Just a Poker Face

Just A Poker Face



Raise the Stakes



The next morning Harry woke alone in his dormitory. The sun filtered through the curtained windows and poured across his face. He had been awake for a while, unwilling to open his eyes but finally, when the light behind his eyelids grew too painful, he turned his head and stared up at the ceiling.



His body was sore all over and pulsed from the pain of lying in one position for too long. He wasn’t inclined to move, however, and, the day being Saturday, didn’t see a real reason to. He measured his breathing and lay there, motionless, thinking. He wanted to get up and see Draco, sure. But he was unsure of everything now.



He had been so eager at the beginning of their game, so excited. It had filled him with passion and adrenaline, forcing him onwards, taking everything Draco dished out and lapping up the scandalized looks of his peers. He had fought Ron and Hermione, had dealt with teachers and humiliation and not once did he rethink his choices. He liked the idea of being this kind of rebel. He liked the idea of being outside the accepted norms. In a way, Harry liked the idea of being Slytherin.



His thoughts drifted back to first year when he had rejected Draco so blatantly, rejected everything he stood for and negotiated his way out of being put in Draco’s house. He wondered if the Sorting Hat had not been right all along, if he had been fooling himself in Gryffindor. The red and gold had felt like home to him and still did. Though so did Draco.



Draco felt like home?



Harry thought harder on their first meeting and it occurred to him that this whole plot, Draco’s enslaving him for a week, was really just a convoluted attempt to get back at him… to reel him in, make Harry love him and then reject him at the end.



No matter how good they were together, how good it felt to touch and feel and taste and breathe Draco, Harry would forever be perturbed by the notion that it was, in fact, Draco Malfoy he was kissing. He would be haunted by the notion that Draco might be using him, or leading him on just to break him.



At least until Draco answered some questions.



Harry frowned. The thought of the blonde evoked a rush of sensations throughout his body. His skin was hot and tingled strangely. He touched his lips and hoped to taste Draco on his fingers. He felt himself get hard as the images from the previous night flickered in his mind and burned themselves into the backs of his retinas.



He reached down, his fingers moving smoothly over the skin of his stomach, and slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his pants. He wrapped his fingers around his hardened shaft and began to tug and play with himself. He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes, thinking only of Draco and his lips, his body, his cock.



Harry breathed the name softly as he pumped himself and nearly missed the creak in the doorway.



“Harry?” a voice called to him, tentatively. Harry gasped, flung his arm away from his groin and jerked to the side, toppling out of bed. He landed face first on the floor, the pain and shock effectively dousing his arousal.



Harry groaned and tried to push himself off the ground, but it was difficult. His aching muscles throbbed more now that he wasn’t on his back and he faltered. He was more worn out than he would be after the first Quidditch practice of the year, though the satisfaction of the pain was quite the same.



“Harry, are you alright?” Harry turned over and realized that it was Neville speaking to him. He stood over him, apparently afraid to touch him. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”



“Neville?” Harry groaned, rubbing his head and finally managing to get to his feet. He picked his glasses up off the nightstand. “No it’s alright.”



Neville stepped back to give Harry space. Harry blinked a couple times, shaking the black dots away from his eyes and started searching for his clothes. He found a pair of his jeans and started pulling them on. Neville surveyed him for a while. Harry felt strangely vulnerable and turned to his friend with one eyebrow raised and a questioning turn to his mouth.



“Oh, sorry,” Neville said, turning brightly red and looking abashed. “I just… I wanted to ask you…” Harry buttoned his jeans and began searching for an adequate shirt, preparing for the worst to come out of Neville’s mouth. “Is it true?”



Harry stopped and turned around, bare chested and weary. He was growing tired of the same questions.



“Is what true?” he asked, standing there, shirt in hand and making no move to put it on. The bruise on his neck had faded slightly but the black collar brought it out. Neville seemed to find it hard to look at anything else.



“Are you, you know,” he began, still nervous. “F-f-fooling around… with Draco Malfoy?”



Harry stared, momentarily blank. He didn’t have a real answer for that. Were they fooling around? Is that what you would call it? Were they in love? No, couldn’t be. At least, Draco did not love Harry. Harry might have mentioned something about falling for Draco but his memory refused to let him think on it.



They certainly were having fun, he supposed.



“Er, yeah,” he answered uncomfortably. “I guess you could say that.”



Neville’s face fell and he stared more openly at Harry now. Harry finally decided to don his shirt and began searching for his socks, unwilling to look Neville in the eyes. More than anyone else, Neville had reason to hate Draco. He had been a victim since day one and, while Harry, Ron and Hermione could take care of themselves and dish back what they received, Neville lacked their confidence. Harry felt, for the first time really, that he was somehow betraying his friend.



Fraternizing with the enemy… as Ron would say, he supposed.



“Why, Harry?” he asked suddenly, desperate and confused. “I know you’re bound to him for a week and all but… why? Really, why Malfoy? You could have anyone.”



Harry stopped dead at those words. He turned to Neville and felt his heart beating faster. He looked at Neville, really looked at him, before answering. No one else had asked him that question. Not really.



“I don’t know, Neville,” he answered, wondering suddenly about what Neville really felt. “He’s just…” Harry fell into a feeling of panicky lust. It was the kind of feeling that brought butterflies into your stomach while simultaneously compressing your chest and making you dizzy with excitement. It was want and worry. “He’s not as bad as… as he acted before.” He wasn’t sure if that was true. “He makes… he makes me feel alive.” Harry dropped onto his bed and stared at the floor. “I can’t stop wanting him, Neville. I can’t explain it.”



Neville sat down next to Harry. It seemed like a confident move for someone so shy. Harry looked up at him apologetically.



“It’s ok, Harry,” he answered. Harry wasn’t sure why. “I know what you mean.” Harry tried to understand exactly what he was saying but couldn’t. Neville was never this enigmatic. “You should have seen his face when he found out you were in the Hospital Wing.” Harry sat up.



“Why?” Neville smiled sadly.



“He looked frightened,” he answered. “Like I’ve never seen him. Like no one has. He was angry and scared. I thought he only cared about himself, but I was wrong. I just wanted to know if you knew…”



Harry’s fears melted slowly away. Neville wasn’t scolding him; he wasn’t even upset. Harry’s mouth pulled into a smile and he slipped on his trainers and got to his feet.



“Thanks, Neville,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. He picked up his wand and paused. “So Draco didn’t threaten you?”



“Oh, he did,” Neville answered. Harry’s expression fell to shocked concern. “But only to find out who attacked you. I would have told him anyway, but he was too scared to ask nicely. Or too Malfoy.” Harry blinked. Neville didn’t seem bothered.



“How do you know?” Harry asked, preparing to beat Draco into submission for having threatened Neville. Neville smiled.



“Because he apologized,” he answered. “He’s never once apologized to me before, but he did when I told him what he wanted to know about you.” Neville got to his feet as well. “As far as I’m concerned, you two work out well together.”



Harry was stunned silent as Neville left the dormitory. He turned to the window and looked out onto the sloping lawns of the castle grounds.



“That was strange,” he whispered to himself, adjusting his hair (to no avail) and rushing off to go to the Great Hall.



When Harry arrived, breakfast had already ended. The food had been cleared from the tables and most students were making their way outside, to capitalize on the beautiful day. Harry bobbed on the balls of his feet to try and see Draco through the crowd, but didn’t spot him. He pushed in further, looking over the Slytherin table and saw no one he recognized at all.



Sighing, he decided to venture down towards the dungeons. Harry even contemplated infiltrating their dormitory, given that he knew the password. He arranged what he thought to be a brilliant plan in his mind of how he would walk right into Slytherin house, make his way to the boys’ dormitory and ambush Draco in bed. Yes. It was perfect.



Once Harry arrived in front of the stone that was ultimately their door, he hesitated. It was possible that his plan was not as brilliant as he previously thought. He wavered on the spot, thinking it over and finally deciding that, if he walked away now, he might as well have been put in Slytherin.



“Acromantula,” Harry said carefully to the door. He waited, wondering if it could sense that he did not belong. After a moment or so, however, it slid slowly away to reveal a doorway. Harry swallowed hard and marched through.



The Slytherin Common Room always intrigued him. It was nothing like Gryffindor Tower at all. There was none of the homey feel, nor of the welcome, nor, really, any warmth. It was cold and dark and damp. It was the kind of climate fit best for mould and insects. He wondered if Salazar Slytherin had ever considered that when he chose the location.



As he walked through the cavernous room, he felt eyes on him but no one said a word. None of the students that noticed seemed to have the gall to tell him to leave. Or, perhaps, they were more afraid of Draco than they were Harry and Harry was now marked.



An unusual twisting assaulted his intestines at the idea of being marked for ownership. It wasn’t unpleasant but neither was it quite comfortable. It was temporary.



Yes, it was temporary.



Harry stopped briefly, realizing he had no clue where the dormitories were, and glanced around. He saw two first year boys walked out from a hallway to the right of him so he immediately redirected himself. The hallway that, ostensibly, lead to the boys dormitory was simple and stone with bracketed torches lighting the way in place of windows. Between the torches were moving photographs of Slytherin Quidditch players from various years. Harry stopped as his eyes fell on the rather larger photo of Draco. He was alone, in full Slytherin Quidditch robes, posing with his Nimbus Two-Thousand and One. There was a sly smirk on his face and he winked at Harry when he stopped to stare.



Regardless of their lack of warmth, Harry did appreciate the idea of hanging portraits of the house Quidditch team in the halls. He smirked back at the image of Draco and continued on. There were doors further down that, he assumed, lead to each year’s separate room. He could not identify, however, which room was for which year.



He cursed himself for not thinking things through more fully. Then, giving up on tact, he pushed open the first door to his right and peeked inside.



The room was long and narrow with two rows of beds, foot to foot. At the very end of the room there was a very small-looking Slytherin boy, crouched over his trunk. Harry shut the door quickly and moved on. He supposed that was the first year’s room, so he walked further on, skipping several doors, and opened another.



This room was the same design as the last but was empty. Despite this, however, he was sure it was where Draco slept. There was one bed where the hangings were drawn and the green velvet material was laced with silver. There was a glowing silver snake on the foot of the bed, different than all the others. Furthermore, next to the bed was a simmering cauldron that was stirring itself and the end of a Nimbus Two-Thousand and One jutted out from behind the trunk. The trunk itself was polished ebony with silver details and a Slytherin uniform was folded carefully and laid atop it.



If that was not Draco’s bed, Harry would eat the Sorting Hat.



He stepped into the room, glanced around and made his way over to the bed. He paused at the trunk and ran his fingers over the corner. The silver parts were cold and shiny. He played with the hangings and sniffed at the air. Next to the bed there was also a nightstand. Upon it was a leather-bound book with a ribbon sticking out of the pages. He picked it up and opened it to the first page. It was a journal. It was Draco’s journal.



Harry ran his fingers over the inlaid latin inscription and replaced it. He was overwhelmingly curious but was not about to read Draco’s journal this way. Not without his permission. Harry knew better than to tread in those waters.



Instead, he pulled the hangings back carefully, expecting to see a sleeping Slytherin that he could crawl into bed with, but was mistaken. The bed was made and clean. Draco wasn’t there.



Harry frowned and stood there, wondering how he was going to get back out of Slytherin without being attacked. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by an unpleasant voice.



“Come to beg your master for something, Potter?” The shrill voice of Pansy Parkinson cut through Harry’s back. She attempted a drawl similar to Draco’s but failed. She had none of his finesse, nor his confidence. She pretended to be proud but achieved only cocky. It was a dirty kind of cockiness, too.



Harry turned around to face her. He was not scared, nor worried. His hands slipped into his pockets allowing him to look nonchalant while grasping his wand.



“I don’t beg, Parkinson,” he responded quietly. His face was calm but his muscles were taught and tense. Crabbe and Goyle walked in behind her. Her eyes narrowed and she walked towards him, her arms crossed over her chest.



“Oh I think you do,” she hissed at him. “I think you beg for him to fuck you, Potter. I think you beg for him to touch you, beg to suck his cock so you can taste his majesty, so that you can try to rinse away the muddy blood from your veins.”



Harry’s jaw clenched and he felt his anger rising. He fought not to attack them. Every ounce of him was working against wringing her neck for her comments. He reminded himself that he was ridiculously outnumbered, there he wasn’t supposed to be there to begin with.



“Strange,” Harry breathed through gritted teeth. “Draco said something similar about you.” She grimaced at him and it contorted her face, giving her the hideous look of a screaming mandrake. “Said that you bed him to come on you even if he won’t touch you.” Harry stood his ground. “Do you know why he won’t touch you, Parkinson?” Harry shook now with rage. “Because you’re filthy.”



“Strong words from a boy with a mudblood mother,” she shot back.



Harry could not stop himself now. It was too late. To Hell with rules, he’d taken on more Death Eaters than this and survived. He could deal with a handful of Slytherin dogs.



“Oppugno!” Harry cried. Parkinson was knocked backwards into Crabbe who also fell back. Goyle, meanwhile advanced and, rather than cast a hex at Harry, punched him in the stomach. The air was forced out of his lungs and Harry fell back onto Draco’s bed, tearing the hangings down with him. His wand fell from his hand and he scrambled to get up but Goyle was on top of him, punching him in the face.



The pain exploded behind Harry’s eyes at the impact and he felt as though he had been hit with a wrecking ball. He gasped for breath and brought his knee directly upward to hit Goyle between the legs. The massive Slytherin groaned and fell off him and Harry scrambled to his feet to get his wand but was hit with a spell Parkinson threw. He was thrown against the corner post of Draco’s bed and slid to the ground.



His mouth was bleeding and his nose, he was sure, was broken. She moved towards him and he jerked his leg to the side to trip her. She fell onto a trunk but as Harry tried to get up, Crabbe walked over and kicked him hard in the gut. Harry cried out and fell flat to the floor. Goyle, recovered, grasped Harry roughly by the arms and held them pinned behind him. Crabbe advanced on him and Harry forced himself up, using Goyle as leverage and kicked Crabbe in the face.



Parkinson got to her feet and used a spell to paralyze Harry’s legs in mid air. He was stuck, suddenly, and unable to fight back. He could hardly breathe but spat his own blood into Crabbe’s face as he got up to attack again.



“You aren’t nearly as good as you think you are, Potter,” Parkinson shot, holding her wand out. “You’re not as good as Draco thinks you are.” She stood very close to him and he has the urge to snap his jaw at her, like a wolf. She sneered. “But since you seem to be such a willing little slave for Draco,” she continued more venomously. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing you with his friends. Crabbe and Goyle do so love to break a slave.”



Harry’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to scream or shout but Goyle clasped a massive hand over his lips. Crabbe laughed and got to his feet, unzipping his trousers as Pansy stood back and cackled. She set her wand aside and grabbed Harry’s waist.



“Let’s see just how great the Chosen One really is,” she mocked, tugging at his jeans. Harry tried to open his mouth to bite Goyle’s hand but couldn’t move. He strained against the magic to free himself but it did nothing. His heart pounded in his ears as he watched Crabbe pull out his dick and rub it hard. Parkinson struggled to pull down his jeans. Harry writhed to get his hands free when, suddenly, Crabbe went completely rigid and fell to the ground like a massive boulder. Parkinson turned, confused and was knocked over the head by a jet of light.



Harry looked around and saw Draco standing, in the doorway, with a murderous rage on his face.



“Petrificus Totalus!” he cried, binding Goyle as well and forcing him to release Harry. Harry fell to the ground, unable to use his legs. Draco swiped his wand again and released Harry before stepping over to the other Slytherins. He kicked Parkinson in the back, hard and glared at them all. Crabbe was frozen, completely revealed. His dick was frozen straight up. Draco pulled a face and then kneeled down next to Parkinson and breathed into her ear. “If you ever touch Harry again, I will rip you limb from limb and leave your naked, broken body hanging in the Great Hall. If you come near me again, I will make sure the entire school knows everything about you, Parkinson. Inside and out.”



He turned to Crabbe and Goyle and spat.



“I’m going to leave you both here, exposed,” Draco shot with hatred dripping from every word. “So that all the Slytherins know just how little you really are.” Harry hadn’t realized that Goyle had dropped his trousers as well. He swallowed hard and got to his feet. Draco was seething but turned to Harry and immediately softened to concern rather than hatred.



Harry stared back at him, unsure of what to say. His lip was swollen and cut but no longer bleeding. He felt raw and angry. He swallowed again and found himself unable to do anything.



“Harry,” Draco whispered. He looked around once more and then offered his hands. “Let’s get out of her.”



Harry stared at Draco’s hand, unwilling to take it just then. He was still shaking from the rage of what they had said and done to him. He was shaking with the knowledge of what they were going to do. Mostly, he was trembling from the notion that Draco had always said the same kinds of things they did. He used the term ‘mudblood’, too.



Draco lowered his hand and nodded to the door, allowing Harry to walk out on his own. Harry did and Draco followed. They left the Slytherin Dungeons and as soon as they were on the first floor, Harry turned to the blonde.



“She called my mother a mudblood,” Harry said, venom in his words. Draco stopped, taken aback. “She used that word. You use that word. Do you think of my mother that way?” His green eyes were narrow and angry. “Do you think my blood is muddy?” He spat the last word to get the taste off his tongue. Draco’s look was even and controlled.



“Those are my father’s words,” he answered. “My father’s ideas.” He looked away briefly. “Not mine. Not anymore.” Harry was breathing heavily, unsure of what to think or do. One minute he was sure Draco was different, sure he was more than he used to be. The next, Harry was propelled into lies and hatred and violence, wondering when it would end. Draco stepped closer to him and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I’m sorry.”



Harry inhaled and nodded, his face set. Then he walked away.



He ran, in fact, out to the grounds and towards the Quidditch Pitch. He needed to be alone, he needed to calm down. He needed to fly.



“Accio, Firebolt!” He waited on the pitch for the zooming sound of his broom. When it flew in, he didn’t wait for it to stop but jumped onto it and soared up into the air. He weaved in an out of the goalposts, spinning around them like stripes on a candy cane. He feinted and soared to the sky.



Harry felt the wooden broom and allowed it to become a part of himself. He let the wind whip his hair and wash away his pain, his anguish, his fear. He released the broom from his hands, holding on with his legs, and spun backwards into a feint soaking in the feel of the freefall, the wind through his fingertips. He pulled up and hovered around for a while, pleased that he was far off the ground and could leave his self-made problems behind.



Eventually he noticed that he had an audience. He hesitated, weighing out his feelings and then dove towards the ground. He pulled up a few feet off the ground and jumped off, standing there with his Firebolt in hand.



Draco was leaning against one of the goalposts, watching him. Harry wanted to stay angry, but couldn’t. He wasn’t angry anymore. Not with Draco. He walked over and stood in front of his master, waiting. Draco reached out to touch Harry’s swollen lip.



“You’re beautiful to watch,” he offered. “When you fly,” Draco added as if to impress upon Harry that he was not beautiful to watch doing anything else. There was a grin on Draco’s face and Harry rolled his eyes.



“I wasn’t performing,” he shot back. Draco said nothing but pulled out his wand and cast a healing charm on Harry’s lip and nose. He felt the bones shift and the skin heal. He made a face at the uncomfortable feeling and then licked his lips. No longer swollen, he leaned in a kissed Draco. “Fly with me.”



Draco’s smile was wide and mischievous. He summoned his broom and mounted it next to Harry. They both kicked off and soared around the pitch. Draco’s Nimbus wasn’t nearly as fast as the Firebolt but he kept up well enough. Harry raced him and challenged him, feinting and spiralling just to see Draco do it too. He stopped, halfway across the pitch and looked back, watching the blonde fly towards him.



Harry realized that the first person with whom he had ever flown was Draco. Then, too, he knew that Draco could fly, but he never appreciated it. The Slytherin was graceful and sleek as he moved through the air. He rode the wind rather than fight it. Harry watched as Draco spun around him, his arm outstretched to brush Harry’s cheek as he did so. Harry pulled around into the spin and directed them back to the ground. Draco followed, confused.



“Your Nimbus is getting old,” Harry said bemusedly. Draco frowned.



“Yes well we can’t all have international racing brooms,” he shot back. Harry smiled proudly.



“No, we can’t,” he agreed. “But you can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to ride one.” His eyes glittered and he cocked his eyebrows.



“I…” Draco started, eying Harry suspiciously. “Of course I have.”



“Good,” Harry said. He held out his broom, his baby so-to-speak. It was a part of him. “Then give it a shot.”



Draco was shocked. He didn’t move for a few moments, apparently incredulous. He reached out hesitantly to take the broom from Harry. Harry let him take it.



“You’re going to let me ride your Firebolt?” Draco asked in disbelief. Even as he held the broom, he couldn’t take it in.



“If you’re having second thoughts…” Harry started sarcastically but Draco had already mounted it and taken off. He flew beautifully on a real racing broom. Harry knew that Draco should have one of these. Watching him fly on the Nimbus was almost like watching a master pianist play on an electric keyboard. It didn’t fit.



The Firebolt did.



Harry sat on the grass, holding Draco’s Nimbus, and watched the blonde draw patterns in the air. He decided, then, that Draco was different, no matter the evidence to the contrary. He decided that Draco could have him. Neville had even pointed it out. How could he argue with that?



Draco landed, finally and threw himself down next to Harry. He was panting and there was a smile on his face that might suggest he had just experienced the most earth-shattering orgasm. Harry laughed.



“Enjoyed yourself a little too much, did you?” Draco turned his head lazily towards Harry.



“I have got to get one of these,” he proclaimed, panting through the words. Harry nodded in agreement.



“You look bloody hot on my broomstick,” Harry replied in an undertone. Draco sat up and stared at him with glinting eyes. Harry thought on what he had said and flushed pink.



“Do you want to ride my broomstick, Potter?” Draco drawled. Harry got to his knees and pushed Draco down on his back. He straddled the blonde and pressed himself down onto the growing bulge in Draco’s trousers.



“I want to ride you all day long,” he answered in a breathy moan. The feeling of Draco’s hardness pressing against him was exciting. Harry would never admit it but he had had many fantasies about shagging on the Quidditch Pitch.



Draco brought his hands to Harry’s hips and bucked upwards, rubbing himself against Harry’s butt through their trousers. He bit his lip and reached up, fisting Harry’s shirt to pull him down. He forced their mouths together in a violently wanting kiss. His tongue fought with Harry’s and his hands started sliding Harry’s shirt upwards.



Harry sucked on Draco’s lip and nibbled at it while his own hands started unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. He finally plucked away at the fabric, splitting it open and snapping off the remaining buttons. He couldn’t wait. He pulled back only to admire Draco’s lean, pale body.



“Enjoying the image?” Draco drawled quietly. Harry bit his lips and rolled his hips back to press against Draco’s erection again in response. “It’s yours, Potter.” He reached out and unfastened Harry’s trousers, reaching inside to grasp his cock. “And this,” he said with a possessive growl. “is mine. You are mine.”



“Yes,” Harry moaned, gyrating into Draco’s palm. Draco smirked and sat up, forcing Harry backwards. He sat between Draco’s legs, his own legs draped over Draco’s hips. The blonde kissed him again, sucking in his tongue and demanding ownership. His hands were buried in Harry’s messy black hair, pulling and tugging to prove his point. He slid his hands downward and forced their bodies closer, feeling every inch of Harry that he could. Draco was almost carnivorous in his movements, wanting to consume Harry completely.



Harry’s fingers were playing with Draco’s nipples, wanting to evoke every sensation he, himself, felt the previous night. He wanted to set Draco on fire, to leave him with the same look on his face that the Firebolt caused. He pinched hard and was rewarded with a surprised gasp and then a moan. Harry’s kissing became more urgent. He needed to feel Draco inside of him, needed to hit heaven one more time.



The Gryffindor dragged his hands down and tore open Draco’s trousers. He released Draco’s cock and then wrapped his hands around both of them, pumping them together, in time with his heartbeat. He had never experienced need this strong until he had experienced Draco.



“I want you,” Harry moaned, unable to stop himself. “I want you so bad it hurts.”



Draco made a sound of hungry delight and kissed him harder still, moving from his mouth to his jaw and sucking a line down the side of Harry’s neck. He left a bold red trail in his wake.



Harry pumped their shafts and found himself jutting his hips in time. He wasn’t sure he could wait any longer.



“Draco, now,” he whispered. Draco pulled away briefly and looked at Harry through his dishevelled blond locks.



“Pretty orders for a slave,” he hissed before pushing Harry down onto his back. He kneeled over his lover with a dangerous smirk. “I make the decisions, here.”



Harry picked up Draco’s hand and ran his tongue along the Slytherin’s finger. He sucked it into his mouth and pulled away. He’d seen it done on some dirty film he’d caught Dudley watching and had wanted to try it ever since. He was pleased he had because Draco’s resolve to be in control seemed to be waning.



“Don’t think you can get away with that,” the blond breathed. “Without repercussions.”



He dragged his hands down Harry’s front and finally tugged away his trousers and pants. Harry forced off his own shoes and socks to help things move more quickly. He was completely naked in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch. He feared briefly being spotted, but then the idea aroused him further. He moaned as blood rushed down to his already throbbing erection.



“You are a fan of exhibitionism, aren’t you?” Draco mused. Harry supposed he was. He just never really knew it. “You want people to see me penetrating you, Potter?” Harry groaned and he took a sharp breath in. “You want them to see me fucking you, hear you scream my name?” Draco leaned in close and whispered in Harry’s ear. “I do.”



Draco then moved down and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Harry’s length, gently lapping at the little pearl of liquid that was growing there. He slid his tongue out slowly, down the crown and towards the base, moving in an almost snakelike fashion. Sounds of lust and pleasure escaped Harry’s lips and he fisted Draco’s silky blond hair.



“Feels so good,” Harry moaned. Draco opened his mouth and moved down but, rather than swallow Harry’s cock, he pressed his lips around Harry’s balls and laved his tongue over them. “Oh fuck.” Harry cried out, his body shaking from the sensations that exploded all over him. He wanted Draco to continue doing what he was doing forever, but wanted to feel Draco inside of him even more.



Draco made his way back up, leaving hot, wet trails wherever his mouth went and he finally sucked Harry’s cock into his mouth. He slid down the shaft, angling his head in order to deep throat the erection. The Gryffindor bucked and writhed wildly, unable to control himself. But Draco did not let Harry stay in his mouth long. He pulled away and licked his lips, staring at the result of his ministrations. Harry heaved and looked up, wondering why his lover had stopped.



“I want you to stretch yourself,” Draco explained with a dark smile. He produced a new bottle of lube from his pocket and handed it to Harry. “I will watch.”



Harry was too eager to argue. He took the bottle and poured out some of it onto his fingers. Then he sat himself up, propped up by one hand and reached down to the other for his own opening. He had never done it before, but wanted to make a good show for Draco. He wanted Draco to be incapable of watching long without being inside him. He wanted Draco force him down and fuck him hard.



So Harry slid one of his fingers into his own hole and gasped. While it felt nowhere near as good as Draco’s hand or cock, it did feel good. He had been missing out by simply wanking. He moaned and pushed in another finger, and another. His body was becoming more accustomed to the penetration and he found himself enjoying it more and more. Harry threw his head back and moaned to his own movements. Draco, meanwhile, was massaging his own length and finding it difficult not to forego the preparation and jump Harry.



“Stop,” he said finally, unable to control himself. He let his open shirt slide off his shoulders and leaned into Harry to kiss him. “I want in.”



Harry removed his fingers, pleased that his plan had worked and opened his legs for Draco. The blonde positioned himself and pressed his cock into Harry in one, swift and hard motion.



“AH!” Harry cried out, shocked at the sudden intrusion. Draco went so deep, so fast that he hit Harry’s spot right away. Draco’s face was the portrait of lust as he pushed into Harry. He pulled out slowly and pushed back in. Steadily, he increased his speed and depth. Harry clenched around him and Draco cried out. His hands had an iron grip around Harry’s hips as he moved them both together. Harry grabbed his own cock and began to stroke it in time with Draco’s thrusts.



“Oh, yes,” Draco murmured in ecstasy. “Yes, Harry, yes!”



Harry couldn’t keep his eyes open, nor could he allow them to close and miss the sight of Draco in this state. He fought to watch but there were fireworks building behind his eyes.



Draco suddenly shifted their positions. He pulled Harry up and threw himself backwards so that Harry was sitting on him, impaled and erect. Draco smiled through his panting and reached for Harry’s cock, wrapping his hand around Harry’s hand as he pumped.



Harry started thrusting himself onto Draco and off, faster and harder as he could stand. He wanted Draco to come and he wanted it now. He couldn’t wait any longer.



“Draco, mm,” he moaned. “Gonna come, ahh! Draco!” As Harry spoke, Draco exploded within him, crying out his name, having lost control entirely. Harry’s semen shot out onto Draco’s stomach and then he fell forward, on top of the blonde.



“God, that was amazing,” Draco said huskily. He held Harry for a few moment, running his hands down his back.



Harry eventually lifted himself off of the Slytherin and fell down on the grass beside him. He let his hand trail gently down Draco’s stomach until it reached his limp cock. He caressed it softly and let his fingers draw lines along Draco’s pelvis.



“I never thought I could ever feel this good with you,” Harry admitted softly. Draco turned his head to look at him. There was a puzzled expression on his face.



“Never?” he asked. Harry was surprised it didn’t make more sense to the blonde. They had been enemies until now.



“We were enemies, remember?” he offered with a sly smile. Draco rolled his eyes.



“But you’ve never fantasized about this, at all?” he asked in return. Harry blinked, his face slightly pink.



“Have you?” He rolled onto his side. “Have you fantasized about shagging me?”



“All the bloody time,” Draco responded, unabashed. There was a knowing smile on his face. “I hated it, but you were the only one I could ever picture when I needed to come.”



Harry stared at him in shock. He might have been embarrassed had Draco not been so candid about it.



“Even though we hated each other?” Draco laughed.



“The best wanks stem from hate,” he responded sagely. “But the question is, did I hate you?” Harry said nothing. He was dumbstruck. “And you’ve never fantasized about me?” Harry turned a darker shade of pink.



“Well, once,” he admitted, looking away. “But it was a dream, not conscious.”



Draco perked up and smirked.



“Well go on,” he said, ignoring the fact that Harry pretended it wasn’t something he had wanted.



“I.. we..” he began and then huffed. “I was in the change rooms, taking a shower, and I heard someone come in. I turned around and you were there, opening the curtain and completely starkers.” He swallowed hard at the memory. “You pushed me against the wall and started kissing me and then… well… It scared the living hell out of me.”



Harry was thoroughly embarrassed but Draco was snickering to himself. He smacked the Slytherin and sat up. Draco followed suit and pressed his lips to Harry’s shoulder. His arms snaked around the Gryffindor’s waist and he hummed.



“If you never thought about fucking me,” Draco offered quietly. “Then why did you let me shag you in the Prefect’s Bathroom?” Harry turned an even darker shade of red.



“I never looked at you closely,” Harry offered, clearly unsure. “But then I saw you and I wanted you. I thought I was mad until you… well…”





“So, you’re saying,” Draco surmised bemusedly. “All I needed to do from the start was show you what I looked like naked?” Harry shoved him as he laughed to himself and he went off to find his jeans and pants. Dressing himself he looked up and saw that the sun had set.



“We should get back,” Harry murmured. Draco got to his feet and adjusted his shirt. He had cleaned himself up with his wand and smiled at Hary.



“Says who?” Draco’s eyes glittered with mischief.



“Well, dinner has probably been served by now,” he explained, counting off the reasons. “I haven’t eaten all day and at some point this weekend I’m going to have to do some homework.”



“We’ll go to the library tomorrow,” Draco reasoned, moving closer to Harry and running his hand down the Gryffindor’s still bare chest. “And I can get you food later.”



Harry was inclined to cooperate, given how Draco was running his fingers through his hair.



“What did you have in mind?” Harry asked hopefully. Draco licked his lips.



“Right now,” he said quietly. “I’m going to take you into the showers and let you live out your fantasy.” He hummed and pressed his lips to Harry’s ear. “You are going to come for me again and again, tonight.”



“Is that an order?” Harry asked, his body already tingling with excitement. “Master?”



“Yes, pet,” Draco murmured into Harry’s neck. “That’s an order.”



-------



A/N: YAY so another chapter. This one is rather angsty and I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t expecting it to turn out that way. But here we are. I also realized that my previous chapters were MUCH shorter. Is this a problem? I hope not.



There should be at least two more chapters of this and then we’re done. I think. So I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are love and equal porn. Basic alchemical equation really. Reviews with give you porn, lol.