Selective Memory

Author's Note: I... do not know what this is really. You tell me. Hope you like it, anyway. The song playing in the background is No Doubt's Hella Good, by the way. :)

Selective Memory

The worst punishment of all is guilt.

Draco moved through the crowded room, full of strangers, full of faceless people, full of guiltless souls. He felt hands on him as he moved, bodies throbbing, hot and yearning. He let them touch and made his way to the bar.

Ironic, he thought, that it was in the company of Muggles that he could feel most relaxed, most himself after all was said and done. And it had all been said, all been done.

It was over now.

Draco leaned against the bar, his slate blue shirt rolled at the sleeves to the elbows, artfully tucked in the front, only buttoned half-way up. It hung open. His hair was unkempt, falling into his eyes. It had been a long while since he slicked it back. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It reminded him too much of a youth that didn’t seem real. It was another life entirely.

He wore denims in dark blue-grey. They were fitted to him like a second skin but were light enough so he could breathe. A black leather belt was looped through the waist. The buckle was a snake consuming it’s own tail.

The bartender found him and asked what he was having. Draco’s mind was in a fog. He didn’t intend to get drunk. He didn’t want to feel it the next morning. He just wanted enough alcohol in him to forget.

This whole charade was an experiment in memory loss.

“Green Vesper,” Draco ordered. The man gave him an odd look before nodding. He waited, his hand slipping into his pocket to pull out some Muggle money. He had never quite understood why they thought it was logical to have paper as their currency, but he figured out the numbers easily enough. He slipped a five pound note across the counter when the barman returned with a green drink.

Draco lifted it to him and then downed it in one.

He dropped the glass back on the counter and turned back to the crowd. A song he did not recognize reverberated in the speakers and deafened the crowd. It had a good beat, a good sound. Draco smiled and walked back into the mob.

He was engulfed by the bodies, all moving as one on the dance floor. A man with dirty blond hair and three days’ worth of stubble on his jaw reached out and groped him. He turned his head and gave the man a sharp look through his hair.

Any further and you lose your hand, his look was saying.

The man retracted his hand and disappeared into the crowd. Draco moved into an area slightly less crowded. He moved with the rhythm and relaxed.

This night was about forgetting his past, not forgetting himself.

A different man was in front of him now. He had wavy brown hair and hazel eyes. There was a birthmark on his jaw line. He was wearing a mesh shirt.

Draco let him in close, let him press against him as they throbbed with the song. He even let the man lean in, press his lips to Draco’s ear and whisper something to him.

“Fucking hot tattoo,” he growled over the din of the music. Draco tensed as the man’s hand grabbed his forearm and traced an arbitrary squiggle over the black mark.

Draco immediately pulled away and moved back into the denser crowd, his marked arm trailing behind him, caught between people as he moved as though he was trying to leave it behind.

This night was about forgetting his past, not being complemented for it.

Draco’s head was spinning with the alcohol, with the pulsing beat. He tried to lose himself in the song, tried to lose himself in the movement. He glanced around at the crowd, trying to find a worthwhile face, when his eyes caught a glimpse of something he was not prepared for.

Black hair and round glasses. Green eyes visible through even the darkest shadows of the club.

It couldn’t be.

Draco was most trying to forget that.

He shook his head and turned around, letting the music course through him and move him. He closed his eyes and swayed, his shoulders bumping against other people. He listened and felt and did not think. He could not think.

Then there was a hand sliding over his hip from behind. It was hot and firm. Another hand on his other hip, fingers wrapping around him and pulling him backwards. He felt a hard chest against his back, hips just shy of pressing into his arse.

Draco didn’t fight this one. He let it happen. This time it didn’t feel like a violation, it didn’t feel like a shameful abuse. It just felt good.

This was how he would forget.

He pressed back into the man behind him. His fingers found the hands on his hips and encouraged them on his body. The man reciprocated, moving closer until their bodies were moving as one. Hot air ghosted over Draco’s neck and then smoldering, wet lips were blotting against his skin.

Draco leaned his head to the side, allowing better access. He felt molten lust pool in his belly and hummed unconsciously. One hand moved up, Draco’s fingers still intertwined with the stranger’s, and slipped under one side of Draco’s open shirt. Fingertips smoothed over his skin, finding old, thin scars, and tracing them. The stranger lingered on them, palming his chest and pulling back as though he wanted to feel Draco’s heart.

Draco’s breath hitched with each movement of those fingertips. The other hand moved to his denims and hooked to the waist, tugging them down slightly. The stranger was clever enough to know not to mention the scars, not to speak of them. Draco didn’t know how, but he felt it.

It was unspoken.

He allowed Draco to forget.

A mouth pressed hotly to his jaw, and Draco found he needed to turn around. He wanted to see this person up close. He wanted to know.

Draco let his hands slip away from the others and turned in the groping embrace of the stranger. His eyes were half-lidded as he did turn, his mind buzzing, his body pulsing. His gaze started low, wanting to draw it out, wanting to commit the image to memory so that, when he needed to forget everything else, he could remember this.

The man wore looser fitting denims than Draco was. They were dark blue and worn. No belt. His shirt was a faded red cotton, fitted to his lithe and muscular torso. There was a distressed decal on the front, left side of his chest. There was an indecipherable crest there. Draco ran his fingers over it.

“You’re hard to find,” the man said, his voice husky and somewhat familiar. “When you don’t want to be found.”

Draco looked up and his breath caught in his chest. He jerked back but the arms around him held him in place.

Harry Potter’s hands were on Draco’s body. His mouth had been on Draco’s neck. His fingers tracing the scars he had given Draco himself.

“What do you want?” Draco asked. His voice was uneven but it didn’t matter. Over the music it was impossible to hear. Potter must have read his lips.

“You,” he answered, leaning in to speak into Draco’s ear. Draco’s head was spinning but he was panicked. He pushed Potter away and turned to try and escape but Potter grasped his wrist and tugged him back, spinning him as he did.

Their bodies crushed together, chest to chest, hips grinding together. Draco could feel Potter’s hardness through his denims now. He whimpered softly, realizing just how hard he, himself, was as well.

Draco’s resolve was waning. He was hot and bothered. He loved the feel of Potter against him, loved the feel of those hands. But this whole night was to forget.

It was to forget the past, not come alive in it.

“Potter,” Draco began. He couldn’t let himself give in. He wanted Potter now, wanted him so badly. But this couldn’t be right, it couldn’t be. Potter was everything Draco wanted to forget. He was everything Draco could never have.

“Just keep dancing,” Potter told him, pressing his mouth to Draco’s cheek.

Draco opened his mouth but Potter’s lips crashed against it. It was passionate and wanton. Potter’s lips parted and his tongue darted out in search of Draco’s. He let his tongue dance with Potter’s, mimicking the moves of their bodies. He kissed back with need and desperation.

Draco’s hands found their way to Potter’s arse, grabbing him and pulling him in. Potter’s hands moved to Draco’s neck, wrapped around his head beneath his ears, now that he didn’t need to restrain him. Draco moaned and the fog in his mind swirled and increased.

He didn’t want to think now.

But Draco pulled away to look into Potter’s eyes. They both panted, lips swollen and red from the rough kiss. Draco’s silver eyes questioned but Potter’s eyes held no answers, only more riddles.

Potter suddenly pulled Draco, turning out of the crowd and dragging him to the edge of the room, deep in the shadows of the supply cupboard.

Potter pressed his back against the wall and pulled Draco close to pin himself there. Draco licked his lips.

“What do you want from me, Potter?” Draco demanded, his brows knitted together. He didn’t know why he was asking. He didn’t really want to know. He just wanted Potter and then he wanted to forget. He wanted to have him and then push him away.

Potter tilted his head and a feral look washed over his face.

“I hate you as much as I want you, Malfoy,” Potter growled. “You disappeared and I had to find you. I hungered for you.” His nails raked over Draco’s exposed chest. “I want to tear off your clothes and taste every inch of you. I want to hold you and feel you and breathe you in. I want you to fuck me so hard I go blind, so hard it hurts. I can’t decide.” Potter’s words were harsh and angry but went straight to Draco’s groin. “I want you to be mine, Malfoy. Because no one else can have you.”

Draco snarled and caught Potter’s lip in his teeth, biting hard before sucking on him and fisting his hair. Potter moaned and bucked against him.

“My place,” Draco breathed, slipping his hand into Potter’s pocket to grab his wand. His long fingers wrapped around his hawthorn wand instead. He pulled it out and pressed their bodies together roughly before Apparating to his flat.

Draco pushed Potter backwards in his room until Potter’s knees buckled against the bed and they fell in a heap on the mattress. Potter’s hands immediately tugged at the buttons on Draco’s shirt and they popped off, scattering everywhere. He slipped it off the blonde and shucked it aside. Draco scrambled with Potter’s shirt and pulled it over his head, catching briefly on his ear and leaving it red.

Potter groaned but did not otherwise complain. Draco went back to kissing him mercilessly while his fingers fiddled with the button of Potter’s denims. He managed to get it open and tugged them down while Potter struggled with Draco’s belt. Draco had already pushed Potter’s denims and pants down to his knees, unleashing his erect cock, when Potter finally managed to unbuckle the belt.

Draco propped himself up over Potter, maneuvering to kick off his shoes and socks while Potter did the same. Then he slid himself out of his remaining garments beneath Draco and laid there, naked and hard before him.

Draco’s eyes consumed every detail before Potter pulled him into another kiss and rolled them over so that Draco was flat on his back. Potter pulled away and began to plant kisses, biting and sucking as he went, all the way down Draco’s chest. He had apparently meant every word when he promised to taste every bit of Draco. His hands were unzipping Draco’s denims and tugging them open, slipping the waistband of his pants down to release his cock.

Potter’s mouth reached Draco’s erection and wasted no time. He laved his tongue from the base to the tip and then swirled it around the head. Draco moaned and fisted Potter’s hair. The brunette opened his mouth and pulled Draco’s cock in, engulfing him in moisture and heat. Draco groaned loudly and arched, pushing his cock deeper. Potter hummed and let him, sucking and hollowing his cheeks with every other movement.

His fingernails were digging into Draco’s skin, clawing as though he was latching on permanently. He sucked and licked, swirling his tongue around the crown of Draco’s shaft as he did and Draco felt himself driving madly towards the edge.

Before he hit the point of no return, Draco pulled hard on Potter’s hair, forcing him to release Draco’s cock and readjust. He crawled back up and pressed their lips together. Draco couldn’t breathe but didn’t want to. He kissed Potter with passion and need, with urgency and fear. Potter was panting over him and Draco dragged his hands down the other man’s back to his arse. He slipped his fingers into the cleft and probed, dry, against Potter’s entrance.

Potter moaned something intelligible and Draco let go, grasping around on the bed instead. He found his wand and flicked his wrist, murmuring something into Potter’s mouth.

The brunette gasped suddenly and cried out, unable to keep up the kiss. He was wet and prepared and wanton. Draco smirked and rolled them both other roughly, placing himself between Potter’s legs. He slicked his cock and bit his lip, looking down at the saviour beneath him. His green eyes pierced straight through to Draco’s soul and burned him.

He braced himself and pushed hard into Potter in one swift thrust. Potter cried out, clenching around the sudden intrusion and Draco yelled out as well. But Draco wouldn’t let himself wait. He needed to keep up the rhythm. If he stopped, he would think. If he thought, he would reconsider.

He couldn’t let himself do that.

This was about forgetting.

Right?

Draco started thrusting in and out, quickly and roughly and steadily. He was panting and Potter’s legs wrapped around him as he clawed at Draco’s chest. His nails scratched over the old scars and a flash of pain shot through him. He leaned down and their mouths collided again in a fevered embrace.

Draco was thrusting harder and harder, deeper and deeper with every beat. Potter was crying out into the kiss, gasping for air and sucking in Draco’s tongue. Draco had one hand wrapped around Potter’s cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. One of Potter’s hands was grasping the back of his neck while the other was braced against the headboard as they jerked upward.

“Draco,” Potter moaned suddenly. Draco groaned and his orgasm tore through him. He pushed in one more time and spilled out, shaking and tensing from the climax. Potter cried out as Draco’s fist clenched around his cock. He came in violent spurts and splattered Draco’s chest as well as his own stomach.

Draco hovered there, tense and shaking before he collapsed on top of Potter. He intended to move, intended to get off Potter, and was only waiting for the energy to come back to him. But Potter’s arms wrapped around him, effectively pinning him in place.

Draco gasped slightly and rolled over so they were both on their sides. Potter did not release him but pressed closer. Draco shook his head. Potter’s eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out. Draco fought sleep.

“What is wrong with you, Potter?” Draco whispered. He didn’t understand.

+++

When Draco woke up the next morning, his head was throbbing, his body ached and his stomach was somewhat sticky. And he was cold.

His eyes fluttered opened and he groaned softly, pressing a hand to his forehead. He had never made it out of his denims and the buckle from his belt had left an imprint on his hip.

His thoughts were sluggish. He couldn’t quite identify why he was still wearing his clothes from the previous night. He meant to forget, but now he couldn’t quite remember.

He saw flashes of a face, green eyes, a naked chest. There were echoes of angry words and vulgar demands. Draco made a noise and pushed himself up, squinting in the morning light.

“Morning,” a voice said quietly. Draco’s eyes snapped open and, at the end of his bed, sat a half-clothed Harry Potter.

“Fuck,” Draco murmured, grabbing his head.

“Okay,” Potter replied oddly. Draco’s expression was one of incredulity when he looked up and saw that Potter had crawled onto the bed again, hovering directly in front of Draco. He didn’t jump this time. Instead, he brought his hand up and pushed Potter’s face away.

“What do you want?” Draco drawled, wondering how he had let this happen.

“I told you last night,” he responded, his tone betraying his hurt at the rejection. “I want you.”

Draco looked up angrily.

“Are you confounded, Potter?” Draco asked in frustrated disbelief. Potter rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

“No, git,” he shot. “I told you the truth.”

“You said you hate me,” Draco reminded. Potter shifted and looked aside. Draco was sick of this. He wanted to forget Potter. He wanted to get away from him and everything he represented.

“As much as I want you,” he finished. “Which is quite a lot.” Potter looked back.

“Why would you want me?” Draco sneered, his eyes falling on the Dark Mark.

“You lied for me,” Potter explained quietly. “You lied and then I couldn’t get you out of my head. You disappeared and I thought about you even more. I couldn’t forget you.” He cleared his throat. “And I needed to give you back your wand,” he muttered as an afterthought.

Draco laughed humourlessly. He ran his hand through his hair.

“And all this time I was trying to forget you,” he whispered. He looked over at Potter, whose bright green eyes were trained on him now. “Imagine that.”

Draco fiddled with his zipper and readjusted his trousers. They were silent for a while and Draco just didn’t know what to do. He felt tired and sick. He was sick of being guilty. Now Potter was there because he couldn’t forget, so he would drag Draco down with him? So he would force Draco to remember forever…

“I didn’t mean for us to shag,” Potter said abruptly. Draco looked up, an expression of complete exasperation on his face. “I mean, I hadn’t planned on it. I just wanted to find you. But then I saw you dancing with other men and they touched you. And I got so angry. I wanted you to myself. I wanted to touch you so no one else could. “ He flushed red. “I was jealous.”

“Potter,” Draco began. “What do you want? Me? You’ve had me. You’ve given me back my wand. What else?” Draco got up off his bed and folded his arms. “I can’t be the answer to your problems. I can’t make you forget me or… fuck, I don’t even know what.” Draco glared at the ground. He had words, once. He had been eloquent, once. “I need to forget everything that happened. I can’t live with the guilt.”

Potter got up and pressed him to the wall, no matter how Draco fought him. He looked into Potter’s eyes and swallowed.

“You’re not guilty,” Potter whispered. “I’ll give you new memories.”

Draco said nothing but found himself kissing Potter, with none of the anger or urgency. Just slow burning passion and tenderness. Draco pulled back and gave Potter a hard look.

“I’ll give you one chance,” he conceded. Potter grinned mischievously.

“You’ve got no choice,” he whispered. “You’re mine now. You can’t forget me.”

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