Cage

Cage

(Now revised)

- By SuishouTenshi

Disclaimer: The characters and their original persons and situations do not belong to me.

Warning: This is NC-17, PLEASE don’t read if you’re not old enough. Involves Parseltongue-smut.

Dedicated to: Coeurbrisé, a friend who stood by me and eased my greatest fear.

Summary: Harry accidentally discovered a great way to shut Draco up. However, he hadn't expected the Slytherin to use it to his advantage. In the end, Harry must decide whether to enter the cage that he helped to build. H/D Slash, parselsmut.


He pretended to be unable to understand the words. He thought that maybe if he faked ignorance, the slithering beast would stop its taunts, and no one would notice, no one would think him dangerous. He hadn't used this particular skill since five years ago, and only then, it was to rescue Ginny, his best friend's little sister. People had stopped talking about it too; the intense scrutiny reappeared only when Hagrid brought out the Runespoors.

Heads turned and tongues lashed. All of a sudden, everyone was brought back to that fateful day in Gilderoy Lockhart's Dueling Club when Harry Potter's rare gift came into light. The Hufflepuffs shied away while the Ravenclaws pointed fingers. And the Slytherins hadn't ceased their mocking suggestions that Harry was really fated to be one of them.

The Gryffindor seventh year hadn't bothered to contradict them, because he knew better than anyone that yes, he was also a candidate for the house of green and silver. But as Dumbledore said, it was his choice to follow Gryffindor's golden footsteps. Why couldn't everyone forget about the fact that he was a Parselmouth and pay attention to the Runespoors that they were supposed to be extracting venoms from? Those three-headed snakes were dangerous, after all.

When the lesson first began and the rumors started rolling, Harry had taken a good look at his schoolmates and declared loud and clear that he had in fact lost this rare talent and could no longer speak to snakes. The façade would've been easier to keep up if his assigned Runespoor wasn't such a chatterbox.

So far he had found out that this particular snake was a temporary loan from the Wizarding European Bestial Sanctuary (WEBS). It was a one-month-old babe, and its favorite food - as the right most head told him repeatedly - consisted of hummingbird eggs and mice's heads. Harry had not responded to any parts of its continuing monologue, and played the part of a regular mono-linguist perfectly.

:: The humans look so silly, do they not? Why must they wear something so hideous on their noses? Legs, such atrocious things, are always getting in the way. Why are they obliged to carry legs everywhere? You there, human, entertain us. We'll never give you what you want if you cannot even humor us! ::

Harry gritted his teeth and kept on prodding the snake with a stick, mentally groaning at his predicament. Hermione crouched next to him, held a beaker in her glove-covered fingers, snuck curious glances at him, and asked every so often whether his Parselmouth ability was coming back to him.

He couldn't wait for class to be over.

A burst of laughter came from behind. Harry recognized the throaty outbursts instantly: Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini. The laughs were loud and disruptive, and at the same time, monotonous and hesitant, as if the amused were unsure of the humor in the given joke. Harry knew without turning that only Draco Malfoy could extract such artificial hilarity from the other three Slytherins. He longed to find out what the blond had said, but the snake's hisses were preventing him from hearing much. Finally sick of the pointless banter, Harry jabbed the stick into the talking head's mouth and focused his senses on the conversation behind him.

"...fool, thinks he can become the next Dark Lord just because he's a Parselmouth," Malfoy guffawed. "Look at Potter now, all sad without his little snake friends to talk to. No wonder his only buddies are the mudblood and the weasel, their hairs are just as slimy and creepy as those serpents' skins."

Harry felt Hermione stiffen next to him. Good thing that Ron was still resting in the Hospital Wing after a forceful clash with a practice Bludger, otherwise, there would be bloodshed by now.

"He's only a half-blood himself," Malfoy continued. "The Fates must've been half asleep when they gave Parselmouth abilities to him. But they've woken up, and realized that the son of a mudblood just shouldn't..."

Malfoy never got to finish that sentence. After seven years, insult directed toward Lily still remained the worst thing that he could say to piss Harry off (insults about Sirius came second). Harry stood up, pushed back the sudden dizziness, and opened his mouth to give the Slytherins a show of just what a "mudblood" could do.

:: Go to hell, Malfoy. ::

The tittering came to an abrupt end. The already quiet atmosphere of the Care of Magical Creatures class died completely. Faced with the disbelieving expression on Malfoy's face, Harry's determination hardened into sadistic retaliation. If the Hogwarts population would so easily label him as the next Dark Lord just because he was a Parselmouth after all those times that he had saved them, then so be it. Let their bigot minds try to digest this little fact: Harry Potter had the gift of a dark wizard and he wasn't going to hide it any longer.

:: Surprised, Malfoy? That one with dirtied blood possesses such rare talent while you, a born and raised pureblood, can't even understand a single syllable coming out of my mouth? ::

Harry stalked forward as he hissed, and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Malfoy's body tensed up noticeably. Rumors and accusations were well worth it if Malfoy was going to react so pathetically.

:: You know nothing, Malfoy. Tom Riddle is a half-blood too, did you know that? Have you ever realized that the man your father so willingly bow down to has a muggle's blood running through his veins? I'm a half-blood too. And if I so choose to do so, in a few years, you might become my servant, genuflecting at sight, catering to my every whim. But I'm not like him. Contrary to what you may believe, I do not vie for public attention. And unlike you, I have grown up and matured. But you, Malfoy, will always be a little bastard. ::

Harry had wanted to say these things to Malfoy for years, and part of him thought it a waste of energy to be speaking them in a language that the blond couldn't possibly understand. But when Malfoy wound his cloak tightly against his body, as if hiding himself from the cruel onslaught of hisses, Harry made up his mind to continue.

:: No retaliating remarks? Don't you always have something to say, someone to criticize? Afraid that this snake-speaker might actually do something to physically harm you? You were always afraid of me, weren't you, Malfoy? You thought you could weaken me by verbally attacking all those who I care about. And as we grew older you recognized the power in me, my special aptitude for surviving the most unfortunate incidents. That's when you began to fear me, fearful of what I might do to you if I ever were to be swayed by the Dark Arts. By the most sacred vow in Parseltongue, Malfoy, I swear that one day, whether I become Dark or Light, I will rule over you. ::

Malfoy hadn't produced a single word during Harry's tirade. His bow-shaped pink lips were agape, as round as his startled silver eyes; air went in and out of his lungs in an erratic pace, and he hugged himself tighter still. When Hagrid came back to the fields, thoroughly confused about the silence of his seventh-year class, Malfoy had already ran off toward the castle, tumbling over his own two feet and panting as if the world had crashed down upon him.

***

Harry had expected a scolding when he went back to Gryffindor tower that night. The lion's den was usually tolerant of his odd behaviors and growingly introvert attitude, but Harry didn't see how he was going to escape the disparagement which would definitely come after his earlier performance. What he didn't expect was a throng of red and gold confetti being showered over him upon entrance.

"Good show, mate!" Ron limped over to give him a hearty pat on the back. "I can't believe I missed it. But Dean told me everything. Did Malfoy really run away with his tail between his legs? Gave him a good bashing, did ya?"

"Er..." Harry gave Ron his favorite form of verbal reply.

"Harry," Hermione came over next with a big smile, "why did you feel like you had to lie about still being able to speak Parseltongue? We could've beaten everyone to the Runespoor's venom!"

"Well," Harry scoffed, "the last time I said anything like that in public, I was faced with months of pointed stares!"

"But everyone got over that," Ginny brought him a cup of punch. "By the end of that year, you were hailed as a hero for saving me by using Parseltongue, remember?"

"But the Hufflepuffs... they were all pointing at me during class today!"

Hermione guffawed. "Harry, they were all wondering if you'd help them speak to their Runespoors. A bite from one of their heads isn't something that Madam Pomphrey could easily heal, you know. The Ravenclaws were thinking the same thing, for your information. Only Malfoy and his sycophants were still picking on you for being a Parselmouth."

"Oh..."

"Yea, mate, and even then, you actually shut Malfoy up just by hissing at him! C'mon, tell your best friend, what did you say?"

"Er..." Harry figured that telling them the truth could possibly ruin the heroic image that he currently bore. "I don't remember, just called him some names," he lied.

The Gryffindors looked disappointed at that, but Ron Weasley's spirits couldn't be so easily deflated.

"Well, whatever you said, keep it up! Just think, he can't even report you since you're not cursing at him. Just tell the professors that you were reciting potions procedures or something. Malfoy would think that you're threatening him, and you could be talking about the weather for all he knows!"

As Head Girl, Hermione usually wasn't one to defy the rules anymore, but the chance to torture Draco Malfoy was too good to let up. To the Gryffindor house's pride, she even joined in with her own suggestions.

"It's ironic, isn't it, that Draco Malfoy out of all people is afraid of Parselmouth?" Hermione mused to herself after a long hour of discussing what sort of things Harry could say to Malfoy.

"Guilty conscience, I say," Ron chortled.

"Hey, one of these days, we should put a snake in his bed!" Seamus jumped up. "Hermione, you should know the Slytherin dorm's password..."

Hermione smirked and crossed her arms haughtily. "By my honor and duty as Head Girl, I would never tell you that the Slytherin dorm's password is 'belladonna'... Oops!" She finished with a smirk.

***

From that day on, Harry made it his personally mission to frighten Malfoy with Parseltongue at every chance possible. At first it was in public places, when he ran into the Slytherin in the halls or between classes. Malfoy would always stiffen up predictably before fleeing without a word. When Snape had swooped down on Harry and "suggested" that he'd stop, Harry knew that he would need to be more cautious.

That's when he began to make their little encounters more... discrete. Instead of hissing aloud in front of twenty or so bystanders, Harry would follow the Slytherin group quietly, sneak up from behind and whisper a few choice words into the blonde's ears, and stalk away before any of Malfoy's friends could jump in to defend him. The Slytherin Seeker himself would never say a word in reply; his body would simply freeze up with widened eyes and erratic breathing patterns.

A few weeks later, Malfoy was seen less and less in public. He kept himself to his dormitory and only went out for classes, often missed meals. The Gryffindors' lives became much more peaceful without his presence, and the rest of the school — sans Slytherins — congratulated Harry on a daily basis for his excellent work.

Draco Malfoy was a hateful poltergeist, and Harry had just performed the perfect exorcism.

Even the serpent's lair became colder to Malfoy. His old followers no longer respected him in the same aspect, and the younger years showed obvious distaste at the sight of the blond. In their eyes, Malfoy had become a useless wimp, one who took Harry's jabs helplessly and never retaliated. He became their embarrassment.

On the other hand, Harry had quickly run out of insults. But he didn't want the old Malfoy to come back so he kept up his taunts, often simply greeted the Slytherin and talked about classes.

For example, on the days that Harry was in a more forgiving mood, he would simply hiss jovial greetings such as "Good morning, Malfoy" or "Nice weather we're having". Malfoy, upon hearing these things in Parseltongue, would quickly wrap his cloak around himself and shoot Harry an annoyed glare becoming hurrying away.

On the days when Harry had Potions, otherwise called days when Harry was the angriest, the things he said to Malfoy would be degrading and hateful, consisted of insults directed toward the Azkaban resident, Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy Jr. reacted to these things the worst, as if he could actually understand the more malicious hisses. He wouldn't look at Harry at all during these times, often opted for a choked gasp of despair and would then run away quickly.

Soon, Harry was able to easily predict the exact reaction Malfoy would give him. He knew what to say to cause Malfoy's eyes to widen in fear, to make the blond breathe unevenly, to render his entire body incapable of movement for a good minute. The most delightful effect he had on Malfoy was actually discovered by accident.

It was after a Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch match, in which Malfoy was so afraid of what Harry might say that he flew on the complete opposite side of the field. Harry had caught the Snitch fifteen minutes into the game and brought victory to the Gryffindors once again. Madam Hooch then made the teams congregate in the middle of the field to congratulate each other on their performances. Harry, who was in a rather sadistic mood, took Malfoy's hand into his own and said, "Nice work dodging the Snitch there, Draco." The last word, unknown to himself until Ron later informed him, was said in Parseltongue.

Malfoy had actually shuddered and closed his eyes. His long fingers gripped Harry's smaller hand in a painful fashion though it seemed like it wasn't done on purpose. When he opened his grey eyes again, he looked dazed and weak, completely feeble and brittle. Grey irises sought out green ones, and Malfoy gave Harry an almost tearful glance.

***

Harry didn't see Malfoy for the rest of that week after the Quidditch match. The Slytherin Seeker missed most of his classes, his meals, and from what Harry overheard, hadn't showed his face in his common room for days on end. Snape looked more and more irritated at Draco's absence, and often took out his anger on Harry. The boy who lived accepted the punishments with stride, went to his nightly lessons per usual, and only spent an hour per day pondering Malfoy's whereabouts.

An hour turned into two, two into four. By early June, Harry became constantly worried that his little pranks had done something to permanently damage the blonde's mental health. Despite the ill feelings he harbored against Malfoy, Harry still didn’t want to be responsible for murder, indirectly or not.

The Gryffindor boys' earlier attempt to put snakes in Malfoy's bed already taught him that all Slytherin seventh years had his or her own room which was also password protected. So even though Harry had snuck into Slytherin territory several times under his cloak's disguise, he couldn't find a way into Malfoy's personal chambers.

"Mudblood, Snitch, Potty, goons, weasel, Dark Lord, pureblood, pureblood pride, Malfoy pride, money, dragon..." Harry tried not to groan aloud in frustration. This was the fifth night in a row that he had stood outside of the wooden door labeled "Draco Malfoy" trying different passwords. He had said everything he could think of that Malfoy might use for a password, and he was now irritated enough to tear out his hair.

"I hate Potter, Potter is an ugly git, Potter is an ugly git with no friends, Potter is an ugly git with no friends and deserves to die because he used Parseltongue to insult me, Potter is an ugly git with no friends and deserves to die because he used Parseltongue to insult me and I want to kill him..." He felt silly to be standing unseen on enemy grounds insulting himself, but he was seriously desperate!

"My god... I'm such an idiot! Stupid door, why won't you open?! Draco could be dea..."

And the door opened with a squeak.

Harry was tempted to say, "You've got to be kidding me", but he simply shrugged off his Invisibility Cloak and entered the dimly lighted room. Malfoy's dorm was rather bare, not clustered with stuff like the Gryffindor boys'. A single candle by the nightstand and the green fire in the hearth were the only light sources. A gigantic four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room, its curtains were down, and Harry approached it with shaky hands, afraid of what he might find behind it.

What he eventually saw wasn't a wasted and mad Slytherin or a skeletal Malfoy as he morbidly predicted. Instead, there lay a seventeen-year-old boy with white blond hair and striking silver eyes, well-nourished, relaxed, and... completely naked.

"Took you long enough," Malfoy pronounced breathlessly.

Harry gulped, unable to take his eyes away from the bare flesh presented to him. He wondered if Malfoy always slept naked, and on top of his covers no less.

"And to think, I even made my password especially easy just for you. How hard could it be to say my name?"

"Malfoy..."

"My given name."

Harry inhaled deeply and forced his eyes to look somewhere else. "Look, Malfoy, I just came here to apologize for my behavior. It wasn't fair using Parseltongue against you. I'm sorry. Since you're obvious fine and not dead, I'm just gonna go."

A familiar hand grabbed his sleeve as he turned. "How stupid can you get, Potter?"

With his back facing the bare Slytherin, Harry leaned forward and tried to get away from the warmth that was emanating from the blond like a tidal wave. A pointy chin rested on his left shoulder, causing him to jerk abruptly. What followed was a throaty chuckle hitting his eardrums, and two pale arms winding themselves around his waist, pulling his back into contact with heated skin.

Harry shuddered, his body and mind now useless as a thumb caressed his midriff. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it, Harry?"

"Wha... what?" Harry asked numbly, his cerebral cortex failed to register the sudden change in Malfoy's character. Whatever happened to the nervous wreck from a few weeks ago, the one that Harry had rendered immobile with just a few syllables?

Cold fingers crept up and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Something warm and soft landed on the junction of his neck and shoulder, caressed softly an erogenous zone that Harry never knew he had. He could feel the tingle spread from there, the shocked skipped happily down the length of his back and arms, skirted through each and every crook and cranny of his joints, ended at his fingertips, his thighs, his toes... and that spot.

"Malfoy, stop!" He stumbled over his own two feet in an attempt to get away from those sinful lips, but Malfoy's hands held him still.

"I'm not letting you go, Potter, not after everything you've done to me."

"I'm sorry," Harry's plead was so genuine it scared even himself, "I was an arse. I went too far. I've apologized, now let me go."

"True," a light chuckle, "but how can you go when I haven't forgiven you?"

Harry didn't want to ask, for he had a feeling what Malfoy would request from him. But he also came today fully prepared to see an emaciated and fanatical Malfoy half-dead after enduring Harry's month-long verbal abuse. The blonde's physical normalcy (he couldn't say anything about the mental part) came as such a relief that Harry was ready to give up his pride in its entirety if it meant forgiveness. And of course, he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for running away at every intimidating adversity.

The question of why he cared about Malfoy so much, however, wasn't even considered.

"What can I do then, to make you forgive me?" he found himself ask meekly with Malfoy's finger tracing his Adam's apple. The digit moved like a bulldozer, paving an open road toward an unknown destination that Harry wasn't so sure if he wanted to explore.

It came as no surprise when Malfoy licked his earlobe and whispered, "Fuck me", but the resonance of the words still caused a shudder to overwhelm him. That sensual voice which by all means should be illegal echoed in his cranium, which was now hurting with all the suggestions his hormone-ridden brain was providing.

"You're mad." Harry silently laughed at the weakness of his words.

The hands smoothed out the front of his shirt, traveled up and massaged his shoulders briefly before they turned him around. Harry gave no resistance, simply closed his lids so he wouldn't have to see Malfoy's bare flesh.

"And whose fault is that?" Malfoy's breath ghosted over his face. Harry was sure that his glasses were foggy by now.

It was then that Harry received his first kiss from a boy. It wasn't at all what he expected (not that he thought about kissing a boy, ever, mind you). Malfoy's lips were thin but supple, and when he kissed, it was measured, careful and concise. Harry had figured that someone so obsessed with power like Draco Malfoy would deliver a kiss to end all kisses.

But that was not the case. The gentleness of it all piqued Harry's interests, made him want more than just a contact of mouth to mouth. At the same time, he was irritated at Malfoy's tenderness. As rivals, Malfoy should by all means use this opportunity to snog the lights out of Harry, punish him for being wicked.

Harry couldn't take it any longer. For a Slytherin, Malfoy was quite a sorry kisser. And so Harry opened his mouth and licked across Malfoy's lips. This forward audacity was enough to incense the serpent within, and Malfoy, as if shedding his thin (very thin) Hufflepuff skin, twisted Harry around and shoved his guest onto his mattress.

Still naked, Malfoy straddled Harry's waist and clasped both hands around the neck of the boy who lived. He didn't tighten his fingers, so Harry let them stay there. It was a ceremony of sorts, and the choking position was nothing but a gesture. Harry understood then, that no matter what they were going to do tonight, their enmity hadn't changed.

"It's always you," Malfoy hissed, bent down to lick a wet trail up Harry's cheek before continuing. "It has always been you. You who taunt me, you who mock me, you who invade my dreams and my thoughts and everything private and noble about a Malfoy. But you wouldn't stop there, couldn't leave me alone. Instead, you pulled that trick on me."

Harry looked up and saw an almost invisible stream of tears cascade down Malfoy's face. His expression was still tranquil though, nothing gave away the presence of the unforgiving salty fluid.

"It was enough for me just to see you everyday. I had just the right amount of self-restraint to preserve your innocence, keep you shielded from my desires.... But there's only so much baiting I could take."

"Wha... what are you talking about?' Harry questioned and pretended that he hadn’t noticed the hardness that was sharp enough to cut into the flesh of his clothed thigh.

"The Quidditch game, Potter." Malfoy shifted. "What did you say to me afterwards in Parseltongue?"

Harry felt his lower body tighten explicitly. He was doing everything in his power not to grind up against Malfoy's welcoming warmth. "Your name," he answered truthfully, eyes shut to block out that mercury gaze, "that's it, just your name. I swear."

Malfoy didn't speak for a long while. When he did, the words "Say it again" sounded low and husky, filled with something so close to adoration that it made Harry comply without hesitation.

:: Draco... :: he hissed simply. Atop of him, Malfoy's long fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, a mouth moved down to cover his own. The velvet lips swept over his chapped ones, shifted and stroked, conveyed words that the owner of which wouldn't say... couldn't say.

It was then, three and a half weeks before graduation, that Harry felt an unexplainable carnal desire fill up every part of him. And he knew, as clear as day, the reason for Malfoy's stumbling cowardice the past recent weeks.

"Fuck me," Malfoy demanded for the second time that night. "Just this once, please, Harry."

It was a request he couldn't refuse. After all, throughout the years, Malfoy had done the one thing that no one else could give him: Consistency. While Hermione shed her bookish looks and Ron became more considerate, as Ginny got over her crush and Snape saved his life, after Dumbledore fell from heaven and Voldemort left this world, Malfoy was always there to tease him and humiliate him, he grounded him to this earth, showed him that he was just plain old Harry Potter. Even now, with his alabaster body pressed enticingly to Harry's, he was not asking for holding hands in the hallways or kisses under the stars, just a fuck. Just a fuck....

Harry could give him that. He owed him that.

:: On your back, Draco. :: Harry watched with satisfaction as Malfoy visibly melted under the vaporous caress of Parseltongue. :: So this was why you ran whenever I spoke to you in Parseltongue. You were aroused, weren't you? ::

As Malfoy's body flopped limply on top of Harry's, the raven-haired teen turned them over, switched positions so he straddled Malfoy instead. He took out his wand and bound the curtains together, not wanting to share this freely given gift even with the air outside.

Malfoy mewed below him, arching up lightly to generate more contact. Harry grinned at the sight, wondered to himself whether this was what Lucifer looked like before his fall, the most beautiful Archangel of them all.

:: What would you like me to do? ::

Harry dared not switch back to English. English meant reality, and reality was where Malfoy and Potter despised each other earnestly, and such brazen bodily contact would never be allowed. Within these curtains, Harry Potter was a snake-speaker, and he was free to charm the poisonous viper below him into submission.

"Harry..." Malfoy moaned with fluttering lips, "Parsel..."

:: You like this? You just want me to continue talking? Wouldn't you rather have me touch you instead? Kiss you? Devour you? ::

As if understanding him, Malfoy opened his eyes wide and gazed into Harry's emerald ones with
desperation. "Not enough," he admitted.

Harry said nothing to that, merely unbuttoned his shirt all the way and threw it against the foot of the bed. Below him, Malfoy lifted trembling fingers, ghosted them over Harry's bulging fly. The ephemeris touch was enough motivation for Harry to give his consent.

Now more confident, Malfoy unzipped Harry's trousers and snaked a hand under Harry's boxers to stroke the member within. His breath became more haggard by the second; apparently pleasuring Harry was a turn-on for himself as well.

Malfoy's hand was cold against Harry's warm flesh, but the temperature around them rose with every stroke. But the mere friction of it all wasn't enough to satisfy Harry's needs, the raw desire that Malfoy had extracted from him with his little confession.

Harry leaned down to give Malfoy an open mouth kiss, swept the blonde's teeth with his daring tongue. As their bare chests came into contact, Harry moaned at the feeling of Malfoy's smooth muscles, and shifted ever so hauntingly as Malfoy’s hand worked miracles on Harry's lower regions. Malfoy was warm everywhere, his bare chest, his neck, his mouth, so hot and welcoming.

He switched their position again, needing that mouth somewhere else. :: Take it...:: Harry hissed, his mind too occupied to realize this bold command. :: Take me into your mouth... Suck it, Draco...::

Malfoy's weak spot was once again explored as his first name rolled off Harry's tongue with ease. The blond let loose a guttural moan and complied with Harry's light push against his shoulders.

He kissed a wet trail down Harry's chest, savored the salty taste of the brunette's stomach. He stopped to dip his tongue into Harry's navel, swirled and licked, the sensations so new and alarming that Harry had to bite his hand as to not warn the rest of Slytherin the activities currently taking place within Malfoy's dorm.

Nimble fingers reached up to wrench away the hand. The two shared a glance, and Malfoy reassured him with a soft whisper, "I put up a silencing charm." He turned back to his work, pulled down Harry's boxers and trousers, and studied Harry's erection with an unnatural concentration.

"Scream for me, Harry."

And when Harry felt his cock being engulfed by the same mouth that had kissed him moments before, he did scream. He never had another person do this to him before, and the wetness was already too much for the teen.

Malfoy sucked as he licked the base, as he deep-throated the head. The passage was so tight Harry marveled at how Malfoy had kept his gag reflex in control. He could feel his own precum dripping mercilessly into Malfoy's mouth, and the blond had licked up each drop faithfully, savored them, payed homage to them.

It was so hot, and Malfoy's mouth was absolutely devious. For a while, Harry drowned in his own guilty pleasures and just writhed beneath the Slytherin. His hands gripped the bed sheet as if clutching the Snitch in a hard-won victory. Malfoy's head continued to bob, and Harry remembered to thank his giver's altruism.

He would never let anyone say that Gryffindors were selfish.

:: Draco... :: he hissed. Between his legs, Malfoy gulped, and Harry could actually feel the action causing the blond to take him in even deeper, as if that was possible.

:: You're so hot, not just your mouth, fucking everywhere. Even when you're dressed, you look like a freaking Greek god. You say that I've tormented you? Join me in my fantasies, then, Draco. Ah... don't stop... Every time we fight, every time I have your throat in my palms, I think about this moment. Oh, Merlin, a wicked tongue for a wicked Slytherin. But you love my tongue too, don't you? You set this up, shut yourself in, isolated your royal arse from the rest of your house just to lure me. God, you're cruel! You knew I'd come to check on you, you betted everything on that, didn't you? Well, I came, Draco. And I...ah! I think... Draco! ::

Just as Harry was about to achieve the best orgasm he'd ever had, Draco stopped and crawled up Harry's sweat-slick body, causing unnecessary but tantalizing friction in all the right places.

:: Dammit, Draco, why'd you stop? ::

Malfoy didn't answer him, not that he could understand the language, of course. He placed his naked body atop of Harry's and nibbled the Gryffindor's collarbone. His erection was cutting into Harry's left thigh, another shift, and their two members were rubbing against one another.

Harry arched up, seeking desperately for that release. But Malfoy drew away and lay down on his back next to Harry. He sought out Harry's hand and intertwined their fingers. The action, so carelessly affectionate, caused Harry to shiver in fear. It wasn't supposed to be like that, it was just a fuck....

:: Draco? ::

Malfoy's entire body quivered next to him. "If... if you don't do it now, Harry, I'll..."

Harry nodded. So they were still going to follow their original plan. Nothing had changed.

Hah... yeah, right.

But he said nothing as he moved to kneel between Malfoy's legs. He would never again complain about Dean's midnight trysts, they've taught him so much. He also knew that he needed something to ease the passage. He looked at Malfoy inquiringly, his heart thumped against his ribcage. His expression, unusually composed for a passionate Gryffindor, betrayed none of the turmoil he felt inside.

Malfoy shook his head, lips trembled as he declared, "Don't want lubricant. I want you in me, now, nothing between us. Please...." He then lifted his hip and wrapped two muscular legs around Harry's waist, presented himself to the hungry lion above.

Harry rolled his eyes, and he thought Gryffindors were the stubborn ones. As he distracted Malfoy with Parseltongue, he reached for the his wand and Accio’d a bottle of lotion from the Slytherin’s dresser.

One finger, two... Despite Malfoy’s earlier insistence for zero lubrication, protests were now drowned within moans of lust. Muscles clenched around Harry’s fingers and he couldn’t wait any longer. He adjusted them to the best position possible and poised his coated and throbbing erection against Malfoy's bottom, searched for the warm entrance.

By Godric, he hoped he didn’t screw this up.

But it was there, and he did find it without making a fool of himself. Malfoy had shut his eyes and had thrown his head back, waiting for the penetration to come. Harry thrust forward slightly and felt the head of his cock being engulfed in an impossibly small hole. Malfoy bit down on his bottom lip, hard, but made no sound except a slight increase in his breathing patterns. Taking that as an invitation, Harry pushed in more, reveled in the feeling as the walls around that warm crevice stretch and expand to fit him.

Malfoy's eyes were opened wide now, and so were those flushed pink lips. He groaned lightly, and Harry stopped.

:: Am I hurting you? ::

The blond inhaled deeply and said, "It's okay, keep on going."

Frowning, Harry bit down on his own moans of pleasure and thrust in completely. He figured that it would be like removing a bandage, the sooner it was over, the better in the long run.

But judging by Malfoy's screech, perhaps there was a little difference in the two matters.

"Sorry!" Harry's eyes widened, horrified at both the slip back into English and the displeasure he just caused. But Malfoy just shook his head and shifted down a little, signaling him to continue.

Harry hesitated. He could feel the walls around his erection closing in; Malfoy's body was doing everything it could to relieve some of the pain. The tightness was impossible to ignore, and Harry was afraid that any movement on his part would one, cause Malfoy more pain and two, make him lose it completely.

"Dammit, Potter, move already!"

Harry gulped and complied. Placing two unsure hands on the sides of Malfoy's hips, he pulled back a little, biting down on his teeth at the wince that swam across Malfoy's pale countenance.

"Harry... please..."

Malfoy's desperate plea and the pool of tears threatening to fall from grey eyes were enough to make Harry move. He closed his eyelids and thrust in mercilessly, and gasped as the otherworldly sensation spread out through his cock and thighs. There was indeed nothing like it.

He chanced a look at the Slytherin and found him literally gasping for breath. Harry hesitated again. He was sure that sex wasn't supposed to be so painful.

But Malfoy's laughter put him at ease. "Harry, you should've been a Chaser. Wonderful aim you got there," he joked throatily.

:: Then who would provide you with the challenge that you so desperately need? ::

Assured by the dazed look in Malfoy's eyes, Harry pulled out and rammed back once more. He was rewarded with a high-pitched scream of his name.

Suddenly, it wasn't enough anymore. Harry bent low, crushing the blonde's knees to his sides and attacked his chest with the same serpentine tongue that drove Malfoy mad. He freed one hand to caress the insides of Malfoy's thighs, circled teasingly over the erect member, and tugged on the light hair. His thrusts became faster and faster as Malfoy's hole became acquainted with his cock. He didn't kiss the blond though, Malfoy was a screamer, and Harry found that his name never sounded better than when it was coming from Malfoy... from Draco....

"Harry, oh god, faster, don't stop, ever. I need you, ah!!"

Harry was finished. With one last thrust, he was over the edge. His legs turned to jelly as his seeds spilled into Draco's body.

Draco was still bumping back into him, wanting more of that wonderful sensation. Harry took one look at Draco's dripping cock and pumped it eagerly with a free hand. One, two, and Draco was undone as well.

"Ahh! Harry, I love you!"

Harry swallowed. He heard Draco's words loud and clear but chose to ignore them. People say stupid things in the throes of passion. After Draco rode out the remains of his orgasm, Harry separated their bodies, pulled out with slight regret and an ache he couldn't explain.

Draco stared into his eyes and lifted two hands to touch Harry's face, palms that were covered by half-moons. His cheeks were colored deliciously pink, and a trail of sweat was making its way down his face. His silver strands, usually so immaculate, were stuck to his face in wet clots.

:: Draco... have you any idea how sexy you look? ::

The blond smiled gaily. "You said my name again, didn't you? What did the rest mean?"

Harry swallowed his shame and began to search for his clothes. "I did what you wanted. You'll be coming to class tomorrow, I assume? N.E.W.T.s are coming up, you really shouldn't slack off so..."

"Harry!" The Gryffindor looked up to see disbelief floating in mercury eyes. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Yeah, well, I translated. That's what I said in Par..."

"No! I meant before!" He climbed off the bed, still naked and sticky in various places and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist in a tight embrace. "I meant it. It took me four years to say it, and I finally got the guts to, I'm not going to let you wave it off like this!"

Harry clenched his fists to restrain the traitorous appendages that wanted to hug Draco back so badly. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Draco wasn't supposed to ask for holding hands in the hallways or kisses under the stars. It was just a fuck, dammit, just a fuck....

"I did want you wanted. Isn’t that enough for an apology?" Harry said as coldly as he could. He could feel Draco tense up.

"Tell me then," the blond demanded with his cheek against Harry's throat, "tell me, word by word, what you said to me as I went down on you. Tell me!"

Harry struggled to get away. He couldn't, if he did, then the entire last year of denial would be in vain. If he did, he would be giving Draco the exact kind of ammunition the egotistic Slytherin wanted. He shivered though, every time his fingers caught a drying wet spot on Draco's back, remnants of their (only) time. Slytherins were deceptive by nature, Malfoys even more so. He wouldn't fall into this seemingly nice reality. Who knows when he'd wake up screaming, trapped within a cage that he helped to build?

What he didn't count on, however, was Slytherin persistence.

Sick of his resistance, Draco grabbed his neck and head and forced a maddeningly harsh kiss upon him. It was a way of marking, as Harry later theorized, a brutally sensuous way to relay feelings through actions instead of words. Because at that moment in time, words were but empty promises. Draco could declare his love from the top of Mount Everest, but none of the dulling echoes were as true and despondent as the caress of that talented tongue.

Harry melted. He closed his eyes and let Draco do as he wished. He made no protest as Draco wrenched away the clothes that he was about to put on, and said nothing when the blond guided them toward his private shower.

When they woke the next morning on fresh sheets, limbs tangled in the most scandalizing fashion, Harry clutched Draco close to him and whispered in Parseltongue,

:: I think I can love you too. ::

He laughed when Draco twitched in his dream state.

***

A/N: And I’m done.