For a Time in Silence

For a Time in Silence

Draco thinks that, considering the stories he's heard about the way those stupid muggles treat him, it's a shame that Harry never learned to hold his tongue.

"Shut up," Draco hisses, and raises his wand to Harry's throat.

Steady against the expanse of skin, Draco feels Harry swallow and gasp. They're paused, holding the other's glare, and Draco looks away first to watch sweat slide down Harry's forehead.

He moves closer, pressing the wand harder into Harry's gullet. There is a dull pound in his ears, maybe a headache starting, and it matches the beat of their own heartbeats. Tension, adrenaline; he could cast the spell right now, kill The Boy Who Lived, and no one would know it was him -

"Nervous, Potter?" Moonlight from the single window cuts the darkness between them.

Harry grits his teeth and suddenly fists a defiant hand in Draco's side.

"Do it," he spits. "I dare you."

Draco scowls, pursing his lips as if preparing to speak. Harry waits, silent except for his ragged panting, and Draco pushes him hard against a wall once again for good measure.

"There a problem, Malfoy?" Harry asks. Draco can tell he really is nervous because of the way he's breathing and the sweat on his brow, but Harry keeps talking. "You can't do it, can you? You don't even have what it takes to kill me properly --"

" - Shut up, damn you."

The urge to hit Harry right in his cheeky little mouth makes Draco's fingers itch. He settles for clenching his wand tighter and deepening his frown because, unlike Harry, starting childish fistfights is beneath him. It doesn't mean he won't defend himself if need be, but Draco would like to think he is above such ineffective brawls, when problems can be solved with a quick flick of the wrist.

Draco has class.

"Is there a reason for this, Malfoy?" Harry squirms ineffectively. His robes ride up his torso some. "Or is trapping others in bathrooms just something you picked up recently?"

Draco prides himself on his grace. Yet, Harry can reduce him to foolish rage with mere words.

"You refuse to listen, don't you?" he says.

He draws the wand back swiftly and stabs into Harry's neck, choking him. Harry coughs and sputters, the tension previously in his body momentarily dissipating. Draco forces his thigh between Harry's to brace him. Draco disapproves of completely unnecessary violence (which is why he usually leaves the dirty work to Crabbe and Goyle) but he's convinced that Potter deserves it when he shoves his head back and against the wall.

"Fuck you," Harry rasps, his fingers prodding the skin Draco's wand had just assaulted.

"Any normal person would have the sense to be appropriately terrified of your situation." Draco wonders, idly, if he could make Harry scream if he bit the soar flesh on his throat. "Save the pathetic insults for the Weasel and the Mudblood."

Harry is insanely predictable in his reactions, but Draco still isn't completely ready for the fist Harry jams into his stomach. He holds his footing well enough, but desperate times call for desperate measures, he's heard, and so late at night, Harry must be getting irritable. Draco has a sharp tongue, and Harry has sharp teeth that surge forward, seeking any flesh in their path.

The bite lands somewhere at the corner of Draco's mouth. He hisses, pushing at Harry halfheartedly. Draco's the one caught off guard now, and Harry withdraws and attacks again. Desperate and irritable; Harry seems surprisingly feral. His teeth seize Draco's lip and everything suspends.

Eventually, Draco says, "Kinky, Potter," and Harry growls.

Draco shoves Harry back. One more time into the wall, but Harry's not letting go and in the next instant Draco drives his mouth into Harry's, all clashing lips and teeth.

There are reasons, Draco knows, that they shouldn't be doing this. A code of ethics or rules for how enemies act towards one another that he has been following until this moment. Harry twists again, successfully this time, and they stumble, falling through one of the stall doors onto the floor. Whoever has control, Draco thinks. Things couldn't be too far-gone if whatever happens is still about power.

Harry wraps his hands around Draco's neck. "Leave my friends alone. Leave me alone." He speaks steadily, carefully.

"I'll do whatever I damn well please," says Draco.

"Sod off."

"Hm, would love to, Potter. But I'm a bit restrained because of your hips."

Harry kisses Draco again, just as wildly and it feels like a threat. Draco rests his head on something cold - the toilet, maybe. It's turning out to be the most tasteless sexual experience he's ever had, but he realizes that fact doesn't hold much weight. Nothing changes. Harry mauls his mouth sloppily. His hands pull at the shirt under Draco's robes. Harry, Harry, Harry; Draco doesn't remember what happened to his wand.

Rough fingers bump along Draco's bare stomach. He inhales sharply, deciding that he doesn't like the way this is going. Swift, frantic, bathroom tryst or no, there has to be some method to the madness.

He sits up and flips them. Draco is kneeling on hard stone; Harry arches his hips upward and drapes his legs over Draco's hips, curiously submissive. Harry presses closer, rolls a little, and Draco shudders, wondering if Harry has ever done anything like this before.

Draco would have foolishly pegged Harry for a virgin, probably until and possibly even after Harry settled down and had a family - created little Harry Potters. He's pathetically naïve sometimes. Heroes are pure and good. Sex is dirty and private, unless one prefers the routine of sweet romance, but Draco doubts that's much fun. He's never put the two ideas together, but here Harry is, laid out on the floor and very capable of being naughty and private. Harry's got his own bad side, Draco thinks.

"I hate you," Harry mumbles, tugging Draco forward and down. Harry is completely capable of hate, and he's currently helpless, at Draco's mercy.

He could kill Harry here.

He won't.

They're kissing fiercely, and the faint coppery flavor may mean one of them has drawn blood. It almost fits. Most of thngs Draco has ever wanted to do to Harry have end in the boy bleeding. With Harry going along so easily, this is just as well.

"Hate you, hate you," Harry chants, weakly, in the periphery of Draco's mind.

He's hard, needy, grinding himself against Harry's own arousal. Draco looks at Harry's face. He's sucking in air, breathless and unkempt. Draco slides a free hand past the hem of Harry's sweater, to the waistband of Harry's jeans and pulls it down teasingly. He unzips Harry's trousers slowly with as much self-control as he can muster and reaches into Harry pants to grab him through his underwear.

Harry gasps.

Draco strokes Harry through damp cotton, and Harry writhes. Years of sharing a dorm room quiets a person, but the tiny whimpers and sputters Draco elicits from the boy beneath him give Draco incentive. He rubs, toying with the fine line between pleasure and pain. The way Harry responds makes him feel he's winning something without knowing what.

Draco watches Harry sink his teeth into already puffy lips. Used and kiss-swollen, eyes screwed firmly shut. He leans down and nips at Harry's ear, licks and teases.

Breathing lightly near the side of Harry's head, Draco says, "I don't think I want you shutting me out."

"You need to know," he continues, "exactly who it was that made you come."

Draco thrusts his hips into Harry's sharply. His hand insistent in Harry's school pants.

"Come, Harry," Draco orders, biting Harry's ear.

Harry bucks once, twice, and Draco can feel every pulse. He collapses himself, humping Harry until he finds his own release. They spend the next few moments lying still, molded along one another. Draco's hand resides comfortably in Harry's trousers.

Regret and possibly denial are scheduled to occur next, Draco supposes. He refuses to consider whether he regrets it when Harry finally stands and exits the stall. Draco sprawls out on his back, stretching out his limbs individually and notices for the first time that the stone floor is damp and grimy. He has dirt and come in his fingernails.

Water runs off to the left and then stops. He sees Harry shuffle towards the door and calls out.

"Potter--" He wants to add on to that.

Harry looks at him blankly, appraises him. "Malfoy," he says and leaves.

Draco doesn't call him again. He lies on the floor, wondering if Harry has any sordid, nasty secrets. He may consider it a victory if he is the first.