sassy_cissa (sassy_cissa) wrote in slythindor100, @ 2007-06-01 17:15:00 |
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Current mood: | A Little Geeky |
Entry tags: | special challenge |
Didn't You Know?
Original poster: gurliemoviegeek
Title: "Didn't You Know?"
Rating: R (For somewhat sexual situations)
Word Count: 2,354
Challenge: Special Challenge (5/30/07)
Warnings: None
Okay, so, "Hi there!" *waves*
This is my very first fic - ever. I'm totally new to the fandom world, and I've never written any fan fiction (except in my head!) before this, so any critiques or comments would be greatly, greatly appreciated.
Draco’s blonde head hung low. The Slytherin was sitting on a rock by the lake, just outside the castle that was Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His forearms were resting on his thighs, his hands hanging limply between his knees. He raised his head slightly and lifted his eyes toward the sky as a sigh seeped from his lips.
He squinted against the blazing sun and tipped his sculpted face further upward to take in the beauty that was the cloudless and impossibly blue summer sky. Before he could prevent it, another hopeless sigh escaped him.
What the hell was he doing?
He was sitting alone by the lake, on his birthday no less, fantasizing about one Harry James Bleeding Potter. “Stupid git,” he hissed to himself, “you’ve got to snap out of this!”
Draco’s head filled with unbidden visions of Harry appearing at the Slytherin table that evening at dinner, with a gaily wrapped present in his strong, tanned hands. The tag would be green and silver and say simply: Happy Birthday Draco, With all My Love, Harry. Draco would gleefully open the gift, scattering silver paper and green silk ribbon all along the floor of the great hall. Draco’s molten silver eyes would brighten with emotion and Harry’s smile would widen as Draco cradled the priceless offering in his hands - a lovely statue of a silvery-green dragon in mid-flight. Harry would place his lips against Draco’s ear and whisper, “A dragon, for my dragon,” and then kiss him passionately, not caring at all about the eyes watching them. Draco could imagine Harry’s hands sliding up his chest and his fingers tangling in Draco’s flaxen hair. He could envision the green fire of desire behind Harry’s eyes before he leaned in to claim his mouth. He could almost smell Harry’s spicy scent. And he could see his own lithe body, crushed against Harry’s muscular frame. He could almost feel Harry’s tongue, warm and demanding, dancing with his own.
The all-too-real physical sensation of his trousers being strained under the pressure of his growing erection forced Draco from his reverie. Draco had no issue with wanting Potter’s body. Who wouldn’t yearn to touch and to be touched by Harry? His physique could have been sculpted by one of the Greek masters and his face was that of a fiery angel. Anyone would be crazy not to lust after the Boy Who Lived. What disturbed Draco was that his daydreams were more than just sexual visions; they were filled with declarations of devotion and tender moments of affection. Sex was one thing, love was another beast entirely.
It just wasn’t to be borne! He couldn’t love the silly Gryffindor; it was not possible. And yet, his heart quite literally ached whenever the brunette boy was near him. He actually almost fainted last week simply because Harry accidentally brushed up against him in the halls. Whenever Harry was in his presence, all the blood in Draco’s body would immediately race to his face and his groin. Ever since his increasingly erotic visions had begun, Harry’s presence alone was enough to make Draco’s cheeks burn. And any small contact, however incidental or insignificant, would turn Draco into a quivering, incoherent mess. Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, bad-boy extraordinaire, felled by love and turned into a simpering, blushing, besotted fool. He groaned at his seemingly hopeless situation.
Draco decided that he must end this once and for all. Sadly, the only way that he could see to stop this foolishness was to get it all out, to lay all his cards on the table. He would discuss these feelings calmly and rationally with Harry. The intended savior of the wizarding world would inevitably fling insults at Draco, call him a disgusting and repellent pervert, and then send him away on a torrent of curses. This would assure Draco that he was being ridiculous and that he and Harry would never share anything more than a passionate rivalry. And then, of course, the preposterous daydreams would cease, and Draco’s life would be normal once more.
With a brisk nod, Draco raised himself from his rock and resolved to charge into Harry’s room right this instant and set his hastily formed plan into motion. He marched into the castle and ran toward the stairs that led up to Gryffindor Tower. As Draco was preparing to crash through the door that led to the Gryffindor common room, he hesitated. What if Harry were to be receptive to his feelings? Could it be possible that he should have hope? He forced his breath to come slowly, calmly inhaling and exhaling. He got the powerful pounding of his heart under control and then coolly opened the door.
It seemed luck was looking out for Draco, as there sat Potter – alone and looking sexy as hell in a pair of jeans and a tight-fitting t-shirt - sprawled on an over-stuffed leather chair, nonchalantly perusing a book.
He composedly glanced up at the sound of Draco’s footsteps. “Malfoy,” Harry quirked one ebony brow and drowsily said, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Assuring himself that he would not allow Potter to discombobulate him, Draco pushed forward into the room and lazily took a seat on a soft brown sofa opposite his target. He allowed his eyes to roam over Harry’s body, and laughed lightly at the Gryffindor logo emblazoned across the t-shirt he was wearing. His attention wandered to the faded jeans that sat low on Harry’s hips. Draco’s tongue darted from his mouth to moisten his lips.
“Malfoy, is there something I can help you with?” Harry asked, seemingly bored. “Is there no other person you could be bothering right now?”
Startled, Draco regained his composure and found himself stating simply, “It’s my birthday, Potter.”
“And . . .?”
“And, I have no idea why I just told you that,” was Draco’s surprising reply.
Harry, seemingly speechless, just sat serenely looking at his nemesis. Draco could read confusion and something else playing upon Harry’s face. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and pushed on.
“I need your help, Potter.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, and Draco quickly continued speaking before Harry could make some witty, cutting remark. “There is no one else that can help me with this, so will you just listen? Please?”
A breathy sigh came from Harry as he settled himself more deeply into the chair. He placed his elbow on the arm rest and propped his head up in his hand before he said, “All right, out with it then.”
Draco cleared his throat and then bravely caught Harry’s eyes with his own. “I’ve been having these . . . daydreams, you see. They’re romantic in nature, and they’re driving me quite crazy actually. I can’t seem to keep my mind on anything . . .”
“Do you want me to help you find some sort of charm to rid you of these visions, Malfoy? I think Hermoine might know . . .”
“No. No, Harry. I just need to . . .” Draco ran a pale and slender hand through his blonde hair and let loose an exasperated groan. “Can’t you just listen to me?”
Startled at the use of his given name, Harry sat forward in his chair, all languor leaving his body. Giving Draco his complete attention Harry replied, “I’m sorry, Malf . . ., I mean, Draco. Really. Go on.”
“Well you see – Harry,” Draco continued, his eyes planted on the floor in front of Harry’s feet, “the thing is that these amorous visions, they’re of you.”
Stunned, his face hardening into a mask of incredulity, Harry sat in stony silence, as if daring Draco to continue.
Draco waited just a moment, swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “If you love someone you say it. You say it right then, out loud, or the moment just passes you by.”
Collecting every bit of nerve he had left, Draco said plainly, “What I’m trying to say is that I love you, Harry.”
Draco flicked his silver gaze upward to search the emerald depths of Harry’s eyes for a reaction to this confession.
“What exactly are you talking about, Malfoy? Are you trying to have a laugh at me? Is this another one of your sick Slytherin games?” Harry spit out the last sentence, letting Draco know he was on dangerous ground.
“This is no game, Potter. Oh, Merlin, how I wish it was.” Because Harry had yet to move to physically attack Draco or reach for his wand, Draco bravely slid off the couch and took a few steps toward Harry. Once standing before the brunette wizard, Draco looked down into Harry’s eyes and whispered, “You are all that I can think about these days.” Filled with many conflicted emotions – fear, love, hope, desire, agony – Draco cleared his throat and blinked away unshed tears. “I believe, Harry, that the intense hatred we have always shared has turned into, at least for me, a quite startlingly passionate love. I cannot say it any more plainly.”
There. It was done. Now Harry would either punch him or hex him and the whole sordid affair would be over.
Harry’s voice was low and full of venom, “Look, I don’t know what you’re after, Malfoy, but I swear on the souls of my parents that if you’re mocking me, I will make damn sure you regret it.” Fire flashed in Harry’s emerald eyes as he stood up to meet Draco’s silver gaze. “I don’t know how you found out I was gay, and I don’t care, but just stop pretending that you’re here to profess your love. Stop this charade right now or I’ll . . .,” Harry grabbed his wand from the table beside him and pressed the tip under Draco’s chin, “Let’s just say you’ll be sorry.”
Draco, shaken, and yet spurred on by Harry’s sudden admission, held his ground and refused to look away. The Slytherin finally tightened his jaw and whispered, “What can I do to prove it, Harry? How can I show you that what I say is true?”
“Kiss me,” Harry ordered.
“Potter, are you now trying to have a laugh at me?”
“No, Draco. I’m completely serious. If you love me, as you’ve stated you do, then you’ll kiss me.”
Without breaking the intense gaze he was sharing with Harry, Draco gently took the wand from Harry’s hand and placed it back on the table. He slowly brought his hands to Harry’s hips, willing himself to take his time and savor this moment. Harry Potter, the object of his desire for so long, was offering him his lips, his mouth.
Harry stood as still as a statue, not breathing. His eyes stayed steady, looking deep into Draco’s own, searching for the truth.
Unable to believe this was happening Draco gently, tentatively, brushed his lips against Harry’s mouth. It was not really a kiss at all; just a shy asking of permission to do more, to go further. Draco ran his hands up Harry’s chest until his arms were snaked around his neck causing Harry to moan huskily from deep in the back of his throat. This was all the encouragement that Draco needed. With his fingers twined in Harry’s hair, he brought his head forward and crushed their mouths together with bruising force. This was a release of months of want and unfulfilled desire, and Draco had no way to reign in the fervency of his attentions.
Suddenly, hands were everywhere - touching, reaching and sliding over every available body part. Lips and tongues meshed together, igniting a searing passion between the two boys. Draco found himself back on the sofa with Harry’s body covering his own. His hands were under Harry’s shirt, gliding over the smooth muscles of his back. Harry’s tongue teased every bit of tantalizing flesh that it could reach. Draco’s hips pushed up into Harry’s own, causing a delicious friction for both of the young wizards. Draco, dazed, moved his lips to the delicate shell of Harry’s ear and whispered, “Is this really happening?” Harry shivered as Draco nibbled on the sensitive lobe. “Yes, Draco, this is really happening. And I love you, too. I’ve loved you for so long, but never dreamed that . . .”
Tears fell from Harry’s eyes. “No one has ever really loved me, Draco. No one.” Draco sat up slightly and began placing feather-light kisses all over Harry’s face, on his closed eyelids, on his nose, on the lighting-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. “I love you, Harry Potter. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Harry, overcome with emotion, crumpled on top of Draco and buried his face in the warmth of Draco’s neck. He slid his hands underneath Draco’s back, allowing them to slip down until he was holding the firm roundness of Draco’s arse. He lifted Draco’s hips into his own so that the two boys could each feel the other’s want and need. Harry’s lips found the sensitive pulse point in Draco’s neck, and delicate nerve endings sent erotic shockwaves through every part of Draco’s body as Harry licked and teased. When Draco finally began to writhe beneath Harry in earnest, and strangled pleadings began to tumble from Draco’s lips, Harry gazed into Draco’s eyes and said, “Let’s go into my bedroom, Draco.”
Draco, his silver eyes molten with desire, swallowed hard. “Harry, are you sure?”
Harry smiled and huskily replied, “I’ve never been so sure of anything else in my life.”
The two boys helped each other off the sofa, devouring each other with their eyes. Harry turned to lead the way to his bedroom, when Draco pressed his chest against Harry’s back and snaked his arms around Harry’s waist.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“Give me something for my birthday?”
Harry turned to give Draco an incredulous look. “What do you want?”
Draco, all the passion he felt shining in his eyes, whispered, “How about your heart?”
“Didn’t you know? You’ve had that all along, Draco. That’s been yours all along.”
-Fin-