Kitayama might be taking a picture of this (mousapelli) wrote,
Kitayama might be taking a picture of this

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Harry/Draco. Hot smut.

I. Am. So. Fucking. Proud. Of. This.

Comment. Please? Hurt me.

Title: The Oldest Joke in the World [Harry/Draco]
Warnings/rating: R for some crazy kink.

The Oldest Joke in the World

Draco slammed open the door to the Potions classroom angrily, cursing himself for having left his bag in the room AGAIN. HE stopped short when he saw the classroom was not deserted as he had expected.

There was Potter, sitting on the table at Draco’s spot. Kicking his legs back and forth gently, Draco’s bag dangling from his fingers and twirling back and forth slowly in the air.

“What’re you up to, Potter?” Draco snarled, covering his confusion with irritation.

“You don’t like me,” Harry said casually, still watching the bag twirl back and forth.

“Of course I don’t like you!” Draco raised an eyebrow. “So if you’ll just hand over my bag, we can both be on our way.”

“But you want me,” Harry looked up at Draco, not exactly asking a question, but with an inquisitive stare.

“Why on earth would I want you, you magnificent poof?” Draco’s snarl deepened as he felt control of this conversation slipping away.

He HATED that.

“What about here?” Harry asked, voice gaining a strange edge. “Have you ever thought about fucking me right here on your tabletop?”

Draco spluttered out a loud negative, but he couldn’t stop the color from rushing to his face, and he knew Potter could hardly miss the splash of pink across his pale features.
He hated THAT even MORE.

“I thought so,” Harry voice lowered half an octave. He let Draco’s bag slip through his fingers and drop to the stone floor. There was a distinct tinkling of broken glass, and Draco gritted his teeth as he imagined ink from a shattered inkwell staining everything in the bag.

“Does that make you angry?” Harry asked in that same, weird, breathy voice.

“Of COURSE it does!” Draco shouted at him. He took the half dozen steps over to where Potter was sitting and snatched his bag off the ground. He glared at Harry, being slightly taller while the smaller boy was slouched on the table.

Harry reached out and ran one finger up Draco’s chest. Draco grabbed his wrist hard enough to leave bruises, and Harry made a noise in the back of his throat, but it wasn’t a ‘pain’ noise.

Draco narrowed his eyes and peered at Potter. He was staring up at Draco through half-slitted eyes, pupils dialated with lust.

“You want me to hurt you!” Draco exclaimed suddenly. “You’re getting off on it!”

“Not much of a wonder, given my childhood, is it?” Harry murmured, hooking an ankle around Draco’s knee to draw him closer. “It’s what you want isn’t it? To do things to me? To hurt me?”

Draco stared at Potter with open hostility, fury and arousal battling openly on his face.

“You’re a masochist!” Draco finally managed in a tight voice.
“And you’re a sadist,” Harry leaned towards Draco to whisper conspiratorily. “So it all works out. You can do anything. You. Want. To. Me.”

Something in Draco’s face changed, his expression turning darker and colder. He squeezed Potter’s wrist tighter and Potter made the same noise, louder this time, much closer to a moan. Draco dropped his bag and stepped perilously close to Harry, heedless of the crunching glass in the bag beneath his feet.

“Let me get this right,” he said to Potter, voice silky and dangerous. “You want me?”

Harry nodded, so close Draco’s breath was stirring his bangs. Draco moved his fingers of his now-free hand slightly so that they were just brushing Harry’s already hard cock.

“You want me to do things to you?” Draco continued, voice getting even softer. Harry hissed out a breath and tried to move towards Draco’s feather-light stroking, but Draco pushed him back with the hand that was still crushing Harry’s wrist.
“You want me,” Draco’s voice was now barely audible, and he leaned his face towards Potter’s so that their mouths were just barely not touching, “to have rough sex with you, right here? Right now?”

“Hurt me,” Potter pleaded in a thready voice, every breath a soft gasp.

Draco leaned even closer, staring into Potter’s eyes, smiling a tight, glacial, cruel smile.


Harry came immediately.
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