My Way With Your Flesh

MY WAY WITH YOUR FLESH

POTIONS

Green eyes glint with laughter at some inane comment by the Mudblood.

Narrowed grey eyes dart irritated glances over one shoulder.

Can't stand him, arrogant muggle-lover...

Loathe him, evil git...

I bet that potion explodes in his face!

Snape's pet! He thinks he's so hot. He isn't that smart, I mean Hermione beats him in pretty much everything.

BREAK

It's a miracle he got through class. Saint Bloody Potter! Everything he does is a fucking miracle.

He's so childish, bashing my shoulder on the way out. Any excuse to wind me up.

There he goes, typical drama queen, down a deserted, shadowy hallway. It's a striking image. I'll give him that. The lone-figure-in-a-billowing-cloak-slips-into-the-darkness thing... Huh! It just screams, "Look at me, look at me!"

What is this prickling feeling between my shoulder-blades? Grey eyes... Malfoy! Why is he smirking at me now?

Ugh! Even looking at him turns my stomach. It's flipping somersaults.

His face clouds with confusion. Mr. "Cool-As" cannot be troubled, can he? Why in Merlin's name do I care? Stairs, Harry, go!

Poncy do-gooder! Keep walking Scarhead. Walk away...

NIGHT

Heat... burning... dark - Father!

Head... pain... it never goes away -

Need air, outside. Cool air.

Walls, stone. Got to get out...

The lake.

The lake.

OUTSIDE

Green.

Grey.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

That damned sneer!

Green eyes far too close for comfort. Set jaw, clenched lips -

- one irritating eyebrow curves up, as he silently dares me to do something, the mocking bastard. He -

- exhales slowly, breath whispering across my skin. I'm so close. It's suddenly hard to breathe. I want...

He's going to hex me. Why doesn't he just do it?

Enough foreplay... here's where it begins.

Ow, he bit my lip! What the fuck? Is he kissing me? Did I just moan?

Oh fuck, I'm swallowing his moans. Nothing has ever tasted so good...

HARRY!

Clutching, pulling, biting, needing - I'm hungry! He's mine...

Do something! Malfoy is mauling you!

Stop, breathe. Green eyes. Pulse.

What was that? Get moving, leave.

Slower, this is a...delicate...situation.

Blink, breathe. Gray eyes closing. Tender...Merlin, he's being gentle! I'm not ready for this.

This is what I mean, Potter.

What does he want? It feels like -

I want you, damn it. I want to consume you like you have consumed me. I want to mark you. I want it to burn down to the bone, Potter. I want to possess you. Nothing else comes close to satisfying this...this...feeling you have disturbed in the depths of me. You remember what I told you? I'll have you. Nobody gets the better of a Malfoy.

Be careful, Malfoy, or you'll get what you're asking for!

Sweet Slytherin, he's kissing me back... tangled limbs, tongues... soft and hard all at once... fierce - like everything we do together.

I don't trust this, Malfoy. I don't trust you... but - don't stop now.

I hate this, Potter. I hate you... I hate that you are permanently under my skin, making it crawl. I hate that I shiver every time you walk past. I loathe and despise the fact that I get goose-bumps whenever we touch.

Damn. Somewhere along the line we hit the ground, and I didn't even notice... Where are my glasses? I've got to get out of here...

There'll be none of that, Potter. You were never shy before! Off with it!

Cold air hits my skin... But then there's warmth. He gives off so much heat. I would never have thought. He's always so pale and icy!

Skin rubbing skin is almost more than I can bear. How can this feel so right when he's all awkward and angular? I can't seem to stop myself from kissing a trail down his torso.

I keep pressing closer. Arching my back. Clutching at the grass.

I'm driven almost to distraction by the feel of his flesh beneath my lips. It's so fragile. His lifeblood flows there, just beneath his skin. If I bite down it'll be lost in a hot, red rush...

This has gone too far. I need to get out of here.

Wha...this isn't finished yet, Potter. You can't leave. Where is there to go?

He glides closer on his hands and knees. I hate that he's so elegant, so damn perfect, all the time. Run, Harry, why don't you run?

Why don't you run? Tell the Weasel... or is he otherwise engaged? Granger? Same problem. You see, Potter, it all comes back to this. It was us from the beginning. Now we've reached the beginning of the end, and I won't let go this time...