Segue of Shadows

BY : Xandria
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 9215
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Segue of Shadows

By: Xandria

Author's Notes: Thanks to Rhoddlet for her input on the use of a rather harsh word. Thanks to Dee for listening to me while I wrote most of this. Thusly, this fic is dedicated to Rhoddlet, who started me thinking about Quidditch Glove Sex(tm) and Dee, who understands what it is to be Malfoy.

Disclaimer: All obvious HP characters and concepts are property of their respective owners. No infringement is intended.

Rated: NC-17

Summary: Lucius/James. After playing Quidditch, Lucius Malfoy indulges his momentary desire of James Potter against the broomshed with unexpected prolonged results.


James Potter's agile fingers curled around the Quaffle's irregular curve expertly, snatching the large red ball away from the vicinity of a curiously too slow Lucius Malfoy. The Gryffindor Chaser's grip on the ball wavered when his counterpart winked at him with roguish gray eyes, the blonde's thin lips curling into a confident sneer. Consequently, Malfoy fell into possession of the Quaffle and scored ten points before James could recover from the disconcerting display by the blonde aristocrat.

While the Slytherin Quidditch team had always been notorious for employing considerably less than sportsmanlike tactics to assert their so-called superiority on the Pitch, Malfoy had never resorted to these disdainful strategies. Not until now. James had always presumed Malfoy desired to win based on genuine merits of skill, and therefore he held a grudging respect for the Slytherin Chaser. Even when the content of a seventh year potions test was surreptitiously leaked last term, Malfoy had remained uninterested. Or so James learned through Peter's friend Rosier, a seemingly amenable Slytherin a year ahead of them. Rosier had exploited the opportunity to cheat, and yet Malfoy still achieved the top mark without having done so.

It was therefore a surprise to James that Malfoy would lower himself to the despicable use of distraction techniques when the blonde's skill on the broom was almost entirely uncontested -- except by James, of course, whose innate Quidditch proficiency was exalted by the majority of students and instructors at Hogwarts.

At the precise moment when James was convincing himself he had imagined the provocative eyewink from Malfoy, the blonde circled him, repeated the deed and embellished it with a salacious swipe of a pointed pink tongue tip over the edge of his upper teeth as the corners of his mouth formed an iniquitous grin. Malfoy was then, once more, a blur of Slytherin green over the Pitch as he dove for the Quaffle and skilfully manoeuvred it through a goal hoop.

Distressing knots formed in James' stomach and his grip on the broom handle wavered as the sudden realization dawned that Malfoy might conceivably be flirting with him. He should have laughed or been angry -- anything but the uneasy burn of curiosity curling up and down his spine, pooling in his gut like one drink of Red Currant Rum too many. When the game had been called, a marginal victory to Slytherin, James could only hear the thrumming of his blood through a heart racing at breakneck speed.

James decided it would be best to confront Malfoy directly -- he was a Gryffindor, after all, suffused with noble bravery -- 'idiocy', his friend Remus often humorously referred to the trait as exemplified by James. In fact, nearly six years ago when the well-worn sorting hat had been placed on his head, it had remained thusly for all of two seconds before confidently declaring James a Gryffindor and sending him off to the Hogwarts House where he befriended Sirius Black and fell in love with Lily Evans. However, at this very mom som something akin to love, but not quite love, stirred within his depths -- awoken by a bold blonde Slytherin Chaser with glinting gray eyes. James was somewhat uncertain what the feeling precisely was and decided the best course of action was to confront the source in true Gryffindor fashion.

Malfoy always flew at least a few lazy laps of the Pitch after a game. James knew this just as he knew Malfoy spent Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday evenings in the library; just as he knew the Slytherin woke earlyt mot mornings, briskly walking the circumference of the castle regardless of the weather. So James waited outside the broomshed, the voices of his fellow students growing fainter, as the sun's radiance also grew fainter, casting long hungry shadows on the emerald turf, threatening to engulf him. Despite the warm spring temperature, he shivered. Waiting. Wondering.

Once Malfoy had returned his broom to the broomshed, he rounded the corner of the simple wood structure toward the castle and came face to face with James whose lips were pursed shut almost defiantly. Malfoy didn't seem at all surprised and merely quirked a feral smile, accentuating his high prominent cheekbones before stepping around the Gryffindor Chaser purposefully.

"What was that all about, Malfoy?" James queried at last, clenching his fists at his sides in an attempt to draw strength from the tightness in his curled fingers, the thick leather from his simple gloves pinching his skin slightly.

Malfoy halted and whirled around on one black booted heel gracefully. He took two long confident strides toward James and cocked his head to the side slightly while speaking softly with his melodious mercurial voice, "I think you know, Potter."

James simply stared bemusedly at the olboy boy for a moment, with his blonde hair pulled tightly back and bound in a black leather queue. James doesn't believe he's ever seen Malfoy's hair unbound before and wondered briefly what it would look like hanging loosely over lean shoulders. He further postulated what it would feel like to touch and would smell like if he buried his nose amidst those locks. James relaxed his grstanstanding his ground and replied resolutely in an attempt to rule out the one motivation residing farthest from his instinct, "You were trying to throw the game in Slytherin's favour."

"You don't believe that any more than I know it to not be true, Potter," Malfoy spoke with a curious sneer, taking one step further, forcing James back against the broomshed wall in order to maintain his personal space.

James' dusty boot heel collided sharply with the base of the broomshed, vibrating throughout his physical body, already in turmoil as the knots of discontent tightened. He swallowed hard and then continued purposefully, challenging Lucius' cold pewter eyes with his, "Then you were..."

Lucius smirked darkly, revealing perfect pure white teeth, his blonde eyebrows cresting in taunting query, "...being flirtatiousHe cHe closed the distance between the two Chasers, raising his right-gloved hand, pale fingertips protruding from the fine leather, and with a feather's touch traced a single digit down James' flushing cheek. "Yes, I suppose I was."

James found Malfoy's haughty confidence arresting and thusly found himself incapable of responding to the blonde's licentious caress as his heart hammered unrelentingly in his chest -- or did it stop... he was uncertain. They spoke more to one another in the last sixty seconds than they had the entire time James was at Hogwarts, and yet the Gryffindor, whose courage was fleeing at a phenomenal rate, had thought all previous encounters, of which there were few, led up to this decisive moment.

When James responded with only a slight parting of his flesh red lips, no sound emerging therefrom, Malfoy took it upon himself to coax a response in a manner entirely befitting the blonde Slytherin. Malfoy leaned forward and pressed his pale thin lips directly over the Gryffindor's.

Hazel eyes widened at Malfoy's unexpected chaste kiss. All James could think of was that the kiss was unlike those he shared with Lily. Malfoy's lips were firm, his mouth certain of its movements, practiced... and yet astonishingly gentle.

The blonde refocused his efforts, capturing James' lower lip between his, but not widening his mouth any more than he had to in order to seize the ruby flesh. Very subtly the pale mouth decreased the pressure and began withdrawing.

James was certain this was wrong -- kissing a boy, kissing a Slytherin, kissing Malfoy. But if it was so wrong, then why did his mouth follow the blonde's retreating lips, desperate to maintain contact and continue the exotic arousing activity. James thought he stopped breathing altogether now.

"Mmmmnn," Malfoy intoned deliciously, two fingers now caressing the side of James' face. "Very good. You do understand." He pressed his lips once more against the Gryffindor boy's, deepening the kiss until James' lips began to quiver with want.

James thought he would go mad with the agonizing slow pace at which Malfoy bestowed upon him a simple kiss. However, he was too rooted in this moment to encourage the older boy to do more... do what exactly, he wasn't certain. He knew full well what to do with a girl and then wondered if it was any different with a boy. James gasped suddenly as he felt Malfoy's pointed pink tongue slide over his upper lip, sweeping from one side of his mouth to the other and back again -- methodical and deliberate.

Malfoy grinned ravenously, stroking James' warm cheek with three fingers now, and darted his tongue forward and backward like a snake's, teasing the full lips before him. When the dark-haired boy tilted his head up, chasing the elusive tongue, Malfoy's head reared back gently, feeling heavy erratic breath against his face, and smivictvictoriously.

Pleading hazel eyes behind black-rimmed glasses gazed into Malfoy's. James felt he was about to burst from anxiety, yet still he could not move. He did, however, moan softly in appreciation when the Slytherin took pity on him, once more closing his mouth over James'.

Four bone white fingers seared their touch into James' pink cheek, following the line of his strong jaw, moving imperceptibly as he returned Malfoy's indulgent kiss. The Slytherin's tongue met no resistance as he slipped it between flushed lips and began exploring James' mouth languidly -- the soft palate, teeth, and the underside of the younger boy's tongue. Malfoy smirked as he swallowed a long soft desperate moan from James, the Gryffindor's body beginning to respond of its own accord.

James squeezed his eyes shut as though he could shut out the experience he continued to believe was wrong, but felt so right. He was barely cognizant of his tightening trousers and the miniscule back and forth movements of his hips. He felt the plank of wood hard against his skull as he tilted his head and craned his neck for more of what the boy in Slytherin green offered him. He wanted to be swallowed, eaten, digested and absorbed. Anything. He would do anything to feel that probing pink tongue continue its artful exploration of his warm mouth.

A second set of pale digit tips joined the first on James' opposite cheek. Slowly the fingertips became soft leather palms, and the younger boy could not discern where the quality leather gloves ended and the aristocratic fingers began on the side of his face. Malfoy always had the best -- the best Quidditch gear, the best robes, the best shoes. And he demanded no less than perfection from himself, remaining at the top of his class year in and year out.

James was moved nearly to tears of absolute want when Malfoy slid his pointed probing tongue beneath James' and then sensually pulling it into his cooler mouth, using lips to stroke and firmly hold the malleable flesh that was James' in place. An incomprehensible noise formed in the heart of the Gryffindor's chest as his hips thrust out as far as they could, sadly meeting no resistance, his hands at last liberated from fear and coming to rest on a slender waist ensconced in pure white Quidditch breeches. He vocalized disappointment when Malfoy's sensuous mouth left his, leaving his lips in an open panting pout.

"You were saying something, Potter?" Silk soft leather and well cared for fingers stroked the younger boy's cheeks tenderly, slowly dipping down to trace the jaw line.

James opened his eyes and stared into a pair of glinting mischievous gray eyes. He could barely find his voice and his fingers refused to do more than clutch Malfoy's trim waist. "N-n-nothing, M-Malfoy."

A blonde left eyebrow arched to a severe point while a single alabaster digit moved with a butterfly caress over James' trembling lower lip. "I would hate to think you weren't enjoying this." He paused and leaned in closer, his well toned body mere inches from the boy in scarlet and cream. "You are enjoying this, are you not, Potter?"

The dark-haired boy stammered, "Y-y-yes." He summoned the strength to move his head from side to side, coercing Malfoy's finger to stroke his lower lip more intensely. He yearned for more than a fingertip from the Slytherin. He wanted to know what Malfoy's pale body would feel like against his; those strong deft fingers, and that very pretty mouth. "P-please," he whispered, his hazel eyes imploring in abject need.

"Please what?" thin lips smirked devilishly and drew closer to James', hovering and remaining just beyond reach. Malfoy guided his fingertip past the ruby curve of James' lower lip, sliding into the well between inner lip and teeth within his mouth.

The shivering Gryffindor willed Malfoy's finger to further explore his mouth, to climb inside of him and never leave. "Touch me, please," he didn't care how pathetic he sounded. Malfoy did not seem to care either, for his salacious smile neither waned nor curled into ridicule. For years he watched the blonde Slytherin covetously, realizing he was one of many entranced by the elegant Malfoy heir. Malfoy never drew any undue attention to himself, studying diligently, honing his Quidditch skills and never involving himself in the practical jokes and suspect pastimes of his fellow students. In fact, James couldn't understand why Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin and not Ravenclaw.

"I am touching you, Potter," ivory fingers slid feather light over a slightly tanned neck, brug stg stray strands of jet hair away from an ear so they could smoothly caress unencumbered.

James' breath hitched as his voice almost completely left him, words carried away by the soft spring breeze, "More... please." Holding Malfoy's large storm gray eyes, James flicked his tongue tip against the bone white finger in his mouth.

A wicked smile widened and the blonde boy lifted his finger slightly, watching intently as James captured the digit with his tongue and began stroking up and down its skin and leather length suggestively. "Potter wants more, does he, hmnnn?"

"Yessss," James hissed his desperation against Malfoy's saliva covered finger, his body betraying him utterly as his hips pulsed forward and back while clumsy hands positioned themselves onto slender Slytherin hips.

The older boy dropped his penetrating gaze briefly, noting the fingers biting into his hipbones adamantly and his own arousal, evidenced by the bulge at the front of his flesh tight white breeches. Malfoy snapped his head up to meet those nearly liquid hazel eyes once more. "Tell me, have you ever been with another boy before, Potter?" Agile fingertips curled around James' ear, teasing the sensitive skin with manicured nail tips, a soft leather palm brushing against the ear's shell.

The Gryffindor gasped, the knots in his stomach unfurling and spreading throughout his body with licentious lashes, licking at his groin, obsessive, hungry and demanding. Gathering his courage once more he replied with contrived playfulness, "No, but I'd like to." And James enthusiastically sucked Malfoy's finger into his mouth firmly, strengthening his own resolve, desperate to slake the stimulating sensations the older boy evoked in him.

"I see. With just any boy?" Malfoy leaned closer and to the side, wiggling his finger in James' moist cavern, and brushing his pale cheek ghost-like against the rosy one. Sliding his fingers down James' neck to the collar of his crimson and cream Quidditch tunic, Malfoy snaked his tongue tip up and down the edge of the Gryffindor's ear rousingly slowly.

The younger boy moaned, dropping his hands from Malfoy's hips lifelessly and bucking his own into the air, desperate for release from his vexed state.

"You really should calm down, Potter, lest you soil your trousers," Malfoy whispered, smiling with sinful delight against James' earlobe. He removed his finger from the Gryffindor's hot mouth and laid his hand upon a chest through which he discerned an irregular rapid heart rate, driven by unbridled lust and desire. When he felt the heart beat slightly more regularly he continued, "Now, would you like to be with any boy?"

James forced his mind to focus on Malfoy's query, knowing full well it was all part of an elaborate game. But it was a game he was not only compelled to play, but he had no choice to lose. He proffered the only answer he could, the Slytherin's controllreatreaths on his neck enticing and distracting, "No, just you, Malfoy, just you." The Gryffindor could never understand his attraction to the blonde aristocrat -- it was elusive, one moment slithering on his tongue, the next writhing in his stomach and then absent... but never for long. Sadly, he reflected, he was not the only one who coveted the Malfoy heir.

"You say the sweetest things, Potter," Malfoy purred, an edge of cool mockery to his tone, closing his mouth over the sweat slicked side of James' neck while his fingers threaded their way through a ruffle of unkempt black hair.

Right now, James was uncaring of Malfoy's motives, ravenous only for the Slytherin to resume his sweet seduction. At the feel of the blonde's sharp teeth on his neck, James pressed his body back into the broomshed; conscious the strong hand on his chest followed the action immediately, pinning him motionless.

Malfoy held James' head fast with fingers gripped in locks of dark hair as he gradually alternated between nibbling and biting the length of neck along the nerve chord to the shoulder and up again. The Slytherin knew precisely what flesh to lavish his attentions on in order to achieve submission. With his mouth once more at James' earlobe, Malfoy continued licentiously laving the younger boy's salt infused skin along his jaw and finally settling on an eager rosy mouth.

James' resultant moan resonated amidst their languorous kiss, deepened at Malfoy's urging with firm nibbles on reddened lips. The Gryffindor boy's stomach knotted once more as the older boy slid his hand down the well-formed chest and sternum, pausing at the waistline. Renewed hunger was coaxed from James' lips against Malfoy's in an aching plea, "Please touch me, Malfoy."

The blonde took pity on the undulating body in full Gryffindor Quidditch gear before him. He snaked his hand purposefully beneath the crimson and cream tunic and felt the moist flesh ripple immediately at his burning touch. The Slytherin plundered James' mouth with his agile tongue as the Gryffindor's lips widened from a sharp gasp at Malfoy's deliberate incendiary caress.

When James attempted to deepen the kiss by tossing his head forward, he was sharply reminded of Malfoy's hold on him, ghostly fingers wrapped in his dark hair, refusing to move and tugging on his scalp. The younger boy winced and resigned himself to acquiesce to the blonde's maddeningly slow yet exceptionally arousing pace. Closing his eyes behind steaming glasses, James fumbled beneath Malfoy's green cloak for purchase on those slender hips once more and relaxed a degree when he found it.

Teasing his spidery fingertips along the outline of James' ribcage, Malfoy felt the younger boy's tongue grow limp against his, accepting the older boy's wicked torments with resignation. James' jaw slackened considerably when manicured fingernails finally made their way to a dusty rose nipple. "Do you like this, Potter?" Lucius queried in a besotted drawl, rolling the nipple gently between thumb and forefinger.

As though in timed response, James lurched his hips forward, again finding nothing to rub himself against toward relief. He contemplated, for a fleeting moment only, throwing Malfoy to the ground and stroking himself against the Slytherin's tight toned thighs until climax, not caring one whit about soilins brs breeches, but thought better of it. He was enjoying the blonde aristocrat's inflaming attentions far too much. "Yes, please don't stop," James rasped, unable to see beyond the newly formed film on his glasses, closing his hazel eyes once more and digging his fingers into Malfoy's hips urgently.

The blonde chuckled and closed his mouth over James' as his fingers lazily wandered to the other nipple, pinching and stroking it painfully hard. Malfoy swallowed the litany of incoherent babbling from the Gryffindor Chaser, lightly scratching his nails against James' flesh in such a way as to not gather any skin particles or dirt beneath his flawless fingernails. As his hand was halfway down James' muscled chest, Malfoy slowly released the other boy's mouth so he could observe more intently.

It was all James could do to not beg the older boy to hurry the progression of their unanticipated encounter -- unanticipated for James, but not, perhaps, Malfoy. He moaned in frustration as Malfoy's seeking fingers dipped unhurriedly toward the waist of his trousers, sliding against his slick warm skin, a light dusting of hair beginning at his navel.

Malfoy's teasing digits followed the trail of recently formed hair downward, straining against the tight breeches until his fingertips encountered slightly damp silken flesh.

James groaned at the searing contact of Malfoy's fingers and nearly spent himself. His overwhelming need curled like a spire around his spine, rigid and rooted in the absolution of lust. James was well versed in the rumours around Lucius Malfoy -- what there existed of such speculations, for few would speak after a libidinous encounter with the blonde Slytherin. And those who did carried with them accounts of little to no credibility for Malfoy was widely respected by many students and never boisterously recounted such tales himself. What James was fairly certain of was that Malfoy's tastes extended only to Purebloods, seldom ran outside of Slytherin house and primarily focused on other boys. He also understood Malfoy almost always limited his rendezvous with one encounter, which only lent to the dubious nature of the rumours themselves and thusly gave them little to no credence. But, James did not care; believing he was special and hopeful Malfoy knew this as well -- otherwise, why would Malfoy choose him, a Gryffindor boy who was dating a Muggle born?

"Oh, Potter, you are so close," the blonde Slytherin whispered, removing his fingers from the tip of James' erection.

-"Yes... please," James panted, nodding his head so his glasses would slide forward along his faintly freckled nose, enabling him to see what short distance he could over the thick black rims.

With deft practiced fingers, Malfoy slowly unbuttoned and parted the cream trousers, cooling James' heated disposition with a piercing gaze. When the Gryffindor boy made a subtle movement toward the front of Malfoy's pristine white bulging breeches, the Slytherin narrowed his icy eyes, halting the fingers and returning them idly to Malfoy's hips.

James sighed in relief as the cool air rushed against his groin, now exposed to the elements courtesy of the older boy's whims to which he willing submitted. Malfoy would like to believe his admonishing glare was precisely that, but it only served to excite the younger boy more. Perhaps that was Malfoy's secret... why so many mooned over him, desired him... self-assured and commanding his presence certainly was -- alluring indeed. Yet he was untouchable. Through his actions, self-inflicted isolation and studious nature, Malfoy hoarded himself away from those who wanted him. Everything had to be on the blonde aristocrat's terms... always. And presently, Malfoy wanted James Potter, and James was glad of it.

"Allow me," the blonde-haired boy elegantly withdrew his wand from within the folds of his Slytherin green cloak and quickly cast a charm to remove the unwanted cloudy film from James' glasses. He cast a second charm, which James would eventually learn prevents his glasses from fogging. After returning his wand, Malfoy securely placed James' frames perfectly on the dark-haired boy's flushed face. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." James was stunned by Malfoy's capa for for kindness and practicality. They might as well have been sharing tea and not leaning up against the broomshed at dusk, with James' trousers wide open, erect member stiffly seeking the Slytherin's sensual ministrations.

With a satisfied smile, and his left hand stroking James' hair, Malfoy lifted his right hand to the younger boy's face. "You have a nice mouth, Potter."

James blushed, unable to reply, and found himself instinctually parting his full lips, permitting the entrance of one ivory and leather digit, locking his eyes onto Malfoy's. He was struck by the strong desire to please Malfoy and of his own device, pulled a second finger into his warm wet mouth to suck greedily. His tongue laved the fingertips and sought out what skin he could beneath the edge of the leather gloves encasing Malfoy's fingers from the lower knuckle down. The leather was so thin, and so soft... completely unlike his own gloves. He decided he liked Malfoy's better. They tasted like Malfoy -- clean, pure and a hint of jasmine.

The blonde's lips parted slightly and he raised his head as though to obtain a better view, looking down at James over a slender nose. He sighed softly and smiled as he slipped a third finger between James' pliant eager lips. Teasing the Gryffindor's tongue with evasive fingers, the corner of Malfoy's mouth threatened to tug into a laugh as James created a vacuum seal, nearly swallowing the fingers down his throat, soaking the gloves with saliva.

James moved wantonly into the older boy's stirring caresses upon his athletic chest, hoping to catch his hardened nipples against the edges of fine black leather Quidditch gloves, gasping when Malfoy allowed such an accident. It was during one of these gasps the blonde boy removed his saliva slick fingers from James' talented mouth and lowered his hand between them.

Malfoy cast a quick glance downward to ensure his slippery soaking fingers closed entirely over James' blood-engorged cockhead, sliding sensuously in a firm circular fashion.

"Ohhhh," James shuddered at the wicked sensation and steeled himself from climaxing too soon. He tossed his head back as though the pain from semi violent physical contact with the broomshed exterior wall would diminish his arousal and hunger for release. It didn't.

Malfoy captured James and held him fast with his pewter cut eyes. His fine-leathered palm situated forcefully at the centre of the Gryffindor's chest for the purpose of maintaining the younger boy's precarious upright position against the wall as James was gripped in breathless rapture. When James' cheeks were flushed red once more and his hips thrusting into Malfoy's ministrations, the Slytherin removed his hand from the younger boy and slipped his fingers deep into James' mouth. "So close, aren't you, Potter?"

James gazed at Malfoy with wild hazel eyes and mumbled around fair slender digits, "Yessss." He pushed his erection out into the air, so desperate and hungry for the older boy's lascivious touch.

"Lick my palm," Malfoy instructed, retracting his fingers from James' wet mouth and holding up his hand.

At the silken command, James' member twitched and his hands fell away from Lucius' hips to hang loosely at his sides, for he lost control over most of his body some time ago. He parted his lips, extended his moist youthful tongue and began licking the leather palm. James moved his head like a cat, ensuring his tongue roved every crevasse of leather, soaking the fine stitching with his saliva. The Gryffindor boy did this all while feeling the heat of Malfoy's critical gaze upon him, growing painfully harder by the moment.

When James had no more saliva left to give, leaving his mouth bone dry, Malfoy lowered his arm and firmly wrapped the cool soaking wet leather hand around the dark-haired boy's cock. He smiled knowingly when James gasped and jerked his body back reactively. Achingly slowly, the older boy began to massage the Gryffindor Chaser's erection with firm squeezes and cool long damp strokes.

James began to shiver uncontrollably and suddenly realized he was being held vertical by the localized pressure of Malfoy's strong palm on his chest. Malfoy, who was controlling every nuance of his pleasure, was dictating the younger boy's body with shameful practiced ease. And James relinquished all control quite willingly. He felt he could do no less for the charismatic blonde Slytherin.

"Does this please you?" Malfoy quirked a brow and continued his licentious assault on James' stiff member, engorged with blood and the desperate need to come.

James nodded furiously, his glasses sliding easily down his nose from beads of perspiration trick fro from his forehead. At least he could see out of his glasses now, and for that he was grateful because the Slytherin Chaser had never appeared so attractive to him as Malfoy did now, utterly calm yet stroking his cock so relentlessly. He had no idea Malfoy could provide such unimaginable pleasures, and was secretly hopeful the blonde Slytherin would deem him worthy enough of subsequent encounters.

Malfoy paused, lifting both sets of hands to James' glass frames and straightening them once more, as though their residing askew was an affront to his nature.

"P-please," James intoned with a terribly dry mouth, his voice quickly failing him physiologically.

"Please what, Potter?" Malfoy dropped his right hand while the left returned beneath the Gryffindor's tunic, lazily seeking out the younger boy's nipples to pinch, squeeze, tug and twist.

James tried to clear his throat but no amount of persuasion returned his voice. "Please let me come," he barely whispered, his hazel eyes pained with lust filled distress.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," Malfoy grinned, pinching a nipple deliberately.

James attempted to shout, presently uncaring of who heard, but his voice only emerged as a hoarse whisper, "Please, Malfoy, let me come."

"Certainly, Potter," the Slytherin grinned wickedly, curling his right hand's fingers and sliding them over James' strained cock, weeping a single drop of precome.

James clenched his teeth and groaned in near silence as he thrust himself through a cold wet leather hand, a breath away from the inciting alabaster flesh of Malfoy's stirring fingers. In no less than ten strokes it was done. The younger boy's body tensed and every well-formed muscle stretched taut, as he climaxed powerfully into the Slytherin's Quidditch gloves, semen mingling with saliva from the same source. Panting, he sagged back against the wall and croaked graciously with a warm smile and heavy lidded eyes, "Thank you."

"Oh, I'm not finished with you yet, Potter," the blonde intoned with a predator's grin, a glint of something almost malevolent in his cool gray eyes.

Overcome with tumultuous pleasure, adrift on its sensuous waves, James barely acknowledged the truth behind Malfoy's eyes, and was unable to react when faced with its jagged icy reality. In mere moments the cold slippery wet leather that was the Slytherin's right Quidditch glove was stuffed into James' mouth. He widened his eyes in horror and surprise, wondering what he'd done wrong to deserve this humiliating treatment.

"Do not move unless I tell you to and do not eject the glove from your mouth... or I will do to your precious Lily what I am about to do to you," Malfoy hissed, raising his right foot between the younger boy's legs and forcing James' cream trousers down to crest the tops of the knee high boots, for they could be pushed no further downward.

James stammered his reply against the sodden leather. When the blonde temporarily removed the glove, James repeated with a cracking faint voice, "I thought you didn't... with non Purebloods." James was not so naive to not know he was about to be buggered by the Slytherin blonde, and could scarcely imagine Lily victim to the older boy's carnal whims. He didn't want to imagine Malfoy having his insidious way with Lily. What he did want surprised him in the face of the boy who was indeed rightly sorted into Slytherin. He wanted Malfoy to use him. Anything for his touch, no matter how painful or degrading such conduct must be. In fact, his body began to thrill at the torrid thoughts running rampant through his confused mind, all too soon to become scorched into hardened reality.

Malfoy pressed the glove into James' cavernous mouth, his eyes gleaming as he smirked sinisterly, "For you I'll make an exception, Potter. Do as I say and I'll steer clear of your untarnished Lily." Milk white fingertips expertly unbuttoned white Slytherin breeches, and then pushed them down systematically over almost translucent flesh... except for Malfoy's member, which was blushed erect with blood. "You thought I'd have you suck me, didn't you, Potter?"

James nodded tenuously, laying his tongue thickly against the wet leather glove, bitter with his own seed.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. It's not your mouth I want to fuck... as nice as it is." Malfoy briefly smiled sickeningly sweetly and then bade severely, adopting a malevolent sneer, "Turn around, facing the broomshed."

Apprehensively, the dark-haired boy turned clumsily, part of him wishing the encroaching darkness from a now vacant sun would swallow him before Malfoy claimed him. And yet anotpartpart of James welcomed the darkness led by its Slytherin blonde herald. He turned his head slightly and watched with wide curious eyes the blonde prepare himself.

The Slytherin boy withdrew a translucent vial of thick clear liquid from his cloak. James wondered what else Malfoy housed within its concealed pockets. He held the vial in his right hand, unscrewing the cap and then holding it with his thumb and forefinger. With his left gloved hand the blonde liberally slicked the entire length of his erection from a cache of lubricant drizzled from the tilted vial. After adding a few more drops to his cockhead, he poured an amount in the well of his middle three fingertips and then spun the vial cap closed, returning it to his voluminous cloak.

James observed this cool clinical display and was struck by the probability Malfoy had done this very thing dozens, no, hundreds of times. An icy chill encircled his spine, waging war with the ever present and long time rooted desire for the Malfoy heir.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter. I'm not completely callous." Malfoy stepped closer to James' shivering body, holding his left hand level. Glancing down, he kicked the younger boy's Quidditch boots as wide apart as they would travel, given the cream trousers tight around James' knees. With his right hand, Malfoy effectively flicked the crimson cloak over James' shoulder, exposing the younger boy's naked flesh before him. "Mmmmnn, very nice, Potter," Malfoy sighed admiringly, stroking the firm round flesh smoothly with a bare right hand.

Unsettled, James reached out with his hands and braced himself against the coarse broomshed wall; thankful for his thick gloves and the splinters he won't take into his fingers from scraping his palms to hold himself steady while Malfoy had his way with him. However, he found Malfoy's gentle caress soothing and could not help but begin to relax his body into the blonde's capable ministrations. He moaned against the leather gag when he felt a slippery finger at his anal opening and widened his eyes with surprise at the ease with which Malfoy's cool finger slid into him. It wasn't what he expected -- it was... pleasurable... stimulating. With two fingers he could feel the edge of the soft Quidditch glove rubbing against his entrance, Malfoy's knuckles working the tight muscle methodically. James laid his cheek against the shed, drifting into the sensual sensations willingly.

"Bend your knees, Potter," Malfoy instructed calmly, moving himself into position behind the Gryffindor boy.

As James bent his legs, his knees pressed against the wood broomshed somewhat painfully, for the wall comprised of coarse wood. No sooner had the pair of probing fingers left him than they were replaced with Malfoy's smooth member at his entrance.

Slowly, Malfoy pushed into James, using his left hand to guide his movement untilwas was buried deep in the dark-haired boy's warmth. The blonde released a long contented sigh before placing deceptively strong hands on James' athletic yet slight hips.

James moaned and then cried out as the Slytherin withdrew almost his entire length before plunging in fiercely... repeating the process with a steady grip on the younger boy's faltering form, holding him upright, ensuring he remained in position. James thought he would suffocate, but refused to dislodge the sodden leather glove serving as a gag. It had not been enough for Malfoy that the Gryffindor Chaser had lost his voice, but the Slytherin had to ensure silence and obedience in this lurid fashion. As Malfoy jostled the younger boy's body with virulent thrusts, James bit into the leather ferociously. Physically, he had to admit there was no agony at all -- but it was his spirit threatening to abate beneath the weight of the Slytherin's manipulation, vexing him so. This was wrong. He was cheating on Lily... with Malfoy. But he'd yearned for what Malfoy was presently giving him before he beganing ing Lily. Did that make it right? Would the Slytherin demand such pleasures from him again? Would he give it? Did he want more? The delight Malfoy pushed into his yielding body was intoxicating and momentarily swept aside all doubts.

Pistoning harder and faster, slippery smooth in and out of James' tight arse, Malfoy reached around the young Gryffindor's sweat soaked body with his left hand and found what he was seeking -- James, newly aroused, painfully erect once more. "So hard again so soon, Potter?" Malfoy leered malevolently between breathless thrusts.

James muttered a protest into his gag, although he wasn't certain what he was protesting. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself how arousing Malfoy's lustful ministrations were. However, deeper inside himself, he began to see what he had not previously seen within the blonde -- the Slytherin was indeed as cool, meticulous and self-serving as his familial and house lineage exemplified. But he could not help himself or his immediate feelings. James could not stop his pleasured body from thrusting forward into Malfoy's pumping fist and backward onto the blonde's thrusting member. He screamed denial once more into the leather, tasting bitter and salt; the clean jasmine flavour of Malfoy quickly diminishing.

Through the thin leather of his left palm, the blonde boy could feel James' erection pulsing and twitching with need. In synchronous rhythm with his moving hips, Malfoy firmly stroked the younger boy to a second climax as he emptied himself satisfyingly at last into the Gryffindor Chaser; the final thrust lifting the well-muscled boy from the ground.

James was close to passing into unconsciousness, barely cognizant of Malfoy withdrawing from his body and then turning him around gently to lean him against the broomshed in recovery. With half closed eyes he observed the Slytherin remove the left hand glove and hold it out to James nonchalantly.

"Here. You might as well have both." Malfoy paused and then added as though it were an afterthought, a subtle smirk whispering across his thin lips, "Oh, you can remove the one in your mouth now."

After limply taking the glove offered him, James pulled the black damp leather from his mouth and stretched his sore jaw. He panted heavily, shoulder blades and dug in boot heels holding him scarcely upright, his trousers still around his knees. He had no idea if he'd just been violated or not, and consequently felt his mind plunge into turmoil. Physically, he felt alive and pleasured -- yearning, in fact, to turn back time for the purpose of experiencing such undeniable passions again. However, the no nonsense manner in which Malfoy was now conducting himself caused James to experience the cold twinges of angst.

Malfoy retrieved his wand and cast a few cleaning charms on himself before pulling his breeches up and fastening them securely with rapid moving fingers. Fastidiously, he straightened his green and white Quidditch uniform, and carefully stroked his palms over his hair, satisfied to discover it remained precisely coiffed and bound in the queue. The Slytherin stood gracefully before the dishevelled and debauched James and intoned dismissively, "Don't concern yourself overmuch, Potter. That is all."

A maelstrom of conflicting emotions laid violent siege to James' addled mental state. He regretted the spiteful phrase he uttered as soon as it spilled forth, but evidently, it was all he could think to say at this particular moment. "Fuck you, Malfoy."

The older boy grinned, "I don't think so." He moved to leave, paused and then added, holding James' hardening hazel eyes, "But perhaps some day my son will fuck your son up against the broomshed, hmmnnn?" As he strode past James with head held high, Malfoy spoke confidently, "See you at the next game, Potter."

As James watched the Slytherin green cloak and silver-blonde hair retreat, he was tempted to call out to Malfoy, beseech him to return. Despite the bitter tears spilling from his stinging eyes, James' glasses remained unclouded. He stared down at the finely crafted gloves in his hands. The one bore his teeth marks, marking the beautiful leather irrevocably -- no wonder Malfoy didn't want them any more. But James wanted them... because they had belonged to the Slytherin boy he adored from afar and would never cease desiring as long as he lived.

James brought the gloves to his dry cracked lips and kissed them. He thought he could still smell jasmine as he gazed out at the darkness that had long since swallowed the shadows.

~ * ~

Potter's glasses nestled askew on his ears; his green eyes squeezed tightly shut and tongue tip peeking out between luscious red lips in concentration. His black hair was considerably more unruly than usual, owing to the fact his body jostled impatiently up against the Quidditch broomshed wall.

Draco enjoyed seeing the Gryffindor Seeker like this -- pretty pale neck strained, hardened muscles taut, a low growl threatening to vacate his throat as he desperately tried to avoid the inevitable. It was the only power Draco felt he had... this tenuous power over Harry Potter.

Potter grunted, slightly perturbed, his hands firing out to thread strong fingers through silver-blonde hair. "Stop teasing, Draco," Potter rasped in frustration, staring down to capture the other boy's mischievous gray eyes.

Draco smiled knowingly, gazing up at the boy whose round face was luminescent from beads of sweat. The boy whose raging erection he held in his ivory hand; and around which Draco Malfoy slid his practiced lips, never averting his shimmering gray eyes from Potter's.

Potter pressed his hands to the back of Draco's head, overcome with desire for more of the blonde boy's skilled mouth and gasped when the Slytherin's pointed pink tongue began laving his cock amidst a delightful suction. "Yesss, Draco. Ungh, more."

Against the strength of Potter's insistent hands, Draco drew his head back and remarked, "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much, Potter?" Draco found Potter's banter annoying and distracting at times, especially at passionate moments like this when all Draco desired was to gift the Gryffindor with the most spectacular blowjob he could. Not only did Draco not succumb to chatter in the throes of ecstasy, but also noted his father hardly ever spoke while Snape sucked the elder Malfoy off -- so why did Potter have to be so vocal, the Slytherin Seeker wondered.

"You do. All the time. Now come on or we'll be late for dinner," Potter urged impatiently, affectionately stroking the side of the blonde's pointy face with his right hand while smiling weakly, smitten with lust.

Draco glanced at the glove as its warmth left his cheek. Potter's Quidditch gloves were perhaps the finest things he owned. Curiously, the right glove was flecked with what appeared to be teeth marks, for the indentures were aligned thusly. When Draco had asked Potter about it one night after Quidditch practice, the dark-haired boy shrugged and said they came that way -- they had belonged to his father and Sirius Black handed them down to Potter along with other personal effects salvaged years ago. Draco had momentarily felt an icy hand grip his heart for he knew his father had been involved in the deaths of Potter's parents -- very involved. In a moment of weakness and a rare act of pity for his lover, Draco had rolled onto his stomach and begged Potter to fuck him -- hard.

Potter's boyish voice interrupted Draco's ruminations, "You give head so good, Draco. And you're all mine."

"All yours, Potter," Draco smiled, a hint of mischief playing on his lips, and took Potter into his hot mouth once more, much to the Gryffindor's delight. Draco had learned the oral arts by covertly observing Snape with his father in the Manor library and den, where they often indulged themselves. He never remained to watch his father take the potions master -- that was too much for what he liked to consider his refined sensibilities, and besides, he wished to learn about that with someone else -- like Potter.

"Oh, Draco," Potter moaned appreciatively, threading his fingers through fine silver-blonde locks and watching his cock vanish repeatedly into Draco's expert warm wet mouth. "Fuck, you're so good."

Sadly, Draco felt sucking cock was all he excelled at, and he couldn't even share this unimportant life skill with his father. Time after time he failed to meet his father's stringent expectations, measured by the ruler of his father's days as a student at Hogwarts. How could Draco? His father had been and was seemingly utterly faultless, leaving no room or hope to match his father's outstanding aptitudes while the likes of Potter and Granger were his schoolmates. Consequently, he learned how to give the best head he could, and give it to Potter, the tool in his personal rebellion against his father.

"D-Draco, I'm gonna c-c-come," Potter bucked his hips, fucking Draco's mouth wildly, all while the blonde Slytherin swirled his tongue, sucked with his mouth and slid his lips along Potter's blood engorged shaft enthusiastically.

Draco pushed Potter powerfully against the wall with his lily-white hands on the Gryffindor boy's hips, fixing him firmly, while he increased tempo and pressure, wrenching another earth shattering orgasm from the Boy Who Lived.

Potter's next vocalization was entirely incomprehensible as he released himself in Draco's mouth, sagging back against the broomshed wall completely spent. "Fuck, you're so good, Draco," Potter repeated, panting and wiping his fogged glasses on the crimson and cream Quidditch shirt before securing them on his face unevenly.

Draco swallowed, never tired of hearing Potter tell him how good he was, because he felt Potter was the only one who would ever speak such sentiments to Draco. The blonde boy rose from his knees, grateful for the thick Quidditch kneepads, preventing his white breeches from becoming sullied.

"I'll go up ahead first," Potter haphazardly arranged his uniform and ran his fingers through his unruly black hair. It was useless, of course, his hair, like his father's, had a mind of its own. Smilingly gleefully, Potter snatched a kiss from Draco and whispered promisingly in the Slytherin Seeker's ear, "Nine o'clock in our usual place." One more energetic boyish kiss and Potter pried himself away from the boy in green.

The blonde Slytherin watched his secret lover depart, swallowed by dusk's growing darkness. He gently touched his left cheek, convinced he could feel Potter's imperfect Quidditch gloved hand against his alabaster skin. He was suddenly struck by just how long and cold his father's shadow was.

~ fin ~

Copyright © 2002 Xandria

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