hd365_mod (hd365_mod) wrote in hd_365, @ 2006-06-26 23:38:00 |
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Original poster: grey_hunter
Title: Magical Magnetism
Author: Stray (grey_hunter)
Rating: R
Word count: 2350
Beta: Vaughn.
Disclaimer: The one who owns the world er… Harry Potter is not me!
Warning: slash
Prompt: Danger
"It was just a bloody resolution, okay? For New Year! Not an Unbreakable Vow, nor an illegal Dark bonding ritual. There was nothing magical about it. How many more times do you want me to say it?" Ouch, my ears! No one shall ever say that Draco Malfoy isn't capable of screeching like a Banshee scorned!
Okay, so who do you think this is to blame for? Now, if you said – or just thought - 'Merryweather', you can congratulate yourself for getting it right. Not that it was that hard to guess, mind. Half of the shite that happens to us because of work is his fault.
What in Merlin's slippers is it this time, you ask? Oh, nothing much. Draco is not injured, I am not injured and no one is about to be killed… yet. I can't promise that statement is going to hold if this continues for much longer. Draco looks positively murderous.
"It might not have been intentional." Bloody hell. Counsellor… what's his name again? Willer, that's it… won't have a long time in his job. Doesn’t look to me if he can tell when he pisses people off. Wonder what relative he has high up that showed him in here.
I have pretty much let Draco handle the talking until now, since he is allegedly the better conversationalist and he kind of represents both of us here. Now it looks like even he is at a loss for words. During the silence, the bloody charlatan Merryweather set on us decides to worsen the situation by opening his fat mouth again.
"You are aware of the fact that fraternalisation is not allowed within the ranks."
"Well, that was the reason we signed up for different divisions," Draco answers, looking again the aristocrat that he is, now that the ball is in our court. "It's not our fault I got transferred."
When Willer's glance lands on me, looking for affirmation, I nod. He does not know, and even if he does, he does not have anything in his hands to prove it otherwise. After that kidnapping business, I couldn't let Draco stay there. The name Harry Potter has its perks buried somewhere beneath its many disadvantages.
Now, you must promise not to tell Draco about that, ever. He thinks it was his hard work combined with his irresistible charms that allowed him rise in the ranks. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. If he were anyone else, he would have got that bloody promotion ages ago. It was only his name and his association with me that had held him back – still does.
"Well, I, personally, do not think this arrangement is beneficial. Neither for your careers nor for your working environment. I am going to recommend that Auror Malfoy get transferred back to his old unit."
Willer is a capital tosser – there is no way around it. But let him have his fun for now. It won't change anything.
Draco looks worried. He doesn't show it, of course, but I know him well enough to be able tell it from the way he is playing with that piece of fluff he had flicked off his chair before sitting down, or the fact that he has crossed and uncrossed his legs thirteen times since we got shoved in here.
Now Willer's pretending that he's thinking about something or other. He has this contemplating expression carefully painted on his face. Honestly, does he think people can't see through him? Hell, even I can!
"Are we done yet?" I ask, not bothering to keep the growl out of my tone. It's six p.m. and I'm hungry. Hello, work is over. What are we still doing here?
Willer turns his eyes on me. He is sizing me up with a contemplating look. I can understand he is surprised I have talked at all – I haven't said a word since the initial greetings.
"I think we are… almost," he says with the air of someone who doesn't know when to stop. "There is just the matter of this -- what did you call it? -- 'resolution' of yours." I can practically hear the little quotation marks around that word. The way he says it makes it sound like it was something unclean. Guess Merryweather found his soul mate in him.
"What about it?" Now Willer is taken aback by Draco's sudden harsh tone. Yes, he can be quite the wild cat if someone pisses him off, bloody time you noticed. Wanker. Not that that would deter you, would it?
"I want you to consider the possibility that it is more… dangerous than it seems. Have you, for example, experienced the urge to finish your… coupling before midnight, when the day was almost over and you have not yet completed your objective? Any anxiety when you went to work without the security of having… gotten over it in the morning? Or similar, little things that went almost unnoticed. Anything unusual could be an indication.
"I want you to consider breaking this 'resolution' on purpose, so at least you could be certain that it is nothing binding. I have seen several cases where an innocuous arrangement turned into the partners cursing each other unintentionally. And it only took as much as getting a little too attached to it. I could say, getting dependent on it – like a drug..."
"Now, hold on a minute! I was brought up in a pure-blood family. If there were such things, believe me, I'd know about it. But I haven't heard anything like that. You're spouting complete nonsense. Come, Harry. We are leaving."
He takes me by the hand and pulls me out of the office. He is so angry he completely disregards the 'proper work etiquette' that he's usually so careful about. The door bangs shut behind us, and I can only just make out Willer's pompous voice trailing after our departure:
"Your irrational behaviour could be one of the symptoms I was just talking about…!"
Oh, just shut up already! Can't you see that no one cares about what you have to say?
---
"Perhaps we should do it."
Draco's voice sounds somehow uncertain. I can tell that he is trying to convince himself to forget what Willer said, but the more he thinks about it, the less he can. It's like he is using reverse psychology on himself.
"Perhaps we should," I agree with him just to relieve his mind. Not that I want to. In fact, I would like nothing better than to scoop him up and throw him on top of our bed, peel off his clothes and get lost in his heat. Perhaps if I sound convincing enough, he will believe that I could stop if I wanted and drop the issue.
And before you ask, yes, I could stop. But what reason do I have to miss out on a night of shagging? The delusional blathering of a would-be shrink? No way am I going to let Merryweather win this round!
"So what then? Are we going to sleep?" Draco stops his pacing and looks at me. He frowns, and of course I know the reason: there is no way we would be able to just lie next to each other and not touch. And once the touching starts, well… let's just say other things are bound to follow.
"Wanna watch the telly?" I offer, remote in hand. He shrugs. I know he hates it most of the time. No, that's actually not true. He just hates me switching between channels when I get bored with the programme going on. So tonight I resolve not to do that. I am going to let him choose a nice romantic film and content myself with curling up on the couch with his back spooned to my front – and not molest him too much when he is trying to watch a movie. That's why he always ends up yelling, arms flaying around, trying to swat away my hand, before we decide to switch off the telly and go to bed.
But, well, you know how it is… with things you know you are not supposed to do, but there is nothing else holding you back other than your own will. Any resolve based on that foundation is bound to crumble. And I won't say I did not enjoy having my part in said crumbling.
"Harry?" Draco's voice is still too hesitant for my tastes, but at least I managed to get some desperation to seep into it. My hand drifts lower under the flimsy blanket and I can feel he is rock hard against my palm. He grabs my hand and presses down on it briefly, most likely with the intention of stopping my advances, but all he manages to achieve with it is my hand squeezing his erection. Naturally, this has the opposite effect.
His breathing hisses and he freezes for an instant. I can hear his quickened breathing – feel the desperate thumping of his heart through his back, which is still pressed to my chest. I glance on the clock: thirty minutes to twelve.
"We…" Gasp. "We said we wouldn't…" His voice breaks when my fingers find their way under his shirt, popping open the tiny buttons hurriedly. I'd hate to break it to you, honey, but I never said anything like that.
I can tell I'm getting a little desperate; I think I have bitten down on the little inviting pebble of his nipple a little too hard. But he seems to enjoy it even more with the addition of the pain, if the whimpering is any indication. Fuck, there is no way I let fucking Merryweather ruin a perfectly good night! Draco is going to thank me for this later, I am sure about that.
I make quick work of his clothes. They land in a random arrangement around the couch, together with the discarded blanket. My tongue traces fiery patterns on his chest, like a set of ancient runes. Who says there is no magic in this? On the contrary, this is the biggest fucking magic that I have ever experienced.
Suddenly, there are arms restricting the movement of my head when I'm just about to slip my tongue down the delicious smooth-skinned quivering stomach, and push it under the dampened cotton of his underwear.
"What?" I growl, not very happy about the interruption.
"What if Willer is right?"
The question has the effect on me like that of a bucket of ice water dumped down my back. No, actually it isn't what he says, but how he says it. There is still that trepidation in his voice. I can tell that he is afraid – even if only a bit now and isn't enough for us to stop.
God, I'm going to kill that bloody wanker first thing in the morning!
Well, perhaps second – after shagging the daylights out of Draco.
"Draco, this is stupid." I don't care if this sounds like a whine. It bloody is a whine! "You yourself said that there is no such thing. It's just Merryweather trying to fuck with our minds."
Silence. Merlin, that gulp could surely be heard in the Ministry. I hope wherever Willer is now, he chokes on it.
"Okay."
I gently push his hands away and slither up on his nearly naked body so I can look into his eyes. They are large and glimmering in the near-darkness of the room. I can't help but remember how he looked then, in that bloody bathroom bawling out his eyes but ready to fight whatever came his way. Always ready.
"Draco, do you believe me when I say there is no such curse or… whatever that bloody fraud tried to feed us?" Nod. Not quick and determined enough. "And do you believe in yourself?" Another nod. Still not good enough. "Do you believe in us? How could this ever be wrong?"
A smile. Finally.
"You're right." His lips curl into a mischievous grin. "Fuck me already!"
I kiss him without hurry this time. He wiggles a bit under my weight until he manages to get his pants off and my trousers open to give us enough leeway for what we are both desperate to do. Now.
He grabs my cock and directs the tip of it to his entrance, legs propped up against my shoulders. Oh. I didn’t notice when he cast the lubrication spell, sneaky little bugger, but why would I ever complain? There is nothing like the feeling of his body opening to me readily, inch by inch, surrounding me with his heat. He feels so good around me, I almost can't breathe. He urges me to start thrusting, movements jerky – I can tell he is just as desperate as I am.
It's hot. Hot and rushed and nothing that could be described as skilful. But who cares? Sex is not an art. It is just instincts and raw sensations, most of the time. He moans, and my body reacts to that little unintelligible noise like a wand reacts to magic, sending out sparks to travel all over my nerve endings. I press into him and pull out, the movement just enough to stir up more of that delicious arousal. It isn’t enough. So I do it again. And again. It's going to be never enough. Even if it feels like that for a short moment, while everything explodes in brilliant colours behind my eyelids.
I slump down to his heaving chest, both of our bodies sticky with sweat and semen. He shifts to the side, so I can lie down next to him and don't crush him with my weight. We hold onto each other until his breathing calms down from the noisy rattle it has become to a soft puff on my still damp shoulder.
"That was quick, Potter," he laughs. I laugh with him. He is right, of course. It was.
In the following silence, there is a small, almost inaudible click coming from the wall clock. My eyes follow the movement of the minute-hand as it shifts over to the number twelve.
The End