Cho Must Die a Horrible, Painful Death

Chapter Five: Sex on Legs

Draco woke with a start, jerked from sleep by the distinct sensation of falling. What the fuck was that? Draco couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been in that place before, that it wasn't just a dream. Of course, that notion was ridiculous, since he'd surely remember getting into a duel like that with Potter.

Bloody Potter. What was that he'd hit him with? Draco's whole body ached, like he'd actually been slammed against a wall. At least it was Saturday, so he didn't have worry about attending any classes. He got up and took a nice long shower, easing his sore joints.

"Bloody dreams," he muttered against his hand as he leaned against the shower wall. If he kept having these recurring nightmares, he'd end up crippled.

**

But he kept having them. Every night for the next week, in fact. It was always the same: he was in a room with Potter (who always locked the door) and they were dueling. Sometimes he'd only experience the first part, where they faced off and he jabbed at Potter about the door. Other times he got further into the dream, but always woke up when he was hit with that curse. By Wednesday night, he moved past that part, though all he got after that was the faint sound of an "Enervate' and a few lines of banter tossed between him and Potter. He was beginning to really hate this dream, because aside from waking up very sore in the morning, he hated the feeling of helplessness that they gave him.

Potter always ended up pinning him against a wall. Dream-Draco would always struggle, but to no avail. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday morning, Draco woke up tangled in his sheets, fisting at an invisible assailant.

Saturday evening, however, the dream took an interesting turn.

**

"I told you I'd have you on your knees, Potter. Though I'd imagine you're used to it. You and Weasel probably take turns."

Draco turned in his sleep, quite pleased that, even in his dreams, he managed to be witty. This was the farthest he'd ever gotten in this dream, and was wondering when the part would come when he beat Potter's sorry arse and won the duel.

But that part never came. Instead, Draco felt his heart jump up in his chest and his entire body tensed as he felt Potter's lips on his. Jesus bloody Christ! Potter was fucking snogging him!

It was beyond uncomfortable, and Draco tossed and turned in his sheets whilst mentally willing himself to affect the outcome in a different way. His struggle was in vain, as he had come to realize over the past week that this was not a lucid dream. Because Draco Malfoy would *never* voluntarily dream of Harry Potter kissing him.

Especially if it was going to be this awful. Potter's lips against him felt strangely chaffing and dream-Draco responded by hitting at Potter's sides with his fists and trying to step on his feet. Potter was too strong, however, and seemed to anticipate Draco's every move. He pinned Draco down more firmly than before, ignoring the muffled groans of protest emanating from Draco's throat.

Taking a moment to cease his struggle, Draco discovered something hard pressing against his thigh. Potter was getting hard. Harry Potter was kissing Draco Malfoy and getting an erection.

"What the fuck?" Draco tried to speak, but his lapse in concentration led to his mouth opening and Potter took this opportunity to slip his tongue in Draco's mouth.

As he couldn't exactly stop what was happening, Draco took a moment to focus on the sensation. Potter wasn't quite skilled when it came to French kissing, but he made up for it in sheer determination.

Oh, for the love of God. Draco figured if he was going to stand here (dream or not) and be kissed against his will by Harry Potter, he might as well make the most of it. Harry was doing it all wrong in terms of hands and whatnot. And he'd show the bloody hero how a *real man* kissed.

Draco relaxed against Harry and began to move his mouth in time with his, whereas before he'd just been standing there with his jaw locked and mouth agape. Slowly but surely, Draco pushed his tongue into Potter's mouth, indicating that he was taking over.

Unlike any dream Draco had ever had before, in this dream he was aware of all the sensory details. And as he slid his tongue in and out of Harry Potter's mouth, Draco swore he could taste him. Apparently Potter was fond of oatmeal biscuits, because Draco found the taste of his dessert on the roof of Harry's mouth.

A moan escaped from Harry's throat, and Draco grinned against his mouth. That's right, Potter - you're my bitch.

Potter relaxed his hands and moved them to a more comfortable position (finally, Draco thought), resting one hand on his elbow and the other on Draco's waist. Draco responded by putting his left hand at the small of Harry's back, pulling him closer. Harry gasped.

Draco woke up.

**

Draco sat bolt upright in his bed and cringed as he felt a slight stab of stiff pain. He looked down, and discovered that he was hard. He'd just been dreaming about sticking his tongue down Harry Potter's throat, about pulling him so close he could feel Potter's erection against his thigh - and he was really turned on.

"Well, shite," Draco rolled his eyes and threw back the covers in annoyance. He glanced at his bedside clock which read 'If you're reading this, then you are up WAY too early.' He reckoned he was the only one up, but he cast a silencing charm around his bed anyway.

"Might as well take care of the bloody thing," he muttered bitterly. "But I won't think of Scarhead!" he tried to reassure himself.

Draco peered down at his naked form. He was such an Adonis. why waste this beautiful body on someone as daft as Potter? Draco scoffed as he tentatively touched himself. He was a tease, even with himself.

After five minutes of winding himself up and down, thinking of nothing in particular, Draco started getting rough. He liked it rough - just like he liked his Quidditch. Mmmmmnnnn. he really wished they had some females on the Slytherin Quidditch team. That way he'd get a treat in the showers after practice.

Needless to say, those Gryffindor girls were fine specimens. He'd even go as far to say that he preferred them to Slytherin girls. Their naïveté made them sexy.

Draco imagined himself watching them change, all sweaty from a long, hard practice. Noble, brave, sexy Gryffindors. Of course, he hadn't only seen the female Gryffindors in the changing rooms. An image of a gleaming, sweaty Harry Potter crossed his mind. His body reacted before his mind could, and he bucked his hips violently into his hand.

A series of moans, groans, and expletives left his pink lips and his hormone addled mind took over. Fuck it - Harry Potter was gorgeous and it was getting him all hot.

Draco expertly handled himself as he let Harry Potter take over his senses. If only he could get Potter into some decent clothes, he could be quite the vision. Hell, if he could only get Potter *out* of those clothes he'd be quite the vision. Draco dwelled on the feel of Harry's erection pressing against his thigh in his dream. Thank God it was the kind of dream you didn't forget, because Draco didn't wish to forget the way Potter's tongue in his mouth had made him feel.

He saw Potter down on his knees again, only this time he wasn'muttering curses at Draco or jumping back up to knock him against a wall. In this vision, a willing Harry took Draco in his mouth. Mmmmmnnn. he was so much better at that then French kissing.

"God, Potter!" Draco shrieked as he came all over his hand, stomach, and sheets. He collapsed on his pillows, panting. Okay, *that* was an interesting experience.

"Well, I guess I'm bi," Draco muttered between breaths. Years of being instructed by his father that no sex, with either gender, was outside a Malfoy's sphere, had left Draco very comfortable with the idea of his sexuality. So, his first time thinking about a man in a sexual way didn't bother him at all.

"But, Potter?" he spat, wiping his soiled hand on his bed sheets in disgust. "Jesus Christ."

**

Draco had received the 'sex talk' from his father when he was nine. A tender young age, yes, but as his father put it 'Malfoys start early.'

Like his father had before him, Lucius ran through the necessary information.

"Firstly, Draco, Malfoys are sex on legs. We are a gift to the world, and it is our unspoken duty to bestow the pleasure of our company on as many people as possible," he had intimated in a fatherly tone.

Draco had simply stared at his father in awe as he went through his diatribe. Sexual pleasure was sexual pleasure, he had learned, no matter the source. In fact, in some cases, relations with a man were preferable to those with a woman.

"Men are generally more adept at the art and skill of fellacio," Lucius dictated. Draco screwed up his face in childish abhorrence, to which his father had responded by slapping him on the hand with his cane and scolding, "Now, now Draco. We'll have none of that. Nothing is beyond a Malfoy where sex is concerned."

At the time, Draco hadn't understood what his father meant when he discussed blow jobs, but now, in hindsight, Draco wondered if he was right. After all, he had experienced plenty of sloppy, horrible blow jobs from girls (Pansy Parkinson nearly turned him off them altogether), it stood to reason that there was better out there.

So, Draco had absolutely no issue with shagging men, but up to this point it hadn't really crossed his mind. Why on earth was Potter, of all people, the one to spark his interest?

Thinking back on all their encounters with each other throughout school, Draco found himself recounting their infamous duel in second year. He couldn't help but dwell fondly on the image of Potter speaking Parseltongue. He seemed quite. dexterous, he thought. Oh the things he could do with that tongue.

But this was Potter! Harry fucking 'Champion of good hearts and heroic deeds' Potter. He was a nuisance, the thorn in Draco's side. And he was making cameos in Draco's dreams that left him waking up with a raging hard on. Shit.

And where did all of this start, anyway? They were enemies - because of Voldemort? No - Voldemort was just some hypocritical half-wit with psychotic delusions of grandeur. Draco was too gifted in the area of logic not to notice the fallacy in following a Muggle-born in a quest to rid the world of non-Purebloods. He obviously had a lot of issues with himself, and Draco didn't see why he should bow before someone who was clearly off his rocker. He may have believed himself superior to non-Purebloods, but that didn't mean that he was keen to follow someone as unstable as Voldemort.

For Christ's sake, the man had been taken out by a one year old. A toddler had more magical power than he did. Not just any toddler - Harry Potter. Harry bloody 'I'm too good for your friendship' Potter. Oh, yes, Draco was still bitter about that.

The day he'd met Harry Potter for the first time was still clear in his mind. He'd been in Madame Malkin's, and was being fitted for his Hogwarts robes when a wisp of a boy walked in. He was kind of scraggily looking, wearing a plain colored tee-shirt that fell down to his knees and was riddled with moth holes and a baggy pair of jeans. His hair was an absolute mess, like he'd slept on the floor or something.

Draco had thought he looked positively Muggle, but there was something about him that he'd liked. Despite his disheveled appearance, this boy looked nice -like someone with whom Draco could be friends. He saw in this boy a chance to have an equal at Hogwarts. As long as he wasn't sorted into Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, they'd get along brilliantly.

Nervousness shone in his green eyes, hidden behind a crap pair of glasses, but those eyes also betrayed a hint of power. Draco liked this boy, so he spoke to him as an equal.

How the bloody hell was he supposed to know that every topic he chose to talk about would inadvertently insult the boy?

He'd tried discussing Quidditch, and the boy just stood there and answered in monotones. It didn't faze him. Then that oaf Hagrid had showed up at the window, and Draco had thought - what a lovely conversation piece! He didn't know who the man was at the time, but how could you pass up the chance to discuss a twelve-foot tall man standing outside a shop window? The boy intimated that the man was named Hagrid and worked at Hogwarts. Now Draco knew who he was, his father had told him about it.

So, Draco did what many a precocious eleven year old would - he gossiped a bit, sharing his knowledge with the boy, looking for a talking point. Then he'd said that he 'thought Hagrid was brilliant,' and though Draco was taken back by this statement, he simply moved on.

He'd asked about the boy's parents. They were dead. Oh. Draco didn't sound sorry or anything, his parents didn't mean much of anything to him, so how could he empathize with someone else with regard to theirs? Ah, at least the boy's parents were Wizards. He was right; despite his appearance, this boy was a Pureblood. Excellent.

Before Draco could catch his name, however, the boy was ushered out of the shop. But it was no matter, as Draco found out soon enough exactly who the boy was. Who knew: Harry bloody Potter. *That* slip of a boy, who'd barely said a word, save an odd line defending that Hagrid fellow, was hero of the Wizard world. This was the boy of whom his father had always spoke - the 'insolent boy' who had brought down the Dark Lord. Of course, he had no extraordinary powers, no. That blasted Dumbledore or his uppity parents had cast some sort of Charm against the Dark Lord, and the child just got in the way. Toddlers don't defeat powerful dark wizards.

As an eleven year old, Draco believed everything his father told him. So, here was Harry Potter, just another boy, someone for Draco to befriend. He'd be quite the ally to have, Draco thought. But Harry bloody Potter had refused his friendship. He thought he was too *good* for Draco Malfoy. Hence their natural enmity had begun.

Draco's father was pleased, of course. He saw Draco's antagonizing of Potter as a move in favor of his support of the Dark Lord. Draco had never told his father that he'd tried to befriend Potter. That his disliking him had absolutely nothing to do with Voldemort. If anything, Draco had grown to respect him for what he'd done to the Dark Lord. For, as he aged and stopped taking everything his father said as truth, Draco began to think that Harry Potter had done something extraordinary that night, and he alone. He was not mistaken when he saw that glint of power in Harry's eyes. Harry Potter had skills that rivaled Draco's own, though Harry was versed in Light magic and Draco's forte was in the Dark Arts.

Though Draco respected Harry Potter, he still hated him. But, Christ - did one normally get turned on by the person they hated?

It might not be normal, but there certainly must be an explanation. Draco spent that Sunday brooding over the rational solution to his dilemma.

He'd never liked blokes before, so there must be something special about his relationship with Harry Potter. They say that hate breeds attraction. or is it proximity breeds attraction? Whatever. He hated Potter, but he fancied him as well. Draco was sure there was a formula to it or something.

Admittedly, Potter was in sporting form, but that wasn't what Draco fancied about him. Draco was enthralled by Harry Potter's glittering, green eyes. He always had been, though he would never admit it to himself. Potter's eyes told so much - of his power, of his emotions, and of his character. Draco had been inexplicably drawn to Potter that day in Madame Malkins.

At the same time, though, Potter still irked the hell out of Draco. He was presumptuous, high-handed, and stubborn. But Draco reckoned he liked those elements of Potter too: he was a challenge. He was the enemy. And, much like the girls who liked Draco because he was the 'bad boy,' Draco found Potter sexy (he couldn't believe he admitted that he found Potter *sexy*) because he wasn't supposed to. He recognized the thrill he derived from his run-ins with Potter. Their relationship as enemies was dangerous, and he liked it that way.

End Chapter Five