Desperatio

Disclaimer: All Characters belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this.

Harry Potter detested Draco Malfoy. That was common knowledge. Even more widely known was the fact that Draco Malfoy loathed Harry Potter.

So Harry was at a loss to explain why he was here, with his back pressed against the wall of the seldom used corridor, his hands tangled in white blonde hair; Draco Malfoy’s hair. Draco Malfoy, who hated Harry Potter, but who was at this moment on his knees in from of Harry, his lips were wrapped around Harry’s cock, his mouth moving with the skill of long practice.

Harry’s head dropped back, and his skull impacted against the wall. He tried to stifle the groan, half pain, half pleasure, as best he could. He had no idea how they had ended up here, like this. Harry was well aware of the theory that opposites attract, neither was he blind to the blonde boy’s looks, or the knowing smirks Harry sometimes caught on the expressive face.

Harry felt a hot flash of exhilaration as he looked back down. He relished the illusion of dominance, despite the knowledge that it was in fact he, and not Draco, who was surrendering. Quite what Harry was surrendering he wasn’t sure, although he was certain he’d regret it later. Right now, he was too busy revelling in the wicked delight of Malfoy’s mouth.

He was totally unprepared, as he had been since this encounter had taken this surreal turn, when Draco pulled away.

“Fuck?!”

Before Harry knew what was happening, Draco had turned him round to face the wall. Harry blinked. This was not what he had been expecting. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised really. Unexpected things were always happening to Harry. This however, had to rate right up there in the top ten.

Draco reached up, grabbed his hands and pulled. Harry resisted, uncertain as to what Draco wanted, his thoughts still addled both by the pleasure of Draco’s mouth, and the subsequent loss of that surprisingly talented orifice.

“Kneel Potter” Draco hissed

“Why?” Harry asked, slightly disgusted with the still breathlessness of his voice

“Because what I have planned for you won’t work unless you’re kneeling…” Harry looked over his shoulder, and despite the dimness of the corridor, he could make out the expression of wanton lasciviousness on the other boy’s face.

“Fuck…” He whispered, floored by the lust in that look.

A slow, dangerous smirk spread across Draco’s face “Precisely”

For a moment Harry forgot to breathe, so stunned was he by the realisation of exactly what it was that Draco wanted from him. Everything had happened so quickly he hadn’t given a thought to the end result of this madness.

He knew he should shake the other boy’s hands off, do up his trousers and leave. Nothing Malfoy offered him would be without a heavy price, and Harry knew the cost would be more than he was willing, or able to pay. Yet he didn’t, couldn’t walk away. Not now he knew how Malfoy looked on his knees, sucking Harry’s cock like he was made for it. Not when Harry’s dark side was so easily seduced by the debauched and dirty thing they were doing.

When Malfoy pulled on his hands a second time, Harry sank willingly to his knees, feeling for all the world like a sacrifice, and a virgin one at that. He couldn’t quite decide whether he ought to mention the virgin part to Draco though.

Draco’s fingers untangled themselves from Harry’s, and slid over his hips, one curving upwards to brush lightly over his nipple, the other dipping lower, to curl loosely around his erection.

Harry sucked in a breath, raising his hands to rest on the wall. Draco pressed closer to him, his erection nestling neatly in the cleft of Harry’s arse, his lips nipping at Harry’s neck. Harry wondered when exactly Draco had had time to undo his trousers, but then remembered he’d already had a very practical demonstration as to just how nimble the blonde boy’s hand and fingers were.

Harry knew dammed well that there were at least a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this, here, with Draco. But not one reason he could come up with was enough to make him leave, not now he knew the feel of Draco’s fingers on his skin; the taste of Draco’s lips against his; the heat of Draco’s mouth on his cock. He couldn’t leave because he was pretty dammed sure that leaving now would mean that he would never be offered an opportunity like this again. He knew that to leave now, to never know whether the pleasure of Draco’s cock would surpass the boy’s other talents would leave him forever at even more of a disadvantage in all future dealings with the Slytherin. Where Draco was concerned, Harry couldn’t afford to let him gain the upper hand at any time.

Draco shifted behind him, and the hand that had been playing with his nipples drifted down Harry’s side and then was gone. Harry wasn’t even vaguely surprised when the hand returned, stroking down the cleft of Harry’s arse, fingers cool and slick.

Harry felt strangely calm, despite his own arousal, despite the knowledge that he has about of take a step into the unknown; despite the fact that he was about to give up his much vaunted virginity to a boy he didn’t like and most certainly couldn’t trust. And yet, somehow, it seemed to make sense to Harry, in a way he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever be able to understand.

Draco’s finger slipped into Harry’s body, surprising Harry with the obvious care not to hurt. Harry’s arousal flared again, his hands clenching, even as they rested against the wall, his breath coming in soft pants.

Harry gasped, quickly biting his lip to muffle the sound as Draco moved his finger, fucking Harry slowly with the digit. Harry heard the quiet chuckle from behind him. The sudden flash of desire at the noise was bizarre and Harry felt an almost overwhelming urge to laugh. He was pretty sure, however, that if he did, he might not be able to stop again.

The unexpected introduction of a second finger helped Harry to stifle the hysteria, and he focused on the sensation of Draco’s fingers moving within him, more quickly now, but still far gentler than Harry would ever have thought, had he ever imagined this scenario.

Draco had leant forward at some point, and now Harry could feel his breath on the back of his neck. He felt a sense of gratification at the fact that the blonde boy was almost gasping himself. Harry was reassured by that. Not that it meant that there wasn’t some ulterior motive behind the lust, of course. Draco was, after all, not only a Slytherin, but a Malfoy too.

Draco twisted his fingers abruptly, and Harry bit his lip and shuddered. He could no longer tell which side of the pleasure/pain line he was. Draco had managed to scramble all of Harry’s senses; a sensation Harry had a sinking feeling he was going to become all too used to. Draco’s movements slowed, and then he slowly pulled his fingers from Harry’s body, making sure his fingertips dragged heavily over tissue Harry had never realised could be that sensitive.

Harry felt Draco shift behind him again, and the other boy’s chest pressed against Harry’s back. Then Harry felt Draco’s cock, wet and hard, slowly forcing its way into Harry’s body. The entry was slow and steady, but nevertheless, Harry discovered another uncomfortable truth about himself; he was not as disturbed or repulsed by the harsh burn caused by Draco’s cock as he probably should be. The burn merely seemed to intensify the other sensations; the movements of Draco’s chest against his back as he panted into Harry’s neck, the press of Draco’s fingers on Harry’s hips.

When Draco finally stopped moving, Harry realised the blonde boy was as far inside Harry’s body as he could get. Harry breathed out, wondering why he wasn’t mourning the loss of his ‘precious’ virginity, wondering why Draco was being so careful, so considerate, so uncharacteristically gentle. Harry couldn’t help but wonder just what, and how much he was going to have to pay for this consideration, this pleasure/pain.

Still, Draco stayed motionless, although Harry knew he wasn’t as calm and unaffected as he might have liked Harry to think. Harry was acutely aware of their exposed position, and felt the first, faint stirrings of panic in this whole encounter, although it seemed to do little to dampen his arousal. Finally, Harry shifted his hips, nerves and arousal making him restless and eager to finish what Draco had started.

Another few seconds passed, feeling more like years, then Draco moved, just a little, but enough to make Harry gasp. The fingers on Harry’s hips tightened, and he slid out, quickly, and without pause, slammed back in, hard enough that Harry almost head butted the wall before he managed to brace his arms. Draco gave him no consideration now, though Harry was back on familiar ground there, he was distracted by the feel of Draco’s cock attempting to churn his insides into butter. He wondered if it would be less disturbing if he hated the feeling; if he couldn’t find the pleasure underlying the almost pain.

Draco’s hand slid from Harry’s hip and grasped his cock, the grip firm and only just shy of being painfully so. Draco stroked him quickly, matching the pace of his cock.

“Come for me Potter. Let me know how much the Boy-Who-Lived likes having a hard cock up his arse. Show me just what a slut you really are”

Harry was shocked to discover how close he was to giving Draco what he wanted. It seemed that he really must be a slut, to be so near to finding his release in the midst of an act that whilst no longer exactly painful, was hardly the most pleasurable thing he’d ever experienced, however much his mind appeared to confuse pain and pleasure.

The sudden bitter taste of knowing that he had allowed himself to be degraded and debased by his hated enemy without putting up even a token defence eclipsed the sordid thrill of finally fucking something other than his own hand. He was defiled, in body and mind.

Harry suddenly understood what the cost of this tryst was going to be. Every future sexual encounter would be forever tainted. Every time Harry allowed another to fuck him, like this, riding the pleasure and pain until he could no longer tell the difference, he would feel Draco’s breath on his neck, see a flash of white/blonde hair out of the corner of his eye, hear that haughty voice, mocking him.

Harry’s orgasm, when it hit him with unexpected force, gave him nothing but despair and the sour taste of dissolution. Despair, not only at the realisation that this one act would forever sully him, but also the knowledge that he would be powerless to refuse when Malfoy came to him again. And Draco would, Harry knew with absolute certainty. After all, this was what Draco had intended and planned for all along. A Malfoy and a Slytherin to the very core and Harry was going to suffer for ever forgetting that.

Draco thrust especially hard into Harry, and then held himself there, hips jerking a little, his breath stuttering and harsh in Harry’s ear. Harry allowed his head to droop forwards. He had a lost a game he hadn’t even realised he was playing.

Draco pulled back, peeling his sweaty chest away from Harry’s back, his fingers releasing Harry’s cock, and flexing on Harry’s hips. Harry was certain he would have bruises from Draco’s fingers by tomorrow. He was marked now, inside and out by the Slytherin.

As Draco’s cock slipped from his body, Harry began to feel queasy at the stretched, slimy sensation that was left behind, although he supposed it was only fair that the feeling in his arse matched in the one in his heart.

Malfoy moved away, muttering what Harry supposed was a quick spell to clean himself up. He was not surprised when Harry heard him stand, leaving Harry as he was.

“Better sort yourself out Potter, you wouldn’t want to be caught in the corridor with your pants down, now would you…?”

Harry had never hated Malfoy and that mocking tone more than he did at that moment. But that hatred was nothing compared to the wave of self-loathing that washed over him then, at his own complicity in this, the way he had so eagerly handed Malfoy what he had wanted.

He heard Draco move away, then the footsteps paused, and Harry could imagine Draco looking back over his shoulder. Harry didn’t need to look to know that Draco would be smirking with pleasure at the sight Harry knew he must make, on his knees, hands against the wall; pants around his thighs, head bowed in defeat, dishevelled and sweaty, Draco’s semen beginning to seep out of his arse and run down one thigh.

“Oh, Potter”

Harry raised his head, though he didn’t look at Draco. This was going to be the killer blow and Harry was going to meet it with what courage he could, though he had precious little dignity left.

“Same time next week”

Harry felt the bitter taste of bile almost overwhelming. His throat burned with it. Draco’s soft, mocking laughter drifted off down the corridor. Harry waited until there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, and then slowly, painfully, he stood, pulled his trousers up and fastened them. He picked up his robes, and drew them on. For a minute, he rested his forehead against the wall, then straightened. He had to go back to the common room and explain what Malfoy had wanted. Or, at least, he had to give some reasonable, untrue, explanation about what had happened. How could he tell them the truth? That he had fucked Malfoy’s mouth, had allowed the blonde boy to fuck his arse like he was some cheap whore? How would he explain to them that that one time had addicted him completely to the act, to Malfoy, to that confusing combination of care and brutality that the other boy had shown him?

He couldn’t. So yet again, when it came down to it, this was something that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was going to have to deal with on his own.

Some time next week.