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Tender Enmity 2: Gryffinddor Tower...Midnight
By Anne Phoenix
E-mail: AnnePhoenix@yahoo.com
Draco waited until well after midnight, when Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle were
finally snoring heavily, to streak from the dorm like a bolt of silver
lightening, remembering to snatch his heavy black cloak for protection against
the harsh wintry draft that ruled the night-time halls of Hogwarts.
He hurried along the familiar path to the Gryffindor tower, pulling the cloak
tightly around himself in the biting frost, then, pausing momentarily to make
sure he was alone, hissed “Lionheart” at the Fat Lady.
She yawned, raised an eyebrow, and swung open with a discreet knowing wink,
allowing the young Slytherin to slip into the deserted Gryffindor common-room
and move stealthily towards the old sofa facing the great fire, which was long
extinguished.
Harry was lying on his back on the tattered grey couch, still wearing his
ruffled shirt and black jeans from the afternoon, minus tie, shoes, and socks.
His hands were folded over his chest, loosely holding his glasses, one knee bent
and the other leg stretched out languorously.
Neither turning his head nor opening his eyes, he scathed, “You’re late Draco.”
Draco licked his lips, brushed his hair back behind his ears, and swiftly made
his way to Harry’s side.
“No-one was feeling very sleep ton-“ he started but was cut off as Harry’s eyes
snapped open sharply, burning with anger. His right hand brought up his glasses
and he pushed them onto his nose, bringing Draco’s guilty downcast face into
focus.
“I don’t want to hear any excuses, Malfoy. I was merely stating that you were
late.”
His voice was cold and cutting, but Draco knew exactly which brand of magic to
use that would change that disdainful irritation into urgent lust.
Putting on his most beguiling rueful look, he allowed the velvet cape to slide
from his shoulders and stood before Harry in his forest green Slytherin dressing
gown.
“Then why waste time?” he mouthed, showing a flash of white teeth, a flick of
red tongue.
Harry’s budding smile could not be suppressed.
“What on earth is the boy wearing under there?” he wondered aloud, one eyebrow
raised inquisitively, knowing the answer the instant Draco’s eyes twinkled
naughtily.
Pushing himself slowly up into a sitting position, and shaking the stiffness
from his tired limbs, Harry without hesitation reached out and gave the belt of
Draco’s robe a brusque yank. It swung open and hung from Draco’s shoulders like
undrawn curtains. Harry leant back into the couch to contemplate the sight,
pursing his lips a little in consideration.
Although not very tall, Draco was lithe, milky white skin drawn tautly over his
collarbone and ribs, lean stomach muscles that rippled in the winter air. Harry
wondered briefly if Draco had lost some weight he really could not afford, for
the skin seemed a little too tight, a little more sunken in than usu- but
no… he withdrew the thought. No, Draco was perfect, beyond
perfection. Draco was angelically divine… built to be Harry’s ultimate downfall.
How could Harry be in doubt of this when his cock was reacting strongly to the
simple sight of the boy? To the faintly pouting red lips, the deferentially
lowered yet alert, calculating grey eyes…
He hissed softly, eyes travelling along the familiar map of Draco’s every curve,
every ridge, undulating across his body like wind blowing on a lake.
A frisson ran through Draco and he looked down at himself.
“Its cold!” He smiled apologetically and Harry dismissed his words with a small
laugh. “Not for long…” he promised.
With the agility of a tiger, he pounced and swept Draco clear off his feet, flat
onto the polar bear rug in front of black empty fireplace, tearing the bathrobe
from Draco’s shoulders in a swift effortless, practised move.
Draco flinched visibly as he hit the floor with the bruised skin on his back and
shoulders and cringed even harder when Harry landed fully on his body. Not
leaving Draco the time to react, the Gryffindor then snatched both his wrists in
an excruciatingly tight grasp and held them above his head with one muscular
hand, throwing his glasses aside with the other.
Draco writhed and bucked, the Goosebumps fading into his skin as Harry straddled
him and rode him out until the thrashing subsided into a quavering panting. His
heart was surely trying to burst through his rib cage, his erect cock was
pulsating at the same breakneck rhythm, desperately throbbing to reach Harry who
was firmly seated on his stomach.
Harry’s grip around his wrists tightened, and Draco recognised the intent to
bruise glowing like an emerald lighthouse in the stormy green seas of his eyes.
He would readily follow that light to any shore…
Emitting a soft whimper of yearning, he squirmed a little to provoke Harry, who
stared silently down, eyeing the already sweat drenched and bedraggled hair, the
unfocused grey eyes, the soft, discoloured lips from their brutal treatment in
the corridor.
Knots of tangled hair were noisily broken through as his fingers brutally raked
amid silver strands, and Harry descended to claim Draco’s mouth, invading it
with his tongue, examining its every corner, as though it was the first time, as
though he didn’t know it all off my heart already. He licked the fresh scar and
then nipped at it. He encircled Draco’s hot tongue and then pulled away
instantly when Draco dared respond with a demanding flick of his own.
The blond boy had tried to twist one hand free as Harry thoroughly assaulted his
mouth, only to have the protruding bone of the wrist banged back into the floor
forcefully. Harry’s grip was deadening his fingers, bruising him to the very
bone.
Draco Malfoy loved that Harry was stronger than he… he loved the way Harry could
immobilise him, pin him down even when he was doing his best to ward him off. He
loved being exposed as he was now, naked and exhausted, trembling and
sweating... body nothing but a tight knot of nerve endings, jerking at the
slightest whisper of a touch.
He loved that there was nothing Harry could do to resist his own desire…
Harry released his wrists abruptly and sat straight-backed on Draco’s lean
stomach, just out of reach of the stretching erection behind him.
Drawing his sore wrists against himself, Draco felt the injured skin with a
shudder of excitement; his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, calling out to Harry
as he tried to control his breathing. Draco’s captor smiled, the act lighting up
his whole face, making him glow even in the dim light. He pushed wet curls from
his forehead, brushing faintly across his old lightening scar.
“Tell me what you want, Draco,” he hissed hoarsely.
“You. I want you, need you,” Draco promptly replied, and reached up to
unbutton Harry’s creased shirt. Harry allowed it, watching the long delicate
fingers deftly work their way along the row of white buttons.
“What do you want,” Harry insisted as Draco tugged at his shirt so that
it slid off his shoulders and away. Draco paused and admired the powerfully
built torso before releasing the buttons of Harry’s trousers, then caught his
breath and closed his eyes, panting.
“I want you to wreak havoc in me.”
The dark-haired boy’s guarded expression didn’t change, his palms rested flatly
on Draco’s chest, toying thoughtlessly with hard little nipples, conscious that
Draco was biting his own lip to not plead and supplicate his tormentor to
deliver him from this exquisite torment.
Then Harry smiled broadly and leant down to suck Draco’s ear into his mouth. At
the same time he whispered some intangible words and Draco felt broad leather
entwine his wrists, drawing them magically up above his head again, stretching
out his arms to their full length. His eyes opened and he gave the bonds an
automatic pull, reaping nothing but pain as they dug into his bruised and
fragile skin.
Harry started kissing him again, full on the lips, his hands gripping the sides
of Draco’s face callously, disallowing even the slightest movement as he
plundered the offered mouth, sweet, hot… liquid fire that seeped between them
enflaming him entirely. His cock pushed urgently against the boxers under his
jeans, begging for release.
Momentarily rising, Harry tore away all offending material, allowing his swollen
erection to bounce against his stomach, and threw the trousers aside before
dropping himself back onto Draco whilst scrutinising his expression carefully.
The sharp features, so often unreadable and twisted in disdain had tensed with
perspirating need, desire, craving...
Draco arched his back to rub his stretching cockhead against Harry’s back,
heaving Harry upwards as he did so, before collapsing back into the rug with a
wrenched whine of resigned defeat.
Harry gave him a stern look and snapped “Behave.” He was still absently
running his fingertips up and down the moist torso, stroking the vibrating
throat, the hard protrusion of the collar-bone… brushing red hot nipples,
teasing glistening skin...
He enjoyed the beating of Draco’s heart beneath him, felt the racing pulse and
observed his little dragon intently as he seemed to be working himself up a
storm… twitching and frantically resisting the mountain of volcanic pressure
inside him, starting to lose control.
Draco was near to hysterical with the want of Harry’s touch, the need for
release. Not even feeling the restraining leather of the belt mercilessly
chaffing his skin as he persistently strained against it, Draco stretched out
and bucked, the arousal in his eyes desperately trying to capture Harry who
laughed gently.
“I’ll scream!” Draco threatened, his voice trembling feverishly, and Harry
smirked. “Then I’ll gag you.” He answered simply, slipping a finger into Draco’s
mouth, which at once, avariciously, closed around the bony digit and sucked,
tasting his own sweat on the Gryffindor.
Withdrawing his finger, Harry muttered some more words of wandless magic and a
dark green silky scarf appeared in his hands.
“ Since you like green so much, Malfoy…” he whispered, tracing the contour of
those soft lips with the wet finger before gagging his lover securely. “It will
also spare me your cocky mouth for one night.”
Draco started against the scarf, eyes wide, wrists hopelessly fighting their
bonds, and with a small smile Harry supported himself on his knees and motioned
for Draco to twist around beneath him. The blond boy struggled to comply, moving
as awkwardly as a fish out of water, catching a brief view of red-stained hands
and forearms before resting his face on the right cheek, staring at the black
ashes of the dead fireplace.
Harry’s stomach gave a disturbing lurch as he contemplated his lover’s back:
dark bruises tainted the angelic skin, concentrating around the shoulder blades
and base of the neck. Harry still never knew how to deal with the alarming surge
of arousal he always felt when confronted with the marks of Draco’s pain. He
just knew it turned him on more than anything else, and obeying this instinct,
lay down on the boy.
Draco was more than aroused, he was a trembling wreck of desire. He felt
Harry’s weight pressuring his stretched and screaming shoulders and a very hard
cock push against the skin tantalisingly near to his entrance. He unconsciously
shifted his hips up a little, clenching his teeth onto the gag to stop himself
from crying out in dire frustration.
Harry’s hands ran up his tense arms and joined the bonds enfolding his wrists;
his face nestled in the soft skin over the trapeze muscles, near the vulnerable
tendon of the shoulder. Draco could feel heavy breathing against his skin, knew
Harry was looking for a pure, unblemished stretch of skin, could feel the
panting on his back, the energy swirling in his chest and pulsating near his
anus… a muffled noise sounding suspiciously like a hitched little sob of
distress escaped him and Harry nosed his cheek with a chuckle.
“Patient is a virtue, dear Draco.”
Then, without warning, he allowed his cock to slip into the cave it so
desperately sought, rapidly building up speed and force. Draco moaned, he
groaned and writhed, teeth fastened firmly into the sopping wet material in his
mouth. His hands felt numb, all sensation gone with the blood beyond Harry’s
searing grip. He yanked at the bonds again brutally, relishing the dull thudding
of his pulse against the clammy hot hands.
Harry’s teeth had latched onto the fleshy muscle of Draco’s shoulder, going
deeper at every thrust, threatening to break the untouched skin. He was slamming
into Draco with such vigour, such necessity, that he feared shattering the
smaller boy’s body, feared breaking him in half, and yet Draco’s hips rose for
impossibly deeper penetration, demanding more.
Draco gasped as his lover pounded relentlessly into his body, hitting his
prostrate with force over and over, making his bound captive scream into his
gag, and wished his hands were free to tend to his own erection, painfully
pressed into the polar skin rug. Pain had indiscernibly mingled with passion as
adrenalin raced through Draco’s blood, hammered almost unbearably against his
temples, raced throughout his frail body as he bent willingly under Harry’s wild
animal force.
He didn’t know where he was, who he was… didn’t want to know…
didn’t care…
Knew he must be hurting but could not feel it, knew he must be screaming for the
gag was so wet and twisted it cut into the sides of his mouth unforgivingly, but
could not hear it.
Knew Harry was biting him only because Harry always bit him, and he
inevitably awoke the next day with a searing shoulder or hip, thigh, neck, sole
physical evidence of the pain being the smouldering red marks on the offending
skin.
He also knew that if he didn’t come soon, then Harry would leave him far far
behind…
The intensity of his sensations were beyond the mortal realm. He wanted release,
yet wanted it to last forever, wanted to scream out the agony, wanted to choke
on his gag and suffocate on pleasure, needed to fall from the high ledge he was
precariously balanced on.
And with an ultimate drive, Harry exploded, pulling Draco over the brink with
him, the whole world blinding him in dazzling white light as he slid his hands
to Draco’s shoulders and wrenched his teeth free from the skin, feeling it give
way and tear, throwing his head back, arching his back violently.
He could feel Draco’s spasms beneath him, could feel his ass clenching around
his cock as though fearful it might try to leave now, could hear him screaming,
mercifully absorbed by the gag. Sparks danced before his eyes, and he pushed
himself further back, ruthlessly thrusting his hips forwards to deepen his
ejaculating organ, digging his fingers into Draco, pushing him down into the
floor as though he could traverse it.
Finally Draco’s contorting body stilled and his muscles went limp with sudden
weakness, irregular breathing but a wheeze whistling asthmatically through his
throat. Sweat dripped from Harry’s hair and fell onto Draco’s glistening back,
running down the visible line of his spine. Harry followed their lead, laying
his head on the boy’s tense shoulder blades so as to lap at the bleeding gash he
had created with the attention of a wolf licking a wound.
Harry didn’t know how long it took him to regain his dulled senses, lying on
Draco, licking ripped skin and looking at the faintly fuzzy face of his lover,
glowing with released aftermath. His mind flitted back to when he had first seen
that skin just over two years ago. That day in their Fifth Year, when after
years of rivalry, years of dealing with Draco Malfoy’s sneering and taunting, he
had suddenly swung around and punched the arrogant blond Slytherin squarely in
the face.
A split-second of weakness had invaded Draco’s features as he staggered back,
touching his lip in surprise. Their eyes had locked and Draco’s seemed to have
lightened in spellbound wonder whereas Harry’s had strayed into a vivid fantasy
of making that enemy bend before him. Harry had seethed: “Tonight, Malfoy.
You and me, once and for all.” And what sounded like a challenge to all
spectators, was the promise that sealed their mutual fate.
Things had never been the same again…
He smiled at the distant memory and rolled off Draco, snapping his fingers at
the bonds and gag, which promptly disappeared. Draco immediately drew his
quivering limbs together not glancing at the cruel welts he knew he was wearing
as bracelets, and moving his jaw sideways to check it was in working order, he
tapped his tremulous hand around to search for his dressing gown.
This was their routine. He was getting dressed and was going to stagger feebly
back to his dorm, take a long shower to soothe his shaking frame, perform a
quick dark spell they had both had to learn to conceal the cuts and bruises, and
tomorrow… tomorrow he would hopefully inflame Harry again, drive him senseless
like he had with great success that very same afternoon.
Lips twitching at the thought, Draco made to leave, but Harry unexpectedly
turned his face up to stare at him, his face drawn in uncertainty as he watched
Draco pull on his robes. “Draco wait,” he whispered, tone so soft, uncommanding,
Draco’s heart jumped up his throat and tried to run to safety.
“I want you to stay,” Harry murmured, closing the green connection. He sounded
almost sad.
Draco’s breathing hitched and he cautiously sank back down next to Harry. He was
about to speak, but Harry put a finger over his mouth, allowing his eyes to open
again.
“Don’t ask, say nothing save yes or no.”
Draco’s small nod was all he needed, and he encircled the small boy possessively
with his strong arms, pulling him close lovingly.
“I’ve always known it would happen” he sighed.
It had always been about sensations, breathtaking, overwhelming, and
devastating...
They played with each other, they thrived on each other… a power-game that Harry
lead and Draco obediently and passionately pursued. But now an unfamiliar
emotion was twisting Harry’s gut as he watched Draco, remembering him
submissively sinking to his knees in the corridor, eyes shuttered by his lashes
as he looked up, daring Harry to crack, to succumb to desire on the spot, and
Harry, realising his own dependency, suddenly wasn’t so sure who directed the
play.
He had always sensed that in the end he would break, it seemed
inevitable…
“Draco… What have you done to me.”
A desperate echo oft repeated. Yet never had those words held so much meaning.
“I want to be yours.” Draco whispered in response without a second thought,
savouring the unfamiliar tenderness of the cuddle. “I want to bear your mark.
Like Father bears that of You-Know-Who.” He continued in a tiny voice, not
daring to hope, also trying to pinpoint how long ago he had realised their
lustful, sinful relationship was more than the fulfilment of his darkest
fantasies, but also the embodiment of tender dreams he had not had the courage
to confess to, nor the command to deny… how long ago had he been forced to admit
to himself that whenever Harry touched him he felt more than light-headed,
giddy, aroused? When he looked in those eyes… he felt weak, he ached
to the core, his knees buckled every time…
No other could thus bind him… No other could hurt him and claim him so entirely,
rendering him so utterly pathetic and dependent… He would have no other.
Harry’s face was radiant, eyes closed, absorbed by the feeling of Draco in his
arms. He leant forward to kiss Draco on the corner of the mouth, feeling the
skin cracked by the gag, the slight tinge of blood, so close to the surface of
the skin, and his hand slid beneath the dressing gown to run over Draco’s left
shoulder thoughtfully.
“Fetch my wand”, he murmured decisively.
When Draco pushed it into his hand, Harry pulled the green textile down to bare
Draco’s left shoulder. He looked searchingly into the boy’s face. “You can still
say no,” he reminded him.
But Draco nervously shook his head. “I want it,” he assured Harry.
The next moment his mouth opened to scream as the scorching agony of red hot
iron burnt through his skin, tearing the life from the cells and ripping
ruthlessly through his body, his soul. Harry caught the scream by covering
Draco’s mouth with his own, supporting him down to the ground when he felt the
small boy swoon. Grey eyes were wild in pained frenzy, his muscles rigid as his
fingers uselessly clawed the ground.
Finally the spasms subsided, and Draco was left with silent sobs wracking
through his body. He leant into Harry’s protective embrace until the pain
starting ebbing away and he calmed down, then felt his mouth released, his limp
form turned to reveal a red-black H.P. on his shoulder.
Harry felt the disturbing passion arise in him again, seeing his blond beauty
thus drained, blood seeping from the blackening initials on his shoulder, from
the territorial mark on his back, wrists adorned with red abrasions, pubic curls
and stomach glistening with come.
“You all right?” he asked and Draco blinked hazily at the concern in his voice.
He nodded faintly, hesitantly.
In truth, had he not been weakened beyond rational thought or movement, he would
in this moment have jumped to his feet and run through Hogwarts screaming
joyfully at the top of his lungs.
Yet Harry wasn’t to know this, and anxiety gnawed at him dreadfully. The fear
that he had gone too far shadowed his mind as he looked at the deep letters on
Draco’s pale shoulder.
Irreversible.
A jolt of prideful ownership quickly overruled the angst; he had at long last
given way to emotions he knew to have been deeply buried. His disciplined little
dragon, his beautiful dark angel, his… his… his… finally not only seen
with the preying eyes of lust, but with the caring eyes of love.
Yet… “You sure?”
For once Harry the apprehensive one, wanting to make sure, dreading
disappointment.
Draco’s responding smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The
small boy had relaxed a little and was savouring the passionate pain and
pleasure Harry had wrought in him, savouring above all the newfound knowledge
that Harry wanted him… his body, his deference, but him, heart and soul,
Draco Malfoy himself.
“Better than ever… Shower?”
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