Hard on the Knees

disclaimer: not mine.

warning: draco/pansy with hints of slanc-1nc-17. angst.

-hard on the knees-

He pushed her into a broom closet, or tumbled her onto her own bed, or ran behind the stands, tugging her arm almost out of her socket, right after the Slytherin-Gryffindor game. His eyes glinted ferally and he frightened her when he smiled, right before his teeth came down on her neck, tearing, tasting blood. His hands scrambled up her narrow hips, finding purchase on her skirt, tugging. He wanted her naked, and his long, pointed nails liked to leave trails, marking territory, streaking red across fair pureblood skin. She wasn\'t allowed to touch, or to cry out, or to move except when he told her to.

The day he dragged her into the broom shed, the mud slippery and plentiful on the way over, the sky leaking sluggishly, she wasn\'t in the mood. She tried braking, but her ladylike soft eelskin leather boots would just slide and slip gracefully through the liquefied earth, refusing to misbehave. She clamped tight around his wrist, hissing. He grinned at her, twisting his head back to look her straight in the eye, though he kept going. He could never be dissuaded, especially not by resistance.

He ripped her shirt off, making her shiver with the cold, leaning against the hard wood of the wall behind her, resigned. Her nipples, dark rose and stiff under the nippy spring wind, felt almost painful, glaring bulls-eye targets. She knew what was coming, but it didn\'t stop the shock of it ripping through her, slicing her defenses with more ease than any razor. His teeth, piercing her most sensitive area, biting mercilessly, making her buck against him in a frenzy of maddened pain and pleasure. She was flooded by now, wet and desperate and she\'d almost be ashamed if this were anyone else, but this was Draco, and he always got what he wanted. It was right. That was his birthright, his legacy.

He knew very well how soaking wet she was, but he never let on. His own erection sat untouched in his trousers, growing more uncomfortable by the second. His mouth left red suction marks all over her skin, and he was smiling, his palms cupping her breasts, almost gently, even as he twisted and tugged and mauled her nipples mercilessly. She was gasping, little breathy sighs, and her thighs were trembling, and her knees were about to give way, but she would stand, because she\'d been trained since childhood, and she was a Slytherin, after all.

He dropped down to his knees, spreading her legs roughly, pinning her thighs to the wall with his hands, and holding her up. His tongue was fast and unerring, darting out and zeroing on the epicenter of her pleasure, rubbing in tiny little circles, applying wave after wave of building pressure, flicking and sucking gently, before he bit. She had bitten through her own lip, but the gasps and groans still escaped, and the scream when he sucked hard on her clit, cleaning up the blood. Nothing could stop the clenching of her legs around his head, strong and lithe and smooth, nearly suffocating him.

The smell of her sweet, silky fluid and the tang of blood on his mouth made him dizzy, and even more aware of the frustrated erection he\'d been ignoring. It was twitching sympathetically, almost at the point where it became overstimulated and he lost control, which he never did. He was a Malfoy, and they never lost control, especially when it counted. Especially not when they were playing with their prey. The copious pre-come, the painfully swollen head of his cock, the trembling in his muscles were simply warnings-- signals.

Her legs had lost all strength, and she was relying on him to keep her upright now, which he used to his advantage. He pushed her down, dazed and not quite comprehending yet, leaving her face at a level with his crotch. He smirked and without bothering with any introductory remarks, freed his cock, pushing into her mouth unceremoniously. She choked, eyes snapping open, staring at him in startlement and alarm, but it wasn\'t something he was about to pay attention to. Her mouth was warm and wet and the small pressures of her teeth against him made him unable to repress a moan.

He could feel her stretched to capacity all around him, he could feel himself pressing against the back of one cheek, so close to the enticing depths of her lovely white throat. He began bucking his hips, forcing himself in and out of her, eliciting strangled little moans and frantic whimpers. He knew he was too much for her, especially in her muddled state, but that only made this all the sweeter. His thrusts became fast and shallow, and his dispassionate features twisted in a vicious grimace, his mouth hanging open as he panted heavily, his hands fisting in her whispy blonde hair.

She was crying now, her tears wiping against his skin, wet andlessless. He wished he could use them for lubricant, but it was too late for that idea now. He was so close, and her mouth was slack now, her eyes rolling back. She was almost passing out, and soon, it will be no fun anymore. He pulled out, leaving her gasping, clutching at her neck, coughing violently.

Draco\'s fist locked around his cock, and he pumped hard several times, grunting heavily, staring at the golden top of Pansy\'s head, not really seeing it. He moaned, wishing for darkness, misted-over glasses slipping down a small, pointed nose, a slippery finger pushing slowly inside his arse, a messy heap of inky hair. He wished he could see his come splattered, dribbling down those lenses, landing on full, well-kissed lips.

This was the reality-- this was what he had. This was desire, who could argue with that?

As he shot all over her face, spraying semen all over the pale, aristocratic skin so like his own, he thought he heard vicious laughter ringing brightly in his head, not his own. He never spoke during these encounters, never touched her in a way that might make him slip, never allowed himself the pleasure of her tight virgin body, all because he was being careful. So why did he still feel like she knew? Like everyone knew? And she was laughing. They were all laughing. What a pathetic bloody wanker he was at keeping even one stupid secret.

He backhanded her across the cheek, and she fell noiselessly to the side, blacking out, almost grateful because this meant it was all in the past now, and she could go back to her dreams, where Draco touched her temples, gently, and smoothed back her hair, and whispered something she couldn\'t understand in her ear, sounding intimate.

Walking away, he just felt worse. It was taking more and more violence and games and silence to do even this much with Pansy these days. He could see it: a few more days, weeks, maybe months, and he would be limp and obvious and she would tell her mother, and his father would then know, of course, and it will all be over.

Of course, in a way, it was over the day it began, when he did what he was meant to, and it wasn\'t good enough for the first time in his life. He said what he was supposed to, and he knew it was right, this was who he was and he was proud of it. Obviously, anyone who disagreed was a bloody moron, not worthy of licking his father\'s shoe.

Draco kicked a pebble, making it arc low over the mud-slick ground.

One day, even he would slip, it was inevitable. It was only human. Knowing his luck, he would land on his knees.

He sucked on the cut on his lip, tasting pure blood.

He wouldn\'t be going down alone, he could at least promise himself that. And when he spoke, it would be drowned out by the noise of white marble heroes, falling to earth.
~~