Say My Name

Say My Name

"Say it."

You've finally gotten him right where you want him, his wand in your pocket and his pretty face smashed up against a tree. Years of simmering hostility erupted tonight as by mutual agreement you met in the forest, no seconds this time but alone, fighting the battle you never could have under the teachers' watchful eyes. All around you there are holes blasted in the ground, partially severed tree limbs shredded and dangling, here and there small fires still smoldering in the forest floor. No friends, no witnesses. And to the victor go the spoils.

"Say my name."

Your body traps him, holds him against the tree as you jab your wand threateningly into the back of his neck. He is smaller than you, something you never realized until you stood this close to him, his broken glasses twisted off and hanging from his ear just under your mouth. His hair smells of smoke and fear. He knows what is coming, felt your hand under his robes, readying him for you. But he cries out anyway as you press forward:

"Malfoy!"

Displeased, you decide to hurt him on purpose. "Say my name." Another push brings another high-pitched, birdlike cry, then:

"Draco!"

"Again!"

"Draco!"

And again and again. He is sobbing now, his tears running down his cheek and along the line of his jaw, caught by your tongue before they can escape. Pleasure and triumph heighten each other as you prolong his torture before finally spending into him. You hold him for a minute longer, just because you can, just to show him that he is beaten. Then you step back and let him fall moaning to the ground, tossing his wand next to him even as you turn your back to him. As you make your way home, you know that he will never best you again.

But you are wrong.

Over the next few days your victory seems to fade along with the scrapes on his face. You had expected him to be cowed, victimized, to accept his defeat. But you would never know from his demeanor that he is the vanquished; he does not hide from you, nor shrink in your presence. Instead he meets your eye squarely, serenely challenging you. You don't know what he wants. An apology? A rematch? Your irritation with him grows; the battle in the woods was supposed to end all this, the competition and the conflict; he should know now which of you is the stronger. But he doesn't back down, instead he silently provokes you until your annoyance grows into a rage you thought was gone forever. At last one night, after dinner, he waits by the Great Hall doors, arms crossed and wand out, daring you to follow him.

And, of course, you do.

Into the forest again, but this time it's different. He doesn't assume the dueling stance, doesn't even draw his wand down on you. He holds it out to you by the tip, your confusion mounting until you finally take it from him, not understanding this game. His green eyes regard you solemnly. Then he backhands you across the mouth with all his strength.

For a moment you stand frozen in your astonishment, then you leap at him, snarling, tearing at him with your bare hands, wands thrown aside and forgotten. He struggles but you master him easily, pinning him face down in the cool earth, holding him by the back of the neck until he is still and you can despoil him as you did before.

"Say it."

This time he does not weep or cry out. His eyes sweep closed as he relaxes beneath you, his brow calm and untroubled as he whispers your name:

"Draco."

When you are finished with him, he helps you brush the leaf bits from your hair and robes. As you hand him his wand he smiles up at you through his thick fringe of black hair, and you realize that you have been seduced.

The next day at breakfast, the bruises on his face and neck make you sad.

A week later you are in the forest again, but this time it is you against the tree, leaning back against it as he flings himself upon you. He stretches on tiptoe to reach your mouth, kissing you so fervently that your knees buckle and you slide to the ground. This time it is he who uncovers you, his fingers fumbling with your trousers as you raise your hips to assist. He teases you with his lips, with his chin and cheeks, nuzzling you until your fingers twist into his hair. Smiling, he fixes you with those eyes and waits for you to speak:

"Say my name."

And just before you fill his mouth, he murmurs obediently:

"Draco."

You never thought you would hear it spoken like that, mischievous and tender at the same time. You fear that you may have underestimated him, that you're falling into a trap of his making. Then he does something with his tongue that makes your eyes roll back in your head, and your fear is forgotten as you groan and push yourself into his throat.

Weeks later, it is much too cold to go outside anymore. He comes to you at midnight, hidden under his cloak, passing unseen through common room and dormitory until he reaches your bed. With the hangings drawn tight by charms of imperturbability and silence, he yanks impatiently at his clothing, then at yours, as he plants small, furious bites on your shoulders and neck. You try to hold him, but his passion drives you both until you find yourself on your back with his hands holding your wrists. He plunges frenziedly into you, his face glowing between your knees, his hair matted with sweat as he takes his pleasure with you.

And you like it.

His face is upturned, his eyes closed as his hips slam against you, and suddenly you are afraid that he is putting himself elsewhere, with another. Helpless, trapped beneath him, you beg him in a voice harsh with fear and need:

"Say my name!"

He gasps at the sound of your voice and quickens his pace. You realize that he was trying to make it last, but when his widened eyes recognize yours he cannot hold himself any longer. Immediately it comes upon him, and he shudders violently as your name bursts from his lips:

"Draco! Oh God!"

Reassured, gratified, you hold his body possessively against yours. He trails his fingers down your body, seeking to reciprocate, but you stop his hand and hold it instead to your chest. His breathing slows to match yours, as you fall asleep with your lips against his hair.

It is springtime now. You have ventured outside tonight, to sit with him on the lakeshore under the full moon. Huddled together under his cloak, his head on your shoulder and your arms around him, you sit for hours, talking and not talking. Your lips caress the scar on his forehead as you cup his cheek, stroke his hair. Although you remember hating him once, you can't remember why. You try to explain to him about that night in the forest, try to apologize through your aching throat and burning eyes. He stills you with a finger to your lips, shaming you with his forgiveness. As your misery overflows, he seizes your face in his hands and forces your lips to his. His kisses are fierce and unrelenting, absolving you and quieting the spasms in your chest. You want to tell him that you love him, that you will never leave him, that you will never let anyone hurt him. But before you can speak, he curls his arms around you and breathes unbidden into your neck:

"Draco."