Bruised

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

It had been the best part of a week before the bruises on Harry’s hips had faded to nothing more than faint smudges. A few days after that, they could barely been seen at all.

Harry knew they were there though. The memory of how they had looked; finger shaped marks, blooming various colours against his pale skin, was imprinted on his mind. He had only to close his eyes to see them again. He’d touched them less often than he’d looked at them, because he’d found that touching the marks brought back the memory of those fingers, gripping his hips so tightly, while he was fucked so harshly, his torso laced into a corset for Draco Malfoy’s pleasure. And that was a memory that always left him needing to find somewhere quiet and private to jerk off, something that was easier said than done in the gold fish bowl environment of Hogwarts, especially when you were the Boy-Who-Lived. But when Harry did finally did find himself alone, he couldn’t resist indulging those memories.

Before Draco, Harry had never considered himself to be particularly sensual. But now it seemed that his eyes had been opened to a range of possibilities and experiences that he had never even considered before. It had changed everything, somehow. And Harry wasn’t entirely sure just how he felt about that, yet, although it had certainly added a whole new dimension to his fantasies.

Masturbation had previously been a quick and furtive act; something almost dirty and desperate. An act of relief, more than anything else. But not now. Now Harry waited until he could be alone, until he could relieve those few intense moments, could give himself over to his newly discovered sensuality. He’d trace his fingers over his chest and ribs, trying to recapture the phantom pressure of the corset, the remembered sensation of being bound and restrained. His hand would stroke his cock slowly, not wanting to rush the pleasure, knowing it would be at least 24 hours before he could indulge himself in this way again. He delayed, for as long as possible, before touching the bruises; until he just couldn’t stand it anymore and had to let his hand drift lower, brushing lightly at first across the marks of Draco Malfoy’s passion, and his possession of Harry.

When he finally couldn’t stop himself, he’d press those bruises a little harder, just enough to feel the tenderness of the damaged skin. It was never more than a few seconds after that before he came, the pleasure undimmed by repetition.

He’d lie there afterwards, as the trembles faded and his muscles unlocked and relaxed, rubbing his come into the bruises, leaving his own invisible stain on the marks of his shame, his weakness, his darkest thrill. He had been often, and sorely, tempted in those moments to press harder on the bruises, to make them last as long as possible, a tangible, physical reminder of what had happened that would last long after all the other physical signs had gone. But he hadn’t, because he knew that it wouldn’t have been the same. They wouldn’t have been Malfoy’s bruises, wouldn’t have offered Harry the same proof that he really was the slut that Draco had named him as.

It was 10 days since Draco had had Harry wear the corset. 10 days and not a word, not a look, beyond the usual sneers, not a single hint that the blonde boy was even remotely interested in another encounter.

Harry *knew*, logically, that this was just another Malfoy mind-fuck, but that didn’t stop the tension from eating into him, until he felt as though his whole body was just one giant spring, coil so tightly it might explode at any time. Harry wasn’t sure which he feared for most, his sanity, or the lives of those around him when he snapped.

So when the summons finally came, Harry knew he wasn’t going to refuse, knew he’d do whatever Draco wanted, even if it was more perverse than the corset. Especially, perhaps, if it was more perverse.

Which lead him here, to another disused classroom, freezing his arse off, waiting for Malfoy to show up.

Harry was already half hard, and had been since he’d got Draco’s note. He’d become used to it though, this last 10 days. The ache in his balls was almost welcome, distracting him as it did from the burning arousal which was part anticipation, part disgust that he had accepted this invitation to his own desecration, and part fear of what Draco would demand of him this time.

He couldn’t help dropping a hand to his lap, cradling his balls gently, the warmth helping to ease the ache just a little.

“Can’t wait for me, eh Potter?”

Harry froze, feeling somehow as though he’d been caught doing something wrong; trapped between anger at the irrational feeling of guilt, and shame for allowing Malfoy the ability to make him feel anything.

He still hated Malfoy; hated that the blonde boy always seemed to get exactly what he wanted, with apparently no effort at all; hated him for adding Harry to that list; hated himself even more for letting that happen. What Harry detested most of all though, was that he had somehow become addicted to this, whatever this was. He loathed the fact that as long as Draco called, he would answer. Because he’d never experienced anything like it; never imagined that something could be that intense, that dark, and still be so very pleasurable. Harry still wasn’t entirely sure what made him most uncomfortable about the last meeting; that he had enjoyed wearing that corset, and looked forward to seeing what other kinks Malfoy would come up with (and Harry was absolutely positive that Malfoy had plenty of ideas left), or that he had enjoyed wearing the corset for his arch rival, for someone he couldn’t stand; for Draco.

The knowledge, suddenly acquired a few days ago, as he was engaged in his daily ritual of relieving himself to the memories, that Draco had undoubtedly been as affected by the corset as Harry had been, had left Harry coming almost a hard as he had when Draco had been fucking him.

Harry couldn’t help himself, just that thought made him moan softly, and his hand let go of his balls and moved to cup his firming erection. He was startled when a hand grabbed his wrist, preventing him from touching himself. He opened eyes he hadn’t realised he had closed, and looked into Draco Malfoy’s smuggest expression.

“Oh no Potter, I’ve got other plans for you, and I promise you’ll enjoy them much more if you *don’t* come yet.”

Harry blinked, then swallowed, and tried not to shudder at the mixture of threat and promise in Draco’s voice.

He wondered, in some small part of his mind that wasn’t swamped by lust, where Draco had gained his obvious knowledge of gay sex, not to mention that kinky streak. Harry couldn’t see Draco fumbling around the first few, tentative times, with members of his own house, let alone of any other house. Harry just couldn’t believe that Draco would allow anyone to know that he wasn’t experienced. And yet, he must have learnt somewhere, from someone. The kind of knowledge he displayed could only have come from experience and practice. Lots of practice. The thought of Draco practicing sent a shiver down Harry’s spine, for reasons he had no intention of examining too closely.

Harry watched as the grey eyes, staring so arrogantly into his own, widened, the pupils expanding until there was only the faintest ring of colour visible, as Draco’s arousal clearly surged at whatever he saw in Harry’s face.

The blonde boy grinned then, a dark and hungry look appearing in his eyes. He released Harry’s wrist and took a few of steps back, until he was leaning against a desk, his arms crossed casually across his chest.

“Strip”

Harry blinked, then found his hands rushing to obey, before his brain had quite recovered enough to give the order. Harry was torn, wanting to strip so that they could get on with it, so that Draco could further corrupt his mind and body, and wanting to refuse, to regain control of himself, to walk away like it didn’t matter to him. But he couldn’t walk away. As much as he hated this, he couldn’t stop now, not now he knew *this*.

Finally, he stood before Draco, naked, hard, and only vaguely aware that he should be ashamed.

Draco smirked.

“Turn around Potter”

Harry shivered, suddenly vulnerable. The raw and voracious look in Draco’s eyes made Harry feel, by turns, hot and cold.

He turned slowly, anticipation and fear warring, even as the shame of letting Malfoy order him around so casually finally began to rise. It was a powerful combination; hate and lust and shame, burning Harry’s skin, even as it chilled his soul.

He stood, naked in the cold and dusty classroom. There was silence from behind him, not that Harry was sure he would have heard anything over the sound of his own pulse, fast and frantic in his ears. He felt vulnerable and exposed, as he guessed he was supposed to.

When a hand gripped his hip, fingers unconsciously fitting over the places where the bruises had been not so long ago, Harry’s breath stuttered, as he was caught between the sense memory of Draco’s fingers digging into his skin, his own fingers tracing the marks as he pleasured himself, and the current lighter touch. For a moment, Harry couldn’t sort out the sensations, couldn’t tell what was real and what was an echo. He felt dizzy and disorientated. Even as his body leant back towards Malfoy, his mind screamed, disgusted that it took nothing more than the touch of Malfoy’s skin to his, and a memory, to bring him to sweating, aching arousal.

“I’ve got a present for you Potter”

When in the hell did Draco learn to sound so damned sexy? Had his voice always dripped sex, or was it just that Harry had never noticed before?

Harry looked down as Draco’s other hand moved into sight. It took Harry a few seconds to realise what it was that Malfoy was holding in his hand. When his brain finally accepted what it was that his eyes were telling him, he started to pull away, suddenly, irrationally afraid. The tightening of Draco’s hand on his hip, gripping hard enough to bruise stopped Harry’s movements, breath catching again at the wash of lust that overran the fear.

“Don’t worry Potter, I won’t be the one using it on you. This time.”

Harry’s panic flared again, stronger and more desperate than before. If not Draco then who? Had Draco brought someone else here to witness the degradation of the Boy-Who-Lived? Harry wanted no part of this anymore. He wanted out.

“You’re going to use it Potter. You’re going to put on a little show for me, and if you’re good, I might even fuck you myself.”

Harry felt his muscles relax, hadn’t realised until the relief flowed through him how truly scared he had been. And the sickening part was that the real fear wasn’t that Draco might have brought someone else to join them, it was that even that might not have been enough to make him walk away; to convince him to give up this dark and guilty pleasure.

He looked at the dildo. He reached out a shaky hand and clasped his fingers loosely around it, then slowly slid his fist down the length., until his fingers crushed against Draco’s. He had the satisfaction of hearing Draco’s sharp intake of breath at the touch, the vindictive pleasure of having proof that he wasn’t the only one affected by this sordid game they were playing.

Draco almost snatched his hand away, leaving Harry holding the dildo, the weight of it in his hand both suggestive and perverse.

Draco shifted behind him, and without warning, a slick finger traced the cleft of his arse, and slipped into his body. Harry gasped at the unexpected intrusion, the shockingly sexual sensation surprising him, as it always did.

“I want to see you fucking yourself with that thing Potter. I want to watch you come with that up your arse, screaming my name.”

“Oh, fuck” Harry groaned, arousal washing over him in a wave of heat. He wondered how it was that Draco seemed to know exactly what to say to push all of Harry’s buttons, including the ones that even Harry himself hadn’t know about.

The finger slid out of his body, and then Draco’s hand was back in front of him again, this time glistening with lube, which he spread thickly over the fake cock, until the viscous liquid slid down over Harry’s fingers, and dripped slowly to the floor, making Harry think of the times he had spilled his own come over his hand and watched it drip from his fingers, just like this.

Harry heard Draco mutter something under his breath, and suddenly he found himself staring into a full length mirror that had, apparently, just appeared in front of him. He looked at the image in the glass, and it was almost as though he were looking at they reflection of a completely different person. His pupils had dilated so much that the swallowed virtually all of the colour in his eyes; his cheeks were flushed; his lips parted and his cock was as hard as Harry could remember it being. He stood there, in front of the mirror, holding a dildo that glistened obscenely in the muted candlelight. It was a perfect picture of debauchery and iniquity, completed by the positively feral look on Draco Malfoy’s face.

“Show me Potter.” he whispered, his eyes catching Harry’s in the mirror. “Show me how you look when I fuck you.”

Harry felt dizzy, the room was too hot, his skin felt too tight. It was like being in a dream; everything was surreal. Everything except his arousal. That was too strong and too close now to pain to be anything other than real.

Draco moved to one side, his hand falling away from Harry’s hip, where it had stayed, fingers pressing into the skin, all this time. Harry watched himself reach back, watched as he spread his legs more. He pressed the tip of the dildo against his arsehole, the touch starting a trembling in his hands and legs.

He looked at Draco, watching the other boy watching him. When their eyes met again, Harry began to slowly press the dildo into his body, the burn of the penetration making him gasp, though he never stopped, letting the agonisingly slow entry give his body time to adjust. He watched Draco, watched as the Slytherin’s breathing sped up, until he was almost panting as much as Harry. He watched as long as he could, until finally, he had to close his eyes so that he could savour the sensation of breaching his body with the dildo, a feeling so like being fucked, and yet so different.

“Open your eyes Potter”

Draco’s voice was right by his ear, and Harry, feeling as though he were drugged, struggled to obey. When he managed to force his eyes open, he met Draco’s gaze once more in the mirror, the other boy standing side on to the mirror, his lips almost brushing against Harry’s ear. From where he stood, Harry realised, Draco could see everything, their reflection in the mirror, Harry himself, and the motions of the dildo as Harry used it on himself.

“Show me Harry” Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper, terse with arousal and need.

Harry couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know how he looked when he was being fucked too. He wanted to know what it would take to drive Draco to the edge. He finally wondered if he could actually win this game of theirs. He began to fuck himself, long, slow strokes, enough to build his arousal, without taking him the edge too quickly. He kept his other hand at his side, away from his cock, despite a need to touch it, to bring himself off, to end this extended and intense foreplay. And this was only foreplay, Harry knew. This was just the beginning. Harry clenched his fist, fighting his body, knowing that it wouldn’t take much to bring him off. He wasn’t ready to come yet. This time, he had some control, and he wanted to see how far he could take this, how much he could affect Draco, even more than he wanted to come.

“What are you thinking about Harry? What dirty little fantasies are running through your head right now?”

Harry moaned, struggling to keep his eyes open. He watched Draco move away from him a little, enough to reveal that his robes where open, and he was as aroused as Harry by this. He ran a hand over his cock, slow and deliberate, and when Harry realised that Draco’s hand was matching the rhythm with which Harry was fucking himself on the dildo, he had to close his eyes, had to fight for control, breath stuttering, heart pounding, every muscle tight. It was too intense, too dirty, and he couldn’t watch while Draco watched him, couldn’t think about the fact that Draco was jerking himself off to the thought of fucking Harry as Harry was fucking himself, because if he did, he suspected he would find out if he could come without touching his cock at all.

“Do you think about someone walking in and catching us Harry? Who do see watching from the shadows? Snape, maybe? Do you see him there, stroking his cock as he watches us fucking?”

“Ahhhh” Harry was really gasping now, sweating stinging his eyes, hand working the fake cock faster, the strokes becoming shorter and harder. He could hear his own moans, broken and desperate.

“Or do you imagine someone else, hmm?” Draco leant closer, close enough that his lips did now touch Harry’s ear, close enough that he could rub his cock against Harry’s hip. Harry shuddered, wanting desperately, but not sure anymore what exactly it was that he wanted, *needed* so badly.

”Who do you think about Harry? Lucius maybe? Do you think about my father Harry? Do you fantasise about him joining us? Have you ever wondered what it would be like? Would you like to see him fucking me, while I’m fucking you Harry?”

Oh God. There was no way that mental image should be so hot, so sexy that it left Harry almost on the verge of coming. He should be disgusted, should feel revulsion. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t seem to stop his mind from imaging that scene, just as Draco described it. Oh god, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping that Draco would do it, would include his father, that the fantasy would be made real.

He knew now, that he had never stood a chance of winning this game. He was so out of his league he couldn’t hope to compete. He was Draco’s toy, his plaything. Harry was trapped, and the chains were at least partly of his own making.

Harry was so close now, he could also feel the first signs of his impending orgasm. He wanted to slow down, wanted to make this last, but he couldn’t, couldn’t override his body’s demands this time. He was going to come, fucking this dildo, his cock untouched, Draco’s voice in his ear.

When a hand grabbed his wrist, stilling the motion of the fake cock in his arse, Harry’s eyes flew open. Draco used his grip on Harry’s wrist to force him to remove the dildo. He moved behind Harry, struggling to bend his knees enough to make this work. Harry watched the blonde boy, face flushed, breath coming in pants as broken now as Harry’s own, and he knew the instant Draco finally found a position, saw it in Malfoy’s face.

The first thrust was fast and hard, and Harry groaned loudly and arched his back at the filling of a real cock filling him. Draco pulled back and slammed in as hard as he could, the awkward position clearly preventing him from fucking Harry as brutally as he wanted. Harry didn’t think it was going to matter though, they were both obviously so close to coming that it wasn’t going to take much to bring them off.

A few more thrusts, and Harry couldn’t stand it any longer. His hand was stroking his cock before he even realised he’d moved it. A dozen strokes, and his orgasm hit him, hard. Draco’s rhythm faltered, resumed, then faltered again, and he slammed in one last time, so hard he nearly lifted Harry’s feet from the floor.

Harry gasped, wondering if he’d ever take a normal breath again after this. His lungs burned, his arse ached, his balls felt swollen and sore and his throat was dry and scratchy. He opened his eyes and watched come dripping from his cock, over his fingers and onto the floor; deja vou parody of his earlier thoughts.

When Draco pulled away from him, Harry raised his head, watching as the other boy pulled his clothes together with almost insulting ease.

Malfoy looked Harry’s reflection up and down, and for a moment, Harry had the strangest feeling that Draco was going to say something, but then the smirk was back, and Draco turned and left, the door banging shut behind him.

Harry stood for a moment, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked well fucked, no way around that. He was indeed well fucked, he thought, in more ways than one.