Blood Clot

Draco's POV

PART TWENTY SEVEN

Passion

I sucked in breath harshly as, my head on his shoulder, he took hold of my left arm and gently, firmly kissed every single scar and cut that covered my wrist. I closed my eyes, trembling, breathing slowly and deeply to try and calm myself. It was almost too much. Part of me wanted to wrench my wrist away, but another part of me thanked him for letting the cuts, my scars of pain, become part of what we had; if it wasn't for him I would have continued scarring my mind, body, and life with blood clots. It was forgiveness, mercy, and reassurance at their peak.

Finally he let my arm slide from his grip, and I was just leaning in for another kiss when his leg bumped against my crotch. Immediately heat blazed up inside me. I gave a bitter moan. I was suddenly uncomfortable, as, my hands buried in his ebony mop, head on his shoulder, I had to get the lower half of my body up in order to not let anything bump my crotch again. I grit my teeth in frustration as simply his breath against my ear made my cock fully erect, torturously caged in my trousers--although they weren't extremely tight.

My breath hitched painfully, and I licked my lips, irritated and highly aroused. Potter sensed that something was wrong, and sat up. I quickly got up off of him as he sat up, staring at me, brows slanted in concern. I went to sit at the very edge of the desk, and motioned for him to sit by me. He complied, and sat there staring at me, waiting, as I averted my eyes to the floor.

I wanted to rub my erection against something, to press something against it, to curl up in a ball and feel it throb over and over with arousal. There was nothing I could do to stop thinking about it. Suddenly there was only one thing I could focus on: cock, cock, cock. Turning to Potter, I gave him what I hoped was a very intense, determined stare for a moment, and then grabbed his hand. I looked in the opposite direction of Potter's face, feeling ashamed at what I was about to do.

Shaking it to make sure he let his muscles loosen, I pulled his hand towards me, and then placed it over my arousal, making his fingers rub and grasp it through my trousers. It felt so satisfying, and yet it made me lust even more. I threw my head back, moaning, my breath ragged as I pressed my erection to his hand.

Suddenly I didn't need to control his hand anymore, and I let my arms fall to grip the desk edge as he stroked and caressed my unbearable stiffness with nimble fingers. I shuddered and fell against Potter, who was now standing in front of me, and for what seemed far too short a time he pushed his hand down every time I arched upward. Then it was over, and he stood back and watched as I, sweaty and hot with desire, quickly pulled off my jumper and my shirt.

Then he went to lie back down on the desk, and sitting down next to him, our hands entwined, I almost dared to speak. I looked straight ahead, without really seeing the wall, but instead trying to calm down my still present erection. I felt as if speaking would be a crime, something wrong, as if we had mutually agreed not to speak while we fed each other's desires and--hopefully, eventually--shagged. Potter broke the silence for me, and tightening his grip on my hand, murmured something. But he said it so quietly I couldn't hear.

Moving to lean so that my ear was by his mouth, I opened my mouth to ask him what he said, when he said it again. It was rare that I ever got surprised, or blushed in embarrassment, or became speechless, but what he said made it all happen to me. It was three simple words that rendered me momentarily blank minded. Just three little words...

"Suck me off."

Feeling the heat of a blush rise in my cheeks, unable to speak or think for a moment, I could barely believe my ears. He was actually asking something that got close to shagging. This was going to get serious! And he was allowing it! For once in his life, he was accepting, wanting, and asking for the intimacy that I had always wanted to share with him. As this was between two men, it was one of the most intimate--well, intimate as in desire, not love or relationships or any of that sentimental shit--things he could ask for.

When he tugged at my arm, however, I realized that he wasn't asking me to do it. He was ordering me. I felt a pang of indignation shoot through me. Whether I wanted to do what he said or not, there was no way I was letting him order me! This was something he had to understand. Want to or not want to, I wouldn't do anything if he ordered me to. He had no right!

Letting my fury show in my voice, I snapped, "I don't think so, 'master.'" I made sure to make the word 'master' drip with sarcasm.

He sat up quickly, and taking hold of my shoulders he shook me a little bit, saying, "I didn't mean it that way! I really didn't!" I refused to even look at him. He said he was sorry a few times, told me he didn't mean it that way again and again, that he wouldn't say things like that again.

Finally, he came to kneel at my feet, and gripping my calves, he said, "Please?" Slowly, I went to kneel down at his level, giving him an indifferent stare. Secretly though, I wanted to do exactly what he'd said. I began to hear the noises he would make in my mind, and wondered how big it would be, what it would taste like, how long he'd last until he came...

I didn't realize that I was smiling until Potter said, "I knew you'd see it my way." Then I jolted back into the real world, and before he could give me another annoying smug look I grabbed him by the shoulders and thrust him up against the nearest wall. He had to understand who was in control here, who spoke the orders and made the rules.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring straight into his eyes, his gaze in return serious, cool, calm. He was ready. Ready enough, because with that look in his eyes--mmm, yes, that look...still innocent, inexperienced, almost childlike, yet somehow smoldering--surely he didn't expect me to wait any longer?

I crouched down so my eyes were level with his waistline, and asked, "Do you mind stripping all the way down? To make it easier and more...enjoyable." I repressed a smirk as he failed to hide the nervousness in his voice and the way he was trembling slightly.

"You mean...nude?"

I barely stopped myself from licking my lips. "Yes."

There was a pause, in which my heart stopped and I couldn't seem to take in any oxygen. Then he answered in a word that seemed to make my heart lodge in my throat. "Okay."

-----*-----

The next morning, after awaking to a blast of horrible sunlight, I was given a rare reason to like the morning--Potter. I had barely woken up, grumpy, a sick taste in my mouth (you would think the aftertaste of an enjoyable activity would taste good, but no), when Potter promptly began another snog session.

Somehow, along the way of trying to take off my jumper--which didn't work because I refused to take it off in such a morning-cold classroom--Potter ended up straddling me, I being the reluctant one to be pinned to the desk, this time. He had just leaned down and begun another kiss when I heard a sharp gasp and the sound of something clatter against the ground.

Then a slightly familiar voice said quietly, in a tone of shock and disbelief, "Harry?" To my great chagrin, Potter immediately broke our kiss, and looked up towards the speaker. I closed my eyes, willing the spark of anger towards him away, and followed his gaze.

Shit. It was Granger.

By turning my face towards her I had unfortunately allowed the woman to realize several things. She had realized that the person beneath her friend was male, the person had obviously been just thoroughly snogged--by Potter--and that person was, of all people, me, Draco Malfoy, her foe of foes.

Seeing that my glare was directed at her, Granger quickly shut her gawping mouth, and turned to look at Potter, ignoring me. Hands fidgeting slightly (a habit of mine I did when bothered or impatient, result of usually having my dagger to soothe me and busy my hands), I glanced at Potter, who still wasn't paying the slightest attention to me. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, and then turning to Granger, I sneered, "What do you want?"

Frowning at me, she crossed her arms, retorting huffily, in that sassy, bitch-faced way of hers, "Well, Malfoy, this is my classroom! I teach--"

"--Defense Against the Dark Arts," Potter cut her off. Granger turned to stare at him, as did I. Great, now he was finishing her sentences for her! Obviously the recovered coma patient was a little more in touch with the world than I had thought he was.

Granger blinked for a moment, and then said in that know-it-all tone, "So, Harry, I see you've met Ellen. Good."

I looked back and forth from Potter to Granger. Damn Granger! She had wrecked it all. If only she hadn't come along. What was she doing in here at six thirty in the morning, anyway? Bollocks. It figured that the goody-two-shoes wench would arrive early to her classroom. Damn professor's timing.

Reaching one arm to wrap it loosely around Potter's waist--he was still straddling me--I used my other hand to gently pull his chin to make him look at me. Staring into his eyes, I said, "Let's go, shall we?"

He remained where he was, obviously reluctant to leave Granger, wanting to explain everything to her. But I didn't want her to know everything, to know our story. It was only supposed to be between Potter and I, our special tale of how we came to be the way we were. No one else would know about us, my problems, our arguments and fights, our passion, etcetera. No one. It--our relationship--was strictly private, in my opinion, and would stay that way as long as I wanted (forever, of course).

I sat up, and without another glance, I Apparated to Potter's room (Apparation was allowed at Hogwarts now, since the war was over). A few moments later, and he still wasn't there with me. Frowning, I groaned in frustration, and Apparated back to the classroom. Granger was giving me a loathing glare. Thoroughly irritated, I snapped at her, "What?!"

She nodded her head towards Potter. He was sitting in the same spot I'd left him, staring desolately at the spot I'd been at. Then it came to me. Of course! Potter had missed his last year of education, and had been in a coma for part of his 16^th and all of his 17th and 18th years of life. He didn't know how to Apparate!

Mentally swearing at myself, I wished I had remembered about his coma, and the effect it had had on his life. He had missed out on so many things. Walking up to Potter, I took a hold of his wrist, and whispered, "I'm sorry." The heaviest depression sunk on me suddenly, as I saw tears spring to his eyes. Turning to me, he yelled, his voice trembling with emotion, "You should be!"

I remained silent, staring sadly into his wet eyes. Then I enwrapped him in a hug, letting him muffle a sob against my shoulder, as he whispered, "Don't leave me like that..." It surprised me that I meant so much to him, since we hadn't really established our relationship in any area other than lust. But I felt touched that he was attached, and there was certainly no denial, after everything he had done for me and made me feel, that a feeling other than desire for him was growing inside me.

After a few minutes of comforting Potter, I turned back to Granger, saying, "We're going now. You need no explanations--use that encyclopedic brain of yours."

I took Potter's hand in mine, and was about to walk out of the classroom and march him upstairs when Granger cried out, "Wait!"

I grit my teeth, turning around as Potter did. I was about to snap a nasty insult, when Potter's hand shot out to cover my mouth, and he murmured, "Don't." I felt anger pulsing in my head, anger directed at Granger and Potter. Damn them and their stupid friendship! Friendships were useless, hopeless, ugly things which wasted energy.

I looked up as Potter snapped his fingers in front of my face, and said, "Please listen."

I decided not to get angry at him for it. It hadn't been an order, because he had said please. Besides, I supposed I owed him a favor--he'd let me get rid of the dagger myself rather than taking it for me, and regardless of some troubles still between us, did respect me. I listened as Granger said, "Would you two mind volunteering to help my class learn?" I noticed how she refrained from saying 'help me,' knowing I would refuse. Smart-arse.

She continued, saying, "I need two people to duel against each other. Just simple spells, nothing really complicated or extremely dangerous. I was going to make kids from my class volunteer, but you two will be better, and then there won't be any mess-ups. It's my second class. Just come back to this classroom after showering and having breakfast. It's simple."

She looked at Potter; I could tell she was wheedling him in. "Please, Harry? For me." Rage burned in me upon hearing her say that. 'For me.' 'For me'! Couldn't she see that Potter was more mine than hers, that he would rather do things for me--because the things that were for me benefited him, too? That swindling little wench. She was just trying to use him!

I was about to speak my thoughts when Potter reached his hand out to clamp it over my mouth again; nodding to Granger, and smiling sweetly, he replied, "We accept."