Seekers Play Rough

(Submission, by someone)

SEEKERS PLAY ROUGH

Sink into warm flesh
I want to taste your skin
Want to see you undressed
And see you shake your thing
You're bound and helpless
And burning from within
There for the taking
I want to hear you sing

Chapter 10:

Detention

"Now," Harry grimaced, "the fun begins."

Up until the present moment, it had been a good day. Since lunch, Harry had felt more like himself than he had in weeks; he had managed to put Malfoy out of his mind all day. All day, he had managed to push away thoughts of Draco loving him--he must if he didn't have the elixir! All day he had managed to coast along without seeing the Slytherin. And all day, he had kept the knot of something indefinable that was tightly coiled and tucked away in his stomach under control. But now, as he walked from a particularly satisfying supper--the most he had eaten in days--to his detention, he began to feel apprehensive about the long dark hours he would be spending alone with his mind. Even now, all things Malfoy were creeping up on the periphery of his thoughts. Throughout the day he had been temporarily distracted, and had thrown his thoughts into a dusty closet. But now - Fuck - he couldn't push them away any longer. His mind was a complicated chaos of questions and dead ends. Furrowing his brow slightly, he sighed heavily. Had he really made Draco angry? Unable to think of a decent solution that didn't involve ripping open Malfoy's door and doing unmentionable acts all night, this very second, he- he vowed to put it off until later.

Hermione was far from sympathy as she kept pace beside him. "Well," she said, carefully dancing around an I-told-you-so, "You have been very distracted lately. But don't worry, Harry. You won't be missing much tonight. I'll be working at the Booth all night, since there's an Arithmancy test coming up for the Hufflepuffs. I've got a big order to fill." She and Ron paused to share a conspiratorial glance. The Booth was Hermione's bustling enterprise run from one of the cubicles in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Outraged by the poor-quality enhancement drugs and potions that had circulated during their fifth year O.W.L.S, Hermione had decided to get the situation under control by starting The Booth. It catered to the fifth and Seventh years only and Moaning Myrtle had glumly accepted the job of keeping anyone else off. Seated on an old toilet behind an impromptu desk set across the entrance to an old gray cubicle, Hermione sold all the underground paraphernalia a stressed student could hope for. She specialized in serums and elixirs and she made certain that everything she sold was of the highest quality, and would never contain such things as dried Doxy droppings. A student could find it all at the Booth--for a price. Having cornered the market on underground demands, Hermione held her prices were she pleased and not a Knut lower. It made no difference, however. Fifth- and Seventh-years would gladly pay what she asked in exchange for what she offered.

"'Mione will be at the Booth, I'll just be working on Herbology with Brianna." Ron shrugged profoundly. "You'll not be missing much."

Harry snorted. "I'd rather work on Divinations"--Ron gasped in mock horror--"than spend my evening doing menial drudgery for that greasy bastard, Snape." They were quickly approaching a wide, low passage that sank into the wall before them. Cold air wafted up from the obscurity where the stairs retreated and the firelight faded. The breath from below made the bright torches that lined the corridors branching off to the left and right flicker and dance, casting irregular, ghosting shadows on the rough stone. Harry sighed in self-pity as Ron and Hermione turned to the warm, bright hall that stretched out to their left. Hermione turned, planted a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, then followed Ron, who waved cheerfully. "Have fun, Harry!"

After sketching a vulgar gesture in the air in response, Harry shoved his thoughts involving Malfoy into the deepest crannies of his mind and gathered himself and his empty thoughts towards the staircase. Malfoy was the last thing he wanted to think about.

Harry stumbled down the dark stairs to the chill of the dungeons. In the long hall at the base of the staircase torches lines the walls at intervals, slim and smooth in contrast to the blocky carved ones in the halls above. Their fire seemed more fitful, less bright and warm than the rest, making the entire dungeon seem dimmer than it probably was, just for their half-light. At length, he found his way to Snape's class--the door was still missing, he noticed--and stepped inside, clearing his throat. The room was pitch black.

"Professor?"

There was a rustle of fabric, a whisper of sound, and suddenly Snape was standing behind him, framed in the gentle arch of the stone lintel. His stretching shadow swallowed Harry's own as it sprawled at his feet, distorted by the firelight over his shoulder. "Good evening, Mister Potter," he drawled. Harry turned and looked up at his professor, trying to look bored with Snape's tactics. With a hissed command from the Potions Professor, the candle Harry hadn't noticed sprang to flame in his professor's hands, lighting Snape's face from below in a most sinister fashion. Harry had a brief moment to make an amusing comparison between Snape and an overdone villain he had seen in an old B movie before the dark man swooped past him, carrying the faint light into the deeper recesses of the gloomy and abandoned class. Harry followed him in silence, through the rows of desks and benches made sinister by the fluctuating light of a single candle carried by a living shadow. His own shadow faded and flickered weakly behind him, disappearing suddenly only to reappear on the stone floor moments later, following him loyally. All around him light fractured and flashed off various reflective oddments lining the walls and filling shelves.

Harry barely suppressed a groan as the faint candlelight defined a black mound they were approaching. Heaped to one end of the stone dais was an untidy pile of at least seventy cauldrons, each one caked with what Harry assumed had once been liquid, but had now turned miraculously into a solid cement of indistinct color.

He rolled his eyes. First-year's cauldrons.

Snape turned with a flourish, placing the candle on the edge of his desk. "Remember, Mister Potter," he spoke at last. His snide smirk looked ghastly in the weak light. "Use of magic to complete detention assignments is strictly forbidden. Good night." With that and flick of his black cloak, he was gone. Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste. He didn't even ask about the project. Reaching into his pockets, he drew out a rumpled roll of paper and lay it on the desk. His amorelation research, paraphrased from Hermione's. He then turned to stare dejectedly at the foreboding pile of filthy cauldrons.

Well, the sooner I start, the sooner I finish.

Resolving to never again let Draco distract him from Potions, Harry bent to his task.

~*~

Draco slipped down the dark dungeon stairs, eyes flicking restlessly over the dancing shadows cast by the torches. Since returning to Hogwarts, he had only taken time to change into a long-sleeved turtleneck that effectively hid his satin bindings before trotting out of the Slytherin common room without a word to his housemates about his disappearance. He had only one objective, one thought in his mind. Find Harry Potter.

Without sound, Draco slid into Snape's dark class. He remembered his professor pronouncing Potter's detention. He remembered it clearly--before the chaos that had followed. At the far corner, bathed in warm light, his prey sat, hunched over a cauldron. On either side of Potter cauldrons were piled high, some clean, some not. Draco bit his lip. Hope he's not too worn out.

Draco settled himself carefully on a tabletop just behind Potter, just on the border of light cast by the candle and the shadow that filled the rest of the room. Sitting utterly still, he allowed himself a moment to drink in the sight before him. Dappled in flickering firelight, Harry Potter was bent double, panting slightly as he rocked back and forth with the rhythm of his scrubbing. Though his face was turned away, Draco could perfectly picture the flushed cheeks and bow lips, the huge, dilated green eyes. He felt heat grow in the pit of his stomach, draining slowly into his groin.

This was going to be fun.

After another moment of sitting, in which he could hear nothing but Potter's labored breathing, Draco cleared his throat delicately. Immediately, the boy on the dais whipped around on his knees, startled. Draco felt a slight grin pull at his lips as his eyes fell upon that beautiful face. Flushed it was, exquisitely so, and strands of rumpled black hair were stuck to the blushing cheeks with a soft sheen of sweat. Harry's mouth was slack in the moment of shock, half- parted and demanding to be taken advantage of. He needed to be fucked. Now.

"Dra...Draco?" Potter whispered.

Draco slid off the desk into the light, never releasing the gaze of the depthless dark eyes that stared up at him. He suppressed the urge to grin at the mention of his first name. It sounded so innocent. Potter looked like an innocent in that moment, like a frightened child as he froze and stared up at Draco. He felt the heat in the pit of his stomach intensify as Harry got cautiously to his feet.

"What do you want?" Harry was watching his every movement. And was he breathing faster? Delicious.

Draco stepped up onto the dais smoothly, closing the gap between them. He looked down at Harry intently, clenching his jaw in fierce triumph when the boy flushed a deeper red and looked away. With every gulping, nervous breath Harry took, his chest brushed lightly against Draco's. Draco tilted his head and considered the stretch of bare neck that had been exposed when Potter had turned his head away. Slowly, he raised his hand and trailed a single finger down the long, bare neck, down to where it disappeared under the collar of his gray shirt. Surprised, Harry stumbled back, eyes widening.

"I think you know what I want," Draco said calmly, stepping closer and closing the gap between them once more. The fevered skin had felt wonderful under his fingers and he wanted more. Harry took another lurching step backwards, bumping into the stone wall with a force that suggested he hadn't expected it to be there. For a moment, the boy glanced around wildly, like a trapped animal. When his eyes found no escape route, he steeled himself visibly and, like a man facing death, looked up at Draco.

It was altogether too delicious. Draco stepped forward again, placing his hands on either side of Harry's head, pinning him effectively in place. Frantically, Harry's dark eyes whipped to stare first at one slender forearm, then the other before they sought out Draco's again. Draco smirked at him. Harry shivered. Without further ado, Draco leaned in, clamping his mouth demandingly over the hot, nervous lips. Potter, who had gone rigid at his approach, and was now breathing quite heavily, didn't respond. He was frozen.

Draco pulled away slightly and breathed "Open up," playfully against the lips, grinning maliciously as he lowered his hands to trace the V of Harry's thin shirt. A shudder passed through the body against his as Draco pulled Harry's lower lip between his own, sucking on it gently as he toyed along the younger boy's collar. "Come on Potter," he hissed as he placed a temptingly chaste kiss on the slack lips. Draco grinned as the liquid dark eyes widened further. "Don't be difficult." Draco slipped a hand quickly and easily under the boy's loose shirt, spidering his fingers lightly over the flaming skin. Harry tensed further, but said nothing. Losing patience, Draco suddenly sunk his teeth into Potters lip, closing his fingers cruelly on a stiff nipple simultaneously. When Harry gasped in response, Draco took the opportunity to kiss him again, taking over the mouth before Harry could block him out. The boy pinned against the wall froze but the hot tongue within responded readily, grappling with Draco's apparently of its own accord. Draco delved deeper, pushing Potter's head roughly back against the stone, plundering Harry's mouth as the boy's feet scrabbled half-heartedly at the floor. Harry began to twist his head, trying to break away from the kiss, but Draco slammed his body harder against Harry's, pinning him firmly to the wall, clamping his mouth down with even more hunger. Harry whimpered against his lips, ceasing his struggles suddenly as Draco's teasing hands found their way to his pants. Clammy hands clenched on Draco's biceps, unable to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. He decided for them. Wrenching violently away, he stepped back and stared haughtily down at the quivering, panting boy leaning against the wall for support. Potter was staring right back at him, eyes glazed, hair wild.

"See?" Draco managed to say lightly. "You want it too."

Harry closed his dark eyes, rolling his head to place a single flushed cheek against the cold stone wall. "You..." He was panting for breath. "You don't know what I want."

Draco smirked and stepped up to Harry again, burying his fingers into the dark, soft hair and pulled Harry's head roughly to the side, exposing a stretch of long, fair skin to the firelight. Harry's eyes flew open in surprise, only to flutter shut as Draco trailed his tongue lightly along the length of his neck. Harry gasped and squirmed against him. "Maybe you," Draco gave the dark head a tug for emphasis, speaking against the fevered neck, "don't know what you want." He sunk his teeth briefly into the neck, pulling away and smirking as Harry whimpered faintly. Draco twined his fingers deeper into his hair, nipping gently at the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. Harry had broken into a cold sweat and his skin tasted salty. After a few moments, he broke away with a final sweeping caress with his dry tongue, eliciting a low, intense moan from the boy he held helpless. "But I do."

Harry squirmed again, screwing his eyes shut, wincing painfully at the fist securely knotted in his hair. Draco smirked in satisfaction at The Boy's vexed state and returned to trailing his tongue ever-so-lightly along the strong neck, relishing the goosebumps that followed his every caress. Harry's fingers were clinging so desperately into the stone behind him now that his knuckles were white, clenched there to keep from touching Draco. Gently, Draco released Harry's hair and as The Boy turned his head back towards him--perhaps to speak, perhaps to do something else--Draco claimed his mouth in another searing kiss before Potter could so much as catch his breath. Harry's tongue fumbled against his own, half in protest, half in assent. Enjoying the effect he was having, Draco pulled away abruptly, just to hear The Boy gasp. As Harry heaved for breath, Draco feathered entirely innocent, gentle kisses along his jaw line.

"You can touch me," he whispered into Potter's ear with a wicked smile, trailing his fingers teasingly along the edge of Potters pants, where denim met hot skin. "We both know you want to." As if they had been released from invisible shackles, Harry's hands flew from the stone and dug urgently into Draco's back. Laying his cool cheek against the smooth, fevered one, Draco sucked gently on Harry's earlobe. His action drew a low, tortured moan from the boy pinned against him. Draco chuckled, a rasping rumble that vibrated deep in his throat and, without warning, pushed his hand roughly into Harry's pants. Harry gasped and tensed further, eyes squeezed shut as Draco's nimble fingers broke down his defenses, one by one. Harry's sweaty hands were gripping Draco's waist desperately, pulling him closer. Instead, Draco placed one final, fierce kiss on the parted lips, then withdrew and pulled away. Harry remained plastered to the stone wall, eyes closed as he breathed laboriously, clearly trying to get himself under control. Draco smirked. He had seen enough.

He now knew that he could have Potter any time he wanted. He could, and would, break The Boy. But not tonight. Not until he begged for it.

Harry had cracked a single eye open and was watching him through a thick screen of hair. He was still breathing heavily and the sinful flush remained painted on his pale cheeks. Running a hand through his pale hair, Draco sneered at him. "You have a detention to complete, Potter," he drawled, feeling an old smirk tug at his lips. Carefully calculating each move to have the desired effect, Draco turned on his heel, walking to the border of light and dark cast by the guttering candle. At the edge of light, he paused and shot a final smoldering glance over his shoulder at the incredulous boy he left panting against the wall. And then he left, pleased with himself.