Title: (Ninth Rehearsal for) The Main Event
Summary: The first invitation Draco received to exact revenge on Harry Potter was a thrill. The second, he'd only considered to be an unexpected bonus. By the third, the chance for a repeat performance of Potter on his knees, bound and gasping, was one that Draco couldn't turn down. This is the ninth time.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: D/s. Bondage. Consent issues. MOD NOTE: Please heed warnings
Epilogue compliant? Doubtful, although this could be set pre-marriage, if you... really want that.
Word Count: ~9,200
Author's Notes: Thanks to my plot bunny fairy for sending me the kernel of this one on a silver platter, and my betas for making sense of it after I twisted the idea around. literaryspell, when I saw your sign-up, I knew we'd be a match made in heaven. I hope you enjoy this. :)
"So. Did you get what you wanted?"
"Really, you need reassurance? You're going soft."
Draco's head snapped up, the parchment spread across his desk forgotten. "Watch your tone."
"I... yes, sir."
"I am only making sure you're taken care of."
"Mm. I am. In fact, I have another idea."
"No. Absolutely not. I'm going to land in Azkaban one of these times."
"Nah. I'd vouch for you."
"Forgive me for not wanting to leave something like that in your hands. Now. Tell me your idea, and I'll tell you if I can do it."
"You can do it."
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Do you need a refresher course on how this works? I decide."
"I know, but hear me out. What about... a kidnapping?"
"... kidnapping." Draco paused. He'd created a monster. "You're serious."
"Yeah. Why not?"
"Oh, I don't know. A million reasons, perhaps?" Draco rubbed his eyes. "You want me to kidnap Harry bloody Potter, the most recognisable man in the wizarding world, in broad daylight–"
"From the Ministry, if you can."
"From... okay. From the Ministry. What on earth am I supposed to do then?"
"You can do whatever you want. That's your thing, isn't it?"
Draco's mouth went dry as memories crashed over him, of being asked to do things like this over and over again; of the way Potter's eyes had widened in surprise when Draco had knocked on his front door that first time; of the feel of Potter's heart hammering under Draco's hands as he'd shoved his way into the house and tied Potter down over his own dining room table.
Of the way Potter had shouted in protest, pressed his forehead against the cool wood, and finally moaned in tortured pleasure as Draco had taken him.
"Yes. That's my thing. But this had better be worth my while."
"Oh, it will be."
"Aren't you the optimist. Azkaban, might I remind you. I refuse to–"
"You won't go to bloody Azkaban! For God's sake. Now give me the potion."
Draco glared. "Try again."
"The potion. Please."
Draco unclenched his fist and slid a small phial across his desk. "I'll know when it's been taken. You'll have twelve hours."
"I'm not exactly new at this."
"For this one, you are. Ready?"
"Oh, not at all."
Draco let the insolence go for once, giving only a warning look.
"Or, at least, I sure hope not."
The door clicked shut, and Draco held in a small smile as he began to plan.
Harry came to with a start. There was only one, maybe two, seconds of disorientation before the memory slammed into him of what had happened. Kingsley would be proud of his response time – that was his first thought. His next thought was that even two seconds was too many to spend confused when in an abduction situation.
Wait, was this actually an abduction situation? He'd been warned it could happen ever since he started Auror training, Kingsley barking at him and his teammates that it didn't make him a prima donna to be ready for it; it made him smart, because there were still people out there who wanted to fight the war all over again.
But no. This couldn't be happening. Could it?
Harry remembered the calm authority of the man in the mask as he'd thrown open the door of the loo down the hall from Harry's office. He remembered glancing up from the sink and shaking the water off his hands. He remembered darting for his wand a second too late. He remembered the strain on his shoulders as his arms were jerked behind his back and bonds clamped around his wrists, the way his stomach flipped with both fear and adrenaline as the man in the mask pressed him against the sink, his chest warm and slightly damp with sweat where it met Harry's back.
"Don't fight me, Harry." A warm mouth had lingered close to Harry's ear. "This will go so much worse for you if you fight."
Harry's heart had stuttered beneath the hand smoothing over his chest. As if he wouldn't fight. He'd tried to call out but found himself silenced by a spell. And then everything had gone black.
His third thought now was that he might actually be in a fair bit of trouble here. He pushed that thought away and opened his eyes to darkness.
Step one, he recited in his head: find out if you're alone. Step two: find out where you are. Harry blinked. Still darkness. His eyelashes scraped against fabric. No glasses. Oh, fucking brilliant. All right, maybe proud wasn't the right word for what Kingsley would be. He tried to keep his breathing even as he listened for signs of a companion or his captor.
There. Across the room. He heard rustling.
"Who are you?" snapped Harry, trying to twist in his bonds to face his attacker.
"Oh, finally." The voice was low and petulant, as though Harry had been the one putting him out. "Did you enjoy your nap?"
He'd been slumped against a wall, his wrists tied behind his back. He should stay still until he knew more of his surroundings, but fuck it. He pushed himself to his knees, squared his shoulders for balance and then rose to his feet. Christ, it was draughty in here. He realised with a thud of his heart that he was shirtless and barefoot, although his trousers seemed to be intact. Keeping his back against the wall for support, he tried to face the point from which he'd heard the voice. "Who are you?" he repeated, breathing hard. "At least tell me what I'm up against."
A small laugh. "Ah, Harry, never stop amusing me. What would you like to be up against – the bureau, perhaps? There's a strong one over here by the door, although, oh, you can't see it. Pity. Let's see." The voice and the rustling moved towards him. "Up against the wall?" Strong hands suddenly curled over his shoulders and whirled him around, thrusting him into the wall face first and only forcing his cheek to the side at the last minute to avoid breaking his nose. How considerate. "Oh yes. I do like you like this."
A frisson of adrenaline shot down to Harry's toes. "Fuck you. Who are you?" he whispered fiercely.
"You know who I am." The voice was quiet but strong, and then there were hands, Christ, fingers smoothing down his chest and around his hips, deft touches dipping under the waist of his trousers. The fingers nudged his bound wrists to the side and slid lower, rubbing at the cleft of his arse.
Okay. This was not the kind of abduction he'd expected when he'd first opened his eyes. His mind flashed back to the man in the mask, before he'd lost consciousness. He had touched Harry like this too, or nearly so, pressing up against him from behind and whispering in his ear. Now Harry was shirtless, blindfolded, bound, possibly kidnapped, and was being manhandled by some lunatic with a deep, purring voice that was not fucking helping the situation.
"Think, Harry," his captor said now. "This could go very, very well for you if you just let go and give yourself up to me. Who do you want me to be?"
Horrified, Harry couldn't stop his mind from blossoming with visions he'd long suppressed, thoughts and fantasies that kept him awake at night. They were always variations on the same theme, the same person – a sneering mouth put to better use; fistfuls of blond hair light between his fingers; or sometimes (and this was really fucking embarrassing for someone his age) green and silver school robes pooled on the floor, while a lithe body climbed over him and snarled insults down his chest.
A small gasp escaped Harry's mouth before he could stop it.
"Ah." That mouth closed over his shoulder, teeth scraping at him as the wandering fingers achieved a tight grip around his hips. "I thought so."
"You can't be." But Harry wasn't sure; the blindfold had disoriented him more than he cared to admit. He was having trouble with the voice. Fuck, this was basic training: he was being held against his will, bound and blindfolded, but somewhere along the line, the fear had turned to something else. He needed to get free, he knew that, and yet every time that voice said something to him, every time those hands and lips dragged over his skin, he felt a trickle of energy down his spine that wasn't entirely unwelcome. He tried to shake off whatever spell he'd obviously been put under. His back stiffened and the mouth lifted off him. "Let me go, now," he said, his voice shaky, "and I won't bring you up on charges."
A pause. The body that had hovered so close behind him was gone, but Harry remained slumped against the wall, pressing his forehead against it. When the voice spoke again, it seemed to be across the room. "Stop this, Potter. I'm bored of it. What would you charge me with? Be reasonable."
Definitely across the room. Now was his chance. "Malfoy," he growled, as the familiarity of the voice suddenly pierced him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? You won't get away with this." Harry concentrated on his wand, on channelling the power to Summon it non-verbally, but he didn't do it. Not yet.
"Won't I?" Malfoy did sound bored, dammit. Harry clenched his jaw. "Oh, I don't know about that. There are powerful people out there who wanted this to happen to you, Potter. They asked me very nicely if I'd be willing to oblige." He gave a soft laugh. "And who was I to say no?"
Harry's head spun. "People like who? What did you say you'd do?"
The laugh trailed off, and Malfoy didn't speak again. Harry whirled around, his fingers searching out the wall behind him so he didn't fall. Beneath the blindfold, his eyes moved frantically.
Still no answer, but Harry was certain that Malfoy hadn't left the room. He must be watching him, watching how worked up Harry was getting. Hell, maybe the bastard was even getting off on it. Not three minutes ago Harry's fate had looked very different, with Malfoy's mouth on his shoulder and Malfoy's hands working over his bare chest.
Malfoy's mouth. Harry caught his breath at the memory, now that he knew for sure who it was. His shoulder still tingled from the scrape of teeth, and his cock was stirring from the memory of the harsh grip of fingers around his hips as Malfoy had leaned close. "Malfoy, I swear to God, you give me a fucking answer or I'll–"
Harry's mouth hung open, but the words vanished on his tongue. There was something in Malfoy's voice, an edge he hadn't heard before. He wasn't shouting; the two syllables of Harry's name had come out calmly, and yet Harry dared not shout over them. "What?" he snapped after a pause.
"I don't want to hear you speak."
There it was again, that same delicate edge. Harry tried to clear his head. "Yeah, well," he managed, "fuck you, because maybe you don't get to make the decisions. Now take this fucking blindfold off before I–"
"Before you what?" The delicate calm turned nastier, and the voice came closer. Harry imagined he could feel Malfoy's body heat radiating just to his left. "No, please, do tell me what decisions you would be so happy to make in this situation. You'd decide to free your hands and your eyes, would you? Very well. Then what? You don't know where you are. Would you decide to Floo? Apparate away when you don't know how far you are from your destination? We could be in Switzerland for all you know; are you really going to set off at a run down the lane? Oh, I'm sure the neighbours would love to see that."
Harry opened his mouth to interrupt but found he didn't know what to say. Malfoy was right.
"No," Malfoy continued, "you're not going anywhere until I'm finished with you." He stepped closer, his forefinger cradling Harry's chin while his thumb swiped lightly across Harry's bottom lip. "And I'll never be finished," he added softly, "if you don't shut your fucking mouth."
In the back of his mind, Harry knew he should lean forward and bite Malfoy's thumb off. But the voice washed over him, the harsh words settling low in his body and sparking something he couldn't even identify.
Malfoy's thumb paused in the centre of Harry's lip, lightly teasing it with the hint of his nail. Harry's lips parted and his mouth went dry. "That's better," he murmured. "Now get on the bed."
Harry's stomach did a slow, steady flip. "What?"
"I'm not repeating myself every five seconds just because you're going to pretend you didn't hear me. Did you think I invited you here to chat? Catch up on old times?" Malfoy's voice hardened. "Get on the bed. Now."
As if anticipating Harry's protest that he couldn't bloody see, so he didn't know where the bed bloody was – which, wait, that wasn't the right protest – Malfoy gripped his shoulder and manoeuvred him across the room, throwing him forward.
Harry cursed and braced for the fall, finding himself hitting the soft but sudden surface of a mattress, as promised, with his right shoulder as a cushion. It still jarred him. "Take the blindfold off," he heard himself mutter.
"Just, I can't even see."
"You don't need to be able to see."
"I don't care! Take it off."
Malfoy was quiet for a moment, as Harry hauled himself up into a sitting position. His heart was hammering. "How about the bonds?" Malfoy asked at last.
"What? Yeah, those too."
"You didn't ask for that."
"I just did!"
Suddenly Malfoy was behind him, shoving him face down with a strong hand planted between Harry's shoulder blades. "I will consider removing your blindfold, although I don't think you have quite given it a chance. Darkness can be freeing, if you're willing to trust it."
"But not the bonds." The hand pressed further into the middle of Harry's back, and Harry felt a thrill at the weight. It felt like he truly couldn't get up, not even if he tried. He should have panicked at that, but he... didn't. His body sank into the softness of the bed, and he huffed out a grunt as his lungs were constricted.
"Fuck... you," he managed, swallowing hard.
Malfoy lowered himself over Harry's body, his knees squeezing Harry's hips and his chest warm against Harry's back. Oh, Christ, Malfoy must be shirtless, too; Harry felt skin against his back, whispers of hair and muscle below his shoulder blades. His hands were still tied behind his back, and where Malfoy was leaning, Harry's fingers were brushing over the bare skin of Malfoy's abdomen. The voice at his ear made Harry's spine tingle. "Not the bonds," whispered Malfoy. He sat up over Harry's thighs and ran his hands down Harry's arms, pausing to trace the muscles of his triceps and forearms. Harry shivered before clenching his fingers into fists, ready to knock Malfoy's hands away.
But Malfoy's touch was light, so much that Harry forgot his plan to struggle. Soft fingers trailed over his fists, seeking out the dips in his knuckles, before tracing slowly over the straps of the bonds.
"Focus on them, Potter. How do they feel?"
Harry instinctively tried to wrench his head around to glare at Malfoy, despite the blindfold. How the fuck did he think they felt? "I feel like I'm a fucking captive," he bit out, "with no wand, and no idea where the fuck I am, and you being–"
"How do they feel?" interrupted Malfoy, his voice curt as he slipped a finger between the loosest bond and the skin of Harry's wrist, rubbing lightly. His finger moved back and forth, calluses catching over the hairs at Harry's wrist. The new tightness made his arms tingle, and to his surprise, he didn't even think to shy away from Malfoy's touch.
His shoulders were beginning to ache from the tension, but he found himself silently begging Malfoy to replace that light touch along Harry's wrists with a strong hand clamped around his arm, holding him down and shoving him further into the mattress. He mashed his face against the covers as his cock began to fill. Jesus fucking Christ. He couldn't answer.
He heard Malfoy swallow. "Very good," he said softly.
Inexplicably, something like pride blossomed in Harry's mind at the praise. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head.
"But as much as I like the thought of holding you down and fucking you while you suffocate in a pillow–"
The breath whooshed from Harry's lungs.
"–I'd much rather see your face when I come."
But he couldn't see Harry's face yet, not really, and Harry took those next ten seconds to bring himself under control. Christ, what was the matter with him? The words had shot straight to his cock, and under the blindfold he had seen visions of exactly what Malfoy had said – his body fucked wide open underneath Malfoy, writhing with him and begging for more. This was insane.
All at once, Harry felt the blindfold drop away and the bonds melt from his wrists. Malfoy was sitting back on his heels when Harry turned around to look. Harry scrambled into a sitting position and tried to achieve the frame of mind to Summon his wand and run for it. Except his body didn't seem to be moving. He was staring at Malfoy.
Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Malfoy was barefoot, wearing pressed trousers but no belt, his button-down shirt open and fluttering about his chest. God, he had more muscle tone that Harry would have thought him capable of, lean and strong. His jaw was set, but colour had risen on his cheeks and his hair was dishevelled, as though he'd been running his hand through it. He didn't exactly look like a dangerous Death Eater captor.
"Like what you see, Potter?"
Harry steeled his jaw, dropping his eyes. "You wish."
A smile quirked at Malfoy's lips. "That I do," he said softly. "More than you even know."
Breathing hard, Harry struggled to right himself and get this bloody situation back under control. He opened his mouth intending to Summon his wand, but that wasn't what came out. "I thought you said the bonds stay." He clamped his mouth shut.
"Did I?" A lazy half-smile dented Malfoy's face. "Why, you're right. I nearly forgot. You like the bonds, don't you?" He picked his wand up from beside his hip and pointed it at Harry.
Two streams of flexible rope shot out and latched onto each of Harry's wrists, affixing them to the headboard this time. His back slammed against it and he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, Malfoy was sliding off the bed and sauntering around to the end of it, gazing back at Harry with appraising eyes. Harry suddenly felt even more vulnerable and exposed, his chest bare and his trousers tight at the crotch. Fuck.
"I think we're done talking, Potter." With another controlled flick of his wand and a whispered word, Malfoy melted Harry's trousers away, leaving him tied to the fucking bed in nothing but his pants. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It's obvious you're enjoying yourself, so why don't you stop pretending you don't want this?"
Every bit of Harry's being wanted to fire off a retort, to scream at Malfoy to let him free and fuck off and never come near him again. But he didn't. He could barely understand why, but he didn't. He remained silent.
Malfoy seemed just as surprised as Harry was. Malfoy paused, tilting his head to the side. "Why don't you stop pretending, Potter," he continued, "that you don't want a big bad man to hold you down and fuck you raw."
"You're not that big."
Malfoy paused. "Are you sure about that?"
Harry's eyes fell closed, and a quiet moan left his mouth before he could stop it. He struggled for control again, batting back the images assaulting his mind. "Malfoy," he growled, "it's the middle of a fucking Thursday afternoon. I don't know what you think you're doing, or what you think you want, but you can't actually keep me here against my will. And you sure as hell can't– can't fuck me. You're bloody insane if you think–"
There it was again, that edge to Malfoy's voice that could stop Harry in his tracks. Harry felt his entire body tense under Malfoy's gaze, his chest pulled taut as his wrists were pinned on either side of his head, and his traitorous dick stirring under the dark elastic of his pants.
Malfoy walked slowly around the side of the bed. "Don't make me gag you."
Harry's eyes widened.
"I've clearly been too lenient with you, allowing you free rein to speak whenever you please." He waved a hand over Harry's body. "Allowing you to dictate the terms of how this will go."
Malfoy slammed his palm against the wall above Harry's head. "If you say one more fucking word, Potter," he shouted, "I will take you dry, leave you in a pile on this bed and call your favourite Prophet correspondent to come clean you up."
Harry hissed in a breath, his jaw clenched.
"So I suggest you shut your mouth." His tone softened again, and Harry struggled to keep his breathing even. The way Malfoy could move from shouting to whispering, all with such authority... Christ, Harry never would have guessed at this side of him. Never would have guessed how he himself would respond to it.
"Fine," growled Harry, turning his face away. "Get it over with, then."
The corner of Malfoy's mouth curled up. He reached his hand out and dragged his knuckles in a gentle pattern down Harry's chest and stomach. Harry shivered under the touch, trying to remember that he was being held here against his will. "Why, Potter, that almost sounded like consent. Careful. You wouldn't want to bore me." His fingers drifted lower, smoothing over the outline of Harry's hard cock where it pressed at the elastic of his pants.
At the tiny touch, Harry couldn't hold back a groan.
Malfoy kept going, his hand moving lower still, brushing over Harry's balls. Harry bit his bottom lip, his jaw jammed shut. Malfoy paused. "Nothing to say?"
Harry glared at him but kept his mouth shut as instructed. He wasn't ready for the way Malfoy's face shifted, his eyes darkening and his lips parting a little bit as he gazed down at Harry.
"Perfect," whispered Malfoy. "Keep it that way." He pressed his fingers against Harry's balls with more purpose this time, sliding back up and nearly cupping his entire hand around Harry's erection. Brows furrowed, Harry struggled again not to speak. Abruptly, Malfoy pulled his hand away.
He moved across the room and paused in front of an armchair. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders at last, he dropped it to the floor before picking up a drink from a sideboard and lifting it to his lips. Ice cubes clinked in the glass as Malfoy drained the amber liquid. He put it down again, wiping his mouth with the back of two fingers, before settling into the armchair.
Harry couldn't take his eyes off him.
Malfoy sat with his legs spread wide, his trousers rumpled now from moving about on the bed. His hair fell into his eyes and he kept sweeping it aside. His stomach muscles clenched as he sat, and despite his somewhat relaxed demeanour, Harry had the distinct impression that Malfoy was holding himself still in a pose of calculated authority. He wasn't looking at Harry, and Harry had a sudden urge to draw his attention.
He still dared not speak. Slowly, Harry wet his lips, waiting as patiently as he could for... whatever he was waiting for.
They sat in silence for a long moment, Harry listening to the tick-tock of a clock in another room. The more time that went by, the more settled he began to feel. It was bizarre. Before, out of fear and anger, Harry had been thrashing about, frantically trying to formulate a plan to retrieve his wand and escape, to alert the other Aurors and punish Malfoy for this stunt. But he hadn't been able to do it; he hadn't known where to begin. He was a good Auror; that wasn't the trouble.
What was it, then? Why did he now feel such contentment just to wait for Malfoy's next move?
Malfoy turned his head at last to look directly at Harry. "You may answer the following question in as few words as possible," he said.
Harry blinked at him, waiting.
"Are you still trying to escape?"
"I–" Harry glanced down his body. "It seems... no."
Malfoy nodded. "Why not?"
Harry wet his lips. "I don't know."
"Wrong." Malfoy rose from his chair, and Harry felt a small thrill. "You may answer the following question in as few words as possible," repeated Malfoy, strolling towards the bed, his hands in his pockets and his gaze pinned on Harry. "Why are you not trying to escape?"
"I don't know," said Harry again.
Malfoy paused at the side of the bed. Then, with one swift, vicious movement, he grabbed the band of Harry's pants and tugged them down until his cock sprang free, jostling against the dark hair low on his abdomen. Harry bit back a gasp at the barbarity of the gesture. They hadn't ripped, but fuck, he wished they had. Malfoy was still tugging, working them down Harry's thighs and then stopping. The fabric trapped his thighs together even while releasing his cock and balls, which were now on full display for Malfoy. Harry felt himself flush, but he tried to hold his chin up. "Why are you not trying to escape, you dirty slut?" hissed Malfoy, his fingers curling against Harry's thigh.
The words punched Harry in the gut, and he took in a shuddering breath. "I don't know," he gasped.
"Wrong." Malfoy's voice rose. "Look at me."
As if Harry would be looking anywhere else. His breath was coming in short bursts as he watched Malfoy unzip his trousers, slowly and precisely, pushing them with his pants down his hips and stepping out of them. Harry's throat went dry at the sight of his dick, thick and long if not fully hard yet, but that – oh, Christ, that was already changing. Malfoy dragged his thumb and two fingers leisurely along his length, and his body responded at once. A pearly drop appeared at the tip, and Harry couldn't take his eyes off it.
His tongue slipped out to wet his lips before he realised it.
Malfoy smirked, climbing on the bed. He moved quickly, no longer pausing to touch Harry or fire insults at him. In a few short movements, he was straddling Harry's chest and pressing his cock up to Harry's mouth. One palm flattened against the headboard and the other held his cock just a fraction away from Harry's lips.
"Why are you not trying to escape, Potter?"
"I– Christ." Harry's voice was ragged. "I don't know, okay?"
"Is it because you want to choke on my cock?"
God, yes. Harry closed his eyes against the urges Malfoy's words were inciting in him, but he immediately felt the wet tip of Malfoy's cock smearing over his mouth. He parted his lips without even thinking about it, without consciously making the decision, and with an exaggerated groan, Malfoy slid between them.
"Oh, I should have shut you up like this from the very start," Malfoy was murmuring, pushing himself roughly into Harry's mouth. "Look at you. Don't even think about biting it off. If you do that, you'll never be able to feel it shoving up your arse, and I know that's what you really want. Fucking gagging for it, Potter. I know you."
Harry's nostrils flared as he struggled for breath, but Christ, the wet weight of Malfoy's cock choking him, too thick and too rough, it was doing something to him that he'd never felt before. It wasn't up to him. He couldn't do anything but take it, and the thought of Malfoy making all the decisions about what was going to happen, what Harry's body could take, there was something completely fucked up and fantastic about that. His mouth watered around Malfoy's prick, his tongue pressing against the underside and his teeth catching lightly at the top.
Malfoy hissed and grabbed Harry's hair, forcing himself deeper. Harry arched his neck, using the bonds as leverage to meet Malfoy halfway, but fuck, his jaw hurt and he needed to breathe. He faltered a bit, trying to swallow, and Malfoy gripped his hair even tighter. "Take it, Potter. I don't give a fuck if you suffocate on it."
Harry's hands curled into fists at the bonds, and by accident he must have opened his throat as he tried to gasp at Malfoy's words. On the next thrust, Malfoy slid in deep, scraping Harry's throat and groaning above him. He held himself deep inside for one, two, fuck, three seconds, and just as Harry's lungs tightened and he began to panic, Malfoy pulled back, his cock sliding free and hovering over Harry's mouth. Harry coughed and sputtered, panting for breath.
Malfoy only watched him, saying nothing. Harry glared up at him when he'd caught his breath, his chest still heaving where Malfoy sat astride him. "Very good," said Malfoy quietly, tracing Harry's lips with his index finger. "Do you want to please me even more?"
Stunned, Harry still said nothing. He only closed his eyes and continued breathing hard, both soothed and confused by the path of Malfoy's finger on his mouth.
"You may answer me," added Malfoy, his voice still soft. His finger stilled, before moving down Harry's jaw.
"I don't know," said Harry honestly.
"Hm." Malfoy climbed off him and moved down the bed. "I wish you'd answered differently, but no matter." He shoved Harry's pants the rest of the way down and then pushed Harry's thighs open. He settled between them, one hand gripping Harry's calf and forcing his knee up. His gaze travelled slowly up Harry's body until it reached his eyes. "I'll just have to make you answer differently."
Malfoy pushed Harry's knee up further, and Harry closed his eyes at what he knew – hoped, fuck – was about to happen. The fingers circling his hole were neither rough nor gentle, and Harry gasped even before Malfoy tried to push them inside. The very thought, it just – Christ. Panic warred with arousal. He could just let it happen, he knew. He'd fucking fantasised about this; he couldn't lie to himself, and now here he was, hard and aching and at Malfoy's mercy, about to feel Malfoy's fingers pressing him open and Malfoy's cock fucking him senseless. He could just lie here, tied up and helpless, and let it all happen.
God, he wanted to let it all happen.
But, no, fuck. In a fresh wave of panic, he pulled at the bonds, his biceps drawing tight and his stomach muscles clenching. "No," he bit out. "I don't..."
Malfoy glanced up.
Cursing, Harry turned his head towards the wall. "Get some fucking lube, at least," he muttered. "I've never–" he pressed his lips together before forcing the words out – "I've never done this."
Malfoy stared at him for a few seconds before barking out a laugh. "Oh, really?" he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Well, that's a new one," he added under his breath. He shook his head and briefly closed his eyes, his fingers pausing outside Harry's hole. He looked annoyed. "Never had a fat prick up your arse, Potter? I don't believe it. An arse like yours is just begging for it. Criminal, in fact, that you're allowed to walk around with this on display." He squeezed one of Harry's cheeks, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Harry's face.
"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy."
"But, all right," continued Malfoy, speaking up to drown out Harry's protests. "If you must insist this is just so entirely new to you, I promise to be gentle." He whispered a spell, and Harry felt a cool, slippery sensation over Malfoy's fingers. Without any further talk, he drove – God, was it two? three? – fingers hard into Harry's arse, knocking the breath from his lungs.
"Fuck," Harry gasped, instinctively using the bonds at his wrists to haul himself up and attempt to get his hips off the bed. Malfoy draped his free arm across Harry's chest and held him down.
"Oh, wait." Malfoy twisted his hand, coating Harry's insides with lube and pumping his fingers in and out. "No, I guess I don't promise that at all."
"Malfoy–" Harry choked out, his body burning and his spine alight with sensation.
"Potter," Malfoy shot back, and it was that same tone he'd used before when speaking Harry's name, that same inflection that sizzled through Harry's body and brooked no argument. "Not another word," he added, breathless himself now.
Harry's head fell back to the headboard and he gazed up at the ceiling. This wasn't happening.
"How dare you lie to me," continued Malfoy in a low voice, his fingers pressing in insistent waves inside Harry's body, "telling me you're some untouched angel. I know you, Potter. I know all your deep, dark secrets, all the things you do in your bedroom that you think no one else knows about." His fingers pressed deeper, nudging at a spot that made Harry's body coil tight and white light streak up his spine.
Harry grunted, tilting his head back, and felt even his fingertips prickle with arousal. Jesus fucking Christ.
"I know that you could come from this alone, you filthy tease, writhing on my hand without so much as a breath on your cock. But you don't get to do that right now." Malfoy suddenly pulled his hand free, wiping his fingers on the sheets and grasping each of Harry's thighs in his hands. He bent Harry in half, pressing his legs up until Harry could feel Malfoy's thick cock against his entrance.
His eyes fluttered closed, and he tried to breathe. Christ, the feel of Malfoy's strong grip on his thighs was like a drug, a steadying, anchoring influence that somehow calmed him. Malfoy was lean; Harry had no doubt that he himself was the stronger of them, that he could overpower Malfoy if he tried, and maybe take a swing at that perfect bloody face before Summoning his wand. His legs had more muscle, too; he could kick at Malfoy's jaw and send him clear across the room if he wanted to. He also felt a low buzz in the back of his mind, a sensation increasing in strength that told him he could stop this if he said the right thing, the right words. It wouldn't take much to draw them out.
He didn't want to.
"So, what do I get right now?"
Malfoy paused, gazing down at him. "Excuse me?"
"If I don't get to come on your hand," he said slowly, his chest heaving and his body already on fire, "then what do I get?"
Malfoy only stared at him, surprise melting into determination. Without another word, Malfoy drove forward, his grip tight around Harry's ankles now and his cock pushing through the resistance of Harry's body.
Harry's jaw clamped shut and he felt his nostrils flare as he struggled for control. His body was a mess of sensations, guilt and shame battling a desire so acute he didn't even know how to describe it. His cock ached and his insides spasmed around Malfoy's dick, the sensation settling low in his stomach and making his pulse pound in his ears.
"What do you get?" Malfoy was saying, his voice rough and breathless. "You get fucked, Potter. You get tied down and spread open and fucked, just like the cockslut you are. And you will take it–" he pulled free, all the way to the tip, before slamming back in – "and you will like it, and you will beg me for more before I'm through with you."
Harry couldn't help himself; he closed his eyes and groaned, a deep rumble in his chest that still betrayed only half of what he was feeling. Malfoy had no rhythm yet; he was simply shoving all the way in, holding himself still for a few seconds, and then withdrawing completely before doing it all again. Stuffed full and left empty; the loop of it had Harry struggling for breath and aching for release. He couldn't decide which sensation he wanted more of.
Malfoy pressed him back against the bed and prised his thighs wide open, even more than before, spreading him obscenely and watching with darkened eyes as his cock speared into Harry at each thrust. He gripped the backs of Harry's thighs, hooking his thumbs under Harry's bent knees, and used his grip for leverage. The powerful drive of his cock made Harry's head spin, every nerve ending focused on his arse and the deep sensation of – Christ, just as Malfoy had said – getting fucked.
He was tied to the fucking bed, completely at Malfoy's mercy, with no option but to let Malfoy take control, let him do whatever he wanted to Harry's body. Let him use Harry for pleasure. The realisation of it thundered across Harry's consciousness, and to his surprise, he felt himself letting go.
No one was looking to him for the answers for once. No one was forcing him to be the leader he'd never been. Sex had never been this good before. Never. Harry didn't want to think too closely about what that said about him.
"God, Harry," Malfoy was muttering, letting Harry's legs fall to the side as he leaned over Harry's body and bit at his neck and jaw. His weight folded Harry in half and his cock shoved in hard, even as he buried his face in Harry's neck and breathed him in deeply. "You gorgeous fucking prick, letting me do this to you every time..."
Malfoy's stomach was rubbing up Harry's cock, sandwiched between their bodies, and fuck, the jolt of it fluttered down Harry's body and lodged deep inside him. He felt the wave begin quietly, his body circling the point of the pleasure and zeroing in bit by bit. The rough hair on Malfoy's lower abdomen scratched up Harry's cock, even as Malfoy's prick shoved into him over and over again, fucking him wide open. The circle spun tighter, crashing over Harry as he writhed in the bonds, his wrists chafing and his vision exploding in a flash of colour. With a great heaving groan, he came between their bodies, his cock smashed up into Malfoy's belly. He felt the pulses down to his toes and the warm wetness hitting his stomach and chest as Malfoy's body smeared it over him. Malfoy raised himself up again as if brought back to earth, his lips full from planting rough kisses up Harry's neck and shoulder.
"You got your filthy come on me," he growled, sitting back on his heels and grasping Harry's thighs again. He began to fuck Harry even harder, shoving in until his hips were flush against Harry's arse before pulling out again. "I didn't say you could come," he spat. "I didn't say you could do anything but take my cock and thank me for it."
The stimulation against his prostate now that he'd orgasmed was almost painful in its intensity, but his body wasn't finished with this, with Malfoy. He hauled himself forward on the bonds and pushed back with every thrust, meeting Malfoy halfway. Malfoy fucked him so thoroughly Harry began to see stars, unable to control the sounds spilling from his mouth or the breath catching in his throat.
With a grunt, Malfoy finally stilled inside him, grinding his hips in hard, steady circles as his orgasm filled Harry with streams of come. The pulses jerked through Harry's body, ripples anchored deep within him. Malfoy took in a deep, shuddering breath, his hands trembling over Harry's thighs and his hair falling forward into his damp face. They stayed glued together for a long, panting moment, the room still spinning around Harry and the thought of what he'd just done – what he'd just allowed to happen – crashing over him.
"One more time, Potter," said Malfoy, still struggling to catch his breath. His cock stayed inside, and Harry had trouble meeting his eyes. "Why didn't you try to escape?" His voice was soft, almost pleading, and it finally drew Harry's gaze.
His chest heaving, he wet his lips and looked Malfoy squarely in the eye. "Because I didn't want to," he whispered. The urge for honesty quickly morphed into anger. "Happy?" he added.
Malfoy regarded him but didn't answer. His head dropped to watch their joined bodies as he slowly pulled out. Harry's eyes fell closed at the sensation, the trail of wetness following Malfoy's softened prick. When he was free, Malfoy took another moment to slide his prick up over Harry's balls, smearing come.
"Fuck, Malfoy," whispered Harry.
But if he'd thought they might have a postcoital moment together, he was mistaken. Malfoy was on his feet in seconds, spelling himself clean before stepping into his trousers and hauling them up – albeit with trembling hands, Harry noticed. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on, leaving it unbuttoned. "The bonds will release soon," Malfoy said as he headed for the door. "Apparition coordinates are on the bureau, and your clothes are in the other room." He gave a vague gesture with his hand.
"Malfoy, wait." Harry struggled to sit up, straining against the bonds. His body was wrecked with adrenaline and exhaustion, still tingling everywhere Malfoy had touched him. He gave up and collapsed back down to the bed. "What– just– What the fuck was this?"
A strange look came over Malfoy's face at that. Harry thought he was going to blow him off, just sail through that door without answering, but he didn't. "Did you enjoy it?" he asked, his voice low.
A renewed charge shot up Harry's spine at the question. "You basically abducted me," he said defensively.
"Mm. I suppose I did. That's not what I asked."
"I'm not– I–" Harry swallowed. "You know I did," he finally admitted, his eyes on his lap.
"And I knew you would."
Harry's head jerked up. He stared at Malfoy, but Malfoy was turned towards the door, checking a timepiece he'd pulled from his pocket. "Meet me for drinks tonight," he said, as if there were nothing at all unusual about that request. "You know where. Well, you will in a bit. Eight o'clock. If you don't have me arrested before then, that is. Everything will be clear." He raised his head at that and pointed his index finger at Harry. "Don't have me arrested, you cad," he repeated, tucking the timepiece away. "That includes sending Weasley to my office with a set of handcuffs and a fake warrant you had Teddy write in crayon. You'll be free in fifteen minutes."
Harry blinked. "What? Malfoy–"
"Oh, and here." He opened the bureau drawer and pulled out Harry's glasses, setting them on top.
"Hey, give me–"
But he was already gone.
That was a long fucking fifteen minutes.
Harry's mind raced, flipping through potential explanations for why Malfoy had done this, seizing Harry in such brute fashion from his workplace, for God's sake, and taking him somewhere... for a fuck? Christ, he might have just asked. But Harry pushed that thought aside as quickly as it appeared. There could be no asking, no dating someone like Malfoy. Physical desires aside, the entire idea was absurd. Maybe Malfoy had come to the same conclusion, and that was why he'd done it this way.
But then, the way he'd treated Harry, how did he... know... to do that? Harry had never told anyone about his desires before. Never.
As promised, the bonds soon melted away from Harry's wrists, and he was surprised to realise that he'd never doubted they would. As the bonds disappeared, a strange sensation began behind Harry's eyes. His mind seemed to fill with fog, wisps of images swirling around as if filtering back in. There was Malfoy, shirtless and stalking towards Harry where he was stretched out on a bed, but not this one, a different one, with a brass headboard and a – wait, no, there he was himself, kneeling with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed, Malfoy's fingers light in his hair and his – no, it changed again, to an image of Malfoy sitting in the dark corner of a room, sipping wine and instructing Harry, naked and hard at the edge of the bed, about how to touch himself.
The first eight, and then even earlier. His dining room table. Oh, fucking hell, that one had been brilliant. It all came back, his head clearing and a triumphant grin spreading across his face.
He stayed on the bed awhile longer, rotating his hands and wriggling the blood back into his fingers. He was covered in come, his arse ached, and his thighs burned. Kidnapped. Christ. He shook his head fondly, his mind racing with possibilities for next time.
Harry didn't make it to eight o'clock. He hadn't yet, not once.
Draco glanced up from his parchment at the sound of his office door opening abruptly and then slamming shut, only an hour after leaving Harry tied to the bed. "No," he said, dropping his gaze again and finishing the sentence he'd been writing.
"No, so quit asking."
Draco could feel the bastard grinning at him without even looking up. "You haven't heard my next idea."
"Your ideas are terrible, Potter." Draco finally set his quill down and glared at him.
"My ideas," he said, walking forward with his arms folded over his chest, "are giving you the best sex of your life. Admit it."
He was right, damn him, but Draco wasn't about to let him know that. "Watch it," he said quietly. He had to control his breathing when, only slipping halfway into his submissive role, Harry lowered his head and pressed his lips together. "I think you've been making too many decisions lately," he added. "You're forgetting your place."
"Sorry, sir," Harry murmured, holding back a grin.
Draco had to restrain himself from stepping out from behind his desk and throwing Harry over it, spanking that smirk off his face. He considered it. Maybe that was the idiot's next idea.
"Are you pleased with me?" ventured Harry, giving him an impish look that didn't match the roughness of his voice. Draco had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He leaned back in his chair.
"You'll do. You didn't have me arrested for kidnapping, at least not yet, so that is a point in your favour."
"I told you I wouldn't! Christ."
"I'm still not leaving that in your hands. Now. You'd better tell me your idea, so I can get some work done today, and then I can tell you if you get to have it."
"I think you'll like it."
"I think you'd best stop thinking you can decide what I will or will not like."
Harry breathed in deeply, wetting his lips. Oh, the way he could make Harry melt before his very eyes with only a few well-timed phrases, and by altering the tenor of his voice, never ceased to amaze, and arouse, Draco. He decided to push Harry a bit further.
"I think, in fact," he began slowly, rising from his chair and moving across the room, "you've become far too used to getting exactly what you want." He traced the dark shadow of Harry's jaw with his fingertips as Harry held himself still, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I think I've spoilt you."
"Is that so?"
"I didn't say you could speak," he said quietly, his mouth hovering over Harry's. He waited one more second, maybe two, and then closed the distance between them. Harry immediately acquiesced, letting Draco take what he wanted from the kiss while still drawing Draco closer with one hand curled around Draco's bicep. Harry's lips were always warm and full, and Draco let himself infuse a bit of tenderness into the possessive kiss. "What else must I do to shut you up?" he murmured against Harry's mouth.
Harry swallowed and closed his eyes, holding in a smile.
"Now." Draco stepped back, smoothing down his robes as an idea formed in his mind. "Home invasion, robbery, kidnapping... your tastes are so plebeian."
Harry rolled his eyes. "And what would please his highness?"
Draco was on him again in a flash, his hand gripping Harry's chin and jaw and pressing him back against the wall. The way Harry's eyes had gone dark and his heart was hammering, Draco could tell even before pushing in further against his body that Harry was getting hard. "Watch," he whispered, "your mouth."
Harry slipped then, his eyes falling closed. "Draco," he choked out.
Draco let his hand fall to the collar of Harry's shirt, moving down against his throat and applying a bit of pressure. He slid his free hand into the pocket of his robes and produced a small phial. "Last one," he murmured, holding it up. "My turn this time, my decision," he added, searching Harry's eyes. "No warning."
Harry's mouth fell open. He let out a quiet moan, the back of his head landing against the wall.
"No warning," Draco repeated. He turned the phial in his fingers. "I'll know when you take it. It will happen within twelve hours after that. Something will happen to you. Something I choose this time." He paused, his fingers now light over Harry's collarbone where his shirt opened at the neck. "Do you trust me?"
Harry was still for a moment. "Course not," he whispered at last, a small smile quirking his lips. "I'd be mad to, wouldn't I?"
Draco allowed himself a hint of a grin in return. He would never tire of the things Harry made him feel. "That you would." Draco held his gaze, sensing Harry's heart rate slow under Draco's palm as it moved down his body, easing into a strong, steady, trusting thrum.
After regarding him carefully, Harry leaned in close, brushing a kiss over Draco's cheek. "Give me that," he whispered in his ear. Fingers pushed through Draco's to get at the phial, and Draco let Harry take it from him, wrapping it tight in his own fist as he headed for the door.
When he got there, he lingered a second with his hand over the doorknob. "Ready?" he called over his shoulder.
"For you?" Draco smirked, desperately trying to hold back his arousal. "Never."
With a grin, Harry sauntered out the door.
Nine Times Ago
Draco rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up on his elbows. He leaned over Harry, appraising every line and mark on his face, the way his tongue sat just behind his parted lips when he was turned on, the way the wreck of his hair stood stark against the pillow. He wondered just how far Harry would let him go. He reached out and tilted Harry's chin towards him. "Will you give me everything?" he murmured.
Harry laughed. "That wasn't everything? Christ, I won't walk straight for a week. What else have you got up your sleeve?" His grin turned fond, and that hint of tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip.
"Mind your tone," said Draco reflexively, but he saw Harry roll his eyes. Once Harry was covered in semen and yawning like a baby, their roles were as good as dead. He sighed. "You know me now." He leaned in to bite at Harry's jaw. "You know what I like to do, like to ask of you. There are no surprises anymore."
Harry's face instantly shuttered. "Bored, Malfoy?" he bit out.
"No, you arse, so don't get your kit in a snit. I'm only suggesting we try something a bit different."
Harry regarded him. "Yeah?"
Draco pulled back and shrugged. "If you'd like."
"No, if you'd like."
Ah, not such a simpleton after all. It had taken some training, but now Harry was a remarkably astute submissive. Powerful, too. It made Draco yearn to test him even further than he had so far. The Auror who likes to be handcuffed, Draco had remarked to him in wonder that very first time, earning him a glare from Harry that nearly burned through the blindfold. The sycophant who likes giving orders, he'd shot back. In punishment for that, Draco had wrestled a cock ring onto him and refused to let him come till morning. Giving him a stern look now, Draco nodded.
Harry's face took on a dangerously mischievous expression. "New rules?"
"New safe word?"
Annoyed, Draco shot him a look. "What, are you completely new to this now? Never fucking change your safe word. It's as good as grafted into your skull, you idiot."
Harry stretched out on his back, scratching his bare chest before folding his arms under his head and nearly elbowing Draco in the nose as he did so. He grinned at Draco's glare. "It'll hold?"
Draco blinked at him, and the grin deepened.
"Through what you're proposing, I mean."
"How do you know what–"
"Come on, Draco," he said softly, but there was excitement in his eyes. "You want more surprises. I can guess what you're thinking, and if I'm wrong, then I have a proposal of my own, don't I?" He paused. "How far are you willing to go?"
"How much are you willing to take?" God, Draco was getting hard again just thinking about this. The sheets draped across Harry's hips, and the casual way he was lying there, sated and rumpled, made Draco want to flip him over and take him all over again. The thought of Draco getting to do it when Harry didn't know it was coming... Draco shivered. Harry's body would remember, though; Draco was sure of it. Desires like these never went away, not even through a precisely administered memory potion.
Harry sat up abruptly and rolled them over, pinning Draco to the bed. His lips were warm and insistent when they met Draco's. He would never tire of the amount of passion Harry put into everything he did, the number of risks he was willing to take. "I want everything," he whispered against Draco's lips.