With Teeth

**The more that we take, the paler we get
I can't remember what it is we try to forget
The tile on the floor, so cold it can sting
In your eyes in a place worth remembering**


--


Draco gave a final kick to the nearly lifeless body lying limp on the floor, before tossing a small bottle onto it and walking towards the opposite end of the room.

“Get out of my sight you pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The figure slumped on its side, gripping the bottle like a lifeline. Pulling himself dangerously to his side and taking a long draught from the small brown glass, he moved his limbs carefully and his muscles twitched as the potion flooded his body, enervating his system. Sitting up unsteadily, he turned to stare at his contracted abuser.

Usually Draco left and let him recoup, if even slightly, before he was made to leave. The boy was very confused. With no other communication from the blonde, indeed his back was to him and the door, he moved slowly. Draco watched from the corner of his eye as the form teetered to its feet, clutching the wall as he stumbled out of the room. He risked one last look at the Slytherin, and then disappeared down the halls.

“Stupid Hufflepuff,” Draco mumbled as he reached into a drawer in the large desk.

He pulled out another bottle much the same as the one thrown on his ‘companion’, only slightly taller. Tugging on the cork stopper he placed the bottle to his lips and inhaled deeply, reveling in the spicy scent. Tipping the glass back sent liquid coursing over his tongue, and a nearly immediate sense of warmth flooded his muscles; the tension seeped from his limbs, leaving him feeling more relaxed.

The potion affected his body, cooling his mood and acting in much the same way as alcohol without all those nasty side-effects. It was a special blend of his own; an extra credit assignment for his beloved potions-master. He sat heavily in the chair paired with the large teaching desk, taking another draught from the bottle.

He didn’t like the ‘clients’ that only took from him. The ones that came to him begging, no demanding, that he see them.

“Greedy bastards.”

He much preferred the ‘clients’ that wanted more than just abuse; more than just getting kicked around. He needed something too, and catering to the subs that needed domination and order gave him much more satisfaction.

Opening the cabinet, he looked at the charms hanging on hooks on the inside of the door. His eyes rested on the newest one.

Sometimes he wished he could just say ‘fuck off’ to the stupid sons-of-bitches. Sometimes he did; it only served to increase his allure, but (as he said before) it was what he was there to do, so he did it.

He fingered the brass charm, examining the design: a lion in a cage. Smiling to himself, he remembered the person associated with it. It had been four days…

Draco didn’t have many ‘clients’ that he specifically owned, but they were his favourites. Rules and repercussions reminded him that there was order in his life, and order was something that meant very much to the Malfoy.

Picking up the charm, he pressed his thumb against it and waited.


--


Harry yelped as the cord around his neck suddenly started to burn, and his eyes lit up as he realized what is must mean. Hermione noticed her friend jump, his hand flying to his neck, and reached her own hand out to him.

“Harry, are you alright?”

The sudden contact stung and Harry leapt from his seat, books and parchments tumbling from the table.

“Harry!”

Harry backed away, not able to look at her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m- I’m fine… I just… remembered something.”

“Like what, mate?”

Harry’s gaze flitted between his two friends, trying desperately to come up with something that would keep them at bay.

“There was someone I had to- I’ve got to meet someone.”

“Harry, we’re right in the middle of homework.”

Ron rolled his eyes at Hermione, for once zoning in on the more obvious point.

“Harry, it’s almost ten, where could you possibly need to be?”

The cord around his neck flared again, the burn increasing. He tried to control the flinch that passed over his eyes. He could feel the increase in his heartbeat, and the pit of his stomach grew cold. Suddenly Neville appeared at the table, smiling shyly.

“Harry was supposed to meet me in the library, right Harry?”

Neville glanced up nervously, meeting Harry’s gaze for just a moment and smiled encouragingly.

Harry simply nodded, unable to speak. The sudden panic was constricting his throat.

“I wanted some help on defense techniques. He promised to get to me before the weekend.”

The saner two-thirds of the golden trio relaxed visibly, sitting back down to their essays.

“Don’t stay out too long, we have essays due tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry mate, I’ll let you copy off us.”

“I’m not letting him copy, Ronald.”

“You’ll let me copy, then I’ll let him copy.”

Hermione knew he had her, and the best she could do was roll her eyes at him and huff back into her position at the table. Harry gratefully took advantage of the squabble and slipped away silently, following the quick incline of Neville’s head. Falling into step behind him Harry glanced at his friend, completely unsure how to go about losing him. He honestly didn’t remember setting this ‘date’ with him and if the incessant burning around his neck was any indication, Draco was going to be pissed by the time he finally managed to show up.

Just as he was about to say something to him the burn morphed into a sharp sting, drawing a yelp. The slap from his hand flying to the cord echoed through the hallway they had just entered.

Neville didn’t seem fazed by Harry’s behaviour; he simply smiled and walked steadily, head down.

“First visit back?”

Harry tried to look innocent, confused even (for he was), lifting an eyebrow through the tears the pain brought. Neville’s smile grew slightly, almost amused by Harry antics.

“Don’t worry Harry, I won’t tell anyone your secret. You’d better hurry though, you’re going to be in enough trouble as it is.”

Harry realized they were now at the library, just past halfway to The Room. Still terribly confused as to what was even going on, he paused waiting for… something. Neville didn’t give any implication he expected Harry to follow him, so with a quick glance (receiving an encouraging smile for his troubles) he turned to go, but curiosity stalled his footsteps and he turned back.

“Neville, how did yo-“

Yet another shy smiled followed, “It seems we have some common interests.”

He fingered his collar, a flash of metal catching Harry’s eye. The double entendre settled in thickly. Harry could only blink stupidly at him before Neville turned, effectively ending the conversation. Harry walked slowly away, an unpleasant knot taking over in the pit of his stomach.


**


By the time Harry made it to the door-way, the cord had singed a ring around his neck. There was a welt where he had been biting the inside of his cheek, and his heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would burst right through his chest. He skidded to a stop in the opening to the room, locking eyes on the blonde head of hair. The head rose slowly, and seemed to bore straight into the brunette’s soul. The breath caught in Harry’s throat, his tongue suddenly thick and immobile.

Draco looked pissed.

“I thought it was agreed that you would come when I called.”

He wanted to respond, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Something inside Harry knew that it would be far worse to say nothing at all, but his tongue and jaw refused to cooperate with this knowledge. The most he could muster was a garbled stutter before Draco tried again.

“I said, ‘I thought it was agreed you would come when called’…”

A thick swallow and sheer will broke the lock on Harry’s jaw.

“I’m sorry… I tried…”

Draco shook his head, cutting him off.

“You will not speak. On your knees, center of the room.”

The gruff undertone to his voice sent Harry sprinting to comply with his orders.

“And take off your shirt.”

When Draco turned around Harry was on his knees, hands folded neatly and his head down. Harry’s eyes flitted nervously around the room. He knew he had no idea what to expect, and he privately rejoiced at the tremor quaking the figure. He loved it when they squirmed.

He fell into a lazy circle around his newest victim.

“We have discussed rules, haven’t we Potter?”

Something told Harry not to say anything, and for the first time was able to obey his inner voice. Luckily this was the right choice. Draco peered at the unobtrusive form from the edge of his field of vision, examining it closely. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was actually impressed with the display. Only one visit (having nothing to do with the actual parameters of their ‘relationship’) followed by four days of absolutely no contact whatsoever, not even during class or in the halls; Draco was quite expecting an emotional blubbering mess, begging for forgiveness and promising to follow instructions perfectly ‘the next time’.

Harry was nearly the vision of perfection.

Nearly.

“I asked you a question, slave!”

The final word was punctuated by a crack as Draco’s wand was transfigured, the noise drawing a flinch from the ‘golden boy’.

Normally Harry’s brain was the epitome of discombobulation, barely able to connect two strains of a conversation (particularly under great stress), but he desperately wanted to do this right. Pleasing Draco was the only thing on his mind.

He racked his brain trying to reconcile the only two concrete rules he could discern (not counting posture); do not speak, and answer when addressed. The strain, only visible in his eyes, laboured his breath. Sensing Draco’s impatience, he did the only thing that could possibly make sense at the time. Keeping his gaze to the ground he nodded once.

Again Draco quirked a brow, once more impressed at the display. He was almost hoping for a chance at more punishment. But this was about challenging Harry, not some perverse pleasure Draco derived from dishing it out. (Well, not entirely.)

“Very good. However I’m still going to have to punish you for making me wait.

Draco found himself suddenly staring into green, Harry’s eyes making their way to his own. A plead threatening to tumble from his lips, but no sound came. Draco’s smirk turned almost mischievous. Panic was forgivable this early in the game.

“There will be five strokes,” he continued nonchalantly, as if everything was normal, “you will count each one…”

He caught the quick furrow, saw the panic gaining hold, and finally decided to make something easy for the poor boy.

“…aloud”

The minute relief was visible, and Draco could have chuckled if he thought it didn’t seem irreverent. He stopped behind the kneeling form, brandishing the transfigured switch that was once his wand.

“If you miss one, it’s not my fault.”

There was hardly a breath between the last word and the first thwack. No pause at all for Harry to reconcile the entire affair, and the sudden contact of soft leather sharp on his skin tore a yelp from his throat. Draco would admit he took advantage of Harry’s ineptitude, delighted in his struggle. Harry tried to catch up, missing the second blow.

He managed to croak a dazed, “one!” just moments after the second and before the third.

His shock at the third snap, repeating strikes on now-sensitive flesh, produced a noise some-what between a snarl and a moan. The fourth was quite sharper, jarring him back into logicical, and he finally shouted out a ‘two’.

“What were they teaching you in those muggle schools?”

A fifth thwack brought a strained ‘three’, through gritted teeth and a locked jaw.

“A wizard usually learns to count at an early age.”

Number ‘four’ was coupled with a glare, barely concealed rage building at being abused in such a manner.

“What will it be, Potter? One more, or two?”

He aimed the seventh blow carefully, choosing the reddest blotch on Harry’s back. He earned a sharp gasp and a shuddered sob. He got in another strike, before Harry was able count his final strike.

Draco stepped back, watching the heaving breaths his quarry took. He re-transfigured his wand, pocketing the stick. Closing the distance, he placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and rubbed gently, soothingly. The panting almost disappeared, replaced by an appreciative moan. Draco was surprised to notice that Harry didn’t get any sort of physical contact at all. Outside of him, that is.

The finger-tips ran further down, nudging along the welts the tip of the switch had left. The gasp and hiss stopped him for just a moment, before returning to his task of touching all of the skin he could see.

The tickle left in his wake caused goose-bumps to crop up on Harry’s flesh; the pants were replaced by a shudder. Before he realized the change Harry felt hands on his front, sliding over his chest and twisting the sensitive flesh of his nipples. The shudder became a quake. The hands traveled further south, pressing more insistently and squeezing on a rapid-growth erection. Harry’s gasp was once more audible. Every inch of him seemed to tingle as breath ghosted over the shell of his ear.

“That wasn’t too terrible, Potter. A little practice is all it will take.”

The words didn’t match the tone, and Harry shivered involuntarily again as the words were replaced by a wet tongue. A sweet moan filled the air. The anger at the discipline melted away, bringing back the desire to please Draco above all else. The words stifled themselves at Harry’s lips, tongue unwilling to move. His fear of being wrong always tripped him up at crucial moments, but he was determined to get rid of it and give himself over to the new center of his life. He felt he would do anything for the blonde.

“How can I serve you, Sir?”

The question was quiet, quite miss-able if Draco had not been so close. It stopped him in his tracks. This was something he didn’t come across often, and a low grin split his features. Every once in a while you would find a real gem, and this one’s name was Harry Potter. Draco was so used to the selfish masochists, in the game for their own twisted pleasure, that he rejoiced at the contrast a true submissive (with full range of benefits) provided.

“How can you serve me?”

Draco wondered if Harry knew what he was getting himself into. The brunette nodded in response.

“I would like to…”

The fingers still traveling over Harry’s now very sensitive skin landed on an already-abused nipple, and turned roughly eliciting a yelp of protest. Harry caught on quickly to his mistake, surprisingly responsive for a first-timer.

“I would like to, SIR.”

The sheer will it took to be brave enough to speak to the blonde was more than Harry ever knew he’d be able to handle, and his heart beat fully in his chest. The air never seemed to be enough, and a fuzziness lingered at the edge of his brain. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last in this state, but he knew he had to do something for-TO his … he didn’t know what to call him. His Draco…

Draco was nothing if not perceptive, and he knew Harry couldn’t take much of anything more (let alone cohesively making an effort at pleasing him) so he decided to play nice; his brand of nice at least. Bringing his lips to Harry’s ear once more he whispered wetly, earning another violent shiver.

“You can just enjoy this for me.”

The lips moved to the cords of muscle on Harry’s neck, effectively distracting him from the spells he cast with his wand; one to remove the rest of their clothing and the next to send ropes slithering along Harry’s skin, knotting themselves intricately around his wrists and ankles. Harry ended up on his chest, face smashed into the floor with his hands and feet tied together tucked under his body in such way to present a most pleasant view for anyone behind him. Draco, for one, quite appreciated it.

Between the ropes teasing his flesh and the delightfully dirty position he found himself in, Harry’s nerves were singing. What little muscle movement was still afforded could only manifest as trembling.

After a moment’s examination Draco chose a final addition: another transfiguration (this time something long ago left in a desk) and he placed a gag gently in Harry’s mouth, securing the spongy ball almost lovingly around his teeth and buckling the leather behind his head

Deciding he, himself, was ready and knowing how much of this was for the pain, Draco took little care in preparing Harry for his entrance. Just enough to elicit more delicious whimpers and tremors, and to make sure there was room without tear (he so despised cleaning up blood). He placed himself in position, holding firm on Harry’s hips. With nothing more at all to say on the matter he shoved in violently, pitching the squashed form forward. He tugged the bound hips back in place, only seating himself further in.

The ball-gag cut off any vocal appreciation, or protest, quite effectively. It was really only there for Harry to bite down on when things became a little too intense, and this feature was used on the second rather forceful shove. Draco took no time being gentle like before, and his own body appreciated the rough TIGHT hot contact. Luckily this was exactly the kind of treatment Harry needed, and with each thrust he bit harder into the spongy material, positive he was going to bite right through it and snap his teeth. The ball never gave way though, and along with the clamp of his jaw each shove tore another scream from his throat.

The rough treatment made Harry feel like he could actually feel something (everything about Draco made him feel as if he could actually feel something) and the more he got the more he loved, and when he felt a hand curve around his own leaking member he could have cried.

Draco himself was balls deep (so to speak) in his endeavour and he was getting very close. He knew he needed to ‘keep the client satisfied’ (again, so to speak), and threw everything into giving Harry the pleasure he required and asked for.

The strokes, the thrusts, the angle, the inability to move, his breath restricted by both the floor and the gag; everything came together for Harry all in one blinding moment of pure bliss. The gag was finally unable to hold back his scream and he seized, his orgasm ripping through his soul. Harry was numbly aware of Draco continuing his rapid pound into his backside, chasing his own release. He lazily registered the pulse of wet and sticky heat as Draco came inside him. It made him feel deliciously dirty, and this only fueled the slow burn in his belly. Harry was sure he could never get tired of this kind of treatment.

Draco’s last shudder went unnoticed as Harry completely blacked-out from the onslaught.


**


Harry awoke an indeterminable amount of time later, and jumped to his feet surprised to find himself clothed. He was overwhelmingly exhausted, and ached all over. He blindly stumbled to the exit of the room starkly aware of the fact that he was very alone.

**

Making his way finally to collapse into his bed, the events of the evening reeled through his brain and he settled upon a disturbing memory. It was something he’d chosen to ignore until this bleary hour forced him to recognize it.

Neville wore a charm just like his

--


**For you to go and take this and smash it apart
I've gone all this fucking way to wind up back at
Back at the start **