Title: Take What You Need (Leave Me the Rest)
Author: lq_traintracks
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: 1) baths, 3) odontophilia: arousal from things related to teeth; this may range from seeing nice teeth, licking a partner's teeth, or leaving bite indentations, 4) rope bondage
Other Warnings/Content: vampirism (and the blood play inherent with that), first person Draco POV (vampire!Draco, y’all!), kink negotiation, anal sex, cock bondage, orgasm delay, a little bit of switching but mostly top!Draco
Word Count: ~4,000
Summary/Description: "Go home, Potter. You wouldn't." Before I know it, his hand has slipped inside my jacket. It finds my waist, and he steps in close. His scent overwhelms me, tanned skin salt-stung and right there. I feel his breath on my jaw when he murmurs, "Would you?"
Author's Notes: I can't believe I've never written vampires for HP fandom! It's high time I rectified that, I'd say. I got the bright idea to check DD for April prompts two days ago, and this was like a light bulb turning on over my head, and I wrote it that day. It's unbeta'd so do let me know if you see any wonky mistakes. Hope you enjoy!





I.

I told myself I didn't want to bite him. But that was never true. Well, at one point it had been true. Before this happened to me.

I don't expect to look up from my B-neg and see Potter at the other end of the bar. Certainly not drinking a goddamned vodka tonic. He's Potter. He's beer and chips from a bag and an Auror badge that's always a bit crooked.

He's not in his uniform tonight. Black jeans, torn at the knee. Rumpled Weird Sisters: Prodigal Magic Tour t-shirt… black boots hooked on the bottom rung of his barstool. His messy hair shines under the ambient lights.

I have every reason to walk away, right fucking now. I have virtually no good reason to keep staring at him. Merlin, if I'd just looked away a second before…

He lifts his gaze. And it's all over.


II.

"You're going to get yourself hurt, Potter. Or worse."

I can't help but talk to him now as he's invaded the seat to my right.

His lips quirk. "Do you have so little faith in me?"

"Faith? What an odd thing for me to have in you." Although not really. I can still feel his hand gripping mine, tight and sure and strong, inside that tornado of smoke and flame. The plonker's earned it.

"Do you not trust yourself then?" he asks.

"Me?"

He slides closer, and it's all I can do to keep from staring at the rapid beat of his pulse beneath his fragile skin. His neck is bare, and he smells almost sweet, like orange blossoms or summer Quidditch games. He's not dark enough for this place. For me.

"Do you see me chatting up anybody else?" he rejoins.

My lips part, but I don't speak, don't breathe. His gaze drops to my mouth, but if he's looking for what I think he's looking for, he'll be disappointed. They don't drop until I'm ready for them to.

I take a sip from my glass and then lick my lips.

He eyes my drink as I set it back down. "Might not want to fill up on that."

I can't help but scoff, shaking my head and turning away from him. "Go home, Potter. You wouldn't."

Before I know it, his hand has slipped inside my jacket. It finds my waist, and he steps in close. His scent overwhelms me, tanned skin salt-stung and right there. I feel his breath on my jaw when he murmurs, "Would you?"

My incisors sharpen inside my mouth, only slightly but it happens. He glances down into my lap, sees that my cock is filling out too. He meets my eyes again.

I flick my wallet out of my pocket and pay our tabs. "Let's go."


III.

I drill him with questions as we walk from the Apparition point to my flat. He has all the right answers. He knows what he's doing—even though I sense this is his first time with one of us.

When I'm opening my front door and I mention the bath, he just gives a knowing grin, more seductive than any I've ever seen.

"Opens the blood vessels more… the warm water." He steps in closer to me, breath on my neck. "Makes it taste better too, right?"

I'll never be able to explain the delight of that copper-rich flow over my tongue, so I just blink, watching one of his veins bulge a hot turquoise, and whisper, "Yes."

Inside the door, he's on me, kissing me, his hand strong and coaxing at the back of my neck. He moans into my mouth, opening his jeans with his free hand. I sink gentle teeth into his lower lip, and time stops. He stills. I lick his lip, slowly, testingly. He shudders a breath against my face. I don't break the skin. I slide my hand down and palm his weighty prick; it's so warm inside his pants still. It's throbbing with blood. He beats with life like no one else I've ever known.

"Merlin, you're going to taste like heaven, aren't you?" I whisper around his flesh.

He smiles, his lip escaping the clamp of my teeth. He backs away, that burning look in his eyes beckoning me. He starts to strip. "You coming?"


IV.

His body submerged, Potter groans. I ran the bath for him, rolling up my sleeves to test the temperature of the water. But he wanted it even hotter. More than I could stand.

When he lowered his naked body down, his gaze had caught mine. And then he'd zero'd in on my Dark Mark.

"Have any Firewhisky?" he asks now.

I'm sitting on a little chair by the bath, watching his blood vessels dilate as much as I'm admiring his slender muscles and fat cock.

"I don't want to thin you out too much."

"Ah," he says, sighing and closing his eyes, relaxing. "But you could have one, couldn't you?"

"Well, if not for the rudeness," I say.

He slants one eye open to look at me and smirks. "Go ahead."

I hesitate, but then… I Summon the bottle from my drinks cabinet with a crystal tumbler, pouring just a finger and then setting the bottle on the tile floor as I lean back in my chair and sip.

We talk while Potter bathes, the scent of bergamot and rainy day steaming the room. We discuss the magic involved… how I'll slow the pump of his blood to keep from killing him. He nods, unafraid. He's died before. We negotiate what will happen—he wants to be tied up, helpless. He wants me to bite his neck… maybe wants to try the thigh. He says he'd like to look down and watch me lick his blood from my lips before I take his cock into my mouth.

I nearly pass out right then from the very vision in my mind as much as his voice—his voice—saying it.

I finish my drink as Potter finishes his bath and, the two of us, our negotiations.

I leave him to towel off and go to ready my bedroom. As I pull back the bedclothes, my hands are trembling.

V.

He seems to think I'm going to go right for the ropes, so I disabuse him of the notion by taking a good fifteen minutes to simply lay him out on my bed and stroke him. With my hands, my fingertips, my breath, my voice whispering to him how good he looks nude in my bed, squirming for my touch, how pungent and perfect his hard cock smells—which makes him blush.
You don't know the pleasure of a blush until you're a vampire and can smell its sweetness as well as see it.

He's almost begging me once I draw my wand and Incarcerous him.

Harry Potter, bound in my bed. Oh the possibilities. I'm stunned in that moment as well as appreciative. That he would do this. With me. With me like this.

I lean over him. "You know that I could kill you… easily."

He whimpers, hips thrusting up as much as they can under the circumstances. I glance down and watch his prick bob. It, too, is tied, so that he can't come until I release it. That's what he wanted.

This is what Potter wanted. All of it.

I have to ask, "Why are you doing this, Harry?"

His lashes flutter over his lust-drunk eyes. "Because you could kill me… easily." And then he looks at me, and our gazes lock. "But you won't."

My eyes flare, and I want to squeeze my cock so badly, just rub it out in my trousers and be finished and happy in five seconds. Like I used to do it fifth year, when I still hated him. Just get off and good riddance, until the next time I had to. It seems unnecessarily cruel, to have hated him so when I was fully human and yet to be plagued with that want. And now, my hate has all but dissolved, stopped cold, right along with my heart and all that supercilious innocence.

But I still want him—him now, him like this—and so much more.

I unbutton my shirt without haste, and he watches me.

"You okay?" I check. "Comfortable?"

He nods, his wrists flexing behind his back in the bite of the ropes. They're relatively soft, and he's an Auror. So long as I don't Silencio him, I'll bet he could get out of them wandlessly. Hell, he could probably get out of a Silencio somehow too.

I open my trousers, draw my cock over my pants… and Salazar does he writhe.

I smile, a small chuckle rumbling in my chest, and I get him flipped over onto his knees, his bum up, head down in the sheets.

"Your arse is incredible," I tell him. This is maybe the first time I've ever felt compelled to give Potter a compliment that wasn't backhanded in some way.

He growls a little into the bedding. "Then go on and fuck it, Malfoy."

I laugh. And it strikes me that he makes me feel so… deliciously confused. I'm enamoured of him—I can't deny that—and frustrated simultaneously. I very nearly can't stand him. And I want him. I feel at ease and on edge. Flush with excitement and dread.

I slick my cock with warm lube from my wand and then line myself up. I close my eyes as the tip touches the clench of his hole. I want to savour this. My thumb pulls him ever so slightly open—the intimacy of it hardly bearable. I push.

I watch this part… my cock sliding in. God. It's a bloody religious experience, seeing my prick open him up, little by little. He groans when I'm halfway there, arching his back to be given the rest.

"Yes, it's coming," I tell him.

He buries his face in the bed and pants with the waiting of it, the harsh ecstasy of his own wanting.

Merlin, he's gorgeous. He's perfection. I slam deep inside him on my next breath, and he loses his.

I fuck him in long, punctuated strokes. He moans through it almost continuously, and when I reach around, it's to find his cock leaking a sticky, unending stream of pre-come onto my bed. It turns me on as much as the tight vice of his arse massaging my dick.

I grasp his hips and begin fucking him faster, his slick hole almost pulling me inside.

"I want…" he says. "I want…"

"I know what you want."

It's what I want too. It's become impossible not to imagine it now, with my cock pistoning in and out of him, his body warm and helpless in my hands. I can smell it better than ever now: the vibrant, rhythmic gush of it through every inch of his body. It's under my tightening fingers, rippling along his back, flushing his cock and keeping it ramrod hard. It curls like whispered magic just beneath his left ear… there… where the damp hair lies against his skin.

It pulsates, like the heartbeat itself, like a name uttered during sex. Like his name. Like mine.

I haul him up, back against me. The way I've bound his arms, his hands are higher than his bent elbows, his wrists crossed in the middle of his back, and now his hands grip for whatever they can for purchase, finding my shirt.

My cock throbs within him, and as I near his neck, my teeth distend a little more. My mouth floods with saliva. A red sheen clouds my vision. And I can't imagine a day has gone by in my life when I didn't need to drink from him.

"You're sure," I have to check one last time—before I'm gone, before what is most human in me slips under what is not and drowns beneath the licking of its waves, a presence barely submerged, still able to see, yet not access, the air or sun.

"Bite me, Draco," he says. And then he laughs a little, darkly, the humour caught only the moment after he's said it.

It fills me with indescribable joy. Harry Potter, I think, basking in only his name. I throb inside him, deep, as I lean forward, sink my teeth into his flesh, and hear him gasp.

The blood flows quickly, like a geyser, hot and forceful. It hits the roof of my open mouth and runs down my chin before I clamp my mouth down over the wound and gently start sucking.

"Ohhhh," he cries quietly. And in the next moment, he tilts his head for me, submitting to me. I moan a growl against his skin, throat working to swallow him down, even as I wordlessly cast the magic that will dam the flood of him into me.

There aren't any words. It couldn't do him justice: the heartrending taste of him.

Soft moans and suckling sounds fill the air, and I begin rocking into him again, rutting, somehow both mindless and careful.

At one particularly intense draw from me, Potter's breath hitches, and his arse tightens around me. That's all it takes. I come. Licking his blood from the wound I've made, drinking him, I come inside his arse, filling him up as he does me.

"Oh God…" he whines. He's shaking in my arms, balling my shirt in his fists. I hold him tight while I drink, grunting softly here and there with how decadently good he tastes. My orgasm slows to a stop. I lift my mouth and whisper the charm that will stop the blood flow entirely and seal his skin once more. I lap up what's spilled down his neck, pushing my cock as deep as I can for one last moment of perfect bliss.

I pull out, licking my lips, careful not to cut my tongue on my own razor-sharp teeth.

"Fucking kiss me," he demands, and I realise how hard I've left him, how unsatisfied.

He turns his head, angling for me, and I lick into his parted lips. He blossoms open on a groan, tasting what's left of himself inside my mouth. He lets me push my tongue against his. He touches his own to one of my fangs… and then the other… licking at them.

Slowly, I unwind the rope from around his cock and balls—and quite suddenly he's screaming his release into my mouth. I stroke my hand up and down his twitching prick and gentle the kiss. My hand is cool, almost cold, and his dick is hot to the touch. He shivers against my body and comes and comes and comes, bucking and then wilting against me when he's through.

I ease the rest of the ropes from his body, sure to catch him as his muscles refuse to hold him up. I lay him down and hover over him, the words misshapen as they leave my mouth, my teeth not yet retracted. "Are you all right?"

He looks at me, gaze raking over the blood that dries on my chin, has run down my bare chest. He doesn't appear repulsed, more… fascinated, maybe pleased. "I've marked you,” he says.

It's surprising. Since most people feel marked by me. But I find…

I don't hate it.

VI.

I don't normally let a hook-up laze around in my bed, but… It's Potter.

I've gotten cleaned up and, at his insistence, undressed. He lies against my chest, hand slowly moving over my body: shoulder, neck, chest, nipples, down my left arm, mapping the Mark at his leisure.

"How did you know I wouldn't harm you?" I ask him, because it's like a bloody itch he hasn't yet scratched.

He scoffs, hand smoothing across my stomach, up my ribs. "Because I know you."

"You don't know anything, Potter. What are you doing going to blood bars, for fuck's sake?" I feel… jealous suddenly. Possessive. What if I hadn't been there tonight? Would he have let any old blood-sucker do him?

He snorts. "Of course not."

My jaw tightens as I remember Occlumency after the fact. The fucker.

"I followed you, arsehole."

I look more closely at him. His eyes broadcast his truthfulness.

"Why me?"

He gives a good-natured growl, rolling on top of me and straddling my hips. "Don't get insecure on me now, Draco."

"It's only a question."

"That you can't possibly not know the answer to." He rubs his burgeoning erection against my hip like he's got all the time in the world in my bed. He doesn't wait for me to fumble out a response to that. "Do you always top?"

I lift a brow. Because what a question. I don't want to tell him the truth, which is that, with other people? Yes. I prefer it. With him? Merlin, I think I'd do bloody anything.

"Are you asking because you want to fuck a vampire?"

It's weird. Saying it. I hardly ever use the word. It erupts between us like a mad and intoxicating sort of magic. Maybe that's just what telling the truth about yourself feels like.

"I'm asking because, someday, I'd really like to fuck you."

"Someday?" My prick is interested in both the conversation and how his body is now undulating on top of me.

"Not night." He smirks. Then he leans down and murmurs in my ear, "Tonight, I'd like to ride your cock while I'm still sore from the last time you were inside me."

"Jesus, Harry," I breathe. My cock springs up against the cleft of his arse, and he smiles. "I don't think I should… you know…"

"Drink again?"

I nod, swallowing the drool that immediately floods my mouth at both the idea and the memory.

"Do you not fuck when you can't also suck?" He angles my cock toward his entrance and sinks down on it an inch, his intake of breath making me lightheaded to hear it, to feel him.

"I didn't say that."

"Good," he says. "Do you eat dinner?"

"Fu- What?" I exhale the word as he settles on my lap, looking like he's perfectly comfortable with my dick up inside him while he waits for my answer. "Y-yes. I can eat. I just don't have to."

"Would you have dinner with me then? Sometime?" He's already begun riding me.

"You want to… go on a date with me?"

He sighs at the feel of our joined bodies, and he does this incredible hip-circling thing that has us both groaning. His dick bobs as he moves, and I lick my lips, already having decided that I need to suck him off at some point during our evening together.

"Yesss," he says. He grinds on my lap, and I see stars. "Dinner. Sometime. A date. Oh fuck, Draco, you're going to make me come so fast."

"I'm not even doing anything yet."

His smile sparks with pleasure. "Then do it." He leans over me then, keeping my cock lodged deep and rocking a little. I thrust up into him, and he makes this beautiful groaning sound in his throat. My eyes flit to his pulse point, to the bruise I left and he insisted on keeping.

"Does it turn you on?" he pants. At my hesitation, he bares more of his neck to me. "This."

I haul him down and open my lips over my own mouth-shaped mark, the flesh still tender enough that he gasps. I breathe against him there as he fucks himself on me, and in a moment more, he comes. I feel it splash between our bodies, over my chest. I lick his neck, hold him down on my dick hard, and I join him.

VII.

I order a Firewhisky, but then I hear behind me, "Add a shot of B-negative to that, would you?" And then Harry sits beside me at the bar.

The bartender waits for me to nod before he adds the blood. I'd decided not to tonight, but perhaps Potter has the right idea, seeing as how I need a bit of bolstering.

After a month of going out just the two of us, he's decided it's time to have a pub night with his friends, to be in full view.

I turn to say hello and give him a peck on the cheek but then frown. "For fuck's sake, cover that up."

He's got two fresh—as in, last night—bite wounds on his neck, and he's wearing them out for all to see.

"I thought we talked about this," I say.

He bats at my hands as I try to artfully arrange the collar of his shirt to hide the marks in shadow. "I changed my mind."

"I didn't change mine."

"It's my neck," he argues.

"It's my teeth."

He splutters a small chuckle at this but then sobers. "Ron and Hermione kiss in public."

I nod to his neck. "This is more than kissing."

He draws close, hands resting on my waist in that proprietary way he has that, frankly, I don't hate. "This is us," he counters. "I can't hide it every time you bite me. I won't."

"Not even this first time?"

"Especially not this first time. Merlin, Draco, they already know anyway."

"Knowing and seeing it are two different—"

He doesn't let me finish, launching himself at me and smothering my argument with a kiss.

"Mmm," I hum into his mouth.

He draws back just enough that our open lips still touch, and then he flicks his talented tongue under one of my incisors in a flirtatious back-and-forth that has them lengthening for him in horny anticipation.

Which is how they find us and how I lose the argument. And I couldn't care any less. Not when Harry Potter is in my arms. Not when he pulls back, and he's smiling at me like no one ever has or ever will again. Not when he holds my hand and does the introductions. Not when I try to hide the sharpening of my incisors that I can't exactly help when Harry turns me on—and he doesn't even let me do that, beaming at me until I can't help but grin back, the beginnings of my fangs glinting in all their glory.

And it's okay. It's all okay. From that first shot of B-neg to Granger ordering me a second. From Weasley's look of profound discomfort at the beginning of the evening to his reserved acceptance at the end—and Harry's hand on my thigh, stroking down my arm, holding my hand throughout the evening.

It's okay when we say goodnight and Harry Apparates us to his flat. When he undresses me. Bathes for me. Tilts his head to offer himself up to me, to let me have him. And then after, when he rolls me onto my stomach and sinks inside me from behind.

Nothing has ever been more okay, in fact. And I find I'm drunk on it. On all of it. On all of him, every drop I drink and every smile he bursts into. On watching him sleep, the moonlight soaking his skin like milk before I charm the drapes closed.

And me lying next to him, breathing him, listening to how his blood hushes as it slows. Listening... Until the pull of it, like low tide, drags me under into sleep.