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Mind Body Heart and Soul	By : LadyKoneko Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2759 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
- 1-Mind Body Heart and Soul
- 1
Title: Mind Body Heart and Soul

Author: Lady Koneko

Summary: Gradual self-discoveries change Draco's view and relationship with Harry.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, implied Ron/Hermione.

Feedback: Knock yourself out.

Characters: Harry, Draco and company.

Author�s notes: My first story hitting on various messy kinks. This story contains Slash, Sex, Bondage, S&M, Bloodsport, touch of language, masturbation, domination . . . Don't like? Don't read.
The various places may archive; Potter Slash Archive, Malfoy Manor and bottom!draco emporium. Everyone else, please ask. If you have a older version of this story, please update to this version. Revised September 2005.
Takes place after 'Order of the Phoenix'.

Disclaimer: All characters and some situations in this story belong to the greatly talented writer J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books and Warner Bros., and various other persons not me and are being used without knowledge and permission. All other situations and the plot belong to Lady Koneko. No money or gifts are being made off of this story

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Draco sat with his back leaning against the headboard of his four poster bed, arms bound at the
wrists with long straps of Slytherin green silk that were in turn tied to two of the posts. They
were tight around his wrists, not so tight that they cut circulation, but tight enough to cause
bruising if he were to strain against them.

Sitting between his spread legs was his lover. He smiled at him, admiring Draco's slim, milky
white form, bared for his entertainment and pleasure.

"Perfection, aren't you?" his lover said, more a statement than a question. "Perfection, just for
me." A wave of heat pulsed through Draco at his soft, enchanting words. His member, erect
since before he had stripped and been tied, twitched as his lover glanced down at him. He smiled
and raised his hand, questing fingers softly feathering through his wavy white-blonde locks, gel
free as he hated the sight of Draco's hair plastered back, hard and tamed. Draco's lover insisted
that he keep his hair free for him, inviting his touch whenever he wished.

Draco whimpered, tilting his head into his lover's touch. With a smile his lover ran the back of
his fingers across Draco's cheek, over his jaw and down his neck. Draco swallowed hard,
shivering as he strained not to move, his teeth tearing his bottom lip as the casual caress made its
way down his chest, past his tight coral nipples and down to his quivering stomach. The caress
went further, stopping short at his tightly curled pubic hair and his straining, swollen member.
This was the first touch his lover had designed to give him since having bound Draco to his bed.

"You ache for me, long for my presence, don't you?"

"Yes . . ." Draco hissed; fighting and failing to repress the urge to dig his heels into the bed and
arch his hips up to the hand that hung teasingly inches above him.

"You hunger for me." His lover smiled at him, a wickedly warm smile that sent more liquid heat
rushing through him. A low whimper tore itself out of Draco's throat and he strained toward the
hand, the hard mahogany headboard and green scarves anchoring him as he strained toward his
lover. He nearly reached the hand when his lover pulled away, still smiling, head shaking.

"You want me . . . say it."

"I . . . I want . . . you . . ." Draco moaned, his eyes slipping half shut as he continued to seek the
touch he needed more than the air he breathed. His lover smiled at the molten quicksilver that
gleamed at him.

"You need me . . . your body hungers for me."

"Starving . . . dying without you . . ." Draco whispered in agreement.

A hand splayed across his chest, fingers wide over his heart. Draco gave a sharp cry at the
burning touch. "And is this mine as well? Your heart?" A thumb teasingly caressed the milky
skin beneath his right nipple. "Would you give that to me?"

". . . yours . . ." Draco hissed; hands fisting as he strained against his silk bindings. " . . . my
heart's blood . . . yours for the taking . . ."

The hand moved, fingers taking Draco's nipple between them, rolling and pinching it lightly.
Draco's eyes rolled back in his head; it was overwhelming, pure pleasure and burning desire
thrumming through his body. His lips parted, low whimpers called to his lover to take him, to
make him his, to do anything and everything to him. Warm breath caressed Draco's lips, a
whisper so low that Draco more felt it inside of him than heard it.

"Would you give your very essence to me? Is that mine as well? What makes you you. The force
that resides in this body; your soul. Would you give that to me as well? For all eternity, in my
keeping? Bind yourself to me, so that you cannot be claimed by anyone else again, so that you
will always be mine?"

Draco opened his eyes; brilliant glowing emerald eyes locked with his. They were hot with
passion, but more serious than Draco had ever seen them before.

"I . . . am yours . . ." he whispered back. To be claimed so totally was what he desired. His body
was wracked with shivers of longing at what his lover's demand entailed. To be his creature . . .
Draco's head fell back in surrender, a throaty moan leaving him. " . . . yours . . . mind . . . body .
. . heart . . . soul. Bind me . . . make me yours . . ."

His lover paused for a moment and pulled back, looking at him across the distance that separated
them; eyes still burning, but there was a look in them that Draco could not read. "No going back,
My Dragon."

No, there was no going back. Draco sat panting, body burning, his lover's body heat warming
him across the inches that separated them. " . . . never was . . . an option. Finish this . . . or when
freed . . . I will kill you . . ."

His lover cupped his cheeks with both hands, thumbs rubbing the delicate skin under his ears.
Draco keened, his body not his to control. Need. Want. Hunger. The desire to be possessed by
the one kneeling in front of him filled him. " . . . Please . . ." he choked.

One of the hands disappeared; but the other continued to caress him. The burning eyes were still
locked with his, holding them open when all he wanted to do was close them and become lost in
the sensations that wracked his frame.

Fingers were at his mouth, wet, rubbing around his lips, painting them with the milky-white fluid
on his fingers. Without hesitation he opened them, the fingers sliding in for him to suck on. The
thick fluid that coated his lover's fingers was bitter. Salty. He moaned deep in his throat at the
taste and suckled hungrily at the offered fingers 'till clean. He continued to suckle on the fingers
once clean, rolling his tongue around them, desperately, his lover watching with a smile. Then
his lover slowly pulled his fingers free, drawing out a pained whimper from Draco as he tried to
keep the fingers in his mouth. The hand then fell down to Draco's lap and he moaned deeply as
firm fingers surrounded his aching member. He thrusted shallowly into his lover's hand, not
having much space to move, inches from his lover and his back pressed against the headboard.
His lover did nothing but watch as he continued his actions, his thrusts coming faster and faster,
his moaning coming more rapid and shallow. The fire running in his blood drove him on, and all
Draco wanted was to come for his lover, be lost for his lover.

Draco cried with the pain of loss when his lover released him. He pulled hard against his bonds,
seeking his lover's touch, tears coursing down his cheeks in frustration and longing. His lover
shook his head and ran his fingers, now covered with Draco's precum around his lips, mixing the
two fluids together.

In desperation Draco sought to capture his lover's fingers, to taste his own body's desire on his
lover's fingers, but his lover denied him. He then attempted to lick his lips, but his lover shook
his head, leaning over so that his breath caressed Draco's lips.

"Mine . . ." he whispered, then closed the distance between the two of them and claiming
Draco's mouth for his own, first licking them clean of the white fluid surrounding it, then
possessing it. Draco did not fight him, gave to him willingly whatever he wanted, his body limp
and being held up only by his bound arms and the hot body pressing him back into headboard.
He felt hands on his hips, pulling him away from the headboard even as his lover's mouth
devoured him. A hand brushed against him, then circled around his scrotum, sliding down to
touch his entrance. A finger softly brushed against it teasingly. He moaned deeply, tossing his
head back as the tip of a slick finger slowly stretched him open. He groaned as the finger entered
completely. He felt his lover smile against his skin, and then his lover started to suckle at the
delicate skin under his ear, slowly sliding down until Draco's pulse point was throbbing against
his tongue. A second finger entered, stretching him further and Draco grabbed the scarves with
his hands and braced his shoulders against the headboard and thrusted hard against the fingers. A
soft chuckle resounded from his throat and a third finger entered him. He keened, arching his
neck as he pressed his head back hard against the headboard. Then all three fingers left him.

"Mine," his lover whispered again, nuzzling his nose against Draco's chin and licking his neck as he
lifted his head. "Freely given, freely taken. Bound forever." Draco felt hands on his hips again,
holding him, lifting him. A burning hardness was teasing his entrance. He bit his lip, the taste of
salt and metal filling his mouth as he strained toward his lover. "From this point on, My Dragon,
Draco, you are mine." And then his lover drove his hardness into him, taking him, claiming him,
and it was all that Draco could do to keep from screaming out loud, his legs wrapping around his
lover, holding them together, and then his lover began to drive in and out of him, and the heat
was burning through him, through his blood, pulling at his heart, and he could feel it, beyond the
awareness of the body, something encompassing him, and it pulled at him, and bound him to it,
filling him, completing him and everything was dark and light, burning and comforting and
holding him. There was the sound of screaming and a pressure in his heart burst and collapsed
into the essence of his lover.

* * * * *

I sat up with a gasp; my entire body was quivering and sweating, feeling as though I had just
played Quidditch for twelve hours straight with the way every muscle in my body ached. Well,
except for one part. That part of my body was extremely, distressingly sensitive, as my every
movement sent it brushing against sticky, semen covered pajama bottoms, teasing spurts of
pleasure wracking an already strained body.

I had been having wet dreams ever since I was twelve and my body began to develop. Back then,
well, they were different. Normal teenage hormonal getting off dreams, I would say. There I
would be, fucking some nameless person into a mattress, or a table, or the floor or even against
the wall. It was all basic stuff; I don't recall foreplay coming into it; at twelve, foreplay is not
even in your vocabulary. Around the time I turned thirteen, I did notice something about my
dreams, the significant other in my dreams did not have the ~attributes~ that signified a member
of the opposite sex. I was fucking a guy in my dreams. While a bit disturbing -mostly I was
thinking about my father's reaction if for some God unforeseen reason he found out- I eventually
figured it didn't really mean much. I overheard some of the older boys talking about wet dreams
and girls and who they would like to do where and came to the understanding that hormones just
did that to people. Guys would dream about fucking other guys, girls would dream about making
it with other girls, and sometimes there would be a complete sex reversal, the guy or girl would
dream that they were the opposite sex while they were fucking or being fucked by someone. It is
just the subconscious playing around, random mental images gooping together while the mind
recovered from the strain of being awake in a world that is decidedly odd. Things however
started going downhill my fourth year.

I did not realize it then of course, as muggles say, hindsight is twenty/twenty. I guess I should
have realized that something was wrong when all the girls from Beauxbatons showed up. All were
nicely built girls, from fine, prominent pureblood families, but one of them, Fleur Delacour, was
a part veela. All the males in the room, well, all those who had reached puberty, were drawn to
her. Even Potter and the Weasel, though the Weasel was much more out about it than Potter was.
I was not. I felt nothing. Not a twitch of attraction. I did admire her icy looks, but she drew me
about as much as Hagrid's stupid boarhound did.

I found that rather shocking. I will admit that I had felt nothing at the World Cup, but I had
figured that my parents had casted spells to keep me from being enchanted by them. I know that
Mother has strong views of Father staring at other women, especially other veela. Mother is a
quarter veela, and veela are very possessive of their husbands. But after Fleur, I had to rethink
things. And things just got worse. Potter was chosen as the second ~the second~ Hogwarts
representative. And they let him get away with it! I was furious. As the year went by, I attributed
all my fury and rage to Potter. He got all the attention, and as Quidditch was canceled, there was
no way I could compete with him. It pissed me off to no end.

And then there was the last task, where Potter and Diggory disappeared, and only Potter came
back alive. They rushed him away, the professors did, but I saw him, the look on his face, and
the dull look of his eyes.

It bothered me, that look, but I still acted as usual, it was not hard to harass and tease Potter and
his hanger-ons. Then I returned home, and discovered that things were not going the way I
thought they would. The Dark Lord was indeed back, by dark magicks and blood, and his hunger
was for Potter's life. There, in Malfoy Manor, eavesdropping on a conversation in the study, I
discovered exactly what had happened, how Diggory had died, how Potter had returned alive. I
had some thinking to do.

To top things off, my dreams changed. I was still having wet dreams, masturbating before bed
did not discourage them, but now the other player had definite, and unfortunately, recognizable
features. Skinny. Olive tinged skin. Hair that would qualify as a disaster area, and incredible
green eyes that seemed to glow at me. Fucking Harry Potter. I had no idea why in Merlin's name
that half blood was invading my dreams, my very ~private~ dreams, sullying my dream body
with his muggleness. I tried not sleeping, and quickly gave it up. I then tried dreamless sleep
draughts, and they had some effect, but not enough to continue taking it. I did not dream, but my
pajamas and bed sheets were still sticky when I woke, and I would always wake to a pair of
green eyes looking at me from behind my closed eyelids. It was actually less distressing to have
the stupid dreams.

Then there was fifth year. I had heard about the dementor attack, from several sources, and it
bothered me, because it was not Death Eater sanctioned. Someone in the Ministry was trying to
take out Potter, and I was sure it was not Fudge, as the spineless Hufflepuff did not have the guts
to perform such an act. School started, and Potter was not a prefect and I was. I was a bit smug
about it, but Potter and his companions were acting strange, so I did not linger for long.

As the school year continued, I found myself spending more time watching than harassing
Potter. I will admit that I did make fun of him and his friends, and did sabotage his potions, but mostly I watched.
Something was going on with him, and I had not a clue why it bothered me. Then came the
Quidditch game. As he always did, he caught the snitch before I did. As I always did, I made
uncomplimentary comments about his family, and included the Weasel's family. Then things
changed. He attacked me. He physically attacked me, along with one of the Weasel twins. I had
never been struck before, with the exception of the time Granger laid one on me. It was
shocking. It was very painful. It was over quickly, and then Umbridge banned Potter and both
Weasel twins from Quidditch, forever. I was so pissed! Now how would I ever beat him at
anything?

That night, as I lay in bed thinking about everything that had happened that day, I
made the most unwelcome discovery of my young life. The memory of Potter attacking me,
knocking me to the ground, hurting me . . . aroused me. I became aroused at the memory of
Potter coming at me, rage in his eyes, glowing with a light I had not seen since before the last
task. It was the strongest arousal I had ever felt, including the times I masturbated to pictures of .
. . um . . . well, you do not need to know that. Sufficient to say, I was hot with arousal, it was not
fading, and I could not get the image of Potter out of my mind. Put two and two together and you
can guess what happened after that. My hand on my member, picturing it being Potter;
dominating me, forcing himself on me and taking me as though it was his right to do so; and me not fighting it, welcoming it in its entirety and longing for more. I had never
came so hard or long in my life as I had at that time. As I laid on my bed, wrung out and feeling
very satisfied despite recent discoveries, I came to the realization that things between Potter and
myself had shifted in a way that I could not explain or understand.

And now, with all the events of our world revolving around the Dark Lord's return, I do not
know what to do about it. All I know is that something is going to happen, and nothing will ever
be the same again.

* * * * *

School went on as usual, but the dream I had haunted me for days after. Dreams of Potter and I
had become the rage over summer, to my mixed disgust and desire. In all of them he was
dominating me, controlling me, using me as he deemed fit. And I loved it as much as I hated it.
The very idea of Potter having such control over me, even in dreams, revolted my conscious
mind. But I could not deny that every time I touched myself I wished that it were his hand on my
body, and every night hoping that he would be in my dreams.

I must be going crazy.

But in that dream, it was different. Never had Potter been so gentle with me, never had the
dreams been so tame in accessories, a pair of silk scarves were nothing compared to the chains,
manacles and leather straps and whips that had always before been featured in my dreams. He
had never vocally dominated me before, not like that, not with such care and affection. And the feel of it was wrong, and I was
deathly afraid that it was less an interesting new wet dream than a true dream of foresight.
Sometime before graduation, sometime in the next year and a half, I would be laid out in my
bedchamber, on my bed, willingly giving myself to Potter.

I burned for that day.

* * * * *

Potions was always my favorite class, and not only because Professor Snape favored me. It has
always been my best subject, by far easier for me to understand than Transfiguration or Charms.
And the fact that it was always a double class with Gryffindor made it better. My favorite
subject, my favorite professor, and my favorite victims all in one place, it was made to order.

I turned in my chair to watch as the famed trio entered the room. As usual they sat in their usual
seats, far away from the Slytherins as possible. In-house rivalry had not changed much since the
events of last year, at least amongst us. I have heard rumors that the Gryffindors were getting
tight with the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. No one from the other three houses had
approached anyone of Slytherin for a peace treaty, the Death Eaters caught in the Ministry were
all past Slytherins, and trust in our house was at a new all time low. I had overheard Granger
telling Potter and the Weasel that just the other day.

Class started, and Professor Snape swept into the room as he always did. I kept a close eye on
him, and on Potter. Something had happened between them last year - what I did not know. I
believe some of it had to do with that so-called Remedial Potions lesson I had walked in on.
Poppycock, that was. But whatever had happened had escalated emotions between them. I had
the feeling that I was no longer Potter's most hated Slytherin any more.

Ahhh . . . I nodded softly to myself at the warm look of utter loathing and hatred passed between
them. It was a miracle that no one sitting between them spontaneously combusted. And did
Potter ever look hot like that, all his attention focused, eyes alit . . . Professor Snape dropped a
potions tome onto the desk, startling me from my revere. Being caught fantasizing about
Gryffindor's wonder boy would not be good.

Then Professor Snape began to speak. "Today class we shall be attempting," he paused and
sneered at Longbottom. He was just as bad at potions this year as last, but I had heard he had
made dramatic improvements in Charms and DADA. "To brew a most delicate potion . . ." That
meant that if you made even the tiniest mistake, it was going to blow up on you, " . . . that will
cause the drinker to become temporarily incorporeal." Ahhh . . . one that would require rare and
potentially dangerous ingredients. I believe I do see pairs coming up. "To do this potion
properly, you will have to work in pairs . . ." Professor Snape's eyes roved across the class, we
all knew what pairs meant in this class. Mixed house pairings. "The potion you shall be brewing
is called Materia Amitto," and Professor Snape grins maliciously at us, at all of us as he drawls
the name of the potion and I frown, as I had not heard of it before and did not understand his
look. I had a bad feeling about this. He calls our partners out, and as we all knew, it was mixed
Slytherin and Gryffindor. And as I knew would happen, I was paired with Potter.

Professor Snape lectured at us for ten minutes, instructing us how to make the potion and listing
off the ingredients and brewing instructions for us to copy down. Then we were let loose to
create havoc in the class. Havoc I knew it would be, for very few potions survived a mixed house
pairing in this class. I instructed Potter to retrieve the necessary ingredients as I set up the
cauldron. He glared at me, hate in his eyes, but it no way matched the intensity that he had
graced Professor Snape with. I do believe I am hurt, I did after all threaten his very life, but then,
he had been living with that particular threat for many years. It apparently had no effect on him
now, and my crass comment would make getting Potter much more difficult.

Yes, I had decided that I was going to have Potter, or in truth, that Potter was going to have me.
He was just unaware of what the future held for him.

We went about with our potion, the cutting and measuring of ingredients, adding them just at the
right time, stirring the potion just so, Potter and I sharing no more words between us than
necessary to make the potion, we were almost cordial to each other, all things considered. Then
it happened. Potter was sitting on my left - not by my choice, I so disliked people sitting close to
me on my left side, doubly so when brewing a potion. Potter was slicing lacewing wings
venomously when a sharp report came from the end of the room that Longbottom was located in.
I had personally expected that cauldron to explode a quarter hour ago, with him being paired
with Crabbe. Potter was startled, and he jerked his hand back reflexively. Over the back of mine,
resting mere inches from his. And he still held the knife.

A sharp burning pain filled me as the knife cleanly split open the back of my hand from the base
of my pinky finger to thumb. Blood began to spill immediately, from the half dozen veins that
were now carved in two, covering our table in vibrant crimson. There was a gasp from
somewhere, exactly where I know not as my eyes were locked with Potter's horrified green eyes.
I swallowed hard, he had hurt me, cut me, and the burning I felt was not all pain. His eyes fell to
my hand, and the color ran from his face, his hands reaching for mine to try to staunch the
bleeding.

Within the next second Professor Snape was before us, glaring at Potter as though he
wished the Gryffindor would drop dead at his feet. Potter ignored him, having ripped part of his
robe as a makeshift bandage to press against the cut. I bit my lip, his attention was solely on me,
and he had hurt me, and his eyes rose to mine, and I could see that he was sorry for what he had
done, but no apology was in the works, the emerald eyes were dark with shock.

There was yelling, and the deduction of many house points, but I could not tell you how many.
The black cloth was wrapped tightly around my hand, and I was being asked if I needed
assistance to the Hospital Wing. I shook my head, rising out of my chair slowly. There was a
buzzing in my head, and the room tilted for a second, but my legs were steady beneath me. I left
the class, and instead of heading to the Hospital Wing as one would expect; I made my way to
the Slytherin dorms. I cradled my injured arm to my chest, smearing my blood over myself as the
stone wall parted and I entered the hidden room. Bare minutes passed before I was in my private
room, digging with my right hand clumsily into my trunk, searching for my medical supplies.

I found what I was searching for and sat on my bed. Carefully I unwrapped my hand, staining my
hand with blood from the black cloth. With the removal of the last fold of the robe material the
bleeding began afresh. I watched it, crimson blood, flowing down my hand, dripping onto my
lap, Potter's fault. I bent down, and ran my tongue over the cut, tasting my own life essence
strong on my tongue. A surge of heat pulsed through me, pleasure/pain wracking my body, and I
moaned deeply.

Swallowing hard, I pulled away from my hand and reached for the jar of salve from my trunk. It
would stop the bleeding and help the cut heal fast. Madame Pomfry could have healed the cut in
seconds, with nary a mark to remain to testify to what had happened today, but that I could not
allow. This way, there would be a scar, a silver-white mark running across my dominant hand, to
remind me of this day.

* * * * *

Draco was spread out on a table in the potions classroom. He was lying on his cloak, but the rest
of his clothing was absent, his skin luminescent against the dark material. He flexed his arms,
heat flooding him and pooling in his groin as the thick leather straps dug into his skin, straps that were bound to the legs
of the table he was on. He shifted, his back rubbing against the material under him and Draco
felt a tugging at his ankles. He pulled, and familiar leather dug into the delicate flesh of his
ankle. He was tied down completely. A moan made its way out of Draco's throat, and his
member swelled in excitement.

"You look so lovely that way, Pet." His lover murmured from above his head. "All spread and
splayed out, leather looks good on you." Draco lifted his head up and saw Potter standing at the
head of the table. He whimpered hungrily, and Potter moved to stand next to the table. "What is it Pet?
Do you want something?" Potter was wearing nothing, his darker skin gleaming as well in the
candlelight. Potter ran his hand down his chest and stomach, disappearing below the edge of the
table. Draco strained against his restraints, groaning.

"My touch. Is that what you want Pet. Do you want me to touch you?" he reached out a hand,
holding it over Draco's chest. Draco whimpered, arching his back, trying to reach the hand above him. "And where do you want my touch? Here?" he ran his hand over
Draco's chest, plucking cruelly at his nipples. Draco cried out as darts of pleasure ran from them through his body, making him squirm in his bindings. Potter smiled, emerald eyes gleaming. "Hmmm . . . not bad, but what
about here?" And the hand moved lower, tracing designs on his stomach above the golden curls.

Draco keened, straining against the leather, feeling the edges digging painfully into his skin as he vainly reached for his lover. "Lower then, Pet?" Potter's hand lifted and paused above Draco's straining
member. "Yes, you do want it, don't you? Look," he played with the foreskin, teasing Draco's
head, "you are all wet for me already." Potter popped his finger into his mouth and sucked on it.
Draco began to whine, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth, arching his hips up, begging
for attention. Potter swirled his tongue around his finger and removed it, the digit gleaming wetly in the candlelight. Draco groaned, closing his eyes, his body burning with longing as he arched his hips, all but feeling the finger inside him, stroking him, stretching him, making him burn more. . .

"Be patient Pet," He leaned over Draco, looking at Draco's bit and swollen lips. "I've all night
with you, and I don't want to be rushed." Potter kissed him, a violent, demanding kiss. The taste
of himself and his blood mingling in his mouth, joined with the sweet taste of Potter. Draco
groaned, loving being ravished, loving being ~his~.

He cried in pained abandonment when Potter left him, straining after his lover, pleading
whimpers escaping from between his lips. "Now Pet," Potter whispered softly, eyes glowing,
"Patience." Draco watched through half closed eyes as Potter turned away, reaching for
something on the next table. "Now, let's see . . . This one." Potter turned back, a small, razor
sharp knife held in his hand. Draco whimpered, pulling at his restraints. Potter smiled. "Yes, you
know what's coming next, don't you Pet. Do you want this?" Potter held the knife up, candlelight gleaming
off the silver blade. �You want it on your skin, don�t you? Caressing you, marking you. Spilling your life essence for my pleasure, and what a pleasure it is Pet.� He lowered his hand, pressing the flat of the blade to Draco�s stomach, muscles clenching at the touch of cold metal on heated skin. Draco panted hard, his member twitching, precome flowing freely and Potter grinned at him

"Like how that feels, hmmm . . ." He dragged the knife across Draco's stomach and chest, never
cutting the flesh below, watching intently as Draco squirmed and moaned.

". . . please . . . please . . ." Draco whispered, he was close, so close to coming, but knew that he could not until granted permission.

"Please? Please what? Play with you some more?" Draco's eyes widened as the knife slid down
to his groin. "I think I will." Potter drew back the knife. In a quick movement, toned muscles
rippling, Potter was sitting on Draco's thighs, his own swollen member mere inches from
Draco's desperate need.

"Sing for me Pet, I want to hear you." Potter reached down and caressed Draco's member with
the flat of the blade. Draco threw his head back with a throaty moan. "Yes, like that." He drew
the blade away and rested the tip of it on Draco's sternum. With nary a blink, he drew the knife
swiftly across the pale skin, a vermilion ribbon on white silk. Draco screamed in pain. "Just like that."

Potter welded the knife like an artist, pulling cries and screams and pleas from Draco as his due,
red dribbling down the pale skin to be lost in the black cloth below. Draco's throat had been
screamed raw before Potter pulled the knife away and held it up to Draco's bloodied lips.
Without pause, he opened his mouth and licked the blade clean.

"So Pet, what do you think?" Potter ran a finger carefully across Draco's mutilated flesh, and
looking down Draco was able to see, underneath the spilt blood the darker cuts. Potter had used
his chest as a canvas. Cut into him was the likeness of the Gryffindor lion.

"Red suits you Pet," Potter murmured, eyes glinting hotly with lust as he looked down at Draco.
He placed the knife on the table beside them and ran his hand across Draco's chest, staining it
red and aggravating the cuts, causing more pain/pleasure to course through Draco.

Potter reached down with his stained hand to his swollen and aching member, smearing blood on it as he
wrapped his hand around himself. He started stroking himself, throwing his head back in
pleasure. "Ohhh . . . oh my Pet . . ." Draco's own member was twitching in tune to Potter's
moans, semen leaking from the tip. Panting hard, Potter released himself before he came and looked down at
Draco, red spilling from white onto black. He shifted until he was kneeling between Draco's
spread legs.

"Suck," Potter demanded, holding his blood and semen covered fingers to Draco's lips and he
eagerly took them in, sucking hungrily as Potter's other hand finally circled Draco's aching
member.

"You are such a good Pet," Potter crooned softly, eyes burning into Draco's. "And good Pets get
rewarded." He squeezed Draco firmly, listening with a smile as Draco cried out around the
fingers in his mouth. He licked his lips and pulled his fingers from Draco, saliva trailing from
them to Draco's open mouth, then reached under Draco, searching for and finding his tight
entrance.

"Such a good Pet," The finger stabbed into him and Draco keened, pulling against the restraints
in an attempt to arch into the touch. The straps dug viciously into already abused and bleeding wrists and ankles, but all Draco could feel was heat and pleasure running through him. Potter swirled his finger around inside of Draco, all the
while stroking him slowly. Then he pulled his finger free and then inserted two fingers,
scissoring them to stretch Draco further.

". . . please . . . please . . . please . . ." Draco cried out, straining to reach Potter, needing to be
filled completely by him, to be taken by him, to have him prove in the most ancient and base
way possible that he belonged to Potter, only to Potter.

Draco was near insensate with need when Potter pulled his fingers out again; motioning behind him with
his wand, where it came from Draco neither knew nor cared. The next thing he knew was that
Potter was dragging his hips up, wrapping his now unbound legs around his waist.

"My Pet," Potter hissed, driving himself deep into Draco. It burned, it stretched Draco to the
point of ripping him, and it was not enough. Draco cried for more, legs tightening around
Potter's torso, tears dripping down his face as Potter drove into him furiously as though he was
trying to drive Draco through the table upon which they laid. Every stroke filled Draco with a
pleasure the burned through him, stronger and stronger until he felt as though he was nothing but
burning fire himself, nerves screaming in torture, body screaming in agony, and more, he needed
more, more until it destroyed him and burnt him until everything was fire.

And the fire burst within him, and the world grew black, and glowed white; flesh was nothing
and burning pleasure everything.

* * * * *

I awoke early the next morning sticky and sweaty, my body limp and sore and sated with pleasure. I
would have to do something, and soon, for I did not know how long I would be able to function
like this. My dreams were becoming more intense and more realistic as time went by. I would
swear under Veritaserum that I could feel the echoes of the cuts on my chest, the ache between
my legs, the rawness of my throat, and it was getting worse and worse as time went by. It hurt inside my chest, a great fist clutching me cruelly, waking up and not having Potter
there with me. I had to have him; I just had to. There was no way around it if I wished to keep
my sanity intact. I spent the rest of my sleepless night thinking, and by morning, I had a
workable plan in mind. All I needed now was time, a little luck, and a potion or two.

Time passed, the holidays came, and the time to implement my plan would soon arrive. Potter
and I, while no longer confronting each other in the corridors, in class or in the Great Hall, were
still not on casual speaking terms. We were polite to each other when we had to work together,
the lack of hostility I credited to my response to the Potion Incident, as people called it. I did
nothing. I did not seek Potter out for revenge; I did not hunt him down to bemoan the horrid
damage caused to me. Nothing. I did not even approach him to demand an apology for his
carelessness, though a few times in the days after I did catch him looking at me as if he was
considering doing so. His valiant Gryffindor bravery and honor must have failed him, for he
never did.

My plan was simplicity itself. Since it was apparent to all who had two brain cells to rub
together that Potter was not going to come for me willingly, I was going to have to make him
come for me. Potter would be staying over the winter holidays, it was by far too dangerous to let
him leave, with the Dark Lord on the loose and thirsting for his life. The only safe place for him
was here at Hogwarts; the fools at the Ministry would be unable to protect him properly if he
was to go anywhere else. Very few names were on the list, only a couple of Gryffindors from the
lower years would be staying in Gryffindor Tower, along with some from Ravenclaw and
Hufflepuff. In a turnaround, about a handful of older Slytherins were staying in addition to
myself. Granger and the last two Weasels were all heading to their respective homes.

I had spent many nights researching, studying potion tomes to find what I needed to know, and I
still was forced to combine several different potions together to achieve the effect I desired.
Mixing two or more different potions together was very tricky, and highly dangerous. If I made
even the smallest miscalculation, I would not need to worry about being expelled.

I required a
potion that would enhance anger, excalibrate lust and desire, and make him more prone to act
without inhibition. I knew that when under sway of the potion, I would be able to make Potter do
exactly as I wished. To make the potion even more difficult, I required the potion to be in a
vapor. The easiest method would be for it to react to skin contact, but the nature of the potion
made this method of delivery unreliable. It would have to be consumed or inhaled for it to have
the proper effect, and the Weasel's favored Quidditch team had a greater chance to win the
World Cup this century than I did of having Potter consume anything he even thought I might
have looked at wrong. It would have to be inhaled. The potion was time sensitive as well, it
reacted immediately upon contact with the air, and Potter would be feeling the effects within the
time it took for the potion to travel through the blood to the brain. Inhalation would cause a
reaction within a few minutes. And then . . . and then he would be mine.

No. I would be his. My member, always hard whenever I thought of Potter, swelled and desire
coursed through my body like lightning. By this time I knew I would not be able to fight or deny my reactions. A slave to my body's desire for Potter, I reached into my pajama bottoms, taking my member
in my hand and squeezed it firmly. I was already coated in precum and burning with arousal,
excited at the mere thought of Potter under my potion's influence. He would be taking me, in
real life . . . mmmm . . . I reached with my other hand under my top to trace up to my nipples,
rubbing them while I steadily stroked myself. The only sexual experiments I had experienced
were from this, masturbation. I trusted none in my house with my body, found the idea of some
of them touching my white flesh revolting. And anyway, from the stories told by the others and
how I reacted to my own hands and thoughts of Potter, I was getting better sex than they were, so
why bother with them.

Bursts of pleasure shot through me at every stroke, endorphins firing into my blood, the burning hunger between
my legs becoming unbearable and I stroked myself harder. I abandoned my achingly hard nipples
in favor of sucking on my fingers, salty with my sweat, imagining that it was Potter that I was
sucking on, watching me as I sucked him and stroked myself to release for his pleasure,
watching me with desire-filled eyes and a sinner's smirk.

I began whimpering deep in my throat in tune to my hand, fingers tightening almost painfully on
my burning flesh, the whimpers changing to throaty cries muffled by my deep suckling of my
fingers and Potter's eyes were burning, glowing bright as he took in the enjoyment of me
enjoying his hot, hard flesh, a show only for him. I was burning, my cloths smothering me and
sticky with sweat, scraping against my skin with every move as I arched into my hand, stroking
harder, needing more, dying for more, just out of reach, my heart pounding . . . and then with
one final thrust ecstasy flooded through me, screaming across nerves and through my blood, my
eyelids fluttering and my eyes rolling back until all that showed from beneath my lashes was
white. My body trembled, tense muscles reveling in rapture, air hissing from my lips, and in my
mind; all I saw was an all-encompassing emerald green . . .

* * * * *

I implemented my plan three days after Christmas Day; one of the school owls delivered an
innocuous looking letter at breakfast that morning. It quite simply requested Potter's presence
and gave the location -the room hidden behind the Y's tapestry on the fourth floor corridor of the
west wing- and the password. As far as I knew, no one knew that there was a rather cozy sitting
room hiding there; dust and cobwebs were thick when I had found it and claimed it back in my
third year. A few spells and it was good as new. And the room contained no portraits to tell tales
of what they had seen. It was the perfect place for clandestine meetings.

Potter read the note quickly, frowning softly, then showed it to his breakfast companion, the
little Ravenclaw girl that had joined his entourage the year before. She said something, he
nodded, and they both looked at me suspiciously. I made no move to let them think I had been
watching and they looked away a moment later. Potter folded up the note and placed it in his
pocket. Time would tell if he showed.

* * * * *

To be honest, I had expected his suspicion, and had already thought of a way to work around it.
That night, when I entered the room, I immediately lit the fire and placed my wand out of the
way on the bookshelf, in easy view of the door. Potter would be more likely to believe I meant
him no harm if my wand was visible and on the other side of the room from myself. I then went
and sat in one of the chairs near the fire. The second step of my plan was underway.

The appointed time came and went, and there was no sign of Potter. Giving an audible sigh I came to
my feet, retrieved my wand, and left the room. Then I quickly ran further down the corridor, soft
dragon leather boots making no sound, and sprang into a raised alcove twenty feet from the
tapestry. The shadows hid the alcove from casual view, and made a great place to hide. This
time my wait was not long. No more than five minutes after my exit, the tapestry stirred. I
watched as the form of a person pressed against it, then watched as the tapestry fell back against
the wall. No one had appeared, or so it would seem.

I had known that Potter possessed an invisibility cloak for several years, since third year, as one may note, third year had been a busy year all around, and I knew that he would not show up for a meeting with me without it. After his personal tragedy last year, Potter had become very suspicious of many a thing. A note from me would have set off every warning instinct he had. I
had also known that he would arrive before me, to gauge what kind of threat I would be. I had
hoped that he would show himself, but it was better for my plan if he did not.

I waited in the
alcove for the better part of an hour; then slipped to the owlery. I had a note I needed to send. I
was not concerned with being caught, I was still in the allotted time a prefect was allowed to
wander, but it would be close. I would have to hurry to make it back to Slytherin before my
curfew. On the way back I did catch two Hufflepuffs out and about. I happily terrorized them
and sent them back to their House. It was a good night. As I passed through the common room
Pansy smiled seductively at me from across the room, but I paid her no mind. She was one of those who repulsed me
sexually; only the threat of my father had made me ask her to be my companion for the Yule
Ball. Once in my room I slid out of my boots and cloths, slipped into my
pajamas, and sprawled on my bed. Sitting on my bedside table was a small phial of a smoky blue substance. I slid under the covers; eyes locked on the phial, and stared at it until sleep claimed me.

* * * * *

The next morning another school owl dropped a letter in Potter's lap. This one enquiring as to
his whereabouts the night before, stressing the importance of us meeting, and requesting that we
meet the same time and place this evening. I kept watch over him and Lovegood as they read the
letter, glanced up at me and then turned away.

Potter was still suspicious, but curiosity was
starting to weigh it out. The Lions of Gryffindor were indeed brave, proud, and courageous, but
lions are still cats, and cats are born curious. I knew that Potter would be there, and that he
would not be wearing his cloak. The next step had commenced, and I could not finish my
breakfast in anticipation of what would be happening later that night.

I was twitchy all the rest of
the day; twitchy ferret comments would have been appropriate, though a nasty curse or two
would have swiftly followed them. I forced myself to eat lunch, but was unable to stomach a bite
of dinner, nervous butterflies having taken up residence in my stomach. Finally it was time.
After dinner, I had returned to my dorm and had showered and dressed in fresh robes. I wore
nothing underneath. I placed my wand in one inner pocket, the phial in the other, and stalked out
of Slytherin.

I arrived on time, being fashionably late is gauche when you sent the invitation. As the night
before, it appeared that I was the sole occupant of the room. I took my wand and once again lit
the fire then placed it on the bookshelf; then I sat across from it in front of the fire to wait.

All was quiet, the crackling of the fire behind the grate the only sound, but I could feel eyes
watching me from near the door. Like the evening before, Potter had arrived before me with his
invisibility cloak. I waited. He had to make the first move, had to reveal himself and approach
me for the next phase of my plan to work.

I sat for what must have been fifteen or so minutes when I heard a faint rustling behind me, the
sound of cloth sliding on cloth. I did not turn to look; it was soft enough that only those with
exceptionally keen hearing would have heard it. Then a voice sounded and I turned.

"Okay Malfoy, I'm here. What's so important that you need to meet me here?"

He still stood at the door. I politely inclined my head to him, a gesture of respect. "Good evening
Potter. So glad you could join me." I repressed a smile at the look on his face; I was apparently
not acting as he thought I should, and I had not even commented on his supposed tardiness. He
frowned at me, his brilliant emerald eyes bright with suspicion.

And a bit of irritation as well, perfect. "Malfoy, why am I here?" he growled, and shivers of anticipation ran up
and down my spine.

"Just a bit of a chat Potter." I motioned to the chair across from me, indicating that I wished for
him to seat himself. "I believe it is time for a change in our current relationship, all things
considered."

He was still gazing at me suspiciously, and his eyes flickered around the room, pausing for a
fraction of a moment on my wand. If he took the offered seat, he would be sitting between my
wand and I, the advantage would be his, as I had not asked him to place his wand aside. He
nodded slightly, coming to a decision, and took the offered seat. He was tense, he would not
relax in the presence of someone he considered the enemy, and did not rest back in the chair,
perching on the edge in case he had to make a sudden move.

I had expected this as well, and had already taken steps. The only visible flaw in my plan was Potter
hexing me when I threw the phial at him, unfortunately his reflexes were as honed as an aurors. I
would not have a chance against him. I had to slow his reflexes down, distract him in some way; calm him.
To do this I had to employ the use of a second potion, but this one was so common that no one
ever would suspect using it for other purposes than intended. It was Grandmother Henrietta's
Baby-be-Calm Dust. It was a second year level potion, easy to make, and harmless; it was used
by mothers to pacify fussy babies. I had sprinkled the dust on the chair -it was commonly used
on blankets- and it would affect anyone in close or physical contact with it.

Potter frowned at me, "Considering what Malfoy? Your father was convicted of being a Death
Eater. He tried to kill me, and my friends, on several occasions. We don't have anything to talk about."

"Ah contraire Potter. My father's foolish mistakes have nothing to do with why we are here." I
really did not wish to speak about my father. I was still angered that he was in prison, but had
come to the realization during the summer that it was not entirely Potter's fault. If father had
been more careful, he would not have been defeated and captured by a handful of fourth and
fifth years in the first place. Now ~that~ dishonored the family name. "I am here to discuss us,
and our relationship for the remainder of time that we shall be spending here at Hogwarts.

Potter was still gazing at me suspiciously, and rightly so, but he had relaxed back into the chair,
no longer perching on the edge, unawares. The suspicion in his eyes was not as rampant either;
the Baby-be-Calm was taking affect as expected.

"There is no us Malfoy. I hate you; you hate me. You leave me alone, and I will leave you alone.
And that is the extent of our ~relationship~."

Well . . . I had not expected much, I had been rather abrupt . . . okay, spiteful and narrow-minded
over the years. It is to be expected that he would not be receptive to any overtures from me.
Potter relaxed further into the chair, snuggling into the cushions, lassitude creeping up on him.
This time I did smile.

"But I believe that our relationship can change, and for the better. I would make a good ally to
have." I leaned forward, to hide my hand sliding into my robe and searching out the pocket that
held the phial. My fingers stroked the cool glass. The time was almost here.

Potter did not notice a thing. He just snorted at my comment. "You? An ally? First sign of
trouble and you'd hitch up your robes and run like the little Death Eater coward that you are,
screaming like a little girl the entire way to safety."

Ah . . . he still hated me. I am touched. And he was now completely relaxed, encased in a false
sense of security caused by the dust and the knowledge that my wand was out of reach. The
timing was right. I thumbed out the cork and covered the opening with said thumb. I began to sit
up, sliding my hand and the phial out of my robes. Potter still did not notice a thing.

"I am not a Death Eater, nor am I planning on becoming one. I have other plans Potter, ones that
include you. Alive and well."

He blinked at me, looking like a confused owl with his glasses. "You want ~me~ alive?" He must be thinking back on that stupid
threat from the year before.

This time I smirked, causing Potter to frown softly, but he was still unalarmed. "Yes, and not
necessarily willing either." Before Potter could wrap his befuddled mind around my words, I
threw the phial in his lap. The liquid poured out, turning into a vapor as it reacted to the air in
the room, billowing around the Gryffindor. Before Potter knew what was happening, he was enveloped in a light blue mist.

"Malfoy, you scummy little ferret!" he howled, shaking off the effects of the Baby-be-Calm and
sprang out of the chair. He threw the phial -now empty- aside. I distantly heard the shattering of
glass, my eyes locked on the young man across from me. The vapors began to dissipate, and
Potter's eyes were glowing green with anger through the fading blue mist.

It took only seconds for him to reach me and pull me out of my chair, his hand clenched tightly at the front of my robe.

"You bastard! I knew you were up to something Malfoy. What the bloody hell was that!"

I swallowed, he took it as nerves from being caught, but it was my attempt to do something
about my throat, now dry at the knowledge that he was standing inches away, me in his grasp, all
of his attention focused on me, and I could feel his body heat so close to me and smell him . . . Desire and lust
filled me, and it was all I could do to not surrender to him then and there, fall to my knees and
worship him as I longed to do, but not yet. Not until the potion took hold of him and there would
be no way he could leave me. He could not leave me.

"What Potter," I sneered. "Do you believe that I poisoned you?" The answer was easy to read in
his eyes. "Have you forgotten already what I said to you? I want you alive . . ." I let the sentence
fade away as awareness sparked in his eyes, along with something that was not anger.

". . . but not necessarily willing," he finished for me, dawning horror in his voice. How
unflattering. "You used a love potion on me, didn't you Malfoy? Have you lost your bloody mind!"

"No," I whispered, shaking my head slightly, my eyes still locked with his. "Not love. I do not
require your love." He clenched his jaw, and I could see in his eyes the lust beginning to rise, the
desire that was melding with the anger he held for me. His breathing was becoming labored,
matching mine, and a flush was blooming on his cheeks. "It is just a little lust potion, mixed
with several others to achieve the effect I desired. There will be no long-term effects from it; it
will wear off in a few hours. You will be fine in the morning."

He was beginning to shake, his jaw clenching, straining to keep control. He was trying to fight off the potion.
"You're going to rape me," he hissed. His eyes narrowed at me, the anger and lust and desire mixing together, canceling his inhibitions for violence.

I reached down and gently cupped him, pressing my curved palm into his straining hardness. A
shiver ripped through his body at my touch, and I thrilled at it and at the heat straining at my
touch. "No," I whispered huskily, "but if you want to rape me . . ." my other hand reached and
grasped his wrist, "you are more than welcomed to my body. It is yours." And I pulled free from
him with surprisingly little difficulty, sinking to my knees, and nuzzled his crouch. I could smell
his desire for me and I rubbed my face against him, heat shooting through me. I moaned. This
was real, this was really happening. I could die the next day and have no regrets, for my dreams
were about to become reality, and what more could a person ask for?

My head was jerked back roughly, a hand tangling tightly in my hair. I was forced to look up at Potter,
all resistance was gone from his eyes, all that remained was anger and lust and possessiveness, the desire to finally
have it out between us, winner take all. We stared at each other, my hand rubbing him, him
arching shallowly into my hand, his hand gripped tighter in my hair and holding my gaze with
his, then he released me, his eyes closing and his hand slipping down to grip my shoulder.

"Do it," he growled, fingers digging painfully into my shoulder, pulling me toward him. I would have bruises in the
morning. I did not care. I needed no further encouragement. I spread his robes and tackled the
fastenings on his pants. They were quickly pooled around his ankles, along with his boxers a
moment later. Potter placed his other hand on my shoulder, both of them now digging in hard,
urging me to taste him.

I gazed at his member before me, dark red and swollen with desire, standing proud in a thatch of
curly dark hair. He was not as long as I, I noted, by a good inch, but -I cupped him in my palm
and rubbed my cheeks and nose across him- he was thicker than I. I would say by a half inch,
much thicker than I thought he would be, as I was pretty thick myself. He would near rip me in
two when he took me.

Soft whimpers escaped me as I continued to nuzzle him, wanting this to last forever, my face
becoming sticky with precum, his scent ingraining itself in my mind forever, his fingers urging
me to quit teasing and take him.

"Take it," he hissed, thrusting his hips urgently, his member sliding between my hand and cheek.
In willing compliance to his demand my hand shifted, fingers entwining him around the base as I
took him into my mouth. He tasted bitter and salty; he tasted wonderful. Heat and lust flowed
through me as I ran my tongue around him, teasing him, playing with his foreskin then sucking
hard. He began to thrust into my mouth, forcing more of himself into my mouth at each stroke
until my nose was burried in musky curls at every thrust and his member stroking roughly the back of my throat. I continued to suck, swallowing repeatedly in an
effort not to gag as he took my mouth and made it his.

I had no complaints when he finally came, filling my mouth with his essence, it spilling from my
mouth and down my chin, me swallowing as much as I could, not wanting to lose a drop. He
pulled back and stared down at me, robes hanging open and his member glistening with the
semen still coating it, his eyes emerald fire. I raised my hand and rubbed my chin, then licked
the semen off of my hand like a cat, watching him. He was watching me in turn. I then reached
forward, and delicately licked him clean, savoring the taste of him, the finest bouquet. When I
had finished he was hard again.

"Strip," he growled, his hands quickly going to the fastening of his robes. I reached for my own
fastenings, unclasping them then sliding my robe off. It fell to the floor accompanied by a gasp
from Potter. He was not nearly as far along as I was, he was struggling with unbuttoning his
shirt, his open robe billowing around him, and he still had his pants around his ankles and his
shoes on. I wore nothing but a pair of slippers that would slide of without an effort. His member
twitched as he gazed at me, his eyes falling until they reached my straining member, red
and swollen and slick with precum. He stopped struggling with his shirt and stepped out of his
shoes and pants, nearly loosing his balance as he did so, then fell to the floor before me.

With an
articulate growl, he shoved me hard to the floor. I quickly laid back and arranged myself so I was spread for him, my legs
stretched on either side of him, knees up, waiting to see what he would do next. He reached for his wand,
and I felt a twinge of nervousness that was quickly overcome by lust. If this were one of my dreams, he would be doing something
hot and naughty, something that involved bonds. But this was reality, and even while knowing
the effect my potion would have on Potter, I had no idea what he would do.

He pointed his wand at me, and whispered something under his breath. I felt a cool tingling
sensation within me, and I realized that he used a lubricant spell of some sort on me. I frowned;
with the lust potion flowing through him he should not be having any concerns for me. I would
have began to wonder if maybe something went wrong with the potion when he inserted a finger
into me, rubbing around inside of me. His other hand wrapped around my member and he began
to slowly pump me in rhythm to his stroking.

I lost all will and limply let him do as he wished,
so long as he continued to touch me, for if he stopped I would die. I cannot recall when he
inserted the second finger, but I do recall the third, as I had never been stretched so, even by my
own fingers. He was still stroking me, and I was whining and arching into him, wanting, needing
more of him, burning for him like I never had before. Then he released me and removed his fingers, I wailed in
disappointment at his abandonment. His hands were not gone from my body for long. Potter slid
his hands under my knees and pushed my legs aside so I was spread open for him. I eagerly
followed his cue, my body no longer mine to control. It was his to do as he willed, and I could
see the realization of that dawning in his burning green eyes.

". . .please . . . please . . . please . . ." I whimpered as he paused, his eyes locking with mine. I
was aching, burning for him. I was his, why was he not taking me?

Then I felt the tip of his member against me, nudging against my opening; then he was slowly,
oh-so-slowly pushing into me. I tried to press against him, to take him into me, but Potter's new
grip on my hips prevented that. He just pressed in slowly, possessing me inch by burning inch
until he was fully settled in me, stretching me so much that it hurt and burnt even with the
stretching he had done before.

". . . take . . . me . . . please . . ." I was arching off the floor in an effort to break free of Potter's
grasp, desperate for him to complete me. He held firm until the burning inside faded and I lay
limp on the floor, panting and crying for him to move. Then he slowly pulled out until the tip of
his head was the only part of him still inside me, then he pressed back with a firm, steady stroke.

I keened, my legs shifting until Potter was pressed between my knees. He pulled out slowly once
again, his bottom lip held tightly between his teeth; then he drove hard into me. I screamed,
bucking under his hands. He released me, placing his palms on the floor on either side of me for
balance and started pumping into me in earnest, picking up speed and tempo until my body
shook each time he took me.

The room was filled with the sounds of flesh striking flesh, of his
grunts and moans, and of my moans and cries. My fingers were dug into the rug beneath me as I
met each thrust with a growing hunger for more, my member swollen and aching as with each
pass it was pressed between our stomachs. I was crying for Potter, for him to give me more,
faster, harder, now. I was burning, when he changed positions he aligned himself so that he hit
my prostate with each stroke, and it was like lightning hitting me each time, and I never wanted
it to end, needed it . . . needed him forever . . . Then he thrusted into me, his entire body going
stiff above me and I felt his release, liquid fire scorching me, filling me and then I was coming,
clenching around his member, milking him for any liquid left, my own member spurting semen
from where it was pressed between our bodies. Potter went limp, falling over on top of me, and I
was treated to the alien feeling of having a sweaty, sticky lover sprawled on my chest, body
heaving in exertion in tune with mine, dark hairs tickling my chin.

". . . why . . . Malfoy . . ." he gasped between labored breaths. It felt strange, comforting, to feel
his breath ghost across my skin. One of my hands crept up and cautiously touched him. He made
no move, so I shifted until one hand and arm was draped over his back.

". . .why . . . me . . ."

". . . not . . . now . . ." I wheezed out. My breathing was not in any better shape than his,
excalibrated by having his limp form draped over me. I tilted my head and nuzzled his hair, he
smelt all musky and sweaty from sex, but there was a residue of a scent under that. He did not
reply, and I was so exhausted and sated that I did not care. Sleep overtook me, and I fell into it
willingly.

* * * * *

I awoke several hours later, how many I was not sure, feeling the best I ever had, despite the
aches of bruises forming on my buttocks, hips and shoulders. There was also a burning ache deep inside me,
speaking most emphatically of what I had done. I smiled and snuggled into my warm pillow. I
would not change . . . a . . . The realization that it was not a pillow I was snuggled into was slow
in coming, but once I was aware of what I laid on I froze. Though it had never happened before,
I knew I was snuggled against another person. I slowly opened my eyes. My head was resting on
Potter. He was laying on his back with me curled as close as possible to his warm body, one arm
stretched over his torso, my head resting in the little dip connecting his arm to his chest. He in
turn has his arm wrapped around me.

"Awake now?" His voice rumbled in my ear. I had not thought this far in advance, I realized in
chagrin. I had not made any plans further than Potter and I having sex. A grave error on my part.
I should have left, that would have been the best follow-up scenario. Left quickly, leaving Potter
to wonder about what had happened in the morn. But no, I had to fall asleep . . .

"I know you are faking it Malfoy." He uncurled his arm from around me and reluctantly I sat up.

Potter was scowling at me, eyes dark. When he glanced at me ruddy color crept into his cheeks.
He was blushing, how sweet. Quickly Potter looked away and a moment later he had flung a
soft, black mass into my face. My robes, I realized in a moment. I dressed; I was not going to
have any kind of non-sexual confrontation with Potter wearing nothing but my slippers . . . okay,
not even them, I had lost them sometime last night. Either way, it was just not done. I finished
dressing before him, all the while wishing that a bathing room was connected, I reeked of sex. I
was all sticky from sweat and . . . other things. A shower would be much appreciated about now.

I was glad Potter had granted me my robe for another reason, as my thoughts drifted to ~how~ I
had gotten all messy my body reacted in kind, happily remembering what had happened and
willing for it to happen again.

That was apparently not to be, as it was obvious that Potter wished to talk. While I had slid into
my robes he had quickly found and slid into his boxers and pants. His robe and partially
unbuttoned shirt still draped from him. Potter gave the chair he had previously been sitting in a wary look before he took a seat on the sofa. I returned to my chair.

We stared at each other for several long minutes, him, I believe, waiting for me to say
something. As for myself, I was occupied the thinking of what to say as well as wondering why
he had not cursed, hexed or attacked me in any way.

"You never answered my question." Potter finally said. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa,
ready for action. I arched an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"And what question would that be Potter?" I responded. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep his
temper in check, then lost it.

"What the bloody hell happened here tonight Malfoy? You lured me up here, and then drugged
me so that I would have sex with you! I want to know why! And why the hell me!"

My goodness, I do believe that Potter has spent some time thinking about this, he must have
awoken some time before I did. And what to tell him? I am sure that depending on my answer he
would hex or attack me, stubborn, noble Gryffindor.

"Because I wanted to." When all else fails, use the truth. I could see that Potter did not
appreciate my answer.

"Because you wanted to? What kind of reason is that? You can be expelled for this Malfoy; you
could go to prison. And why? Because you wanted a little fun? Bring me down to your level?"

His voice had risen steadily during his accusations, and he was near yelling at the end. He was
obviously very upset. And I was getting there too. A bit of fun? After what I had gone through
over the years, he was degrading this to 'a bit of fun' and 'bringing down Potter'? After all I had been through? I sneered at him.

"Oh yes Potter, it was all for fun. I just wanted to lay myself down for you to use in any way you
wanted, just to demean you. I risked expulsion and prison just for the satisfaction of knowing
that I have the capability to drug you and make you have sex with me?" Sarcasm ran deep as I
said that, and Potter blinked, then looked thoughtful as he actually paused to think about what I
had said. After a long quiet moment he stood and walked to me. He picked up my hand, and
looked at the back of it. I glanced over, and saw that the concealment spell I used on it had worn
off.

"You were supposed to have gotten this healed." He said in a normal tone. He ran his thumb
over it, and I shivered. His sharp eyes noted my involuntary movement and he did it again. His jaw tightened in determination as I shivered from his caress again.

"Okay Malfoy, tell me what is going on. The truth. This has been going on for quite a while,
hasn't it? I didn't notice it at the time, but you were acting a bit off all last year. And this year
you have been downright not rude to me and my friends. And then this," he waved around the
room with his other hand. "Why did you drug me?"

There was no way I could not answer his questions, he was still rubbing my scar, and it was all I could do not to
lean into him and beg for his caresses on other parts of my body. "Because you would not have had sex with me
otherwise."

He watched me for a moment, emerald eyes searching mine for something; then asked his next
question. "And why me?"

I had hoped that he had forgotten that one. He continued rubbing my scar, warmth spreading
through me from that gentle touch. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, before answering. "Because
I want you."

"You want me?" he whispered, his thumb stilling, just holding my hand. "But . . ." Potter
looked down at the scar he had unwittingly caused, then back at me. "But . . ." Red flags rode high on his cheeks again, and
I knew what he was trying to say.

"I want you," I repeated, closing my eyes and dropping my head, "for so long I wanted you. In
my dreams you were always there, and you were taking me. And I wanted to taken, by you, only
by you." The hand holding mine tightened painfully, but I continued talking. "You would play
with my body, doing whatever you wanted, my desires yours. I cannot count the number of times
I masturbated imaging that it was your hand on me, watching me in your power. This year . . .
this year . . ." I raised my head and looked at him, that one dream flashing to mind. "I need you,
need to be wanted by you . . . I do not know how or why this has come to be, but If we cannot
settle between us, one of us will be destroyed . . ." And I fear it will be me.

"And so I . . ." I
could not go on. I lowered my eyes, I could not look at him, could not believe I babbled all that
to him. It did not make much sense to me, but I knew now that he had taken me -now that I knew
what it was like to be his- that I would not be able to go on once he rejected me. And of course
he would, I had made his life at Hogwarts hell for five years, had mocked him and cursed him,
and finally compromised his morals by drugging him so that he would have sex with me in anger
and hatred. I was still surprised that he had not cursed me; that we were not sitting in the
Headmaster's office as Potter listed my crimes to Dumbledor prior to my expulsion.

I felt a hand on my cheek, rubbing at a slickness that I was unaware of. I was crying, and Potter
was wiping away the tears. I pulled away from his touch, my eyes closing in denial. I did not
want him to be touching me, touching the evidence of my weakness. In the end, as it always
turned out with Potter, I had lost. And it was, like always, my fault. Somehow it was always my fault.

"I thought . . . in your eyes . . ." I heard Potter whisper softly. His hands caught my face and
turned it back up toward him. "Look at me Malfoy . . . no . . . � he shook his head, �Draco, look at me." I refused to
open my eyes, refused to look at him. His thumbs continued to wipe away tear marks from my
cheeks; so soft and gentle. Liked he cared. I let them draw me out, opening my eyes for him, and
he was standing over me, gazing at me, and I could not understand the look in his eyes as they
captured mine. I blinked, unshed tears blurring my vision, and he knelt before me so that we
were on an equal level, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I did see it, didn't I?" he whispered, his voice barely carrying to me, so soft it was. It matched
the softness of the fingers ghosting across my skin, gentle caresses that were confusing me. What
was he talking about? What had he seen in my eyes? Why had he not cursed me yet? And . . . he
called me by name . . . I frowned, not knowing what was happening. Potter saw my look, and
withdrew his hands.

"What are you talking about?" I tried to inflict my usual distain in the question, but was unable
to build up the emotion to do so. I sounded . . . I do not know. Petulant. Not like me.

Potter smiled at me. An honest-to-Merlin smirk graced his face, at my querulous question. His
eyes lit up and he shook his head at me.

"If you don't know . . ." he murmured, his eyes darkening as he leaned toward me, ". . . let me
show you." and his lips were pressed against mine, his arms on either side of me as he pushed
me back against the chair, leaning between my spread legs. His mouth moved over mine
hungrily, his tongue tasting and his teeth nibbling at my lips. I was lost, I growled at him, my
hands finding purchase in his shirt, digging and ripping the material. Neither of us cared. His
mouth took full possession of mine, hot and demanding, his tongue laying claim and I eagerly
accepted it, moaning hotly at each stroke of his tongue.

He climbed into my lap, his body pressing down on my growing hardness as he pressed closer to
me. I whimpered in longing, and he lifted his face from me, lips swollen and red, eyes hazed
with passion and something else that I could not identify.

"You want me, right?" Potter murmured hotly, rubbing his face against my cheek, the frame of
his glasses digging into my skin. "You want to give yourself to me, that is what you said, right?"

". . . Potter . . ." I moaned, my hands reaching to hold him, digging into his wild hair. With a
quick move I removed the offensive frames. ". . . please . . ."

He shifted against me, causing a spear of desire to shoot through me. I groaned and felt his smile
against my skin. He licked my skin leading toward my ear then traced it with the tip of his
tongue. "You do, don't you? Want to give yourself to me? You have to tell me."

". . . please . . . want you . . . yours . . . ooooh please . . ." he sucked at the skin under my ear and
I melted for him, my head falling aside to grant him better access to my flesh.

"Do you know why?" he asked, trailing sucking kisses down my neck, lapping roughly at my
pulse and leaving tingling red marks in his wake. My fingers clenched into his skin, pulling him
toward me. "Draco . . ." he moaned softly. "Why? Do you know why?"

". . . why . . . what . . ." I whimpered, struggling to understand him, failing the attempt.

Potter lifted his head from my neck and looked down at me. He cupped my face with one hand,
tilting it up to meet him. " . . . tell you . . . later . . ." he panted out and once again claimed my
mouth as though it was his due. And perhaps it was. I lost myself in the taste, in the feel of my
lover. He was all that mattered to me, all that I would care about, if only given the chance. Time
passed with heated moans and touches, wet tongues and urgent lips. I was close, so close to
coming, him arching repeatedly over my hardness while plundering my eager mouth, when he
pulled away. I cried out, the loss of his touch was the loss of my purpose. The next thing I knew,
I was sprawled on my back, on the sofa, I believe, for the surface under me was not the rug-covered floor from before.

Burning hands roamed over my body, my robes having disappeared with me unaware. " . . . see
you . . ." Potter's voice was rough with desire, his eyes glowing from within as his gaze rove
over my body. ". . . Draco . . ." he hissed.

I heard the dim sound of cloth hitting the floor and Potter was once again over me, now as bare
as I -and when had that happened- his hot flesh burning into mine as he sprawled over me, chest
to chest. His member rubbed against mine, and the contact between our burning flesh sent a
wave of pleasure through me that had me moaning in agony. I was dying, Potter the only reason I
was alive, and he was rubbing his body against mine like a cat in heat, a rumbling from his
throat reminiscent of a purr at the friction of our sweat-slicked skin. My hands were rubbing up
and down his back, stroking his shoulders, digging into his spine, pulling him harder against me
in an effort to absorb his flesh into mine so that nothing could part us.

I heard him growl under
his breath, the same spell as before, but felt nothing. Then Potter was sitting up, towering over
my prone form, and the look in his eyes . . . possessive, domineering. Then he rose up over me,
and slid his body down over my member, gently taking me inside him. I cried as he took me, so
tight, so hot. So unexpected. I could feel him, could feel the pulse of his body surrounding me as
he slowly settled onto me.

". . . look at me . . ."

Pleasure and passion had claimed his features, but he smiled as my gaze met his, and there was
softness in his eyes that I had never seen directed at me before. My breath caught in my throat
and he leaned over me to capture my lips in the sweetest, most gentle kiss that my imagination
had never even realized existed.

". . . You want me . . ." Potter whispered huskily when he ended the kiss ". . . it was all in you
eyes . . . you want . . . what you need . . . need what you ~love~ Draco . . ." And my eyes
widened in shock. What was he saying? That I loved him? And then the question became
unimportant as he lifted his hips and stroked me, and I became lost in my lover as he rode me,
took me and claimed me, the heat enveloping the both of us until we both screamed each others
names as we came, and the name that tore from me was 'Harry' and the last I recall was my
lover collapsing on me as we fell into an exhausted sleep was the small smile on his face, and
the glowing green in his eyes that promised me forever.

* * * * *

I slowly stripped his clothing from him, letting my hands run over his flawless skin. Pure white
and as smooth as silk. He just sat there, letting me touch him, his eyes half closed in pleasure
and desire. In no time he was bare as a baby, and as desirable as a nymph, his skin contrasting
with the emerald of his duvet. He licked his lips, and I swallowed hard. Tempting, so tempting,
but I had plans for the night, and I wanted to surprise him.

As I pulled out the long silk scarves
Draco's eyes widened in recognition, then gazed at me with longing and anticipation. It did not
surprise me that Draco wouldn't mind me binding him, not after three months of having a
relationship with him. It had surprised me at first, that Draco wanted anything to do with me,
about as surprised as I was when I realized that ~I~ wanted a relationship with him. It still makes
me feel funny in my gut when I think back on it, how Draco drugged and seduced me, how he
gave ~himself~ to me, and how I reacted under the drug. I couldn't fight it, not completely. I
wouldn't say the drug made me want him exactly. From what I know, from then and from what I
have since found out from Draco, the drug was a power aphrodisiac, causing whomever was
exposed to it to burn with lust. Then it was combined with a drug to inflame anger and one to
weaken inhibitions. Essentially, he had created a rape drug that would cause the victim to be the
rapist. Very Slytherin.

The potion had not worked quite in the way that had been expected, though. It had been all I could do not to throw him on the floor and fall on him like an animal, to beat him and watch him bleed as I ravaged him and took my pleasure from his broken and battered body. Sating myself with his screams and feeling the warmth of blood and semen on my naked body. But he had miscalculated on the last component.

It had weakened my inhibitions as planned, but he had no idea what I was suppressing deep inside, what I did not even want to admit to myself. So when I looked at him, fully under the potion's control, I could feel the lust welling in me, the anger I felt for him, and the overwhelming need
to make him mine. And he gave himself to me, willingly and without question, and I took what
he offered, himself, and instinctively treated him as I would anything that belonged to me, with
caring and gentleness. I treasure what is mine, I would never damage or destroy something I
cared about, and as I have always had few things that belonged to me, I treasured them all. And
that was his mistake. I fought the part that was calling for me to hurt him, made his body burn
and want and need with my body, and discovered that he was giving me more of himself than he
had thought. He was offering me something that only a few had ever given me willingly and what I thougth he would never give, his
love.

I pushed him on it later, after we had let the passion burn from our bodies and had fallen asleep
in a tangle of hot, sweaty, saited flesh. He was reluctant to talk about it, did not seem to realize what he
had offered, and had no idea that I was not going to let it go. Something was bothering him
though and I was still under the influence of the potion, though it was fading, and I could not
help but comfort him. His every move screamed that he wanted me, needed to be mine, and I
needed to break through his denial, make him realize that he had no choice, he had given himself
to me fully, and that there was no going back. He was mine and I was not letting go. I made love
to him, calling to his body with mine, and he was unable to do anything but submit to me. I took
him into me, and made love to him as though he was the most precious thing in existence, and
when we came I called out his name, as I had before, and he called me 'Harry', and his eyes
were shining with pure emotion, love shining in his quicksilver eyes.

The last three months had been wonderful, his love a balm to emotional scars that I had not
realized that I had, but I lived with the constant fear that he would be taken away from me. My
relationship with Ron and Hermione was unshakeable, but they were only my best friends. Their
undying love was reserved for each other. Sirius was gone, and though there was a chance I
could once again see him through the Veil, there was no guarantee that we would be together in
the afterlife. I was afraid that I would loose Draco, forever. I wanted him, needed him and with a
little unexpected help from Luna found the solution to my problem.

While in the Library last week she had
commented on an article featured in a past edition of The Quibbler in response to a discussion Hermione
started. I had not been paying attention at first, but it seemed to have been on marriage bindings
of various magical cultures. Luna had commented that the year before there had been an article
in her father's magazine on that very subject, and actually had a list of binding incantations in it.
Hermione scoffed at it, binding rituals were powerful magic and were restricted, they would not
be printed in a magazine, especially not The Quibbler. Luna had frowned, but had given me a
look that made me wonder what she really knew. The next day the magazine was lying on my bed. I didn't ask any questions and looked through it,
and was surprised on how easy the incantations were to perform, and shocked at how complicated the actual bindings were to comply to.

All the bindings were permanent, many
bonded either the magic or life-force two people together; some even bonded their souls
together. On all of them, if the couple were not true to their desire to be bound, the binding
would fail. If ones love was not as devoted to the other during the binding, serious repercussions
would result, up to and including the deaths of the binding couple. I could easily see why they
were restricted. One of them caught my eye, however. It was a soul binding, but would work only
if one was willing to give themselves to the other, and no incantation was technically involved.
All that was necessary was for the two to want the bonding, for the one to totally give
themselves, mind and body, heart and soul to the other. In return, the other partner would have to
accept them in their entirety. The love between the two would have to be true and all enveloping
for the binding to work, for a balance to be struck between giving and taking, supporting and
holding so that each partner's need were met, their weaknesses and flaws balanced by the other's
strengths. And the binding would be for eternity.

It was perfect. I could bind Draco to me, and should the unthinkable occur and Voldemort kill
him, he would not be lost to me. He would always be with me, and I with him.

I tied the scarves, Slytherin green for Draco, to the posts on either side of the headboard. He
pulled on them experimentally while I disrobed and knelt before him. For this to work I would
have to tell him, you cannot bind the unwilling or the uninformed. It had to be fully consensual.
But first, before anything, I wanted to admire him.

"Perfection, aren't you?" I murmured. "Perfection, just for me." I looked down at his member,
swollen already for me and watched it twitch in anticipation. I smiled and raised my hand,
stroking through his silken hair. I hated how Draco had always used to wear his hair, all slicked
back. I wanted it to be free, flowing around him, tempting me to touch it. I wanted to see it that
way and know that I had the right to touch it whenever I wished.

Draco whimpered, tilting his head into my touch. I continued to smile as I brushed the back of
my fingers across his fair cheek, over his jaw and down his neck. I watched as Draco swallowed
hard, shivering as he strained not to move, his teeth tearing at his bottom lip as my caress made
its way down his chest, past his tight coral nipples that I wanted to taste and down to his
stomach, quivering at my touch. I trailed my fingers further down, stopping short when I reached his pale gold, tightly
curled pubic hair and his straining, swollen member. Longing to have him burned through me,
and I knew that I would have to wait until later to tell him my idea. For now all I wanted was
him.

"You ache for me, long for my presence, don't you?" I whispered. I had discovered early on that
Draco was very susceptible to verbal seduction. I could bring him to release with my voice, if I
choosed to do so. I didn't very often, because I couldn't last that long without touching him,
tasting his skin.

"Yes . . ." Draco hissed; and I watched as he struggled not to arch for my touch, and failed. I
raised my hand, keeping it mere inches from his burning desire.

"You hunger for me." I continued and I smiled again as a low whimper drug itself out of Draco's
throat and he strained toward my touch, the headboard and green scarves anchoring him as he
strained toward me. Blood was beating through me hotly as I pulled my hand completely away,
shaking my head. I was not done teasing him yet.

"You want me . . . say it," I prompted, wanting, needing to hear him say it. If he couldn't do this
now, bringing up the idea of bonding would be moot.

"I . . . I want . . . you . . ." he moaned hotly, his eyes had slipped half shut as he continued to seek
my touch, his eyes molten quicksilver.

I swallowed hard, "You need me . . . your body hungers for me."

"Starving . . . dying without you . . ." Draco whispered in agreement.

I spread my hand wide across his chest, my palm resting over his heart. Draco gave a sharp cry at
my touch. "And is this mine as well? Your heart?" My thumb was just under his nipple, and I
absently stroked the skin beneath it. "Would you give that to me?"

Draco clenched his hands into fists and strained against my bindings ". . . yours . . ." he hissed, "
. . . my heart's blood . . . yours for the taking . . ."

I gazed at him, shifting my hand and taking his nipple between my fingers. It almost sounded as
if Draco was going through his part of the binding, but he didn't know I wanted to perform one . . . My love's low throaty whimpers broke my train of thought, he was calling for me to touch
him, and I couldn't resist that call.

My eyes locked on his face, eyes closed in pleasure as he submitted to my touch. "Would you
give your very essence to me? Is that mine as well? What makes you you. The force that resides
in this body; your soul. Would you give that to me as well? For all eternity, in my keeping? Bind
yourself to me, so that you cannot be claimed by anyone else again, so that you will always be
mine?"

Draco opened his eyes; smoldering quicksilver met mine as I realized what I had just done. I had
initialized the bonding, and I hadn't warned Draco about it . . .

He gazed at me longingly. "I . . . am yours . . ." he whispered back to my shock. His head fell
back against the headboard moaning. " . . . yours . . . mind . . . body . . . heart . . . soul. Bind me . . . make me yours . . ."

I paused, looking at him for a long moment. He knew, somehow he knew. "No going back, My
Dragon."

" . . . never was . . . an option," he panted, his eyes burning into mine, causing desire to flash
through me. "Finish this . . . or when freed . . . I will kill you . . ."

That's my Draco, defiant to the very end. I cupped his cheeks with my hands, gently rubbing my
thumbs over the skin under his ears. He was so sensitive here, and as I knew would happen, a
high wail tore itself from his throat at my touch. His body was now mine, and he knew it. " . . .
please . . ." he choked.

I slid one hand from his cheek and trailed it down my body, shivering as darts of pleasure
followed my hand down my chest to my aching desire for him. I caressed myself, wishing it
were Draco's hand while I was spreading precum on my fingers. When I couldn't take it any
more I lifted my fingers and traced Draco's lips, painting them with my essence. His mouth
opened and I let him take my fingers. He suckled on them eagerly and I could only see him in
my mind suckling on another part of my body. I enjoyed watching him in his pleasure, and I
smiled as I watched and felt him suck on my fingers, lavishing them with his tongue and moaning his pleasure.

My resolve was dissolving when I pulled my fingers from him, there was still much to do. He whimpered in distress, following my fingers as well as he could. My fingers
were now wet with his saliva, an okay lubricant in a pinch. I grasped his member and slowly
started to stroke him. He moaned and arched shallowly into my grasp. I stopped stroking him,
but that did not matter, Draco was pumping shallowly into my hand and I watched, sweat
breaking across his skin, his head pinned back against the headboard, moans singing of his
pleasure, his entire body tense as he burned for me.

I felt sympathetic pain myself at his cry when I released him. He strained toward me, the scarves
digging into his wrists as he mindlessly tried to reach me. Tears were streaming down his
cheeks, and I could not let him suffer for too much longer. I lifted my fingers, now covered with
my love's essence and painted over his lips once again. As before, Draco opened his mouth in
invitation for my fingers. This time I denied him and pulled back instead of letting him take my
fingers. He whined softly and then tried to lick his lips, as if he could not have my fingers, he
would trace their path, but I shook my head, leaning over Draco so that our lips were just a
breath away from each other.

"Mine . . ." I whispered, closing the distance between us and taking his mouth. I licked it clean
of our mixed essence, humming in satisfaction as the bitter salty liquid broke across my tongue,
before delving into his mouth, running my tongue over his teeth and sucking his tongue into my
mouth. Draco went limp, his body pliant and being held up only by his bound arms and my body
pressing him back into headboard. I slid my hands around his hips and pulled him away from the
headboard then reached for the small jar of lubricant that I had sat next to me before any of this
even began. The first night we were together was the only time I had ever used a wand to prepare
Draco or myself. A wand could never compare to the gentle, or hot and hungry, touch of the one
you love's fingers.

I ran slick fingers over his straining member, he would not last much longer
without release and then slid down even further, circling around his scrotum, sliding down to
touch the tight entrance to his body. Gently I stroked him, I was always careful when preparing
Draco, then slid one finger into him, him moaning deeply at my longed for touch. I broke free of
his mouth and moved to the delicate skin under his ear, suckling on the skin hungrily, leaving
red marks as I slowly trailed down his neck until I found his pulse point pounding frantically
under my tongue. He was groaning softly, totally pliant, and I decided that it was time for a
second finger. He keened sharply, thrusting weakly against my fingers, his body begging for me
to posses it. I laughed softly and added a third finger. Once again a sharp cry of pleasure and
longing escaped him. I looked at him, his quicksilver eyes half closed; his pale skin flushed a
dark pink, sweat glimmering on him. He was panting, his entire body shaking with each effort to
take a breath. A rush of desire hit me so strongly that I nearly came; he was so beautiful, so
precious, so mine.

"Mine," I whispered again, urgently nuzzling my nose against Draco's chin like a cat, lapping at
his sweetly salty skin. "Freely given, freely taken. Bound forever." My hands were on his hips
again, lifting him, positioning him and then the tip of my member was brushing against his
opening. I was holding onto my self-control by the teeth, all I wanted, all I needed was to sink
into his hot tight entrance and take him, but I had to finish. I couldn't, wouldn't loose him.

"From this point on, My Dragon, Draco, you are mine," I growled, and I could see the eager
acceptance of that in his eyes, and then I drove into him, his body encompassing mine, holding
me tight within him as a strangled scream clawed its way out of his throat. Strong legs wrapped
around me, pulling me close and then I started to move, to stroke my love with all my passion
and need and love and I could feel a new heat burning through me, racing through my blood and
pulling at my heart; binding me, filling and completing me, and I knew that we were being
bound together. Then everything was dark and light, burning and comforting. A scream rent the
air, and I couldn't tell who it was, and then the heat overwhelmed me as I felt a pressure burst
inside of me and I was lost and then found as I felt everything that is Draco and I reached for it
and held it close, vowing never to release him, to always hold him and protect him. And I could
feel him inside me, holding my heart close to his. And I knew, we would always be together. For
all eternity, mind, body, heart and soul.

=^._.^=

© July 2003

revised September 2005

by Lady Koneko
- 1
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Mind Body Heart and Soul