Competition

Note: Slightly edited, renamed. Working on a sequel. Just a note: retagging’s a bitch.

Author's note: Not sure how I got this. It just kinda happened. Inspired by some lovely Draco/Harry angst I found somewhere. Some screwed up tenses. Sorry. But don't bother to point them out; I'm not going to change it.

This completely disregards HBP, because I hated it. Therefore, Draco is Head Boy.

"Harry's speech"


"Draco's speech"

Generic Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't like? Don't read, don't bitch.




"Everything has to be a competition with you, doesn't it?" he shouts in my face. I scowl; the prick is right, but he doesn't need to know that. I should turn him in, for being out-of-bounds, but I think I want to hear what he has to say first. There could be something I might be able to torment him with later.

I don't know what had brought this on, why he'd suddenly decided to confront me --in the middle of the night, down a deserted corridor, no less-- about something that's been the same for seven years. In such an uncertain time, one would think that one would cling even to the most uncomfortable of small constants, not struggle to change them.

Why can't he allow that we'll always hate each other, and concentrate on something much more important, like saving the world again? Even surviving to live another day was enough to keep some people occupied.

But not Potter, not the Boy Who Lived. Potter and his stupid hero complex. Idiot, trying to save me from myself.



"Answer me, damn you!"



And just what am I supposed to say? Yes, Potter, of course, you're right, I've been a prick. I'm going to get myself disowned, ignore my Mark, and join your side, because you've shown me the light.

Hate to break it to you, Golden Boy, but things aren't that easy. Honestly, do you think I like being an arrogant son of a bitch all the time? It's the stupid family pride that makes me this way. Do you think I can just give that up?

Sometimes, I envy his innocence. He wants a family. He never knew a family, never had someone he loved who expected him to amount to something impossible.

I saw his knuckles coming toward my face. Funny, usually he's throwing punches for something I have said, not something I haven't. I could have ducked, could have hexed him into next Tuesday, could have socked him in the gut, but didn't. I let him hit me, let him put a bruise on my face that people would wonder about for the next week or so.

I should have been furious. I should have whipped out my wand to murder him. Or punched him back. Or something.

I shouldn't have just stood there like an idiot, watching him, my eyes narrowed. I slowly reached up, touching my cheekbone, where I knew the bruise would appear soon enough.



"Damn you, say something!"



"I have nothing to say to you, Potter. I can turn you in for being out of bounds, and I can only pretend not to see you for so long. I suggest you get out of my way."



He looks so angry, I wonder why I never thought of this before. Apparently, Potter can’t handle the cold shoulder.

I smirked a little, and he grabbed me by the collar. This turned out to be rather ineffective, however, considering we were about the same height.



"What's the matter, Potter? Can't bear to be ignored?" I hiss recklessly, without care for the consequences. His eyes, inches from mine, are a livid green as he pulls me a little closer, looking absolutely furious. However, there's something underneath the anger, though I don't much care what it could be. I find it rather difficult to care about anything, these days.

Suddenly, as though he'd realized what he was doing, he shoves me away, into the wall, looking disgusted.



"What's wrong, Potter? Afraid of getting so close to a snake like me?" I taunt, knowing it'll hurt, the way I echo his own words, words he hadn't known I'd heard.



"I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy. I'm not afraid of you, or your master--" he snarls, though he stays where he is, and well away from me.



"Prove it." I interrupt, smirking as I brush myself off.

I don't know how I got here, but somehow, my back is against the wall again, and Potter's the one pressing me against it, pinning my hands above my head in a very interesting position indeed.



"This close enough for you, Malfoy?" he growls, his breath hot on my face.



"I'm rather surprised, Harry," I laugh softly. "Quite forward of you. And here I thought you loathed me." I need every inch of his lean, muscled body to hold me up, but I laugh anyway, knowing how it hurts him.



"S-shut up!" he stutters a little, leaning away a little bit, beginning to realize what he might have done.



"Always the forceful one, aren't you, Potter?" I follow his movement, and before long he's let me go altogether. "You were angry that I wasn't paying enough attention to you. Well, I'm paying attention now, Potter," I state throatily, my voice sly as I back him against the wall. "I thought this was what you wanted." By now, I'm far too close for his comfort, and still getting closer. "I thought you said you weren't afraid of me," I whisper in his ear, now that our places have swapped.



"I'm not," he gulps, his breathing a little heavier, and I chuckle.



"Oh, but you are," I murmur, placing a hand on his burning cheek, running my tongue along the shell of his ear for effect. He shudders, trying to pull further away than the chill stone wall would let him. I chuckle again. "See? You're afraid of what I do to you." I pressed against him more insistently, as if to prove my point.



"Am--am not." he gasps, and I chuckle again, nibbling his neck.



"Prove it," I repeat, the smirk he couldn't see accompanied by an actual bite this time. He cries out a bit, though it's strangled, and I'm certain he didn't mean to do so. I wonder just how far I'll be able to push him.



I know exactly what he's doing when his body starts to move, but I let it happen. He switches our positions in a moment. His body's pressed over mine again, and the back of my head's going to have a bruise, but I take it in stride, masochist that I’ve become. He's nearly panting now, though not from the physical effort. I know better than he does that he's got muscle to spare.



"So, Potter. What are you going to do now?"



"I can play your game just as well as you can," he pretends, calming his breathing, though he hasn't done anything to prove his statement true just yet.



"And what game is that?" I ask, mock-curious. Stupid, clueless Potter, he has no idea what game I'm really playing. He imitates my earlier movements, licking my ear, biting my neck. I must say, he lacks my finesse, but I'm certain he could be taught.



"Congratulations, Potter," I mock, when he moves away, watching me in the dim glow of a dropped wand. I can't see his face, but I know he's a little dazed, and wondering what the hell he's doing, what he's getting himself into. "Now, let me show you how it's really done."



From my place against the wall, I lunge forward, pinning him to the ground and straddling his waist, leaning over him in a predatory manner. I'm sure it wouldn't have been quite so easy if Potter wasn't in shock and thinking that maybe he actually liked this, but I brushed that aside in favor of the here and now. "You're so pretty like this," I can't resist telling him, grinning a sly smile in the shadows.

He begins to realize what's happening, and squirms, choking a little when he accidentally thrusts his groin against mine. I hold back my own gasp, but my facade is unruffled. "Did you like that, Potter?" I breathe in his ear, rocking my hips a little. This time, I get a little cry. I know he's dying to say something, but I'm not about to let him.



His mouth is already open, and I fasten mine over it, shoving his tongue out of the way with my own. If he bites me, I'll leave, I tell myself, knowing I'm getting myself into trouble. But I also know that I won't, even if he does. The sound he makes is possibly one of the strangest I've ever heard from him: it's part choke, part groan, part whine, and part muffled speech.

And he doesn't bite me.

I pull away, and he's panting again. I catch a glint of his vivid eyes in the wandlight for a moment, and smirk. Instead of rage, they're clouded with lust. Ironic, that; he’s hated me for years.



I can feel his erection, and I grind my own against it. This time, he doesn't hold back the groan, and I grin again. I lean down to nibble at his jaw, still rocking my hips. He bucks his groin against mine, and I can't help myself. "That’s right, Potter. Just like that," I tease breathily. At this point, he's either stopped caring or can't answer. I don't much care which. His little grunts and the occasional moan or whimper are starting to make me lose control.



I give his neck a little nip, and he moans again. I just can't seem to get enough of that sound. His hands twitch, and I know he's aching to touch himself, get himself off, and right now. Instead of letting him, however, I transfer both of his wrists to one of my own, then use the other one to sneak up his shirt.



He gasps when I first touch his stomach. It's a very nice stomach, no doubt born of Quidditch training. Apparently, though, my hands are cold, which I hadn't noticed. I trace his navel with one of my fingers, and he whines a little. The vibrations go straight from his throat to my lips with the oddest sensation. I nip his neck a little harder than I have been, and he does it again, sending shivers up my spine. That’s right, Potter. Just like that.



I absently play with one of his nipples, occasionally getting that little whine, though more often a gasp or a groan. I can't say that I don't like them all.



"P-please," he chokes in a breathless whisper, barely audible, and fuck that turns me on.



"What was that?" I murmur against his neck, licking the hollow of his throat as his hands twitch again.



"P-p-please!" he repeats in a whimper, arching his back. I fight down a groan myself.



"That's right, Potter. Beg for me."



"Please, Malfoy!"



Somehow, I've got his shirt off without losing control of his hands, which are still pinned above his head. Even I'm not quite sure how I managed that, though it’s completely irrelevant, at the moment.

I run a hand over his chest, quite as nice as his stomach, and he moans my name low in his throat. I twist one of his nipples, producing a sharp cry, then pull away for a moment.

He's beautiful, right now. Eyes half open behind glasses that had been knocked askew, hair more ruffled than usual, skin flushed, and mouth half-open, gasping for breath. Looking utterly fucked.

I like it. A lot.



"You're so pretty like this," I feel I have to repeat, tracing a small scar on his shoulder. I smirk at him, though I'm not positive that he can even see me. He doesn't respond.



I carefully pull down his pajama pants, all the way to his ankles, and his (presumably) aching arousal stands straight up. I wonder if my hands are still cold?

I run a careful finger around his tip, and he takes in a sharp hiss, mingled with that little whine. Finally, I let go of his wrists, lightly wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and the other around his balls. He groans at the contact, trying to lift his head to see what I'm doing to him.

I bend down, watching him watch me. Slowly, oh so slowly, I lick him, base to tip, sending a shudder through his entire body. He had managed to prop himself up on his elbows to watch me, but his head drops back limply as he gasps his pleasure.



"M-m-AH-Malfoy!" he pants as I repeat the motion. Finally, I take him into my mouth, all the way to the base. I suck gently before making swallowing motions in time with his wild thrusts.

With that, Potter's gone, violently. He shouts his orgasm, and I swallow his come, all of it, without a second thought. I swallow a few extra times, for good measure, then pull my mouth off of him and sit up, painfully aware of my own aroused state.

I go back to nibbling on Potter's neck for a short time, just until he starts stirring from his afterglow. "That was good, wasn't it?" I whisper in his ear.

He nodded mutely, probably still dazed.



"Damn right, it was. Now, you'll do something good for me, won't you?"



Again, a nod. A 'whatever you want, you're the boss' type of nod.



"I'm going to fuck you. And I want you to scream for me, Potter." He starts a little, as though thinking about trying to get away, but I have no doubt that his legs are still wobbly, and he couldn't get very far even if he really wanted to.

I start taking my own clothes off. I feel him watching me, and I grin. Pulling the shirt over my head, I flex surreptitiously, and grin at his murmur of appreciation. I know that my body is quite as nice as his, and I want him to know it, too. I struggle a little with my pants, losing even more of my usual precision control when I realized that, the more clothes I took off, the warmer I got, though we were on the floor of a stone corridor in January.

Guess I just never realized that Potter could make me so horny.

Like right now. He's managed to sit himself up against the wall. His breathing's slowing down, and he's watching me through those half-lidded eyes. His glasses are lying on the floor somewhere, but he doesn't seem to care. He licks his lips, and I almost moan. My fingers fumble over the waistband of my boxers, jostling my erection, and this time I do moan. It's almost more than I can bear.



Finally, I'm as naked as he is. I stumble over to him and pull him to his feet. He looks shaky as well, though he's getting hard again. I press him against the wall, placing my fingers near his mouth.



"Suck them, Potter." I pant. He doesn't protest, just takes them into that lovely mouth, and a hoarse sort of whimper passes my lips. When I can't take it anymore, I give a sharp nip to his ear. He gasps, and I move my saliva-coated digits to his opening, massaging it a little before pushing one in.

I get that funny little whine again, and he sags against the wall, unintentionally thrusting his cock against mine. He's completely hard again. I bury my face in his hair, wondering if he can feel the smirk.



I shift quickly from one finger to two, then almost immediately to three, losing my control quickly now.

A moment later, I take them out and turn him around, pressing his front to the wall this time. He whimpers a little, but I ignore it, grabbing his hips and roughly thrusting inside him.

He cries out, and I love it. "That's right. Scream for me." I gasp into his ear, somehow still coherent. I begin with a slow pace, but quickly speed up when I get the screams I want.



"--Yeah, Potter-- Just like--just like that--" I know I'm close, and reach around to grab his cock, wanting him to come before I do. I squeeze a couple of times, then a stroke with a rough twist at the end.



"MALFOY!" he yells, coming all over my hand. His ass clenches, and that's all it takes for me to come, too, though I bite his neck to keep from screaming his name. I would never, ever forgive myself for screaming Potter's name, for any reason.

A few moments later, I peel myself off of him, smirking contentedly around my gasps for breath. I wobble over and pick up my wand to clean myself off before I get dressed again. He flips himself over, leaning his back against the wall and watching me get dressed.



"Well, Potter." I turn to leave, looking over my shoulder at the dazed-looking boy. "I'd say that I won." I give him a nasty little wave to accompany the nasty little grin on my face, and then begin walking the rest of my route. My shift ends in ten minutes.

It's been a good night.