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nursedarryTitle: Taking the Blame (4/6)
Fandom/Pairing: HP- h/d (AU-of consenting age)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,600
Diclaimer: Characters belong to JKR & WB. If they want to take issue with this, they really need to get a life.
Thanks to the erudite![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
delphipsmith for the beta.
This is the next in a series of drabbles:
Coffee
Tingly sequel to Coffee
Flight Club sequel to Tingly
Green sequel to Flight Club
Draco's POV
~*~
More flying in the dark, recklessly and sullenly. I feel…what is it? Like I’m thirsty but drowning at the same time. It’s a desperate feeling and I’m sick, sick, sick of it. I don’t understand this obsession. I thought I did. I thought I had the perfect personality and pedigree to wage my own little war against the Boy Who Lived. I’ve been at this battle now for five fucking years and it’s getting tiring.
When did it turn for me? When did everything I could think of to hurt him become a plan that made Potter less of an enemy and more like the object of an unrequited teenage crush?
Not that I’d know what that felt like. I certainly wasn’t this obsessed with anyone I had ever considered wank-worthy material - Parkinson, Brown, Zabini, Snape and –god, once- even that Mudblood Granger the night after the Yule Ball. (Although it might have been her date that took me over the edge that time.)
My train of thought is derailed at this point.
“Malfoy!” Potter shouts at me from below.
God, he’s here! Why? Can I ignore him? Do I want to?
“Get down here!”
I continue to fly lazy circles above him just to see what he’ll do. And what I will.
“Malfoy! Come here! Now!”
Merlin, he’s mad. What could I have done to make him this pissed off? Okay, I’m sure he suspects something because I know he saw me looking at him in Potions- damn, I didn’t think he could see that well without his glasses. And gods, didn’t he look goo-
No, I’m not going there.
“MALFOY! YOU’VE GOT MY BROOM!”
What? I’ve got his what?
~*~
Harry pounces the instant I land. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” He’s in my face, hands clenched, wand evidently forgotten (an unsatisfactory substitute for a fist, anyway).
I stand there dumbly looking at him, my chest rising and falling quickly. I honestly can’t answer. What the fuck was I doing? How did I manage to walk into the wrong part of the equipment shed and then out with Potter’s broom and not notice?
I can only stand there staring at him and wondering at my own actions. He takes action himself; he punches me in the jaw.
I hear a loud crack and see stars. It hurts like hell, but it also looks like he’s hurt his hand. This shakes me out of the stupor I’d been in since coming out to the pitch. I jump forward and punch him in the stomach.
He makes an “oooph” sound and doubles over. I lunge at him, he grabs me and we scuffle about trying to kick the shit out of each other, though neither of us gets our feet close enough to the other to do any real damage.
Potter finds some purchase with his legs and grabs at me again, this time getting a better hold. “Answer me, you stupid git!” he shouts. By now I’ve forgotten the question.
He moves forward, hands on my shoulders and backs me up against the shed. Once pinned there, all I can think about is stupidly reaching up, pulling off his glasses and…and…and doing what?
He gives me a sharp shove against the wall and I grab his hips to hold him still. “I- I don’t know!”
His eyes narrow suspiciously and he moves even further into my personal space. “Wrong answer, Malfoy. I know you’re up to something. What are you after?”
I stare at him. I can’t do this anymore. I’m bruised, I’m tired and I’m horny. And then it all just tumbles out. “It’s you, all right?! It’s always been you! You’re all I ever think about - your eyes, how sexy you sound when you speak Parseltongue, wondering what you look like under that ro-” I can hear myself saying it, but I can’t believe I am. I snap my mouth shut, stopping myself before revealing any more pathetic and embarrassing secrets. “Fuck. This is all your fucking fault, Potter,” I finish.
This time it’s me who bangs my head back against the shed and I close my eyes, mortified at my admission but too weary to keep running away. I brace myself for a hex, a punch, a growl of disgust. None are forthcoming and what I get startles me.
I feel his weight shift as Potter leans even closer and whispers in my ear “How is any of that my fault, Malfoy?” And then he lowers his head onto my shoulder, seemingly as exhausted as I am. He’s the one who, if school gossip is to be believed, regularly faces danger to life and limb. I suddenly get the feeling I’ve just been an annoyance to him rather than a real threat. After everything he’s had to deal with in the past five years, I suppose I can’t blame him for feeling tired of it all.
But, I just have blamed him. Stupid of you, Malfoy, I think to myself- for once this isn’t all about you.
As awkward as I feel, I am determined to finish my declaration, even if I can’t say it with words. I lower my head to rest against his and sigh into his hair. I’m not sure how he will interpret this gesture, but with my previous, if somewhat disjointed admission of lustful thoughts, I can’t imagine how he could mistake my intent. Just to ensure he doesn’t, my hands leave his hips and trail gently up and down his back. I hope he can’t tell how much they’re shaking.
His body stiffens, his hands tighten on my shoulders and his breathing quickens against my neck.
What the bloody fucking hell am I doing? I’ve inadvertently taken a joyride on Potter’s broom, I’ve admitted to being obsessed with his eyes, his tongue and his ass, and now I’m molesting him. Even if he never opens his mouth to Weasley – or, god forbid, the Mudblood- I’ll be too embarrassed to face him for months.
I’m so busy imagining gruesome classroom scenarios that I haven’t noticed something wet pressing against my neck. Now it’s my turn to stiffen. Either Potter’s sweaty fringe is dripping on my collar or...he’s kissing me.
“P-Potter?” I start, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel.
“Mlfffy?” he mouths against my skin and I get goosebumps.
Without thinking, I turn my head to look at him-I need to see him for this to be real. It’s a mistake. As soon as I move he lifts his head to look up at me, taking his mouth with him.
“Shit,” I whisper and press my lips against his. It’s an awkward kiss. I’ve kissed a few girls and I know he has had at least a little experience (again, the school gossip), but I’ve never kissed a bloke. And until now, I’ve never kissed anyone I couldn’t just walk away from.
After only a few seconds, we break apart, both looking away and speaking at the same time.
“I’m sorry-”
“Fuck, I don’t know why-”
Then, even more embarrassed, we stop talking and just stare at each other.
Finally, Potter finds his voice. “That was shit.” Something in my chest lurches painfully off to one side. I can think of no suitable response. “Should we-uh-try it again?” he asks. The thing in my chest lurches back the other way.
Almost shyly, and much more gently, we do try it again. This time I attempt to put some thought into technique. But I get sidetracked wondering at how soft his lips are and how good he tastes and how much I just want to climb into his mouth.
Standing with our bodies pressed together like this, he must feel what effect kissing him has had on me. (Who am I kidding- I’ve been hard since we started fighting.) I slide my thigh between his.
Potter’s eyes squeeze shut and he groans into my mouth. I dive in, tongue-first as his mouth fastens on mine. His kisses lack refinement, but they are earnest and genuine and oh, so wonderful. My arms tighten around his waist, pulling those most sensitive of parts of us closer together.
I can only assume his feelings toward me have changed. But why? Could he have detected this shift in me even when I could not? Does he even think about me? Would Harry Potter, Harry Potter the Gryffindor really let himself be drawn into this just because he is sixteen and would fuck anyone who gives him the chance? There are more appropriate people for Potter to be drawn to, loved by.
And that thought makes me furious. I have invested so much of myself in the pursuit of Potter, it would be unfair for another to blithely make the capture and enjoy the spoils. I’ve certainly not thought to lose myself to anyone I feel undeserving of my attention.
But how is Harry Potter more deserving than a loyal Slytherin? How is it that Potter has earned this obsession and my affection? And then I realise it has come to him as everything did- by doing nothing other than just being himself. Being Harry Potter. He never works toward anything he gets. He just is. And that’s enough.
I no longer recognise myself. I thought I knew who I was. I thought I knew what I wanted: admiration, respect, power. Now I want this. Now all I want is this- this boy in my arms. I can’t think beyond that. I can’t even think beyond this kiss. What should follow it? Do we break apart and pretend this hasn’t happened? Or do we…?
Suddenly my head clears and I let go of him.
TBC
Fandom/Pairing: HP- h/d (AU-of consenting age)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,600
Diclaimer: Characters belong to JKR & WB. If they want to take issue with this, they really need to get a life.
Thanks to the erudite
delphipsmith for the beta.This is the next in a series of drabbles:
Coffee
Tingly sequel to Coffee
Flight Club sequel to Tingly
Green sequel to Flight Club
Draco's POV
~*~
More flying in the dark, recklessly and sullenly. I feel…what is it? Like I’m thirsty but drowning at the same time. It’s a desperate feeling and I’m sick, sick, sick of it. I don’t understand this obsession. I thought I did. I thought I had the perfect personality and pedigree to wage my own little war against the Boy Who Lived. I’ve been at this battle now for five fucking years and it’s getting tiring.
When did it turn for me? When did everything I could think of to hurt him become a plan that made Potter less of an enemy and more like the object of an unrequited teenage crush?
Not that I’d know what that felt like. I certainly wasn’t this obsessed with anyone I had ever considered wank-worthy material - Parkinson, Brown, Zabini, Snape and –god, once- even that Mudblood Granger the night after the Yule Ball. (Although it might have been her date that took me over the edge that time.)
My train of thought is derailed at this point.
“Malfoy!” Potter shouts at me from below.
God, he’s here! Why? Can I ignore him? Do I want to?
“Get down here!”
I continue to fly lazy circles above him just to see what he’ll do. And what I will.
“Malfoy! Come here! Now!”
Merlin, he’s mad. What could I have done to make him this pissed off? Okay, I’m sure he suspects something because I know he saw me looking at him in Potions- damn, I didn’t think he could see that well without his glasses. And gods, didn’t he look goo-
No, I’m not going there.
“MALFOY! YOU’VE GOT MY BROOM!”
What? I’ve got his what?
~*~
Harry pounces the instant I land. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” He’s in my face, hands clenched, wand evidently forgotten (an unsatisfactory substitute for a fist, anyway).
I stand there dumbly looking at him, my chest rising and falling quickly. I honestly can’t answer. What the fuck was I doing? How did I manage to walk into the wrong part of the equipment shed and then out with Potter’s broom and not notice?
I can only stand there staring at him and wondering at my own actions. He takes action himself; he punches me in the jaw.
I hear a loud crack and see stars. It hurts like hell, but it also looks like he’s hurt his hand. This shakes me out of the stupor I’d been in since coming out to the pitch. I jump forward and punch him in the stomach.
He makes an “oooph” sound and doubles over. I lunge at him, he grabs me and we scuffle about trying to kick the shit out of each other, though neither of us gets our feet close enough to the other to do any real damage.
Potter finds some purchase with his legs and grabs at me again, this time getting a better hold. “Answer me, you stupid git!” he shouts. By now I’ve forgotten the question.
He moves forward, hands on my shoulders and backs me up against the shed. Once pinned there, all I can think about is stupidly reaching up, pulling off his glasses and…and…and doing what?
He gives me a sharp shove against the wall and I grab his hips to hold him still. “I- I don’t know!”
His eyes narrow suspiciously and he moves even further into my personal space. “Wrong answer, Malfoy. I know you’re up to something. What are you after?”
I stare at him. I can’t do this anymore. I’m bruised, I’m tired and I’m horny. And then it all just tumbles out. “It’s you, all right?! It’s always been you! You’re all I ever think about - your eyes, how sexy you sound when you speak Parseltongue, wondering what you look like under that ro-” I can hear myself saying it, but I can’t believe I am. I snap my mouth shut, stopping myself before revealing any more pathetic and embarrassing secrets. “Fuck. This is all your fucking fault, Potter,” I finish.
This time it’s me who bangs my head back against the shed and I close my eyes, mortified at my admission but too weary to keep running away. I brace myself for a hex, a punch, a growl of disgust. None are forthcoming and what I get startles me.
I feel his weight shift as Potter leans even closer and whispers in my ear “How is any of that my fault, Malfoy?” And then he lowers his head onto my shoulder, seemingly as exhausted as I am. He’s the one who, if school gossip is to be believed, regularly faces danger to life and limb. I suddenly get the feeling I’ve just been an annoyance to him rather than a real threat. After everything he’s had to deal with in the past five years, I suppose I can’t blame him for feeling tired of it all.
But, I just have blamed him. Stupid of you, Malfoy, I think to myself- for once this isn’t all about you.
As awkward as I feel, I am determined to finish my declaration, even if I can’t say it with words. I lower my head to rest against his and sigh into his hair. I’m not sure how he will interpret this gesture, but with my previous, if somewhat disjointed admission of lustful thoughts, I can’t imagine how he could mistake my intent. Just to ensure he doesn’t, my hands leave his hips and trail gently up and down his back. I hope he can’t tell how much they’re shaking.
His body stiffens, his hands tighten on my shoulders and his breathing quickens against my neck.
What the bloody fucking hell am I doing? I’ve inadvertently taken a joyride on Potter’s broom, I’ve admitted to being obsessed with his eyes, his tongue and his ass, and now I’m molesting him. Even if he never opens his mouth to Weasley – or, god forbid, the Mudblood- I’ll be too embarrassed to face him for months.
I’m so busy imagining gruesome classroom scenarios that I haven’t noticed something wet pressing against my neck. Now it’s my turn to stiffen. Either Potter’s sweaty fringe is dripping on my collar or...he’s kissing me.
“P-Potter?” I start, trying not to sound as desperate as I feel.
“Mlfffy?” he mouths against my skin and I get goosebumps.
Without thinking, I turn my head to look at him-I need to see him for this to be real. It’s a mistake. As soon as I move he lifts his head to look up at me, taking his mouth with him.
“Shit,” I whisper and press my lips against his. It’s an awkward kiss. I’ve kissed a few girls and I know he has had at least a little experience (again, the school gossip), but I’ve never kissed a bloke. And until now, I’ve never kissed anyone I couldn’t just walk away from.
After only a few seconds, we break apart, both looking away and speaking at the same time.
“I’m sorry-”
“Fuck, I don’t know why-”
Then, even more embarrassed, we stop talking and just stare at each other.
Finally, Potter finds his voice. “That was shit.” Something in my chest lurches painfully off to one side. I can think of no suitable response. “Should we-uh-try it again?” he asks. The thing in my chest lurches back the other way.
Almost shyly, and much more gently, we do try it again. This time I attempt to put some thought into technique. But I get sidetracked wondering at how soft his lips are and how good he tastes and how much I just want to climb into his mouth.
Standing with our bodies pressed together like this, he must feel what effect kissing him has had on me. (Who am I kidding- I’ve been hard since we started fighting.) I slide my thigh between his.
Potter’s eyes squeeze shut and he groans into my mouth. I dive in, tongue-first as his mouth fastens on mine. His kisses lack refinement, but they are earnest and genuine and oh, so wonderful. My arms tighten around his waist, pulling those most sensitive of parts of us closer together.
I can only assume his feelings toward me have changed. But why? Could he have detected this shift in me even when I could not? Does he even think about me? Would Harry Potter, Harry Potter the Gryffindor really let himself be drawn into this just because he is sixteen and would fuck anyone who gives him the chance? There are more appropriate people for Potter to be drawn to, loved by.
And that thought makes me furious. I have invested so much of myself in the pursuit of Potter, it would be unfair for another to blithely make the capture and enjoy the spoils. I’ve certainly not thought to lose myself to anyone I feel undeserving of my attention.
But how is Harry Potter more deserving than a loyal Slytherin? How is it that Potter has earned this obsession and my affection? And then I realise it has come to him as everything did- by doing nothing other than just being himself. Being Harry Potter. He never works toward anything he gets. He just is. And that’s enough.
I no longer recognise myself. I thought I knew who I was. I thought I knew what I wanted: admiration, respect, power. Now I want this. Now all I want is this- this boy in my arms. I can’t think beyond that. I can’t even think beyond this kiss. What should follow it? Do we break apart and pretend this hasn’t happened? Or do we…?
Suddenly my head clears and I let go of him.
TBC
