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More Than Nothing	By : Qestral Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8583 -:- 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
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More Than Nothing ch. 1: Ending The Matter

Chapter
One: Ending The Matter

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Harry
slid open the door to the unused classroom, left hand nervously
pawing at a pocket to make sure he'd remembered a clean kerchief.
Unused or otherwise, he'd feel guilty leaving a mess behind for
someone else to identify later.

Draco
looked up, eyes wide, then relaxed when he saw who it was. He pushed
himself off the desk he'd been sitting on near the back of the room,
standing to greet his classmate.

“Potter,”
he said, his greeting holding less bite than usual.

“Malfoy.
You're early.”

“So
are you.”

Harry
began to undo his robes, turning so he didn't have to look at Draco
and thinking "After all this time, I'm still so nervous...".
The other boy was already mostly undressed, down to his white oxford
shirt. The robes that made up his school uniform were neatly folded
and set along the wall, his neck tie sitting on top of them. The belt
Draco barely needed for his fitted slacks was curled next to the
robes, reminding Harry of a snake as he glanced at it before pulling
his own shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons and
piling the robes, shirt and tie unceremoniously on the floor not far
from Draco's clothing. He was still in his undershirt and pants when
he turned back to Draco.

Draco's
arousal grew as he watched Harry undressing. The robes were
cumbersome and difficult to remove while in the heat of lust, and
they had mutually decided that removing clothes before they began
each round of their game would be easier. A game was all it was to
them, or that's all it felt like, anyway; they hadn't started this
out of love for each other. They started it out of a desire to get
off.

Harry
cast Draco a challenging look as he turned to face him, the look that
meant the game had begun, and it was only as he leaned in to kiss
Harry that Draco dropped the mask of cool indifference. He
wanted this.

*

This
game had started by accident. Harry had been looking for somewhere
other than the dormitory or the showers to wank, and had found Draco
in the middle of doing as much in the back of an empty room. That
meeting had been awkward, ending with both boys being too startled
and embarrassed to say anything and simply leaving the room.

When
they accidentally found each other again, then again, both were
starting to get on edge.

The
fourth time, Draco walked in on Harry. Harry was sitting on an unused
desk, hurrying to tuck himself back into his boxers.

Draco
slammed the door to the room, shutting himself and Harry inside, and
let loose a string of foul language.

“Honestly,
Potter!” he snapped, regaining control of himself only
marginally, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“I
could ask you the same thing,” Harry spat. “You've caught
me twice. Can't you keep to the other side of the castle or
something?”

“What
about you? Every time I try to find a quiet space, either you walk in
on me or you're already there! Can't you do that in the bathroom?”

“If
I could, don't you think I'd be there already? You make this sound
like I want to interrupt you!”

Draco
sneered. “Maybe you do. Maybe you get off on that sort of
thing.”

“Draco,
you're sick. If I were getting off on anything we wouldn't be having
this conversation. Besides, you're the one who goes out of his way to
get on other people's nerves.”

“Shut
up! Go find somewhere else to wank!”

Harry
stood up and faced Draco. “Go to Hell, Malfoy, I was here
first!”

Draco
didn't back down. “Don't you dare tell me to go to Hell,
Potter!”

With
his last assertion of dominance, he lunged at Harry, knocking him to
the floor and straddling him with an angry snarl. Harry gasped when
he hit the cold stone, grappling with Malfoy for a grip that might
give him some advantage. He grabbed Draco's throat, pushing upward,
and Draco responded by raising one of his own hands to Harry's wrist
to try and pull it away, other hand flailing to land a punch. Harry
heaved himself into a sitting position, pushing Draco backward, then
moved faster than he realized he could to knock the other boy
backwards onto the floor. He pinned Draco into place with his right
hand on Draco's throat and his left hand on Draco's wrist. His shins
rested on and dug awkwardly into Draco's inner thighs, and he didn't
doubt how much it must've hurt.

Draco
could feel the uneven stones of the floor pressing into his back and
grinding painfully into his pelvic bone, and the tendons along his
inner thighs straining under the weight Harry was putting on them,
and he wondered in frustration just how Harry had maneuvered that.

This
was overshadowed, however, by the sensation of Harry's bulge pressing
against his own.

Three
days or more of sexual repression would not be silenced by fighting,
and this hadn't escaped either of their notice.

The
room was dark, dimly lit only by a lumos spell at the tips of both
their wands; Harry's sat on a desk where he had left it upon entering
the room, and Draco's had been simply dropped to the floor when the
fight began. It was enough light for both of them to know the other
was blushing. Neither of them moved, as if maybe holding still would
end the problem; it didn't.

Draco
slowly tried to sit up, but Harry cast him a threatening look.

“Get
off, Potter, this is stupid.”

“You're
the one who started it, you idiot!”

Draco
snarled, snatching Harry's wrist with his free hand and yanking it
away from his throat. He didn't have the leverage to knock Harry off
of him, but he did have the reach to kiss him—which, for a
reason he couldn't explain, was the next most logical thing he could
think of to do.

Draco
hadn't done much kissing in his life, but he'd never kissed someone
out of anger. Kissing in rage, he decided, was one of the most
intense things he'd ever done.

Harry
made a startled noise, catching himself on the floor with the hand
Draco had knocked aside, then kissed back with just as much fury.

The
competition had them fighting to push the other back, and with his
position, Harry was winning. Draco was still pinned to the floor by
Harry's hand on his wrist, and Harry was still resting on top of
Draco's thighs. As they shifted, their groins pressed and rubbed
against each other.

Draco
bit at Harry's lower lip, a desperate attempt at control over what
was happening. His hips were bucking on their own, responding to the
stimulation of Harry's groin against his. He wanted to get away, to
make this stop because fighting wasn't supposed to go like this.
Instead, when Harry nipped back, Draco changed tack and bit Harry's
shoulder.

Harry
groaned in spite of himself, moving forcefully against Draco. One
knee, made slippery by sweat, slipped away from where it was pinning
Draco down and hit the floor hard. If Harry was bothered by this, he
didn't show it; the angle had shifted, and it had suddenly become
much easier to grind himself against Draco.

It
occurred to Draco that the leverage had shifted, that now he had an
opportunity to fight back and break away, but the thought hit
somewhere far in the back of his mind. His thoughts and his body had
been overtaken by the feeling of Harry's crotch against his own. His
skin sizzled, and all the effort he had been putting towards biting
Harry's shoulder ceased in an effort to breathe. He took deep, heavy
breaths, and as he came he thought distantly Well this is
different.

Harry thrust against
Draco a few more times and finished, then sense returned to his
sex-fuzzed brain and he pushed himself several feet back and away.

Harry started with
the most logical “What the Hell just happened?”

Draco had returned
to an upright position to regain his composure and catch his breath.
“A lot,” he said shortly, “and most of it
completely irrational.”

Harry
scooted to the nearest wall, leaned back against it, and sighed.
“Then I suppose there's no sense in explaining it...” He
smirked wryly. “At least both our problems are solved; I know I
got off, and I know you got off...” Harry's facial expression
looked momentarily startled, then he let his head sink to his hands
and muttered once again “What the Hell just happened?”

Draco
stared at the far wall. “We took our anger out on each other
sexually. I have no bloody idea why that seemed like the right thing
to do, but obviously it worked.”

The
two of them sat in relative silence for the next few minutes,
allowing themselves time to catch their breath and let the gravity of
what happened sink in.

“You
do realize there's no way we can just pretend this never happened,”
Harry pointed out. “As surreal and beyond belief as this is, it
happened.”

“I
know,” Draco said, his agitation clear in his voice. “I
just don't know what to do next.” He glared at Harry. "This
is all your fault."

Harry
didn't argue; he stared at a spot on the floor, trying to think of
something reasonable to do. Finally, he sighed and said “Let's
just go to bed; I'm too tired to think now. Maybe in the morning one
of us will have thought of something to do.”

Draco
nodded quietly, and both boys went their seperate ways back to their
dormitories.

It
took them both another two days to come up with a solution, and then
it was because it had been over forty-eight hours since they had last
gotten off. Jerking off alone proved to be less powerful than the
emotionally charged episode the two of them had shared.

If
you asked either one of them, neither would be able to tell you who
suggested it first, only that they had mutually agreed to go with it;
they began arranging to meet in the empty classrooms scattered about
the castle for the sole purpose of taking out their sexual
frustrations on each other.

That
had been eight months ago.

*

Draco
had his hands on Harry's back, digging in the tips of his fingers and
letting his nails catch on the material of the other boy's
undershirt, enjoying the feel of him pressing closer as Draco's hand
passed over his skin. He pushed his hips forward, feeling his crotch
and Harry's connect and move against each other. Draco turned his
face away from Harry, unable to breathe with the stimulus and
kissing. He reached down to readjust himself through his pants so his
dick could point upward, towards Harry and the softer flesh bellow
his belly button. Then he thrust forward, grinding, and smiled when
Harry allowed a small noise to escape his throat.

That
was an unspoken rule to the game; to elicit whatever response they
could from the other.

Draco
leaned his upper body forward, wrapping one arm around Harry's
shoulder to pull him closer, and ran his tongue along the outermost
part of Harry's right ear. Harry let out an audible gasp, and one
hand flew up to grip the back of Draco's shirt, unsure if he wanted
to pull him away or draw him closer. A moment later, as Draco began
to nibble his earlobe, Harry's other hand raised itself to Draco's
hip, holding him close as he let out a moan. Draco smiled in spite of
himself, letting his other hand slide down the black haired boy's
side and along the top of his trousers. He'd had a lot of practice,
since that first fit of sexual release, in undoing the school-issue
trousers one-handed, and he demonstrated as much once again and
slipped his fingers in. He felt the skin of Harry's manhood where it
had poked out of his boxers, and he wrapped his hand around it and
began to rub the tip.

Harry
was an experiment in multitasking to Draco, and he had learned one of
the tricks to get him off the easiest. As he continued to rub against
the other boy's genitalia with his hand and hips, he stopped nibbling
his earlobe to bite at his neck. Harry was making noises more
steadily now, and as Malfoy found the spot where shoulder met neck,
Harry's legs gave out, forcing him back onto the desk closest to him.
Draco stayed standing, releasing Harry's member so both hands were
free enough to take off Harry's undershirt. When the offending item
had been tossed to the top of Harry's clothes pile, Draco went back
to massaging his counterpart's penis with one hand, pinching Harry's
right nipple with the other and toying with the left nipple with his
tongue.

Harry
could feel his toes beginning to tingle as he fought to breathe
normally. He leaned back on his elbows on the desk, the view of his
least liked classmate pleasuring him falling in and out of focus. He
gave up on trying to see what was happening, head falling back on his
shoulders as Draco's teasing fingers and tongue slid from his chest
to his stomach.

This
was a manipulation Draco enjoyed. It was direct; There was no trying
to toy with someone's thoughts to get them to think what he wanted
them to, there was no beating around the bush. It was a flesh and
blood machination; a certain combination of actions to get a desired
effect, a sense of control that simple words never gave him. It
wasn't about getting anyone in trouble or making them look bad. It
was about sending shockwaves through Potter without detentions, house
points, or politics. It was about making Harry feel like he needed
this more than anything else, like he needed Draco to do this to him.

Like
he needs me more than anything.

The
thought came unbidden, and Draco brushed it aside before the words
could settle in and effect his performance.

Right
then, he was busy.

Draco
nipped at the soft skin on Harry's stomach, resisting the urge to
bite hard enough to leave a bruise. He'd done it before by accident,
and Harry had made sure to return the favor. As much fun as playing
rough could be, they were both on Quidditch teams, and they couldn't
think of an explanation if the bruises were noticed in the locker
rooms.

That
was another rule: No questionable marks.

So
he was careful, as he nipped and tongued his way downward, sliding
his hand along Harry's thigh. Harry shuddered, shaking his whole body
in the process. Draco smiled inwardly; Harry was getting closer to
the edge.

Harry
moaned as Draco ran his tongue in swirling patterns back and forth
along Harry's inner thighs and up to where leg met lower abdomen. He
knew what would happen next; for every time they had done this, he
still hadn't developed any sort of ressistance to it, and he felt his
body shivering in anticipation he couldn't control.

Draco
exhaled over Harry's shaft, his breath warm compared to the air in
the castle. Harry quaked in response, and Draco slid his hand lower
on Harry's penis, leaving the head standing in wait. Draco licked
from where his thumb's first knuckle pressed against Harry's manhood
up to the tip, pulled his tongue back into his mouth, then wrapped
his lips around the head, sucking it in.

Harry
cried out, his body stiffened, and he cried again when he felt Draco
shift his tongue and began to bob up and down. His resistance utterly
lost, Harry came, alternately moaning and locking up every muscle in
his body.

Draco
swallowed, having nowhere to spit, and stood up, lips curling at the
aftertaste. Harry had slipped from his elbows to laying back on the
desk, breathing hard from exhertion. His limbs hung limply off the
desk's sides. Once his breathing began to slow, he reached up to tuck
himself back into his pants and refasten the button and zipper.

“You
aren't done yet, Potter,” Draco reminded unnecessarily.

“I
know,” Harry said faintly. “Just a few more minutes.”

Draco
dusted off the surface of an abandoned desk and sat down; for that
evening, he would be patient.

*

A
week passed before Draco heard anything from Harry again, and when he
did it was to catch him briefly in the library, asking to meet that
night at midnight in the same classroom. Draco agreed; he'd planned
to stay up late to review for a test in Transfiguration. “If
I'm going to be up,” he thought, “I may as well take some
time for that.”

Draco
was pleased with himself that evening as he walked to the empty
classroom; it was another one of the game's rules to see who could go
the longest before making an offer to meet up. There was no official
point system for their game, but Draco was almost certain he would be
ahead if there had been one.

He
tried not to acknowledge the expression on Harry's face, an
expression he couldn't understand, when he walked into the room,
choosing instead to assault him without a greeting; a week without
this part of the game was still a week without getting off, and his
own body had begun to feel it. Draco reached a hand around the back
of Harry's head and pulled him forward for a kiss, placing the other
hand at the small of his back and pulling him close. He felt Harry's
hands rest on his shoulders, fingers tightening into the material of
his shirt and drawing him against his own body, then stopping. Harry
broke their kiss, murmured “Stop”, gave into another kiss
and said “Stop!” again, more clearly this time. He pushed
Draco back a couple inches, closing his eyes and turning his face
downward. He took a deep breath, and Draco felt the world grinding to
a halt.

“I
can't do this,” began Harry. “This doesn't mean
anything.”

“That
was part of the point,” Draco sniped. “We could satisfy
our baser needs with no strings attached.” He felt his stomach
knotting up, not wanting to hear what the dark haired boy was saying.

Hary
sighed. “I know. That was the whole point. But this stopped
being a good thing.” He turned his face away from Draco, trying
to find something off to his left to focus on. “I don't know
how to explain it... This feels hollow. It's missing something
important.”

Draco
stared at Harry, not sure he wanted to accept what he was being told.
“What could possibly be missing? If I'm not doing something
right, just say it--”

“It's
not that you're doing something wrong,” Harry cut in, now
flicking his gaze to Draco, then the ceiling, then somewhere to the
right, “It's just... something you can't do. It's not part of
the way this works. For a while, this was just fine; it was letting
out how pissed off I was at you, or just at anything. It was that
release that made this worth while. But either I'm done being angry
with you or it just doesn't bother me anymore, and now I just know
how empty this is.”

Draco
took a step back, then another, putting enough space between himself
and Harry to keep him from wanting to hit the other boy for saying
that. Later that night, he would look back and reflect that his self
control had, for once, been admirable; he'd wanted to scream that it
wasn't empty, that what they did was more than nothing, that it
wasn't meaningless—all things that, really, didn't make sense.

They
hadn't started this to have it mean something.

“I
can't find it in you,” Harry continued quietly, “So I
think we need to just stop this all together before it creates a
bigger problem later.”

“What
can't you find?” Draco asked incredulously. “What were
you trying to find in the first place?”

Harry
still refused to look Draco in the eye. “I don't know. If I
find it, I'll tell you what it is, but it's not here.”

Draco
couldn't do anything but stare in silence through Harry's hair at the
scar etched on his forehead, Harry's green eyes still looking
anywhere but Draco. Finally, Harry murmured “I need to go to
bed,” and ran for the door.

Draco
sat numbly on the edge of the nearest desk, trying to process what
was going on and suffocate the sense of having lost something
important.

There's
no loss, he thought firmly. No reason for this to matter. We
were both just in it for the physical feeling. He obviously wants to
move on to someone more fulfilling.

But
the words “someone more fulfilling” didn't sit well with
Draco, and moments later he found himself thinking If that was
all, why do I feel like crying?
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More Than Nothing