleep. But it’s very diult.ult. Something’s wrong with my throat. I can barely breathe. And no matter how much I rub, the water in my eyes won’t go away.

Damn Harry…

* * *

“Fucking Potter…” Draco grumbled, as hedgeddged toward the front door, making sure glare at the portraits surrounding him. No response. Then he remembered that muggle portraits didn’t speak, didn’t even move, but only captured one single moment. How dull, he thought shortly, internally wishing that there was someone he could talk to, someone who would let him vent. At the manor, there were generations among generations of framed Malfoys to listen to his feelings, complaints, and frustrations. But now… now he didn’t even want to think about the manor. Then he’d have to think about her… her shattered mind and ignorant smile.

‘Say goodbye to your father on the way out.’

Draco growled in frustration, raking his fingers through blonde locks. Right. That’s why he was here. It was all his fault. Everything that happened in the past few months was because of The Boy-Who-Lived. He just knew it. And the reality of this apparent truth had been burning through him like acid. Every once in a while, he had felt the courage to face his enemy, take revenge for all the anguish he had caused, hurt him, and maybe even… kill him. But each time, his cowardice ultimately prevailed, accompanied by sadness, self-loathing, and depression.

But now, that sort of resignation didn’t seem so ish.ish. This time, he had followed through. And where had his bravery gotten him? Into the cupboard with Harry Potter. Draco sighed heavily, raising an arm to grasp the gold-plated doorknob. He could almost hear the pained voice, telling him to get out. Could feel the heated frustration radiating from him. Could see the disappointment reflected through a sea of green color. Draco closed his eyes, and a familiar wave of despair drifted through him. For all the years they had been enemies, for each time they had exchanged threats, curses, insults, not once had he regretted his actions. Not once had he felt sorry, not for any of it. And he wasn’t about to start now. But at this thought, a bitter frown crossed his expression. Then why did it hurt so much?

Draco looked at his hand. All he had to do was turn it. Then he could walk out of here and pretend it never happened. Pretend he hadn’t come to Privet drive, that Potter hadn’t… A lone tear trickled down his cheek, and he wiped it away quickly, angrily. Emotional distress was not acceptable for what he was, what his family was. And it aggravated Draco to know that only one person could do this to him. Yes, this was his fault too. And he had to pay. With a new resolve, Draco spun around and marched back toward the cupboard, wand in tow. Raising it, he mustered up his best grimace and opened his mouth to recite the incantation. A crash. Draco paused for a moment, eyes darting around to find its source. Another sound. A stifled sob, barely audible. But it wasn’t coming from the cupboard. It was coming from upstairs.

Gripping his wand tightly, Draco crept toward the stairs. He hadn’t realized how dark it had become, until he saw the sharp stream of light, shining through the partly open door at the top of the stairway. The sobbing grew slightly louder as he tip-toed up, and when he finally peeked in, he caught sight of Dudley Dursley. The boy looked even more miserable than he had this afternoon, face red, hair disheveled, and eyes swollen. His stereo lay in a broken heap on the floor, along with several empty beer bottles. Dudley was sitting at the corner of his bed, staring grimly at the mirror in front of him. He shook his head in dissatisfaction. “Just as bad. No matter how much I drink. You fat, lazy bastard.” He twisted the cap of another bottle and raised it to his reflection, before taking a swig.

“If you think that’s going to help, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Dudley choked on the liquid, nearly spitting it out in s. Hi. His eyes widened at the sight of the blonde boy leaning casually against the doorframe, and he toppled onto the floor with a dull thud. After a few moments, he let out a light whimper. Not because it hurt, but because the prospect of getting up seemed so tedious that he might as well stay where he was. He spied a splash of color, making its way slowly across his vision. With a tilt of the head, he recognized it as the remains of the beer he had been holding, just before he fell. He frowned, mourning the loss, but as it came closer, he tried to salvage a bit, sticking his tongue out to lap at it.

“Scourgify.” The liquid reversed its flow, and to Dudley’s dismay, rolled away until it disappeared completely. Shiny black shoes came into view and he scowled at them through beady eyes, before forcing his gaze up. He knew three things for sure. First, that this was the same boy from this afternoon. Second, that this boy had used magic on him. Third, that he should be scared out of his mind. And finally, that he was obviously too drunk to care. Oh, wait… that was four… He giggled at his own thoughts, body shaking like Santa Claus in a ‘Ho, ho, ho.’

Malfoy shook his head in disgust as Dudley’s arms encircled his legs, hugging them tightly. A pathetic sight indeed. But then, perhaps too quickly, Dudley’s drunken smile disappeared, replaced with a distant, pained expression. Auburn eyes darkened, as the hold loosened, and he slumped back down to the floor, reverting back to insuppressible sobs. “He hates me…” And Draco understood. “I know he hates me.” This wasn’t the product of one afternoon of guilt… but a lifetime of frustration and anger, feelings he could relate to.

Draco felt a strong wave of pity for the young Dursley, a feeling more genuine than he had felt for a long time. But it was a vulnerability that he wasn’t willing to display to anyone, let alone a muggle. So he forced it baclenclenching his fists tightly, as if the harder he squeezed the easier it was to squash out the tender weakness. New emotions prevailed, and he clung to them desperately. Repugnance, hatred, over-confident conceit… and he welcomed them with open arms. Grimace in place, he kicked Dudley off of him, with a little too much force. The look of helplessness that resulted gave Malfoy an unprecedented sense of power that he though had been lost, and he smirked.

“Why shouldn’t he?”

Dudley blinked in response, and Draco’s grin grew wider, crueler. A wave of the wand and Dudley could feel his body lifting, drifting toward his mirror.

“Look at yourself. Fat, ugly, and stupid. Tell me, Dursley, do you have any friends?” A shake of the head. “Just as I suspected.”

Dudley felt himself straighten, his feet touch the ground, and he put a hand on the mirror for support. He stared into it, at his reflection, at himself. No. Nobody would befriend something so horrid, something so vile. He saw olive eyes narrowed in disgust, pink lips twisted in revulsion. Oh Harry…

“He doesn’t care about me…” He whispered. “Nobody does…” This was just the cue that Malfoy needed, and he smiled inwardly at how easily years of persuasion slipped from his silky lips. A trait that he took much pride in, regardless of its recipient. A cunning plot began to take shape in his mind, and he knew that his next action would determine it’s coarse. Draco knew that he and Dudley were connected, struck by the same affliction in wild raven hair. Completely separate circumstances, but each caused by the insufferable naivety and righteousness that made up the boy who lived. The difference lay at where they stood, he in command, and Dudley… putty in Malfoy’s hands, a useful tool in the destruction of Harry Potter.

Gentle hands slid around Dudley’s thick waist, hugging him lightly. He tensed a bit, nervous under the foreign touch. “That’s not true.” The voice was just as gentle. And Dudley could feel its warm breath teasing the back of his neck. “I care.” His own breath quickened, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on control. But he realized that he had lost all sense of that since the eighth bottle of beer. So, when careless fingers made their way into his damaged trousers, he could barely comprehend, let alone protest. “Let me help you…” the voice urged, soothing, reassuring. Yes, he wanted help, needed it. But his mind grappled with the situation, telling him to say no, screaming at him to pull away.

Draco must have sensed this. He nestled his body closer, wedging his hand into tight briefs. “You do want me to help you…”

Dudley felt rough fingers slither around his flaccid member, and he gasped at the sudden administrations, cock responding immediately. “…don’t you?” This time, the voice was hoarse with lust, lips brushing against his ear, making him shudder. But it no longer held a tone of reassurance. In fact, Dudley was sure that it sounded demanding, and even a bit…malicious. A brutal shove caused his torso to lurch forward, and he yelped, bracing himself with both hands on the wall at the sides of his mirror. He looked into it to see sinister gray spheres, challenging him with their fierce gaze. A nefarious smirk played across the boy’s features, sending whispers of terror through Dudley’s spine.

“Don‘t you?” Malfoy rasped impatiently, tightening his grip. The plump boy squealed in pain, and attempted to pull back from the brutal contact. But the movement only served to further arouse the intruder, ass rubbing up firmly against his groin. Draco clenched his teeth under a barely suppressed groan. Hmmm… Perhaps he could gain something from all this. Without loosening his hold, he slid his hand slowly up Dudley’s length, pausing at the top to run a pressured thumb over its sensitive tip. Draco felt his own arousal mount, as the boy responded with a cry of pleasure, hips driving into his palm with an involuntary thrust. And he smiled mischievously, bringing two fingers of his free hand to his own lips.

“Oh, yes…” Dudley moaned, barely comprehending his own words. He blamed it on the alcohol, cause he was sure that under any normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have let a strangelk ilk into his room and give him a hand job. Let alone… one of them. A light draft crossed his lower body, and he become conscious of the fact that his pants and his briefs lay around his ankles.

“Yes what?” Husky. Urgent.

“Yes, I do… I want you to…oh.” His head was swimming with a mixture of uncertainty, pleasure, and false promises. One could guess which was predominant. But at this moment he didn’t care, and was almost thankful for the excuse to have someone’s body pressed up against his own. It felt good… and warm… and oh sweet smeltings, what was that!? Slick digits pressed into his opening, invading his inner muscles. He tensed, but only for a moment as the burning twinge transformed into a welcome enjoyment.

“You want me to…” Draco purred, adding a second fr, sr, stretching the tender flesh.

Another cry of contentment. Dudley could hardly breathe, let alone speak. But somehow, he managed to get it out. “…help me.” He pleaded, the double meaning penetrating his awareness even through his drunken haze. He wanted this. No. He needed it more than anything. He needed someone to help him, to care about him, to… touch him. A fourth extension drew him away from his thoughts and back to the amazing sensations he was experiencing. Had the third come already? But as quickly as it started, it all came to a halt. Both hands pulled away and Dudley’s heart dropped. An incredible feeling of loss settled over him and he stood the risk of breaking down, folding in on himself. It had been too good to be true. Or so he thought…

The touch returned, massaging his lower back and moving outward to settle on wide, bulky hips, brutal grip holding him in place. Nearly in tears, he was so thankful for the returned affection, no matter how callous. He could feel the other boy’s stiffness hovering over his entrance, teasing theicaticate skin around it. “Please…” he whispered, so unsure of himself, afraid of being abandoned again.

Draco plunged in without hesitation, impaling the boy on his own hard flesh. The movements were slow and fluid at first, drawing moans and deep sighs from the two. But as Draco lost himself in the feeling of power he held over the weak muggle, his momentum became more ragged and severe. He was so far gone that he didn’t notice the subtle change from groans of pleasure to muffled squeals of pain.

A spring of tears streamed down Dudley’s cheeks as his body was viciously slammed from behind. Was it supposed to hurt this much? A forceful thrust brought him close to falling over, and he clawed at the wall to keep himself up. His lips stung from the effort it took to keep them tightly shut, teeth clenched to keep himself from screaming. The next was just as brutal, but elicited a different type of response. He gasped at the sensation that felt horrible and wonderful at the same time, fantastic and agonizing. It happened again, and that was enough to send him over the edge. He burst, cum spurting out of him and onto his reflection. Immediately, his knees gave out and he began to slump forward. Strong arms him him up, and he felt their owner drive into him a few more times, before his own peak came and a warm rush of liquid filled his insides.

He looked at his own reflection, gasping, exhausted, sweat dripping off of his forehead. Then he gazed at the boy behind him. He was smiling, only it wasn’t a happy smile. It was something somewhat wicked and almost… possessive. The superior vibe he gave off was rather unsettling, and it disturbed Dudley to the point of trepidation. He was almost sure that the boy knew this… and liked it.

“Who are you?” He asked, voice quivering. But his question went unanswered as his whole world became blurry. And there was nothing he could do to stop the wave of dizziness from taking him over. And then… everything went black.


**

Author’s Rant: Eep! Please don’t hurt me for waiting so long! Like I said last chappie, be wary of school starting! Well, it has and professors have not been kind… Anywho, I hope you liked that chapter. And I hope it all makes sense. And to top it off, the net is down in the dorms! Can you imagine having no IM or e-mail!?!? I actually had to CALL people today! What is the world coming to? -_-!

Okay, so on with my story… The girl across the hall is good friend with my roomy. And the two are just a bit… unfamiliar with… sexual situations. So the girl comes to my room and says ‘Oh! Whatcha writin?’ The only paragraph she caught was an unfinished one that said: “His fingers slithered rapidly around his erection…” O.O That’s what she looked like. Poor girl… suffering from Slash Shock now…

Comments, question, REVIEW!?!? All welcome… and begged for! Please? ;_;