A Simple Gamble, part III.

A Simple Gamble, part three

Lowering himself over Harry's body, Draco snatched at one of Harry's hands, taking one long finger into his mouth, slowly running his tongue suggestively over the length of it as he ground his hips against Harry and watched as Harry's face grew even more flushed with heat. 'Draco,' he panted softly, then suddenly he froze and his eyes widened. 'Professor McGonagall!' he gasped in horror, bucking Draco from his body.

'I certainly hope there is some explanation for this behaviour, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy,' she responded tartly.

Draco's eyes widened for a mere instant, then, without warning, he sharply bit Harry's finger. Yelping in pain, Harry snatched his finger away and shoved Draco from atop of him. When he met Draco's eyes a second later, Draco looked cool, composed. Turning to meet McGonagall, Draco raised one eyebrow. 'What?' he asked coolly. 'You didn't honestly think you could leave us alone in a room together and return to find us exchanging pleasantries, did you?' he said sarcastically. Casting a dagger sharp look at Harry, as much to warn Harry as to maintain the pretense of dispute, Draco raised himself to his feet and brushed himself off, adjusting his robes and suddenly nursing a fake injury to his right wrist. 'You may be sure my Father hears about this, Potter,' he spat, then glared at McGonagall as if she were equally to blame.

McGonagall gave them both a sharp look. 'Do you mean to tell me that all this time you have both been fighting?' she demanded.

'Not . . . not all of it,' Harry offered. 'I did scrub the corner of the room,' he said, pointing to a clean patch of floor. A bite mark was clearly visible upon his finger, and he experienced a shameful jab of pleasure in the pit of his belly, knowing that Draco had marked him.

'Well honestly, if you two cannot be left alone during detention, I don't know what to do with you. Harry, I would have expected more from you,' she added, looking him up and down, her lips pinched tightly together. 'Fifty points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Perhaps when your house mates learn of this, they may be able to talk some sense into you where I have failed.'

Harry winced at the memory. Diabolically ingenious as she was, McGonagall had made their punishment worse by demanding that both Harry and Draco inform their respective houses of the loss of fifty points, and include the reason why. Returning to the Gryffindor common room later that same night, Harry had nervously explained to his fellow Gryffindors that he had lost fifty points for fighting with Draco Malfoy. Ron had been infuriated, yet predictably placed the blame squarely upon Malfoy's shoulders. Privately, Harry entertained the thought that the fifty points had been worth it; had been worth the feel of Draco's hot stare alone. Looking down at his finger, Harry noticed with guilty pleasure that faint bruises marked where Draco's teeth had landed. He knew he ought to feel ashamed . . .. but thinking of Draco's soft, seductive voice, remembering the feel of his fingers and the weight of his body . . .

Harry felt a sharp stab of desire race through him and culminate at his thighs. He didn't care if it was wrong. It felt right.

Or did it? If it was so right, why did he feel so jumpy and guilty whenever he thought of Draco? And when had Draco become Draco? Malfoy! Harry reminded himself sharply. He's Malfoy, not Draco.

His thoughts turned in circles, moving from guilty pleasure to simple guilt and back again.

But at the end of the night, his last thoughts were of Draco Malfoy and feather light kisses full of sensual promise.

**

Not for the first time, Draco Malfoy noticed that Harry Potter stayed atop his broom as if it were an extension of himself. But for the first time, this observation evoked feelings of desire rather than envy. Eyes eagerly following Harry's path, Draco found himself becoming somewhat aroused by Harry's expert control of his broom. The way he rode it so casually, without a care in the world. The way that he gently guided the broom's direction with his knees. The casual placement of his fingers, loosely wrapped around the shaft . . .

Had Harry's thoughts taken a turn like this, he would have stopped himself guiltily. Draco Malfoy, however, was an altogether different male from Harry Potter, and he privately reveled in his own thoughts, accepting his sexuality the same way that he accepted the need to breathe, eat and sleep.

Watching with bated breath as Harry flew to the ground and dismounted with the elegant ease of an expert, Draco made a snap decision. He wanted Harry. And he always got what he wanted.

**

Stepping into the empty changing rooms, Harry nearly leapt out of his own skin when he suddenly felt himself shoved roughly against a wall. But the rough gesture was immediately followed by soft, warm hands at his throat, and when that beautiful, pale face emerged from the darkness and placed a gentle, feather light kiss upon his lips, Harry thought he might die of joy.

'Malfoy,' he whispered, the single word a greeting, endearment, and pledge of desire all at once.

'Draco,' Draco replied emphatically, suddenly crushing his lips against Harry's. Harry made a low sound in his throat, and Draco pulled away, looking Harry in the eye. 'Say it, Harry . . . Draco.'

Wide eyed, Harry met Draco's stare. 'Draco,' he said softly. 'Draco.'

A slow, hot smile spread over Draco's face. When Draco said 'It's time to claim my debt,' Harry could only nod in agreement.