Chapter Text
Things were getting out of control.
Actually, Harry had to admit, they’d been out of control for a while. They were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, and they'd barely said two civilized words their whole lives, so it wasn't surprising that the sex would be rough. They'd gotten heavy and dirty fast, and they both liked it that way. But then it got heavier and rougher and dirtier, and the slow slide, so easily missed for being gradual, began to look impossible to reverse. Harry had noticed it a few weeks ago, that there was something off about them together, but other, more important things happened, and it was easier to put it aside.
But it hadn’t gone away, the wrongness.
It was small at first—he couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex without Harry calling Draco a slut or a whore; he caught a glimpse of a bruise he’d left on Draco’s arm where he’d grabbed him; a few days later, a welt spilled blood during a routine spanking, evidence that Harry was going too hard and too often; the evening last week when he’d suddenly realized he hadn’t let Draco come in nearly two days despite the seemingly endless fucking they engaged in—but added together, these incidents became a sign of a larger, ongoing problem that was rapidly getting worse.
No, things were not getting out of control.
They were bordering on absolute, destructive anarchy.
Part of his brain realized this. There was a little voice in his head saying this is not right, something is going on, something is definitely at work here that is not Harry, and it’s getting worse, hey, you, stop fucking for two seconds and think with something other than your cock.
But the rest of him woke up before dawn on Thursday morning, four and a half weeks into Draco Malfoy’s little visit to Grimmauld Place, and thought it was a grand idea to spend the day in bed, thinking with his cock. The little voice couldn’t compete with Harry’s nonsensical need for the pale boy lying asleep beside him. The part of his brain that still grasped feebly at rationality had no influence on Harry’s plan for the day, which was to fuck Draco over and over and over, until he begged for mercy.
He began by summoning lube, then cast a lumos.
The other boy was still asleep, and Harry knew from experience that he could get pretty far along without waking him, as Draco somehow slept the sleep of the guiltless despite his many sins. So Harry shifted his pillows downwards, rolled Draco limply onto his stomach upon them so his arse was propped up, pushed his legs wide, and studied the exposed balls and arsehole at his leisure. He stroked himself a bit as he did this—how could he not? Every inch of Draco was exquisite. Pink and pale and lean and supple and utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.
And still deeply asleep. Harry smiled.
He trailed his fingers along the crease of Draco’s buttocks, his smile widening. The many things he planned to do to this body nearly overwhelmed him.
“Today you’re going to be my whore,” he said, somewhat affectionately.
The little voice in his head said, careful, dummy. Something’s not right.
The rest of him thrummed with the need to take, to possess, to master.
And that part of him won.
He set to mouthing Draco’s buttocks, licking and nipping at the milky skin eagerly. He loved the very sight of the boy spread out beneath him; his hands were already trembling, and he realized very quickly that he wasn’t going to last very long. Maybe best to get this first shag out of the way. Relax a little so he could take his time.
So he lubed up his fingers and roughly began to open Draco up.
The other boy stirred, eyes opening heavily with sleepy confusion just as Harry entered him. By that time the need was a pulse sounding throughout his body; Harry was holding Draco open and pounding into the smaller boy with bone-crashing force without a single thought in his head besides mine, mine, mine.
He came quickly, and with a shout.
*
Ron rolled over in bed at the distant cry that came through the walls, slinging an arm across Hermione’s naked belly. “There it is,” he said, and chuckled.
“At least they’re getting it out of their systems now,” she said, and yawned. “We’ll get an early start.”
“I can think of other things we can do with an early start,” Ron said, his thumb tracing the inside of her hipbone. “Or were you that eager to get back to…er, what was it?”
“Verago’s Spellary of Elaborate Dooming Spells.”
“Yeah, fascinating reading, I’m sure,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, it is,” she said earnestly. “He posits that all dark magic originates in a base of light magic, and that it’s actually an inversion of the base wish that leads to—”
“Brainy?” Ron said, and rolled on top of her with an openhearted smile. “I don’t care even a little bit at the moment.” He kissed her. “I’ll care later, I promise, but right now…I’ve got something else in mind.”
“Mmm,” she said, and as his lips descended to the curve of her neck, she sighed. “But fair warning. That means the lecture will be longer.”
“A worthwhile trade.”
“Call me Brainy again.”
He grinned.
*
It had started normally enough—just a shag after Harry found Draco in his shower one morning. It hadn’t seemed odd at the time that two enemies should so quickly and easily find their way into excellent sex. But in retrospect, in his saner moments, Harry was beginning to realize that there was absolutely nothing normal about the effortless way he and Draco had simply put all of their baggage aside.
Yes, they still fought, but now, the barbed insults they hurled at each other resonated more like come-ons than fuck-offs. And the things Harry found himself saying when they were gasping and locked together…dark and brutal things, full of power and need, meant to arouse, to control, to humiliate. Sometimes, those words would come out of his mouth, and Harry would think if someone said that to Hermione or Ron or Ginny, I would be smashing teeth right now. Sometimes, he thought it was okay, because Draco didn’t seem to mind being spoken to that way. God knew the sex was spectacular, even if Harry wondered if the arrogant and proud Draco Malfoy liked being called a cock-sucking whore because he actually liked it or if he liked it because the universe had broken, and Draco with it.
And even that wasn't the real issue. Draco had said before that they had the right to fuck the way they wanted to fuck, and Harry agreed with him about that. It was okay because they had trust, an unspoken agreement that they would put aside the language and the spanking and the subjugation—and the impulse behind them all—when they weren’t having sex. Harry would never really hurt Draco, and Draco would never really want him to.
No, the problem was not the dirty words he spoke or the games that got them both hot.
The problem was that Harry was starting to mean it, and not just when they were fucking. The part of him that knew this was just a game--the part that did not actually want to abuse Draco's body or spirit--was crumbling.
But he couldn’t stop. The part of him that knew something was seriously wrong wasn’t in charge anymore.
*
Harry pulled Draco up onto his elbows and knees, knocking the pillows away with an impatient swipe.
“Put your face on the mattress, little cat. I want to see your arse in the air.”
Draco obeyed with a moan.
“Spread your thighs. Farther.”
When Draco was positioned as he liked, Harry reached down and shoved three fingers in his hole. Come and lube made for a slick passage, and his hand moved freely, brushing gently over the other boy’s prostate, delving deep and quick. Draco’s hips began to dance.
“You like that, don’t you?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Draco said, pushing back into the questing touch.
“Reach back. Hold yourself open for me.”
Draco did as he was bid, balancing the weight of his upper body on his face, collecting his buttocks and pulling them wide. Harry began to get hard again at the sight.
“I’m not going to let you come for a while,” Harry warned him, pleased by the groan he received in response. “No, none of that. You’re my whore. My little fuck-toy. And fucktoys don’t come. They serve. Say it.”
“I…I serve.”
“Good boy.” He used his other hand to stroke his own cock, which was responding quite rapidly. “Ask me.”
“Please fuck me,” Draco asked.
“That’s not a question,” Harry teased.
“Will you please fuck me?”
“Why should I?”
“I…I’ll make you feel good.”
“You better,” Harry said. “In fact, I think I’ll give you…three minutes to make me come. And for every ten seconds you go over, that’s one spank. Just to help you learn your lesson.”
Draco moaned. “Yes, Harry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Draco repeated it, his voice breathy and high, and the sound of the title gave Harry such a thrill that he all but ripped his fingers out of Draco’s body. He cast a glowing Tempus Charm, leaving a small watch hanging in the air to keep track of the time. He tossed his wand aside and thrust into the smaller boy with a long stroke, before becoming still.
“You can put your hands down and lift up. I’m not cruel.”
Draco pushed up so that he was on all fours. Then he began to move. He rocked back onto Harry’s cock, his back bending and arching in a graceful rhythm, his hips wriggling in an adorably desperate way. Over and over again he did this, pushing back then dragging forward, buttocks beginning to slap against Harry’s hips as he picked up speed. His breath began to pant at the effort, and Harry watched his cock sink in and reappear through that pink ring of muscle with a dizzy head.
Hold on, he told himself. He had no intention of coming until Draco had earned a heavy share of spanks, even though it was rapidly becoming difficult to remember why that should matter. The feel of the warm, tight arse around his cock made his brain go blank.
“That’s three minutes,” Harry said breathlessly.
Draco let out a soft cry, working harder and faster against the cock inside of him. He was really moving now, impaling himself with healthy force, thighs and arms trembling.
“Six spanks,” Harry was saying. “Seven. Eight.”
By the time they hit thirty, Draco was frantic, moving as fast and hard as he could, and Harry decided to take pity on the boy. He let one hand come down to grope one smooth, round buttock (still bearing welts and bruises from the previous days' spankings) and squeezed viciously hard, and he came with the sound of Draco’s yip of pain ringing in his ears.
He flipped the other boy onto his back, and leaned down, taking the long, thick cock into his mouth with no small amount of enthusiasm. He loved sucking Draco, mostly because of the way the other boy lost all inhibition under his mouth. Harry took him deep, too. He licked and tasted until precome wet his lips. He abandoned the cock then, in favor of the balls that lay heavy and firm beneath. He took them into his mouth, one at a time, gentle and tender, making Draco tremble. Then he went back to that perfect cock, sucking until Draco was writhing.
By this time, Harry was already getting hard again.
It hadn’t been that long—more than five minutes, but certainly not ten, and he was a little impressed by his rapid recovery. He really did enjoy having Draco between his lips.
But he pulled off. Draco groaned in protest.
“No,” Harry said firmly. “There’s the small matter of a spanking you’ve earned.”
*
After their shower, Ron and Hermione left their bedroom to head downstairs together. They paused in tandem, however, just outside Harry’s door, and looked at each other with matching expressions of awkward amusement.
The sound of palm on buttock resounded quite unmistakably.
“I suppose Malfoy was naughty again,” Ron said.
“Ron!” Hermione whispered, half-scandalized, half-laughing.
“I wonder what that’s like,” Ron mused, waggling a suggestive eyebrow. “Spanking.”
“Keep it up and you’ll find out,” she replied.
“Promises, promises,” he said, galumphing down the stairs toward the kitchen. That boy, Hermione thought fondly, was always in search of food.
Then another crack came through the door, followed by a moan that echoed—to Hermione’s ears, at least—with more pain than pleasure, and her smile fell away.
*
Harry didn’t go easy on Draco. The first spank was as heavy as the last, despite the number in the queue. By the time he was done, Draco’s buttocks were brutally red and inflamed, dotted with thick welts. Harry tipped him upright, looked into that pale face, and soothed tears from sweet cheeks with soft kisses. He held Draco on his lap, the sore arse resting directly on Harry’s brutally hard cock, and crooned his pleasure with the other boy.
“Such a good boy. You’ll be better behaved now, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Next time you’ll make me come in the time frame I give you, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s my little cat.”
Harry kissed him, long and slow and soft, letting Draco sink into the wetness and heat. The other boy's erection had waned somewhat in the latter half of the spanking, but it came back with a vengeance now, so that the smaller body began to tighten and quiver.
Harry reached down and palmed Draco’s cock, rubbing it with a gentle hand. “Do you think you deserve to come, yet?”
“Please, sir,” Draco gasped.
“Have you been good enough?”
“I hope so, sir.”
“Maybe soon.”
The groan that came from the other boy now smacked of frustration.
Harry loved it. He loved all of it. His cock was pounding, his blood rushing in his veins. He could hear his pulse in his temples somehow. This was all he wanted.
He tugged Draco up onto the bed on his back, and straddled him. He leaned down, still kissing and touching, darkly pleased with the way Draco arched and clung.
“Not yet. First, you’re going to suck me.”
He cast a quick cleansing spell. Draco was going to learn very soon what it was to give a rim job, so it didn’t really matter at this point where his cock had been, but if it kept the other boy from whinging, all the better. Draco began to sit up, but Harry pushed him back. He took up the abandoned pillows and shoved them behind Draco’s neck, smiling at the slightly confused look on the other boy’s face. He’d only ever sucked Harry while on his knees.
“Stay like this,” Harry growled. “Just like this.”
He crawled upward, moving so that he was on one knee with the rest of his weight propped up on one foot. With one hand, he directed Draco’s face towards him.
“Suck. All the way down.”
Draco paused. “Did you…did you clean it?”
“Yes,” Harry replied, his tone hard. “Although I’m not sure there was much point, since you’ll be licking my arse in a few minutes anyway. We’re just warming up, Draco.”
The look of distress on Draco’s face made Harry’s cock jerk. It also made the little voice in his head speak up once more. He doesn’t want to.
Harry argued back freely. He didn’t want to suck me off, either, and he ended up loving it.
The little voice was not impressed. That’s different from arse-licking, don’t you think?
Harry’s answer came easily: I don’t think I care.
The little voice tried one last time: You’ll care when this wears off, whatever it is, and he’s less predisposed to letting you near him again.
Harry thought hard: shut up.
In an effort to assuage that guilty feeling (so small compared to the craving), Harry ran a gentle hand over Draco’s cheek. “Easy, little cat. It won’t hurt you, and you might even like it. Give it a chance. Once. If you don’t care for it, we won’t do it again. But you didn’t want to suck me off at first and it turned out you liked that, didn’t you?”
Draco nodded slowly.
“So we’ll start with sucking. And then we’ll move on.”
Draco still seemed uncertain, but he opened his mouth anyway.
Harry took what was offered, and eased inside.
In just a few moments, he was groaning and thrusting, stroking Draco’s temple soothingly, loving the way the other boy’s hands came up to grip his hips. He’s trying to control how deep you thrust, the little voice warned. You might be hurting him.
This only made him harder. Because Draco was his to hurt.
However, this thought bothered him enough to make him ease the force and speed. For a second, clarity emerged, like sunlight piercing temporarily through heavy, dark clouds. He didn’t want to hurt Draco. Draco was his to protect. Then, when Harry paused, the other boy made a questioning sound, a soft, sexy mmm from beneath him, and that was all it took to let the clouds close and bring back the dark.
With a tug, he slid loose, and moved so that his arsehole hovered above the other boy’s face. “Lick it,” he ordered. His voice was so rough it was nearly unrecognizable.
Hesitation from beneath him, and then a soft, reluctant tongue brushed the skin between his cheeks. It came again, timid and nervous, but this time it landed directly on Harry’s hole, and he groaned loudly.
“Yes. Good boy. You’re doing so well.”
The touch of the velvet tongue came once more, more confidently now, stroking and tasting, and soon some—if not all—of the unwillingness was gone. Harry grinned ferally in the dim light given off by his wand. He’d known, hadn’t he? Draco was prim and elegant and pureblooded on the surface, but underneath, he was a proper slut. Harry loved it. Harry loved him.
He went still, shock coursing through him. The mouth against his hole moved gently and warmly, eager to please if not wholly enjoying the act, and all Harry could think was I love him and he doesn’t want to do this.
He jerked back. “Draco,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
But something immediately began to reassert itself, some heavy weight of intent that didn’t care how Harry felt about Draco’s wants. Need crashed into his belly, hot and fast and demanding, and he was moving back into place, ignoring the confusion in Draco’s face at his indecision, part of Harry frightened now at how very disordered his head felt, but driven to continue nonetheless.
He needed Draco, he craved the pale flesh and the red lips and the supple, writhing body. In fact, just as Draco began to lick at him again, he twisted, turning so that he could reach Draco’s cock—once more only half-hard—and while Draco licked up into his hole once more, he sucked the other boy’s cock to the root.
Draco cried out against his flesh, but Harry barely heard it. He was consumed by a desire to fill the other boy, to absorb all of him, his mouth, his arse, his cock. He had to possess the boy, drain him dry, exhaust him of his will to be anything but Harry’s own.
Draco’s tongue wormed its way inside him, a little at a time, and Harry groaned around the cock in his mouth, now full and hard and silky against his lips. The tongue began to thrust, in and out, repeatedly, and Harry gave one last suck, making Draco’s limber body arch beneath him, before yanking away and spinning once more on the bed.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving Draco’s thighs wide and ramming deeply into the other boy.
“I’ll never stop fucking you,” he swore. “Never. You’re mine, little cat. Say it.”
“I’m yours, Harry,” Draco whispered. His hands were locked into claws in the sheets, his cock bobbing and dripping between them. Harry thrust harder and harder, each movement taking them across the bed until he had fucked the other boy almost off the opposite edge. Draco’s head hung down, his eyes closed, mouth half-open and gasping.
“Please,” Draco murmured. “Let me come.”
Harry almost didn’t care if Draco came, except that the animal that had somehow taken over his body wanted it to be clear that Draco was so totally his that Harry controlled even this, this elemental function of Draco’s sexuality.
Harry wrapped a hand around Draco’s cock. He tugged and pulled, and very quickly semen was spilling over his fingers.
This triggered his own orgasm, and he came with a growling shout, his voice cracking.
But he stayed hard.
*
Hermione glanced up at the ceiling. They’d heard two voices raised in obvious orgasm just a minute ago—she had blushed and Ron had shaken his head—but now the bed frame was banging against the wall again.
“Do you think there’s something…” Hermione trailed off.
Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable. “What?”
“I’m worried,” she admitted.
“Oh, crap,” Ron said. He let the book he was thumbing through (Jinxes and Hexes for Every Occasion!) fall to his lap.“This is going to end with me going up there and seeing something I have absolutely no desire to see, isn’t it?”
“You don’t think there’s something odd about Harry and Draco lately?”
“Has there ever not been something odd about those two being together?” Ron pointed out.
“It’s too much.”
“They’re in that new stage. I hear it’s intense.”
“We’re in that new stage,” she said, sounding cross. “We’re not shagging six times a day.”
“We could be,” he returned. “If you’d just go along with it.”
She would not be distracted. “That’s my point. No one should want to have sex six times a day, every day, for three weeks straight. It’s impossible to keep that kind of schedule going.” She made a face. “And just imagine the chafing.”
Ron blinked. “You think Malfoy drugged him or something?”
“Not unless he drugged himself, too,” she said. “I haven’t heard him complaining.”
“Hell,” Ron said. “Do I really have to do this?”
“We’ve been down here reading for nearly two hours while they’re having fun. And they started before we did.” Hermione glanced at her hands. “Even if we weren’t in the process of something a bit more important than setting the world record for the number of shags in a day, this would be excessive.”
“I’ll knock. But I’m not going in. I’m not.”
Hermione gnawed on a thumbnail. “Listen closely.”
“For what?” Ron asked distastefully.
“For someone calling for help.”
He suddenly went pale. “You’re serious.”
“Gut feeling.”
Ron got up without another word and climbed the stairs.
*
“Harry,” Draco murmured. “Harry, I’m…I’m getting pretty sore.”
Harry continued to thrust. And thrust. He’d come again, somewhere in there, he thought, and somehow, almost as if by magic, retained his erection again. He tipped Draco’s hips back, adjusting the angle, and heard the other boy gasp as pleasure ran through him again.
“What about now?” he growled.
The other boy spread his thighs still further.
“That’s what I thought,” Harry bit out. “Lift your arse, slut.”
And Draco obeyed.
Harry went harder, deeper, fucking so thoroughly that it wasn’t long before Draco was backing into him with soft cries falling from his lips. It was even faster this time; Harry’s orgasm appeared out of nowhere, slamming into him like a steam engine, annihilating all thought and reason. Draco unraveled beneath him a heartbeat later, but Harry didn’t stop thrusting. Why should he? He was still hard.
“Harry,” Draco said, “That hurts.”
That small, sane part of Harry’s brain registered that this was a bad thing—Draco being in pain—but the mad whirl of need in him had no interest in stopping.
A loud knock on the door startled them both into stillness, and Draco carefully eased away.
“Open the door, Harry.”
Ron. Harry blinked. Why was Ron here? He glanced around the room, realized daylight shone through the curtains at the window. He could’ve sworn it was still nighttime. His mouth was dry—God, he was thirsty. He had to piss. And he was tired. And…sore…all of sudden his cock hurt. He winced, and glanced around again, wanting to ask Draco how the hell they’d managed to have so much sex that he’d rubbed himself raw without even realizing. But when he found him, the sight of the other boy made him suck in a breath. His little cat was kneeling, hands behind his back, in the submissive posture Harry had taught him a few weeks ago, his lips bright red and chapped, his whole body trembling with aftershocks of orgasm and exhaustion.
The only thing that ruined the eroticism of the picture was the wariness in his eyes as he flicked a glance up at Harry. And Harry wondered if the submission before him wasn’t part of the game they played but an attempt to avoid setting him off again.
“Draco,” he whispered.
“Now, Harry,” Ron said, his voice hard and brooking no argument.
But Harry could only look at Draco.
“There’s something wrong with me,” Harry whispered. He took a step toward the other boy, meaning to soothe.
Draco looked, for a brief second, almost, nearly, not quite frightened, and Harry stopped short. There were other words (concerned, worried, alarmed) that weren’t exactly right either, but if there was a perfect description of the emotion Draco wore in that second, Harry couldn’t find it. He also couldn’t bear to look at it, even fleeting as it was. He looked down, abashed, confused, and saw blood on his cock. His gut went ice cold, and he stumbled back.
The bedroom door opened, and Ron stood at the threshold. A flip of his hand got the light on. He took in the scene quickly and Harry saw the exact moment he saw the blood, because his skin went white beneath his freckles.
It would’ve been hard to miss now that the room was bright—there were small smears on Harry’s thighs as well.
“Malfoy, how badly are you injured?” Ron asked.
A pause. “I’m fine.”
“Get dressed,” Ron said firmly, perhaps even calmly, even though he clearly didn’t believe Draco’s claims and his blue eyes were wide and apprehensive. “Both of you. Now.”
Harry and Draco obeyed, numb and silent and awkward, cleaning up and visiting the bathroom to shower quickly in turns. The guilty, awful feeling continued to grow in Harry’s chest, but he didn’t know what to say, what to do to make it go away—and he suspected he didn’t deserve for it to go anywhere anyway.
They began to follow Ron downstairs, and Harry realized that Draco was limping. They’d taken care of the blood, but a healing charm would be necessary to heal the damage of such heavy, nonstop sex on the smaller boy. He would have Hermione do it, Harry decided—she was better at those. The idea of hurting Draco badly enough that Harry’s own spellwork was insufficient made him want to cringe.
Harry abruptly reached out, taking Draco’s arm gently and stopping them on the stairs. “You’re moving your things out of my bedroom as soon as Ron gets a minute to help you. And you’ll stay in the house but in a different room until we figure this out. It has to be that way. Do you understand?”
Part of him roared in rage and possessiveness at the fact that he’d just said this. Mine, mine, mine. His whole body shuddered. He forced himself to take in the shadows beneath Draco’s eyes, to remember the way the other boy was walking, to remember the promise Harry had made him when he first came to Grimmauld Place. He reiterated it now. “I won’t hurt you. I refuse. And if that means you have to stay away from me for a while, then you have to stay away.”
Pain tightened his belly at the thought of letting the other boy move out, even just down the hall, and he bent over, gasping.
Then Draco was in his arms, and the pain eased as quickly as it had come.
“No,” Harry said. “Don’t.” But even as he spoke, he was pulling that slim, vulnerable body closer to his, squeezing his eyes tightly to better concentrate on soft skin, small bones, and sweet-smelling hair.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You can’t let me hold you. Not after what I did to—”
“If you’re thinking the word ‘rape’, I’m going to hurt you,” Draco said resolutely.
“You were bleeding.”
“You didn’t know. Hell, I didn’t even know.”
“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you,” Harry whispered.
“I didn’t say no. I didn’t mean no. Not until the very end, and Weasel interrupted before you could stop on your own. And you would’ve. You didn’t rape me, so stop being an imbecile. The guilt is unnecessary.”
“Draco—”
“You would’ve stopped.”
Harry wasn’t sure he would have. He didn’t say it, but he wasn’t sure, and that scared him so badly he couldn’t think for a moment. All he could do was clutch the other boy close as tides of guilt swept within him.
“Don’t make it easier on me,” Harry whispered.
“You’re pissing me off,” Draco said. He pulled away slightly so he could make eye contact. “Don’t you dare try to decide what I wanted and when. I decide for me. I’m not brainwashed and whatever games we might play, I’m not cowed by your power, Potter. If you ever do try to rape me, believe me, I won’t let you off the damn hook. You’ll be hexed and screaming in pain so fast your head will spin, and I’ll make sure man and God alike know how badly you’re going to burn for it.”
Harry wanted to believe him, but the speech reeked of the same undertone of falsity from which Draco’s submissive pose upstairs had suffered. As if the words were only spoken because Draco knew just what Harry would need to hear to stay intact. You would’ve stopped.
Was that even Draco talking? Or was there something crouched inside him as well, speaking and acting, while underneath the real Draco worried and begged?
Harry looked deep into grey eyes, taking in the strain in Draco’s face. He bent down, moving slowly and carefully, and pressed a soft kiss to the other boy’s lips. “I love you,” he said.
Draco startled, his mouth unresponsive until he adjusted to Harry’s words. Then he kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. For a moment it was sweet, achingly sweet, until the need rushed back, making Harry tremble, and he all but shoved the other boy away.
“Ron,” he gasped. He glanced at his best friend, and saw that the redhead had his wand out, a grim expression on his face. Grateful for that, for the seriousness with which the situation was being treated, he added, “Don’t let me hurt Draco. Please.”
“I won’t,” Ron said. “Now let’s go downstairs. You’ll stay on opposite sides of the room. Harry will warn us if he starts getting…whatever. And we’ll figure this out.”
“How do you know?” Draco asked, sounding suddenly uncertain.
Ron gave him a half-smile. “We’ve got Hermione,” he said firmly. “We always figure it out.”
“You should save comments like that for when she’s in the room,” Harry said numbly, trying to breathe. It will get fixed, and until then, just be normal. “You’ll get more points.”
“I have enough points for one day.”
“Oh?” Harry resumed walking, careful to avoid touching Draco as he went.
“Yeah. It’s because of her orders that I saw Malfoy’s balls.” Ron laughed, resignation mixed with honest amusement. “Don’t think she won’t have to make that up to me.”
Harry forced a smile, even as he tried desperately to bury the urge to strike his best mate for seeing Draco naked.
Yes. Something was very, very wrong.