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The Dangers of Fairy Blood	By : jadedust Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4027 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor True Blood, or their characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Dangers of Fairy Blood
- 1
Written for the no_true_pair community on Dreamwidth. The prompt was: Draco and Eric: aphrodisiacs/sex pollen, etc. This is the first crossover I’ve ever written, and it was way too much fun. :)

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“Mm, you smell good.”

Flattened against the wall behind him, Draco Malfoy looked up, up, and up some more at the blond, broad-shouldered vampire eyeing him hungrily. His wand lay far out of reach in the gutter on the far side of the darkened London alley, right where the creature had flung it faster than Draco could take a breath, let alone raise the thing and defend himself or Apparate.

And here he thought all he had to worry about in this part of town were fool Muggles.

Draco swallowed painfully as the vampire leaned in and sniffed at his neck, the last place one wanted a vampire to be.

“Please,” Draco found his voice, albeit faint and tremulous. “Please don’t. I’m very wealthy.”

The vampire chuckled. Draco felt his supposedly non-existent breath on his neck and shivered, clenching his fists at his sides, clenching every muscle in his body.

Bringing his long arms up to rest against the wall on either side of Draco’s head, caging him, the vampire pulled back. “I don’t care about your money.” He tilted his head down and to the side, a small, eager smile tugging at his lips, and traced a finger from Draco’s temple, along his cheek and jaw to his jugular. “Fairy.”

Draco flushed, but inside, ice suddenly filled his veins. “Excuse me? Do I look like I have bloody wings?” His attempt at sounding indignant was only slightly marred by the quavering of his voice.

“Don’t play games with me, wizard. I hate for my time to be wasted. I’m in this city on business, and my business is not yet concluded. Now, I can smell your fairy blood, however much is in you, and I. Want. It.” All traces of playfulness were gone as the vampire’s cold blue eyes bore into Draco’s with a vehemence that erased any further notions of chicanery from his mind.

“I swear I’m no fairy. I…made a potion with fairy blood in it,” he explained, unable to look away from the vampire’s intense, now curious gaze. In truth, buying, selling, or using fairy blood was illegal; Draco had obtained it through elaborate, shady channels, unable to visit Knockturn Alley for what he needed given that so many stores there had been shut down post-war. In addition, Draco was to be on his best behavior after his pardon immediately following the war. If he was found to have broken any law, no matter how small, it was Azkaban for him.

The vampire dropped his arms from the wall and folded them across his (Draco couldn’t help but note) impressive chest. “What does this potion do?”

Draco’s muscles unclenched minutely, and his breath came a little easier. Questions were better than threats, and the creature doubtlessly had no knowledge of Wizarding Law.

He might get out of this alive, not dead and drained in the gutter beside his wand.

Draco cleared his throat. “A few things. Helps Legilimency—mind reading. And enhances attractiveness.”

A broad grin spread across the handsome creature’s face. “I’m guessing you were unaware that this increased attractiveness extends to vampires in particular?”

Draco’s face felt warm. “I was,” he confessed. “I thought the chances of my encountering a vampire were slim.”

Unfolding his arms, the vampire took a step closer, forcing Draco to crane his neck to keep eye contact, something he seemed unable to relinquish. Nervous energy knotted in his chest, dense and bordering on a strange, anticipatory excitement. It had been…a long time since someone had looked at him with any sort of desire. “You don’t understand how good you smell,” the creature said, his voice low, somehow rough and smooth at the same time.

Draco’s hands clutched at the cold, coarse wall behind him, his breath coming short and fast. He watched the vampire’s eyes leave his for his neck and felt the blood drain from his face. Hopefully it went somewhere uninteresting where this thing wouldn’t bother looking for it. After all, there was hunger, and then there was hunger.

In his panic, Draco grasped at every bit of knowledge he had on these creatures. He hadn’t survived a war by being an idiot. Survival instincts were deeply ingrained in the Malfoy family.

“F-forgive me,” he said meekly, successfully distracting the vampire from his frantically beating pulse. “But won’t you get in trouble for kill-, for biting me against my will? Doesn’t your Authority or whatever it’s called frown on such things? I’m not trying to threaten you, but I come from an established Wizarding family, and once my body’s found and they see the marks—”

He was smiling again, and Draco felt an inexplicable mix of fright and bashfulness under its peculiarly cool, charming glow.

“Who says it will be against your will?” Amusement tinged the vampire’s voice, a predator laughing at its prey.

Draco’s mouth opened and then shut when he realized he had no response.

Blue eyes glacial pools like memories in a Pensieve, the vampire began speaking in a calm, pleasant tone. “You will let me drink from you, and then you will go home however you like, safe and sound. You will not remember our encounter.”

Draco blinked and frowned. Why was he talking to him like that?

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “Must be the fairy blood. Or your magic.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nevermind.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, and Draco watched the muscles in his arm bunch, bare in the black wife-beater he wore.

The vampire noticed him noticing.

Draco looked at his feet, embarrassed and confused. He hadn’t met many vampires, but this one seemed fairly reasonable, if aggravatingly persistent. From what he’d just said, he wasn’t interested in actually killing Draco, which was something. Still, a bite sounded painful. Draco did not like pain. Even if said bite and said pain came courtesy of a rather compelling, tall, attractive vampire like this one.

Vampire, Draco emphasized to himself.

“My name is Eric Northman. I’m a sheriff in the southern United States. I run a vampire bar in Louisiana.” His voice was neutral but casual. Draco looked back up into those pale eyes, which glittered with a sort of general pleasantness.

Draco nodded and took a breath, not bothering to ask what in bleeding hell a vampire sheriff was. He wasn’t sure he should give his name. Should he lie? That could be even more dangerous.

“You don’t have to give me your name,” Eric said, evidently reading his worry. “Although I doubt it would be hard to learn who you are. It’s clear you weren’t lying about your wealth.” He brushed the back of his hand down Draco’s fine, long coat, and Draco bit his lip, the light touch burning him through the layers of cloth. “I’m sure fairy blood is expensive and hard to come by,” he added off-handedly, with the implication that he was well aware of its illegality.

Draco said nothing, eyes glued to the vampire’s as if whatever mesmerism he’d tried before had worked.

The hand caressing his coat began slipping buttons out of their holes, and Draco’s heart pounded in his ears, throat, and chest. “I don’t know exactly why you made the potion. You’re attractive enough.” His voice was light, with a soft edge and faint accent Draco couldn’t place and couldn’t be arsed to try, his mouth dry as the vampire finished unbuttoning his coat, hand coming to rest on his abdomen, idle.

“Maybe, after that war of yours, your rich family has lost its reputation, and no respectable wizard or witch wants anything to do with you.”

No, they don’t. Bloody hypocrites.

“Maybe you think you need that potion to conduct business successfully and maintain your wealth. Maybe…” his red-rimmed nails scratched lightly at Draco’s belly through his shirt, “you need a wife to make an heir, and no one’s biting.” His smile was indulgent and exaggerated, as if he were playing a part. “I’ve been around. I know how it is with old, rich Wizarding families, and it’s obvious you’re queer and desperate to hide it. Humans.” Suddenly he sounded bored and looked off down the alley.

Angry at the vampire’s audacity (and ability to assume the truth), frustrated with his body’s reaction to a strange (and male) creature’s hand on his person, Draco did his best to stifle both reactions. It wouldn’t do to either enrage the vampire or to encourage its…touching. Because he certainly was not enjoying the weight of Eric’s hand on him, nor its proximity to certain other parts of his anatomy.

“Yes, well...” he stalled lamely. “At least you don’t have to worry about such things.”

A breeze stirred the damp air, and Eric turned back to him with a low growl, hand moving to grasp Draco’s hip tightly, hungry nose and mouth returning to his neck. Draco both heard and felt the vampire’s fangs pop out and graze him just beneath his jaw, eliciting a gasp of mingled fear and confused desire. After a tense moment, Eric drew back, and Draco’s grip on the wall behind relaxed a fraction.

“I have a proposition for you,” the vampire said, panting as if he’d been the one in aroused terror.

Draco nodded dumbly, once again transfixed by the icy blue eyes pinning him, gleaming as if backlit from the inside. His fangs shone sharp and white in the dim light from the end of the alley.

“In exchange for some of your blood, I’ll let you drink from me...and I’ll give you the fuck of your life.”

Draco blinked. And blinked again, blood—that precious stuff the vampire wanted—roaring in his ears, the rest of it heading south.

“Decide now.”

“Yes.” The word came faster than it registered in Draco’s mind. “I mean yes,” he added needlessly.

“Wonderful,” Eric grinned around his fangs as if they’d just traded real estate rather than made a deal for blood and sex. Without further ado, he wrapped one long arm around Draco’s waist as if he were a damsel he’d rescued, then lifted and pressed Draco up against him.

Gasping, Draco half-clung, half-pushed at the vampire. “Will it hurt?” he gulped, glad, at least, that Eric couldn’t see his fear, even if he could feel and smell it, face pressed, as it was, to Draco’s neck.

“Only a little,” Eric said off-handedly. Then he bit into him.

Draco hissed at what felt like a fuck of a lot more than “a little” pain and went from half- to full-cling, his fingers digging into the vampire’s naked shoulders. Once the fangs had pierced him it wasn’t so bad, but the sensation of his blood literally being drained; the wet, hungry sucking noises; the hot liquid trickling down his neck—all of it was strange, grotesque. Fucked up.

Eyelids drooping, Draco’s grip on Eric’s shoulders loosened as lethargy spread through his limbs. A chill wracked his body, and he shuddered against the vampire whose own grasp around his waist tightened in compensation.

“Ungh,” Draco groaned, head lolling on his neck. Eric cradled his head with his large hand, holding him steady, and soft, utterly perverse rumbles issued from deep in his chest. He didn’t smell like anything, Draco noted dazedly, not the blood he lived on, not shampoo (though his pale hair was shiny enough), not male musk, nothing. Snow, maybe.

Just as Draco’s arms fell away, just as the edges of his vision darkened, he felt the pull at his neck stop, and the warmed flesh of Eric’s nose, mouth, and chin withdrew. Draco blinked up at him, his mouth red with Draco’s blood, and watched as he bit into his own wrist. His stomach churned at the prospect of having to ingest the stuff, though he was aware of vampire blood’s hallucinogenic properties; it was part of the reason he’d been offered the opportunity—and accepted the invitation—to feed from the creature in the first place. The stuff was as illegal and expensive as fairy blood, with the added danger of vampires hunting you down and killing you should they discover you’d partaken. And they usually did.

Eric dabbed a finger in the blood at his wrist and rubbed it over the open fang marks in Draco’s neck. Immediately, the lingering pain vanished, and Draco knew the wounds themselves had as well. He sighed in relief, and Eric smiled.

And offered his wrist.

Draco hesitated, staring at the twin holes dripping blood almost black in the minimal light. Though adept at Potions and therefore not a stranger to working with the most repellant substances, he was still squeamish about what he put in his body. Or, well, perhaps he was just squeamish about drinking blood, even if it was a chance to experience legally what was ordinarily forbidden.

“Go on,” the vampire urged. “It will restore your strength, among other things.”

“Right,” Draco nodded. “It’s just I—”

“—haven’t done this before?” he smirked. “That’s good to hear. I promise you’ll like it.” He pressed his wrist directly to Draco’s lips, insistent.

Gaze locked with the vampire’s, as ever, Draco opened his mouth and licked tentatively. The heat hit him first; the blood was surprisingly warm, and he wondered if his own blood was responsible. Then, the taste: metallic and rich, and it was expected yet unexpected in that immediately Draco wanted more. His hands came up to curl around Eric’s forearm and palm, and he pushed his tongue firmly against the weeping marks, sucking and probing and scraping with his teeth a bit.

He heard Eric chuckle, and there were other sounds—little mewls and muffled cries; it sounded like a girl getting fucked—but Draco couldn’t figure out where they were coming from because there was a storm in his ears. An actual storm, he was sure: funnel clouds, lightning, thunder, wind, pelting rain. He could feel it, even.

At some point, Eric pried him from his wrist, and Draco’s head fell back as before, eyes closed. Panting, he licked at his lips and reveled in the surge of strength he felt—his own and more—and in his renewed arousal, which had wilted, literally, when Eric had taken his blood.

“All right?” a godly voice spoke through his pleasured haze, and, face still upturned, Draco opened his eyes…and saw the universe for what it really was, he was certain.

Above, the murky London sky had given way to a liquid vault of black and white and blue and red more vivid and beautiful than any bewitched ceiling conjured at Hogwarts. The stars flashed so brilliantly white against the shifting black, red, and blue heavens, it was like one glittering bruise.

“Enjoying yourself?” came the godly voice again. Draco smiled widely and let his chin fall forward. Before him Eric glowed pearlescent, his veins bright crimson with Draco’s (and the fairy’s) blood. He smiled at Draco beatifically, and Draco smiled back, his skin feeling liquid on his body, ripples from every movement spreading out and back in. He looked down at himself and saw that he was glowing, too. He laughed and buried his face in the vampire’s chest like a child.

Fingers raked through his hair, down his back, and squeezed at his bum, and Draco moaned against Eric’s still breast, the touches like melting snow against skin. Why was he even still clothed?

He made to pull back, to pull at the clothes that were covering him like lily pads, but brushed up against the wall behind, which had turned slick and obsidian, reflecting the night sky back at itself.

“Wait.”

Draco halted at the voice with wings and dropped his arms obediently. Eric ripped his shirt open with barely a movement and deftly unbuckled his belt, unfastened his trousers, and yanked them and his pants down and off. Draco exhaled gratefully, his skin gleaming intensely, so bright it even looked liquid to him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Draco heard just before he was lifted in strong arms. He wrapped his own around Eric’s neck and his legs about his waist so they made one shining form. His coat made a convenient barrier between his back and the wall behind, and Draco found he didn’t mind the feel of it against his suddenly firming skin. Distantly, he heard a clacking from somewhere below him, then Eric was spitting into his hand.

“Your saliva…is magic, too?”

A laugh like far-off bells. “No. But it will have to do.” The hand came around and under Draco, smearing wetly against his arsehole. A finger breached him, gently but firmly.

“Ah!” Draco wriggled and rose up in Eric’s arms.

“I see it’s been a while for you, too,” the vampire observed, but Draco was too distracted by the second finger, the two fingers working together to probe his depths and stretch him, to confirm. The burning radiated out through his belly, up through his chest, and all the way out through the top of his head, ribboning to the heavens and becoming just another bruise there. After a while, it stopped inside him and became something else, something wonderful, and Draco dove forward for Eric’s mouth. Somehow he missed, but Draco wasn’t surprised. The storm inside him had moved outside; the buildings shook with it. He didn’t know how Eric was able to hold onto him, even with all his supernatural strength.

The fingers were gone, replaced by the long, slow slide of Eric’s cock. Draco watched the vampire’s blue eyes glitter, concentrated, fixed on his. He saw him watch Draco take him in. Draco could not look anywhere else. He was afraid to look anywhere else, afraid to see the buildings fall down on them in the storm he could hear but, strangely, not feel. The fullness of Eric’s cock inside him, the arms holding him, the blood rushing around his body, were erasing all other sensations. It must be.

Draco’s blood still colored Eric’s mouth, and Draco tried again to kiss him. He almost missed this second time—sodding storm!—but, chuckling, “Why not?” the vampire helped bring their mouths together. Their tongues pressed and tangled, and Draco didn’t know whose blood he was tasting. Suddenly he hoped he’d been all Eric had wanted when he bit him.

Draco couldn’t sustain the kiss for long; it was too hard to focus with Eric thrusting up into him, his own cock pressed between their bodies, the friction bringing sparks of pleasure rushing through him like the burn earlier, except concentrating with each brush, building.

As before, there were vocalizations—sharp cries, drawn-out moans, groans, whimpers—that Draco could hear but not locate or feel. The storm. People caught in the storm? When Eric’s hand closed and tugged on his cock, they grew frantic, higher pitched, and Draco laughed.

“It’s a good thing this is a remote area,” Eric spoke into his ear as if from Mount Olympus. As if Mount Olympus himself.

Draco giggled. “Oh, it’s me,” he realized, laughing some more, head dropping back. As Eric’s hand on him sped up, and the fierce stirring of the buildings around and the stars above accelerated, his laughing ceased and his voice broke into silent gasps. He was…he was going to…

His entire body clenched around Eric’s as he came, toes curling, face scrunching, hair plastered to his forehead, ejaculate coating his belly slickly. The storm itself could not compete and hushed.

After was like just before Eric had finished drinking from him, all loose limbs and heavy eyelids. Eric held him fast, angled him toward the wall more steeply, and with one final thrust, stilled and came, limpid eyes closed, face barely taut.

Draco fucking worshipped him.

He nearly cried when Eric pulled out and set him down to sit on his coat. Buckling his trousers, he went to fetch Draco’s wand in the gutter, wiping it off against his trouser leg and tucking it in his pocket. Draco looked on wonderingly, each of the vampire’s movements like the most surprising, complex magic. He allowed himself to be brought back to his feet and re-dressed and snuck in admiring touches where he could.

“I can’t leave you here like this, I suppose,” Eric intoned, and Draco only smiled goofily as his fangs retracted with a snick. “Tell me where you live, and I’ll bring you home.”

“Wiltshire,” Draco responded easily, and before he could say anything more, Eric had taken him into his arms again and flown them into the air. No broom required.

The night sky bloomed around them, moist and vibrant, the bruise replaced by the hues from a volcanic island’s flora. As always when flying, Draco thrilled to the rush of air against his skin, the smallness of the ground and things beneath.

And though he couldn’t control him, Eric was a much better ride than a broom.

After a time, Eric asked where exactly he lived, and Draco did his best to use the naughtily quavering landmarks below to guide him to Malfoy Manor.

They came to a smooth landing beyond the gates, and though Eric had set Draco on his feet, the latter quickly folded in on himself, settling flat on his back and gazing contentedly up at the vampire.

“The grass is the only thing not moving,” he said by way of explanation. “And it’s soft.”

“Indeed,” Eric responded with a smile. “Well, it’s been lovely, young wizard, but I still have business elsewhere. Be careful with that fairy blood,” he winked. “You don’t truly need it.”

From where the grass held him, Draco mused, “I did tonight.”

The vampire’s smile grew, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Good night.”

Draco, soothed by the benevolent grass, had already begun giving into his exhaustion from the night’s activities, and would not comprehend the gravity of Eric’s final words to him before he turned to fly off into the near-dawn: “By the way, you’re mine now. Pleasant dreams.”
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The Dangers of Fairy Blood