Feared

Disclaimer: I don\'t own Marcus Flint, Draco Malfoy, or anything else from the Harry Potter universe. It\'s all JK Rowling\'s, and somehow I doubt she\'d write this little story. I\'m not charging you anything to read this, so hopefully I won\'t be sued. Just enjoy the story.


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The sound of Marcus’ hand connecting with the soft flesh of Draco’s face sounded louder than any amount of yelling that Marcus Flint had ever done. And that was saying something. Draco stood silent in the center of the Slytherin locker room, a red hand print slowly pricking its way to the surface of his skin. Marcus loomed over him, all but snarling at the smaller boy. The other members of the Quidditch team were silent, all staring. When Marcus’ eyes snapped up from Draco to look at them all, they shrank back as if he’d snapped at them. He waited, making sure that they all knew to be silent, then turned his attention back to Draco.

“You sorry, cock-sucking come-soaked pussy son-of-a-bitch! What the bleedin’ hell was that load of dragon shit I saw out there? Huh?!”

Without looking away from Draco, Marcus thrust his fist to the side, watching as the other boy cringed at the sound of his fist colliding with the locker door.

“Tell me, do you see any value in that tactic of yours? Wasting away the game by yapping your bloody mouth off to Potter? Does that make you feel clever, Malfoy? Do you think that’ll help you find the snitch any faster? Please, bloody enlighten us, would you? The great Draco Malfoy… the rest of those fuckers in this bleedin’ school seem to respect you for some reason that’s fucking beyond me, but on the bloody pitch you’re not worth shit, you hear me?! Never have I seen such piss-poor flying! On the list of worst seekers in the whole bloody wizarding world, you rank right up at the top, just above the seeker for the Chudley Cannons and a bloody blind man!”

SLAM! Marcus kicked over the bench, sending one of the beaters tumbling off to the side. Stepping forward, Marcus leaned in closer to Draco, his raspy voice whispering dangerously beside his ear.

“You’re the one that sent me that desperate letter three months ago, bloody begging me to leave the Falmouth Falcons to come coach this sorry sodding lot of ever-losing cocksuckers, but you know what? I think this team’s biggest problem right now can be summed up in one word. You.”

Draco swallowed noticeably, his eyes darting to either side. The rest of the team was watching all this with the same stunned silence they always had. Few people ever spoke to Draco Malfoy like this. Even fewer got away with it. Ever since he was allowed onto the team through his father’s bribe, Marcus had been hardest on Draco. He even cussed him out in the middle of the Quidditch pitch once, the stands filled with his classmates. And every time, Draco would remain quiet, accept the criticism, the slapping, and the threats before slinking away in shame afterwards.

Marcus’ nostrils flared in anger as he saw Draco looking at his teammates. “Get out, the lot of you! Get some bloody rest, and then I want you back out there practicing! Ten laps around the lake before the end of the day, and so help you if you try to pussy out at nine…”

The other players gathered their bags and in a flurry of motion the locker room was left empty save for Draco and Marcus. They stared at one another for a moment before Draco dropped his gaze to his Quidditch boots, flinching under Flint’s cold glare. A low rumble rose in the coach’s throat at this reaction, a hand shooting out to slam into Draco’s chest and send him reeling back into the lockers.

“Well? Aren’t you gonna defend yourself, you spoiled pussy son-of-a-bitch? Huh? Aren’t you gonna say something to me? ‘Oh, Marcus, stop! I’m a Malfoy!’ Isn’t that still your little gimmick? Don’t you still think you’re too bloody good for the rest of us?” He shoved his shoulder again and Draco’s head bounced off the locker door behind him. “Don’t you wanna reach for your wand? Cuss me out? Threaten to call Daddy?”

Nothing. Draco turned his head away from Marcus, hoping to hide the faint glimmer of fear in his eyes. Marcus snorted.

“Pussy. You’re fucking afraid, aren’t you? I’ve got you scared shitless, don’t I?” Both his hands pressed flat against the lockers on either side of Draco’s head as he leaned inwards again. “Because you know I won’t bloody buy your bullshit. That’s it, isn’t it? You know I won’t let you get away with this shit of yours. I’ll kick your bleedin’ arse from here straight to Manchester and back.” He sneered, his mouth a breath away from Draco’s nose. In the dim light, the teeth jutting out of Flint’s mouth at odd angles made him look all the more monstrous. His thick neck and muscular shoulders all but blocked out the candlelight from the lamps mounted on the far wall.

“Well?! Is that it? Fucking speak up, would you? Or are you too much of a bloody pansy to tell me I’m right?”

Draco’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instead he managed a slow nod, eyes still wide but still trying to avoid the other’s gaze.

“Knew it.”

Flint’s knee smashed into Draco’s stomach suddenly, causing the air in his lungs to all suddenly leave him at once. The boy tumbled forward, landing on his knees and catching himself on his hands before his head crashed into the floor. Marcus grabbed the back of Draco’s shirt and hauled him further into the center of the room before dumping him back onto all fours again. This left him room to start pacing slowly around him, circling like a shark about to attack.

“Draco bloody Malfoy… afraid of me. That’s brilliant. I mean, that right there is bloody gold, ain’t it? All your posing and posturing, and you’re afraid of some low-class wizard from muggle-fucking-Manchester. Where do you think that puts me in terms of who else you’re afraid of, hmm? Just under that Dark Lord of yours and your Daddy, I’ll bet. Maybe Potter too, though I’ve always had my suspicions about you two.”

Before Draco could find an appropriate protest (mostly out of pride and habit) Marcus’ foot flew forward to connect with Draco’s stomach, just beneath his rib cage. The blow sent Draco sideways, and he landed on his back on the cold floor, stars swimming before his eyes for a moment.

“Bloody brilliant. One hell of an ego-stroke, that is. By all means, though, if I’m wrong then speak up. I’d love to know.”

Another sharp kick to Draco’s ribs, causing the boy to curl up on himself, wrapping his arms protectively around his body.

“So tell me… does it get you hot? Knowing that I could leave you a little bloody smear across this floor here… does that get you hard? I mean, I’ve heard the rumors about you and your Daddy, and hell, as far as I’m concerned the whole lot of you Death Eater types are sucking Voldemort’s bloody cock, so does that go for me too then? This making you hot and bothered?”

Draco’s stomach turned uncomfortably, mixing with the sore sensation left there from Marcus’ brief attack. He wet his dried lips, but said nothing, keeping his gaze on the floor. He was terrified. For all of his father’s power, it wouldn’t help him if Marcus wanted to hurt him. And oddly enough, he respected the other boy for it. Very few people could make Draco Malfoy feel fear, and when it did happen it never ceased to amaze even Draco himself. Marcus was entirely right. Entirely. Even through the pain, Draco could feel the familiar tightening within him as his arousal stirred and sparked to life.

“I asked you a question, cocksucker! Do. I. Get. You. Hot?”

Marcus latched onto the back of Draco’s robes again, pulling him up onto his knees. Draco shut his eyes tightly, expecting another attack, but none came. Instead, something cold and smooth prodded at his lower lip. Opening his eyes reluctantly, Draco looked up the long, polished handle of one of the old practice brooms.

“Open that pretty mouth of yours, Malfoy.”

It was clear enough what Marcus wanted, and Draco was disgusted with how quickly he obeyed. His lips parted and the wood slipped in between them roughly, pressing against the back of his throat and making him gag. Marcus laughed and Draco tried to get his throat to relax (like his father had taught him) so he could take the broom without choking. He was silently thankful that Marcus hadn’t used one of the Nimbus 2001’s with their larger handles, though he guessed it had more to do with Marcus not wanting to ruin any of his precious brooms than any actual concern for Draco.

“Come on, cocksucker. Impress me.”

Holding the broom at the junction between the bristles and the handle, Marcus began pistoning the wood in and out of Draco’s mouth as if he were the one fucking it. A lascivious grin spread across his face as he watched Malfoy struggle to react accordingly, watching the length of the handle disappear between the boy’s thin, perfect lips each time before re-emerging with a slight slick of saliva on it. His head rocked in time with the thrusts but his hands remained in small curled fists on his thighs. The color of Draco’s cheeks was now so red from the humiliation that the mark from Marcus’ slap had all but disappeared.

“That’s the spirit… seems you’re not completely talentless after all, eh?” Lifting one foot, Marcus pushed it against Draco’s chest and shoved him down onto his back. Light flashed in front of Draco’s eyes as the back of his head cracked against the cold stone floor of the locker room, and he took a few moments to blink it away. During this time he could hear the sound of leather and cloth shifting as Marcus removed his Quidditch robes and padding. By the time Draco managed to crane his head up to see what exactly was going on, Marcus was on him – literally this time – straddling his waist wearing nothing but his boots and emerald green pants. There was no prelude, no more taunting words, he simply started yanking loose the laces on Draco’s robes, pulling away as much as he could without doing more than rocking forward enough to decrease the weight on the other’s clothing. Soon Draco was down to his pants alone as well, and Marcus was leaning over him again, holding himself up on one arm propped to the left of Draco’s head.

He sneered at Malfoy; the same look he’d given him just before kneeing him in the gut that last time. Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was just from fear or just from arousal or if it was some potent mixture of both all at once. He was sure Marcus could hear it, or perhaps smell the fear on him like they said animals could. And then there wasn’t any room for coherent thoughts in his head as Marcus’ mouth found the slender column of Draco’s neck, biting at the flesh before pulling it into his mouth with the full intention of leaving a large, purple mouth behind before he pulled away.

Marcus’ tongue flicked over Draco’s skin, tasting the salt left behind from the boy’s sweat. Draco was so… pretty and fragile looking, like a girl. So perfect and bloody good looking… the polar opposite of his own large, hulking body. He half thought that perhaps he really was about to fuck a girl rather than one of the most feared Slytherin in all of Hogwarts. It would make him sick if it wasn’t so fucking hot.

Marcus sat back up, his weight against pressing against Draco’s hips. The smirk spread across his face once more as he felt Draco’s arousal through his pants.

“Knew it. Fucking pansy-arsed poofter.”

With a surprisingly smooth rocking motion, Marcus shifted gracefully back to his feet, grabbing at Draco’s wrist to yank him up with him as well. His other hand reached over to grab the training broom again, which he quickly set to floating in mid air at waist-height. It seemed no time at all before he’d pulled down Draco’s pants and bent him forward over the broom, his hands moving to trace large, calloused fingers over the smooth curves of the boy’s ass before unfastening his own pants.

“Well, Draco, I can safely say this is the best I’ve ever seen you on a broom.”

Laughing cruelly, he slipped one hand around to grasp Draco’s erection. It almost surprised him how hard the boy was, especially since for the most part all he’d been doing to him so far was insulting him and beating on him. He wasn’t about to question it, however, pausing to swirl his thumb over the slick tip before spreading the moisture on Draco’s entrance and entering him with one quick inward thrust.

Draco cried out in pain as Marcus entered him with almost no preparation at all. He didn’t need to look back to see; he could clearly tell that Marcus was a much larger man than his father was. There was that familiar sting followed by a smooth, wet sensation as part of him tore and the blood began seeping out. It hurt, but he knew it would help to lubricate things. Soon enough Marcus was thrusting easily in and out of him, and the prickling pain Draco felt was overshadowed by the growing pressure from his arousal. Each vicious thrust drove deep into him, pressing against that one spot inside him that felt so intensely good it almost hurt more than any of the other things Marcus had done to him.

From behind him, Draco heard the loud grunts and groans from Marcus, coupled with the wet smacking of flesh on flesh. It didn’t matter, not any of it; not those sounds, not these circumstances, not that Marcus was coarse and low-class and far from particularly good-looking. This feeling was all that mattered. Draco’s hands pressed against the cold metal locker in front of him, bracing himself as he pushed back against the cock pounding in and out of him. His own moans joined Flint’s, and his breath hitched in his throat as the pressure reached that precious breaking point and exploded onwards in an orgasm so forceful that Draco felt his entire body shudder like a train coming to a sudden stop. His body fell limp, still draped over the broom, as Marcus thrust into him a few more times before coming as well.

The broom was pulled away, and Draco fell into a sweaty, rumpled heap on the floor of the locker room. His pants were still pooled around his ankles, and his thick leather Quidditch boots still covered his feet. His legs bowed out to either side and through the haze of the afterglow Draco felt his cheeks coloring once again in humiliation. Beneath heavy-lidded eyes he watched Marcus kick off his boots and pants the rest of the way, snatching his towel from his locker before walking off towards the showers.

“Clean up, Malfoy, and then be sure to get in those laps. I want to see your game shape up by next practice, or we’ll need to have another one of these little talks.”