by Sara

It was late, and Draco was tired. He'd been studying at the library all evening, and they had just kicked him out. With a yawn, he checked his watch. Eleven o'clock. He headed for his favorite shortcut: the old Charms corridor that was only accessible on odd days of the week. It was a bit narrow, and filled with spider webs, but it had a certain abandoned charm. He strolled down the deserted corridor, hands in his pockets, and frowned as he saw someone striding toward him in the distance. He squinted, trying to make out who it was, and frowned as he recognized the figure.

"Potter," he muttered. "Great."

Harry came up on him abruptly, his eyes unfocused, shoulders heaving. He was clearly angry about something, and Draco decided he didn't really care what. It was time to go back to the dorms and sleep. Sarcasm could wait until the morning.

Frowning, Harry regarded him. "Malfoy," he said.

"What?" said Draco, and then Harry's hands were on his collar, pushing him back. His shoulder blades met the wall, and "Potter, what the fu-"

"Hit me," Harry demanded.

Draco blinked. "What, no foreplay?" he said, then Harry's fist collided with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. His cheek hit the wall, scraping the skin; without thinking, he hit Harry back.

Harry stumbled backwards, hand clutching his cheek.

"Ouch," Draco said, annoyed, examining his knuckles as the pale skin reddened. He had a pathetically low threshold for pain, and now his hand hurt and his cheek hurt and worst of all, Potter was bouncing back with a maniacal glint in his eye. "Hey, Potter," said Draco as he slowly began sliding away. "Not that I mind your masochistic streak, but as it's yours alone, I would appreciate it if you kept it away from me."

Harry grinned.

Draco blinked.

The pause was broken as Harry swung again. Nimbly, Draco ducked to the side, and Harry's fist crashed into the stone wall.

"Right then," Draco said nervously, trying not to stare at the wet, dark red streaks on the stone. Harry clutched his hand. Between his fingers, Draco could see that his knuckles were scraped and bleeding.

No, this was not going well at all.

"You're going to pay for that, Malfoy," Harry growled.

Draco wondered if he should bother explaining that he wasn't the one that started the fight. Probably wouldn't do much good, as it seemed Potter had finally cracked. He considered, for a moment, simply turning and running as far away as possible, but it simply wouldn't do to look the coward. "So," said Draco. "You want to fight, that's fine, but I'm sure you could find someone perfectly willing to let you beat them into next Sunday. Have you asked? I'm sure Weasley would let you. He'd probably even enjoy it."

Harry glared, still massaging his injured hand. "I want to fight you."

"Then let's be civilized about it," Draco said patiently. "We have wands for a reason, you know. We can duel."

"I don't want to duel, I want to beat you into a bloody pulp."

Draco put his hands up. "I don't want to fight you, Potter."

"Yes, well. Luckily, it's not up to you," he replied, and punched Draco in the stomach.

Gasping, Draco bent double, clutching his waist. Fine, then. They would fight. Harry swung for him again, fist flying towards Draco's chin. Furious, Draco grabbed Harry's fist and pushed him backward. Harry crashed against the wall, and the feral smile returned to his face. This time, instead of alarming Draco, it just pissed him off.

He stood up straight and closed the distance between them. He aimed a punch towards Harry's face, but Harry grabbed his wrist. Undaunted, he hit Harry with his other fist, right beneath his ribcage, causing Harry to gasp for air.

Draco backed away, trying to catch his breath. Dimly, he registered that it probably wasn't good that his chest was rattling like that, and then Harry was on him again, punching him in the eye. His head snapped back and stars exploded white and shining behind his eyelids. He swayed dizzily, feeling the swiftly-forming bruise. He could feel Harry approaching him again, and he gathered his strength and launched himself at Harry, placing his hands against Harry's shoulders and pushing backwards. If he got Harry to the ground, maybe he could escape.

All Harry did was stumble a bit, though, and then he was back in Draco's face, snarling and generally looking quite unbalanced. Draco was unnerved; they usually fought on the Quidditch pitch, or in Snape's classroom, and it wasn't sporting of Harry to move the battlefield like that. Draco backed up, but Harry was already on him, backhanding him, knuckles digging into his jaw for what felt like an eternity. The stars were back, and he felt as if his entire face was one big bruise. It probably was. He hoped his eye wasn't going to swell shut. Already his vision was swimming, pale threads of light darting in and out of his field of vision, and oh look, there was Potter's fist again. His mouth took it this time, and he winced as he felt his lip split. Harry had him by the shoulders and then Draco was on the ground, back pressed against the wall. This wasn't going well at all.

Blindly, he reached for Harry, trying desperately to get a hold of him. His hand connected with his Harry's ankle and he pulled, jerking back hard enough that Potter crashed to his knees.

Draco's pulse pounded in his temples; his skin was flushed and hot, blood thrumming and pooling beneath the surface. Blinking left faint impressions of light behind his eyelids. When he opened his eyes the world appeared in desperate flashes of red and black, backlit by blinding whiteness. Potter kneeled in front of him, the sound of their heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence.

His ears rang, his jaw ached. His fingers clenched spasmodically, desperate to wrap around Potter's throat.

Right, then. If Potter wanted to play rough, then they would bloody well play rough.

He launched himself at Harry, knocking him onto his back. Harry's head hit the floor hard, and Draco took advantage of his momentary confusion to drive his knuckles into Harry's face as hard as he could. His hand tingled and stung as it collided with Harry's cheekbone.

His thoughts weaved together, coalescing into an intense, consuming goal: make Potter bleed.

Again and again his fist collided with Harry's jaw, his eye, the corner of his mouth. A particularly well-aimed punch broke his glasses, the lens cracking neatly in two. Draco plucked them off, flinging them down the hallway, where they landed with the satisfying sound of shattering glass. He straddled Harry, his legs locked around Harry's waist, keeping him effectively pinned. His other hand was pressed to Harry's chest, holding him down further. For a moment, Draco regretted that he wasn't the type to wear rings.

Feeling light-headed, he took a moment to breathe properly. Potter's eyes were shut, his heart beating erratically beneath Draco's palm. Draco swallowed. Maybe it was time to stop.

"Potter," he said warily. "Look at me."

Harry's eyes opened, just barely. He peered at Draco from beneath his eyelashes, as if he had no idea where he was or what he was doing. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

With a thrill of satisfaction, Draco noted that Harry's lip was split in the corner, and a little drop of blood welled there. Carefully, he climbed off of Harry, hoping that he hadn't broken him or anything. That sort of thing didn't go over well with the faculty.

Slowly, Harry sat up, clutching his forehead. Blood trickled down his chin. He was shaking.

Draco frowned. No, this wouldn't do. "Potter, do you need to go to the infirmary?" He didn't think he'd hit Potter that hard. Perhaps he just didn't know his own strength.

When Harry spoke, his voice was a low, rasping growl. "I don't. But you will."

And he looked up, and that maniacal glint was back in his eye. Well, fuck. That wasn't good either.

Draco backed up, trying not to scrape his palms on the floor. "Come on, Potter. You've bruised me, I've bruised you, no one's going to win here. And honestly, you don't really need any more scars."

"You think you could scar me?" Harry said, a challenge in his voice.

That was clearly the wrong thread to follow. "I think we need to stop this," Draco said. He couldn't recall the last time he'd been in this much pain, and wanted very much to go and find someplace to collapse.

"Fine." Harry shrugged.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"Stop me," Harry continued, and threw himself into Draco's personal space, pushing his back to the wall.

Suddenly, Harry had him by the wrists, and he crushed them to the wall. Draco winced as Harry pressed harder, grinding his bones into the cold stone. Then, as if he had planned it this way all along, Harry dragged his fingers over Draco's palms, moving upward and sliding between Draco's fingers until their hands were locked together, holding tight.

"Potter, what are you doing?" Draco asked. His entire body felt as if it were on fire, heat and pain making him dizzy and delirious.

"I don't, really," Harry said vaguely. He stared at their entwined hands as if he was having trouble focusing. "I don't know."

Draco stared. There was scarcely more than three inches between them, and that space was rapidly decreasing. He could look right into Harry's eyes, green and bright, huge without his glasses, pupils dilated. Harry blinked at him, tilting his head to the side, as if trying to identify something he saw in Draco's face.

They were pressed together, knee to knee, chest to chest. Their heartbeats were frantic and erratic, cheeks in high color, breathing heavy. Slowly, their hands lowered, Draco's knuckles sliding down the wall, the friction burning his skin. Harry's mouth was extraordinarily pink, and his tongue was darting out to lick at the blood gathered in the corner. Draco swallowed nervously, realizing he'd been staring.

The air felt heavy around them, thick and cold where it separated their bodies. Harry's palms were sweaty against Draco's. Draco allowed his eyes to drift shut, otherwise unable to stop himself from staring. It was unseemly to stare. It just wasn't done. His head fell back against the wall; as if in a dream, he felt Harry closing the distance between them.

Potter's breath on his lips (how did this happen), his trembling fingers entwined with Draco's own (when did things change) and Draco had to look, had to open his eyes. And he was there, eyes wild, skin bruised and heated, lips wet with blood. Close, so close, not close enough, and Draco couldn't quite believe it but he was leaning forward.

The space between them decreased, Harry drifting closer, a million infinitesimal moments passing in which someone could have pulled back but didn't. Their hands gripped tighter, holding, and then kept holding, couldn't let go, couldn't move away, couldn't stop.

Their lips touched. No immediate revelations there. It hurt, a little, when their lips pressed together, freshly wounded and raw. Then they pressed harder and it hurt a lot, and no, it didn't matter.

Hesitation had no place there, and tentativeness bled away as quick, desperate kisses lengthened. Harry took Draco's lower lip between his teeth, biting gently at the swollen flesh, and Draco nearly cried from the pain. Fingers tightened, holding and squeezing. Draco's nails dug into the back of Harry's hand as Harry stroked Draco's tongue with his own. It stung wherever their skin brushed, bruised cheekbones and injured noses. Their foreheads bumped as Draco pulled back to catch his breath, causing him to wince. He hadn't known it was even possible to bruise the forehead, but somehow Harry had managed.

"What?" Harry whispered breathlessly. "Is something wrong?" His grip on Draco's hands loosened and released.

"What isn't?" Draco muttered, and slid his hands around Harry's neck, pulling him back. Another kiss, long and heated, and Draco shuddered fromó something, pain, lust, fear, he wasn't sure.

Harry's hands were fumbling awkwardly at Draco's belt. Draco moved back, shocked at the unexpected daring; he'd been trying to work up the nerve to get his hands beneath Harry's shirt.

Harry stilled, but didn't move away. "Is this okay?" he asked uncertainly.

A moment passed. Draco wished that he hadn't asked. Sure, it was okay that Harry apparently wanted into his trousers, but in the grand scheme of things this whole situation was definitely not okay. He wondered if it really mattered. Harry's fingertips dipped into his waistband, scraping lightly at the skin there.

"Draco," Harry whispered. "Do you want to stop?"

Yes. "No."


Draco leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. His robe was pushed off his shoulders, the buttons of his shirt undone slowly, cool air whispering over his heated skin, making him shudder. His ribs ached, and he knew without looking that his stomach would be covered with bruises. He'd always been the type to bruise easily.

The last button was flicked open, the fabric spread to reveal his chest.

"Look at me." Harry's voice was soft and coaxing; Draco wondered where he'd learned that tone. He couldn't tell if the seduction in it was unconscious or deliberate.

Fingers slipped beneath his collar, pushing it back. The sleeves fell down his shoulders, catching on his still-buttoned cuffs. He moved to undo them, and was stopped by Harry's restraining hand on his wrist. Harry took Draco's hands and linked them behind Draco's back.

So Harry liked to be in control. What a surprise.

The real surprise was Harry's skill with his tongue. He was either more experienced than Draco ever would have expected, or damned good at improvisation. Either way, Draco was impressed and slightly alarmed.

Harry kissed his way down Draco's neck, exploring the pale skin stretched over his collarbone, mapping and memorizing. His fingers stroked up Draco's sides, drifting over bruises, lingering on the unmarked places, imprinting them with pale fingertip-shaped indents.

Memories flickered through Draco's mind: meeting Potter for the first time, taunting him whenever possible, a hundred angry meetings in class, the hallways, the dark hollows of his imagination. He'd seen it then, this spark, the burn in his skin that translated to whatever he did. More than once he'd imagined taking it further, taking that spark and seeing what he could do with it. Locking Harry up in the dungeons, just for fun, just to have him manacled to the wall, in chains. Vulnerable. There to be had.

He could almost laugh at the irony now. He was the one effectively trapped, at Harry's mercy, and he still hadn't a clue why. The marks on his body said that Potter hated him, the blurred vision in his swollen left eye a constant reminder that they had fought. That he'd been on top of Potter, ready to kill him, beat him to death, break his nose, his jaw, every one of his stupid, over-confident, irritating bones. And he would have.

But the equation changed and he still didn't know why. He could have understood if they had suddenly crossed the line from violence to passion, a punch and then a kiss, but this was beyond him. Where there should have been raw lust there was something almost like tenderness, the bruises should be added to, not caressed. He should be pressing Potter to the wall and fucking him, not letting him do this, hands caught behind his back, silent and desperate as Potter's tongue flicked at his nipple, fingers playing over his skin.

Their hands never should have touched.

This was Potter's fault, he had no right to go around instigating fights that led to seductions. It wasn't proper, and he certainly shouldn't be quietly sliding to his knees in front of Draco either. That was not behavior becoming a Gryffindor; surely there was a rule against giving head to one's mortal enemy in a corridor at midnight. Especially if said enemy was a Slytherin.

Dimly, Draco wondered if he should say so. No, not just then. Potter's hands were at his belt again, sliding leather through the buckle, clacking loud and metallic in the near-silence. The zipper was even worse, obscene almost as it echoed around them. Surely someone would find them. And no, that definitely did not just send a thrill through his body. Not even a bit of one.

Suddenly, this all started to feel wrong. Surely he was dreaming. Harry on his knees was-- well, okay, kind of a recurring fantasy of Draco's, but now that he was actually there it felt a little too intense, almost frightening. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder just as Harry reached into his trousers.

"What?" Harry asked, voice low and harsh. "Do you not." He sighed, squinting as if overcome with a sudden headache. Or possibly the fact that his vision was more than a bit fuzzy without his glasses. "Come on, Draco, don't you want me to?"

Draco was swiftly revising his opinion of Potter, from inexperienced virgin (approaching the level of saint, really) to slightly pushy lust-mad typical teenager. It was disconcerting, and he couldn't quite deal with it at the moment.

He reviewed his options, from the ones involving fucking Harry senseless, to perhaps having Harry fuck him senseless, maybe just getting off and walking away, to the more reasonable ones, like sliding to the ground and maybe kissing a bit more, hopefully getting Potter out of those clothes. He decided on the last, gracefully kneeling in front of Harry and undoing his cuffs so that he could fully remove his shirt.

Harry settled back, watching as Draco disrobed, counting his bruises. "How do you feel?" Harry asked.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"You're all bruised," he said, gesturing to Draco's chest. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes it bloody hurts," Draco responded. "You hit me repeatedly. Not exactly a pleasant stroll in the gardens, you know. Don't yours hurt?"

"Of course." Harry looked down, distracted by the shifting muscles of Draco's torso.

Draco frowned. He would prefer that the discussion wait until he was able to think more clearly, without wondering how the freckles on Harry's collarbone would taste.

Apparently deciding to forgo conversation for the moment, Harry pushed Draco back slightly, so that he was sitting down on his knees with enough room for Harry to maneuver between his spread legs. His hands were approaching Draco's waist again, pulling his pants down just enough to tease. Harry kneeled before him, hands roaming over his hips, laying soft kisses beneath his navel and over his hipbones. Draco shivered.

Then Harry stopped, and Draco's eyes snapped open (when had they fallen shut? He wasn't sure) and there was Harry, thumbs stroking his inner thighs, trailing over the crease between leg and hip, touching lightly. Too lightly.

"Do you want this?" Harry asked seriously.

Like it was ever even a question. "Yes."

And Harry reached in, tugging Draco's trousers past his hips, grasping his erection, and then, oh, lowering his head. Draco watched, he couldn't not watch as Harry's lips slid over the head of his cock, swallowing it slowly, carefully. It disappeared into his mouth inch by inch, sending Draco's hands scrabbling uselessly at stone, coming up to card through Harry's hair as Harry moved up and down on his cock. He longed to close his eyes, throw his head back and rest it against the wall, but he couldn't stop watching. Still couldn't quite believe this was happening, Harry Potter was sucking his cock and he didn't think he'd ever felt this good. This alive.

Harry started sucking harder, increasing his speed. Draco's hips twitched upward, thrusting into the heat of Harry's mouth. Oh God, Harry's mouth. His hot, wet, perfect mouth, wrapped around Draco's cock, tongue tracing patterns over the sensitive skin, pulling it deeper, deeper. Fingers were working at Draco's thighs, stroking up and down, marking him with reddish streaks that faded back into white, only to be replaced as Harry's fingers dragged over his flesh once more.

Fiercely, Draco gripped Harry's shoulders. Harry took the cue and sucked even harder, running his hands up Draco's stomach, teasing his thumbs over Draco's nipples. Gasping with pleasure, Draco took one of Harry's hands into his mouth, licking and sucking on his fingers, biting down on his middle finger when Harry did something particularly brilliant with his tongue.

Harry watched him, green eyes bright and feverish as he pinched at Draco's nipples with his wet fingers. With a whimper, Draco shuddered and came, thrusting upward, Harry's lips surrounding him, pulling him in, throat working as he swallowed. Finally, he pulled back, wiping his mouth with his hand, licking his lips slowly.

Harry stared at Draco, cheeks flushed red, breathing heavy. A sticky trace of white clung persistently to the corner of this mouth. Draco stared back, trying to imprint this image into his mind; he knew he'd be getting off to it for years.

Settling back on his knees, Harry smiled at him a little. Draco ran a hand through his hair nervously, still trembling, coming down. He leaned his head back against the wall, and Harry moved forward, tangled his fingers in Draco's hair and kissed him, hard.

With a sigh, Draco kissed him back. The pain was starting to re-emerge, little twinges on the surface of his skin. He cupped Harry's face carefully, trying to avoid the bruises. Lightly, he ran his tongue over Harry's lower lip. It was swollen, and bleeding a little, the wound having split back open. He sucked on it, pulling the flesh between his teeth, relishing Harry's whimper.

Harry moved forward, straddling Draco, pressing their chests together, naked skin heated and dark with bruises. His erection pressed insistently into Draco's stomach, and he groaned from the light contact. Without breaking the kiss, Draco reached downward, flipping open the button and then fighting with the zipper of Harry's trousers. Eager hands dove into Harry's boxers, pushing them down and taking his erection in hand.

Skillfully, he ran his fingers up the length of Harry's cock, short fingernails scraping at the underside. With a gasp, Harry pulled away, throwing his head back. Draco jerked upward hard and fast, running his tongue over Harry's bared neck before biting down just hard enough to make Harry moan. Harry's hands fisted in his hair, tugging his face back upward and pulling him into another deep, searching kiss.

Draco ran his thumb over the tip of Harry's cock, spreading the moisture up and down, sweat and pre-come slicking his length. His fist tightened, gripping Harry's erection fiercely. Harry arched his back, thrusting his hips upward, desperate for more. Draco moved his other hand to Harry's lower back and leaned forward to flick his tongue over Harry's nipple, biting and sucking gently at the dark, pebbled flesh. Harry's hand pressed to the back of Draco's neck, the top of his spine, sliding into his hair. With one final thrust, Harry came, weakly crying out Draco's name.

Grinning smugly, Draco met Harry's eyes and slowly licked his fingers clean, pleased at the way Harry's mouth dropped open in shock and arousal. There was a small cut on one of his knuckles from Harry's glasses, and it stung when his tongue traced over it. He was starting to feel his bruises again, injuries aching with varying degrees of intensity.

Harry was blinking at him, lips parted. Without taking his eyes off Draco, he backed up, resting on his knees and attempting to zip his trousers. His hands were shaking.

Draco wanted to make a sarcastic comment regarding that, but when he went to deal with his own clothing, he couldn't work the buttons, not with his fingers trembling like they were. No, that wasn't good at all. Now that the urgency had passed, he was starting to wonder just what the fuck he'd been thinking. And since when did he get off on violence, anyway? He was caught between feelings of intense pain and the urge to curl up next to Potter and go to sleep. That wasn't good, either.

"Look, Malfoy, this wasn'tó" Harry started, breaking the silence. "I mean, I didn't. This. We shouldn't have." He stared at the walls, the floor, anywhere but at Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Right. Okay. What?"

"We shouldn't have done this," Harry said bluntly.

"You think?" Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. He felt the sudden need to get dressed as quickly as possible. It was cold in there, and he felt naked. Which normally wasn't a feeling that bothered him, but now Potter was looking at him, and it was starting to make him nervous. Draco hated feeling nervous.

"This isn't going to happen again," said Harry, as he buttoned his shirt, concentrating very hard on the task.

"Right, Potter," Draco responded, trying to keep the bitterness in his voice to a minimum. "Tell yourself that. You're the one that started this. With the hitting- which, just out of curiosity, was motivated by what, exactly?- and the snogging. And do I need to remind you that you were on your knees in front of me?"

"That hardly matters now-"

"Of course it doesn't," Draco said condescendingly. "Now that you've gotten off, not much else seems to matter but getting away from me, does it?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry stood abruptly, glaring at Draco.

"Fuck you!" Draco said, and did the same. He was barely an inch taller than Harry, but used it to his advantage, staring down at him. "You're the one that went completely mad here. I didn't even want to fight you. But you had to go and attack me, for whatever misguided reason. You started this, Potter. You." He pushed Harry back against the wall. "If you want to play the ravished virgin now, that's fine, but don't pretend you didn't want this."

"So did you," said Harry, pushing himself as flat against the wall as he could.

Draco shrugged. "I'm not the one in denial, am I?" He leaned closer, placing his hand on Harry's chin and forcing Harry to look him in the eye.

"Get away from me," Harry said venomously.

"Gladly." Draco backed away from the wall and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Go run back to Gryffindor Tower and tell your little admirers about how you got off with me. I'm sure they'd love to hear all about it."

"If you tell anyone..." Harry trailed off, voice laced with idle threats.

"Bit late to worry about that, isn't it, Potter? Perhaps you should have thought about that before you decided to punch me in the face."

Harry glared at him. "This was a mistake."

"Brilliant revelation," Draco sneered back.

They stared at each other for a moment, searching for more to say, insults, questions, explanations. Nothing came to mind, and eventually they turned away.

"This'll be the last time you ever touch me," Harry said quietly.

"I should be so lucky," Draco threw back, and started walking. His lip was bleeding a little in the corner, and his face felt like it had been used as a bludger. His hands were still shaking.

Behind him, Harry's footsteps echoed, slowly retreating. Angrily, he bit his lip, relishing the sting of blood. That was why he felt tears building behind his eyes, because of the pain. He was in pain.

He had nearly reached the end of the hallway when there was a crunch at his foot. He looked down. Potter's glasses lay destroyed at his feet, frames bent, lenses shattered. Negligently, he kicked them out of the way, sending them skittering over stone and into shadow.

Draco stared straight ahead and kept walking.


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