Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Blackmail the Beast	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8499 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, terms, or themes. I do not own Not Even Bones, or it's characters, themes, terms. I make no money from this piece of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-^^^
- 2-* * *
- 3-+++
- 1
- 2
WARNINGS: Questionable consent, torture, humiliation, and blackmail, and a bit OOC Harry.

Harry tapped his quill on the rim of the inkpot, watching the clock at it ticked slowly toward six. He could have left early. No one would have stopped him. They might have needled him about it come Monday, but it would’ve all been in fun. But they would remember if he’d left early. If he always took the opportunity to leave early. They were Aurors, and they would have started piecing things together. He couldn’t afford anyone to get suspicious. He couldn’t stand it if they all knew, if they all looked at him differently.
He didn’t particularly enjoy the way people looked at him now, with reverence, and love, and complete idolization. It always made his skin crawl, knowing they thought he was perfect, The Boy Who Lived, The Savior. He’d never liked it, and now, more than ever, it felt like he was lying, everytime he thanked them awkwardly for their veneration and praise. It felt like a monster when he took in the way women looked at him, and knew that if he wanted, he could use them. He’d thought about it, once or twice, when things got particularly bad. He’d never acted on the impulse, though. He’d never let himself slip that far into the darkness.
The clock finally ticked across the six o’clock mark, and he let the quill drop into the ink, giving up the pretense of working as he left his paperwork scattered across his desk. It seemed many of his fellow wizards had been watching the clock just as intently, and a small queue had formed as they hurried to grab their clocks from the rack by the door, and get on with their weekend plans.
“We doing anything tonight, mate?” Ron was there, too, snatching his wool cloak, and wrapping it around his shoulders as he addressed his best friend.
“Nah, Hermione said she wanted you to take her out, without her telling you to. Surprise her, you know?” Harry excused himself, and smiled at the ginger. “I got you reservations at La Terra, that Italian place she mentioned last month.”
“Oh, thanks!” Ron looked immensely relieved at not having to plan something on such short notice, and Harry felt a bit guilty. They could never know that setting dates up for them was more an excuse to have an evening of absolute privacy, rather than a desire to keep them together. He knew that if they ever broke up, the friendship wouldn’t be too damaged, and he honestly doubted it would last long without his interference.
“Don’t mention it.” Harry grinned, following the small crowd into the lift that would take them to the Atrium. “Seriously. Don’t let Hermione know I helped. She’s still feeling guilty, thinking you and her are the reason Ginny ditched me.”
“That still makes no sense to me. Any of it.” Ron shrugged, easily brushing aside the whims of the women in his life, for more important things. “You’ve been spending a lot of time alone. Are you hiding some secret girlfriend, so Ginny doesn’t find out?”
“No. I just… feel tired, you know? All the reporters, the caseloads this month, the Minister breathing down my neck to apply for Head Auror at the end of the year. Makes me want to just crawl into bed, and stay there for the whole weekend, eating take-out, and not even open a Daily Prophet until Monday morning.” Harry lamented, knowing his friend would understand. The Prophet, it seemed, was still jumping wildly between loving him, and claiming he and the Auror department were riddled with corruption, and addicted to brutality.
“I understand completely. Let me know if anything changes. I’d be game for a bit of Quidditch, if you feel like it.” Ron offered. Harry murmured noncommittally as they walked toward the Ministry’s large Floo-equipped fireplaces. He had plans for the weekend, and they didn’t involve flying around, unfortunately. He’d already put it off too long, and he could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach; a physical ache that matched the need whirling through his thoughts. When he’d first realized what he was, he hadn’t expected it to feel like real hunger, like he was actually starving. He’d been surprised when the hunger pains started, and refused to subside, no matter how much he ate or drank. He’d nearly attacked someone in the middle of the Ministry before he decided to feed the monster inside him willingly, trying to control and hide his true nature from his friends, from society. He knew they would condemn him, despite the hero-worship they showered on him now. He’d seen it too many times before. Second year, with the school learning he spoke Parseltongue, fourth year, when he was entered into the Triwizard Tournament against his will, fifth year, when so many people had thought he was a liar, so desperate for attention he’d claim Voldemort had risen from the dead. Since he’d become an Auror, he’d witnessed it from the other side, watched his coworkers, his partners, sneer when they brought in a parasitic creature. He’d seen the way they went from cautious and respectul in their interrogation of an older woman, to hostile and hateful after she admitted she was only half-human. She’d never admitted what the other half was, and Harry hadn’t needed to know. She’d been half-creature, and it had been enough for them to persecute her. He’d never let them find out about his little secret.
He stopped by Grimmauld Place to change clothes and let Kreacher know he wouldn’t be home for the weekend. The elf muttered about dinner parties and the state of the house as Harry slipped out the door, and Apparated into a familiar alley in Muggle London. London was large, easy to disappear in, and easier to find someone he’d never see again. He slid his glasses off, his vision blurring horribly as he stalked down the dingey street, but he didn’t need to see that well to know where he was going. A nervous hand raked through his hair as he eyed the people passing him. It was only a matter of time before one of them stopped him.
“What’s the rush, love? Stay for some tea?” The warm fingers that wrapped around his arm sent a familiar thrill through him, and he looked down at the short woman who’d grabbed him.
“I prefer privacy.” He said, blurry eyes flickering to the large brick building she stood in front of. It was definitely a brothel, the building offering rooms for rent, the women littering the sidewalk offering to rent their company out with the rooms. The first was always the most dangerous, he knew. The most likely he’d lose control, and kill her in his frenzy to feed the growing hunger. After the first course, it would be easier to control himself, and he could spend the rest of the weekend binging, but for her, for the start of his binge, he’d need privacy. Somewhere he could feed on her without prying eyes to accuse him of murder if she never got back up afterwards.
“Well, no need to stay out here on the sidewalk, they rent rooms, don’t they?” The prostitute purred, gesturing back to the building, but Harry shook his head, and licked his lips, fixing her with that bright green gaze he knew would make her want him.
“Not private enough, though. I don’t fancy the whole building knowing my name, and believe me, you’ll be screaming it before we’re done.” He promised, smiling wickedly down at her. He’d never looked at anyone with the predatory, luring gaze he used now, until he’d become a monster. It seemed completely natural to flirt with her to lure her away from the safety of her home, and he didn’t know exactly when it had stopped bothering him that he knew exactly what to say to get them alone, or that he’d accidentally killed one or two as he learned about his curse. He made up for it, he firmly believed, by saving the lives of others, by keeping his hunger in check. At least, enough to not kill people in broad daylight.
“Alright. There’s a place down this way…” the woman beckoned, tugging at his arm, leading him down an alley, and into a different doorway. They were barely through the entrance before she was on him, pressing her lips to his, crushing her body against him, doing her best to earn what she thought she’d get paid. She would be paid, Harry thought grimly, if she lived. He knew he’d put off feeding for too long, and a shiver ran through him as he felt her through her clothes. She was already slipping her hand into his trousers, palming his growing erection, none the wiser to the warning signs of his trembling hands, and nipping teeth. She was likely used to men getting a bit rough, and didn’t think twice when he grabbed her by the throat, and held her to the wall, grinding against her desperately.
Skin contact was always better, though, and they were still too close to the doorway to risk taking things that far. Anyone could walk in, and see them entwined.
“Let’s find a room.” He growled into her mouth, squeezing her bum once before he forced himself to let her go, and take a breath of unperfumed air.
“Anything you want, love.” She cooed, taking his hand, and leading him further into the building. Harry followed, blood pounding in his ears and pooling in his crotch almost painfully. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” He asked, pausing as she stopped to listen.
“I heard something. Sounded like-” She was cut off as the sound he’d missed was repeated. It was a sound he was too familiar with. A sound that haunted his nightmares. The sound of muffled screams. “Do you think there some animals got in here?”
“No.” Harry dismissed the idea immediately, but didn’t voice his own, letting go of her hand, forcing his hunger to the side, his Auror training taking over his starving thoughts as he slid past her. “Wait here.”
She didn’t argue as he approached the door the sound was coming from, and quietly popped it open. It revealed a staircase leading down into a dim basement, and he nearly groaned. Of COURSE the muffled screams would be coming from down there. As he snuck down the stairs, he slid his glasses back on, and he drew his wand. He was ready for a number of things, his mind racing with the possibilities, but none of them were what he came upon.
As he stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring, horrified by the bloody sight before him. There were two men, one tied to a chair, gagged, and thrashing to be free, the other standing before him, back to Harry, the hand hanging by his side dripped blood. The hand was matched by a small pool of blood under the chair, and smears of it across the bound man’s face and bare torso. Harry stared, seeing small shallow cuts across the man’s chest, and bruised, purple looking marks on his shoulders. The man’s frantic gaze found Harry, and even with the gag, Harry recognized the pleas for help. Before he could respond, the captor turned, and Harry couldn’t stop his gasp of surprise.
“Malfoy?” He asked, staring at the blood-covered blond, unable to believe his eyes.
“Potter?” Malfoy seemed just as shocked to see him there, and his eyes flickered between the bloodied man, and the wizard. “What the FUCK are you doing here?” He snarled, his face twisted with hatred as he finally seemed to realize the danger of being covered in blood, trapped between his victim, and an Auror. Harry felt hatred fill him, and not for the reasons he’d expected. Finding Malfoy like this, he’d be forced to take him in, forced to give up his weekend as the investigation started, forced to starve for another week. He seriously considered turning around, going back up the stairs, and pretending he hadn’t seen anything. He NEEDED to eat. Malfoy was going to ruin everything. He felt an unfamiliar rage fill him, a desire to kill them both, and end the situation before it could get started.
He saw the same rage mirrored on Malfoy’s face, and his eyes flashed, lightning fast, between the captive, whimpering pleadingly, the desperation that seemed to underline the rage in Malfoy’s face, the hunger that Harry recognized. It clicked into place, and he felt his anger die away as a nasty plan took root in his mind.
“What are you?” He asked, fixing Malfoy with a piercing stare, hoping to throw him off center by not showing his anger back, like he usually would. “What kind of creature?”
Malfoy blanched, jerking back, as if he’d been struck. Harry smirked, glad to see he’d surprised Malfoy even more. He’d been right. Malfoy was some sort of Creature, and he’d interrupted him in the middle of whatever ritualistic feeding he’d been doing. His eyes traveled over the victim, and he pondered for a moment exactly what Malfoy had been feeding on. The blood, maybe? Some kind of vampire offbreed? But there was too much of it spilled, and not nearly enough around Malfoy’s mouth. The man didn’t seem to be missing any large chunks, so not the flesh. Something intangible, then, Harry decided. Maybe the same as him, but taking things way too far.
“Nothing. I’m a pureblood, you shit.” Malfoy snapped, a bit too harshly. Harry quirked an eyebrow, and shoved his disgust at the bloody mess in front of him far down. He needed to use this. He wasn’t an Auror right now, he was a Creature. And a hungry one, at that.
“Sure you are.” Harry drawled, stepping to the side, and approaching the bound man, inspecting him more closely. No erection on either man, so not an incubus. THe pupils weren’t blown out, so not a psychic vampire. Not a ghoul, not a vampire, and not the precision harvesting of a pishtaco going for fatty tissues. So what WAS he? Harry looked back to Malfoy, almost doubting his instincts for a moment, a flash of uncertainty making him wonder if maybe he was simply a psycho, getting some sick pleasure from hurting the man.
“Are you… eating his fear?” Harry asked, staring deep into the terrified eyes for a moment. Malfoy seemed to hesitate, fingers twitching for his wand, suspecting a trap of some sort, but the longer Harry stood, wand limp at his side, waiting for a reply, he seemed to waver.
“No. What are you doing here, Potter? What are you playing at?” He was watching Harry, full of mistrust. Harry looked him up and down, taking in the lines of his body, the silkiness of his hair, the energy that filled his eyes. He licked his lips, ravenous, and not entirely rational. He approached the captive, and slid a hand across his chest, through the blood stains, and across one of his shoulders. The bare skin under his fingers made him shiver with anticipation, and he knew the man would respond, unable to stop his body from giving Harry what he wanted. The quick green eyes took in the circular bruise, his finger tracing the slight ridges.
“What ARE you feeding on, Malfoy? Biting him, but not actually eating the flesh? Really, what are you?” Harry asked, watching the blond as his fingers blindly searched out the small pink nipple. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, and gently tugged, twisting, eliciting a groan of pleasure from the man. His hands worked magic, offering pleasure, and stealing energy. He watched Malfoy’s face, searching for any hint of jealousy, or need. He didn’t respond, just watched Harry apprehensively. Harry released the man, ruling incubus off the list of possibilities. The captive was fully erect now, and Malfoy seemed to finally notice the strange way Harry was touching him, running his fingers through the man’s hair, tracing a pattern on his bare, bloody skin. He knew he should stop touching the man, but he simply couldn’t resist. That much bare skin, covered in blood or not, was just too good to pass up. He knew the prostitute upstairs had probably already left, and didn’t feel like hunting down another one. Not when there were two perfectly viable bodies right here.
“What are you doing, Potter? Stop touching him.” Malfoy stepped forward, a territorial look crossing his face before he banished it, and fixed a hateful mask in place. “What are you-”
He stopped, eyes darting down to the man’s tented trousers, then back to Harry.
“No.” His face was breaking into a nasty smirk, and Harry felt the sudden urge to wipe it from his face. “No, not perfect Potter? The savior, the hero of our whole world, a creature? And an incubus at that? What WILL people think?”
“I imagine they’ll think it was terribly brave of me to single-handedly take down a dangerous creature, and they’ll wonder what on earth the supposedly reformed Malfoy heir was doing, alone, with a bloody body, in an abandoned basement, all alone. People will think about his parents, and ask questions. They’ll be quick to pass judgement, and a Dementor’s Kiss, I think, wouldn’t be too far off.” Harry spoke slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving Malfoy’s. “So, what is it you’re getting from this?” He jerked the man’s head back, knowing it would cause a sharp pain, and not really caring. Until Malfoy shivered. Harry’s eyes narrowed as Malfoy glared, refusing to answer. But Harry was pretty sure he’d just gotten an answer, regardless. He shoved a fingertip hard into one of the bitemarks, causing the man to groan with the pain, and Malfoy to jerk slightly, another shiver traveling the length of his body.
“Pain? You eat pain?” He asked, almost unwilling to believe it. The look on Malfoy’s face was pure loathing, and he smirked in response. He’d hit it right on the nose.
“You realize, Potter, that I have to kill you now? It’s going to raise a great deal of questions, but I don’t think they’ll lead back to me.” He threatened back. Harry shrugged, as though it didn’t matter to him whether he tried to kill him or not.
“I’ll make you a deal, Malfoy. I’ll keep silent about this little… fetish of yours. If you help with mine.” Harry knew it was wrong, knew it was evil. He was likely sentencing the already tortured man to death if he walked away, but he couldn’t seem to care about anything except the need to touch, to dominate, to eat.
“Counteroffer: You keep silent, and I won’t kill you right now.” Malfoy snarled, pointing his wand at Harry. Harry wrapped his fingers around the man’s throat, cutting off his air, but careful not to squeeze so tightly he caused pain.
“Threaten to kill me again, and I’ll break his neck. You’re not finished with him, are you? Do you really want to go looking for another?” Harry knew he didn’t. Malfoy seemed to consider, eyeing the hands resting on his victim’s head and neck, perfectly positioned to snap the neck if Malfoy so much and twitched his wand hand.
“Don’t kill him. I need him alive.” Malfoy snapped, dropping his arm, and tucking his wand away. He seemed to have given up on fighting, and settled for bargaining. “And so do you, if you want a turn before I keep going.”
“I think you misunderstood, Malfoy. I don’t want him, he’d die before I finished, in his state.” Harry explained, as if he were speaking to an idiot. Mafloy’s face took on a new kind of horrified expression.
“You can’t be serious.” He argued, but his eyes fell to the man who was now trapped between them. Harry’s hands were still on him, dropping to the bare chest once again, pinching at both exposed nipples.
“I’m entirely serious, Malfoy. I WILL take him, if I have to, and he will die without an ounce of pain. Or you can have him, and I’ll take you. Either way, I’m starving, and you’d better decide fast.” Harry intimidated, letting his hand drop lower in a threat. If he got to the man’s pants, he wasn’t going to stop. He wouldn’t be able to. He was far too hungry.
Malfoy seemed to realize this, and lurched forward, yanking his hand away, and glaring into his face.
“Don’t kill him! He’s mine!” He snarled, placing one possessive hand on the man’s shoulder, forcing Harry off of him as his fingers dug into the flesh of his captive, satisfying himself a bit as he caused the man to jerk with the pain of the nails in his skin.
“Swear to me, Malfoy. My silence, for your energy. Whenever I need.” Harry offered his hand, daring the Slytherin to accept the terms. His body for this one meal. Would he take it, or had Harry overestimated the hunger he’d seen on his face, the fear of being found out.
“I swear. Let me have him, and never tell anyone what I am, and I’ll feed you.” Malfoy took his hand, shaking it once, before he dropped it. Harry grinned, knowing that Malfoy would try to kill him, first chance he got. He’d take his victim, and try to steal his silence without paying the price he’d agreed. Harry would have to outmaneuver him.
“I’ll meet you outside this building in one hour. Leave enough time to wash up, I don’t like the blood.” Harry ordered, giving Malfoy a hard look before he spun on the spot, and Aparated away. He had one hour to set things in motion, and that really wasn’t a lot of time. First, the pensieve…

* * *
Harry waited patiently outside the building, knowing Malfoy wouldn’t run to the press with Harry’s condition. They’d laugh him out of their offices as a liar, and vengeful bastard. He had to play by Harry’s rules, until he thought he could win. Problem was, he could never win. Harry had made sure of that.
“If I do this, and you tell everyone I’m a creature anyway, I will come when no one’s around, stun you, and torture you for a week before I let you die.” Malfoy’s voice preceded him out the door, and Harry glanced up, inspecting his soon-to-be-meal. He’d found a way to clean the blood off, and when he glared at Harry, the hungry look was gone from his eyes. Harry smirked.
“There’s nothing for me to gain by outing you. It’s much more convenient to keep you around, and feed off of you. You know, other creatures are much harder to kill than humans, when it comes to a hungry incubus?” Harry drawled, eyes locking on the blond. He felt a small quiver of guilt in his stomach. Maybe an hour had been too long? He was feeling a bit too human again, his voracious hunger not being teased by touching the tortured man. The guilt was squashed quickly as Harry and Malfoy stared at one another, replaced by a need so intense, Harry almost didn’t bother going back inside. He needed to eat, and Malfoy was perfect. He wouldn’t be upset if he DID accidentally kill him, and he’d never be able to betray him.
“We need to get a few things straight, Malfoy. I’ve left a small bottle of pensieve memory with a house-elf I trust. If I suddenly go missing, that memory goes straight to the Ministry, so don’t get any ideas about killing me to get out of this. Now, I need to know a few things about what you are. Does it increase your healing, speed, strength, or anything like that?” Harry asked.
“No.” Malfoy answered shortly, his eyes holding a desire to murder. He hated that Harry had him trapped, blackmailing him. Harry didn’t feel sorry for the prick in the slightest. Harry nodded, taking it into account, and he stepped closer, pressing a hand to Malfoy’s chest, shoving him back into the building. “Wait, we’re doing this here?”
“Why not? Is the basement still a mess?” Harry asked, not entirely sure he wanted an answer. Would he be able to continue looking away if he knew too much?
“No. But don’t you need… I don’t know, a bed, or something?” Malfoy was clearly stalling for time, and Harry rolled his eyes, shoving him further into the building. He forced Malfoy into the first room with a door he found, and slammed it shut behind them, eager anticipation filling him, making his stomach twist with hunger as Malfoy suddenly looked panicked.
“Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy this almost as much as I will.” Harry promised darkly, reaching out to grab a handful of Malfoy’s platinum hair. He jerked the man’s head aside, and dove for his throat, locking his lips over the pulsing point of his heartbeat. His tongue swept out, and Malfoy grunted with surprise at the assault, his hands already pushing at Harry’s shoulders, trying to minimize the intimacy involved with the incubus’ feeding. Harry didn’t bother telling him to relax, or force his hands down. He knew that before long, Malfoy would be clutching at him, begging for more. His very touch was an aphrodisiac, opening his victims to his need, and working like the muggle drug, ecstasy. It would inhibit their pain, and increase their pleasure at even simple touches, the longer he went, the more his victims became thoughtless sex-craving compilations of holes for him to use. Being a creature, Malfoy was less likely to completely lose himself to the effects of Harry’s natural magic, but still, he wasn’t entirely immune.
Harry’s lips kissed their way sloppily down Malfoy’s throat, and he nipped at the man’s collarbone, his hand slipping from the blond hair to rip the buttons on his shirt open. He barely heard the clattering of the small buttons scattering across the floor, but he definitely heard the soft grunt Malfoy let out as Harry’s hands flattened on his chest, soaking in the pleasure he was already fighting not to feel. Harry could sense him almost as well as a mind-reader would, the small twitches of his body, his change in breathing, the soft sounds he made all giving Harry a clear understanding of what he was feeling, and thinking. It also helped that Harry could taste the pleasure already coiled inside him, seeping out in small eddies that Harry’s kissing mouth lapped up, and his hands grabbed at, desperate to consume. It would soak through his skin as he fed, and the more skin he touched, the faster he’d feed.
His fingernails scraped at Malfoy’s abdomen, and Malfoy hissed with surprise at the scratches, but said nothing. His hands were fisted at his sides, and he had his eyes closed, refusing to participate in Harry’s meal. That was fine, he would be contributing soon enough.
Harry moved back to his neck, biting at an earlobe, and spreading his hands across Malfoy’s stomach, shivering slightly at the feeling of skin under his hands. He needed more. His own muggle t-shirt came off with a few simple tugs, falling to the ground, and he pressed his body to Malfoys, chest to chest, his hands wrapping around the other’s back. One hand squeezed Malfoy’s bum, and the other dug its nails into his shoulder, assaulting the thin blond with feeling he couldn’t ignore. Malfoy groaned in response, his hands finally unballing as he grabbed at Harry, trying to both push him away, and keep him close. The confusion was something Harry was familiar with. He’d never been particularly interested in men, before he started feeding on humans, but now, he couldn’t much care what they had, or what they looked like, so long as they could feel. Malfoy seemed to be going through a similar struggle, not wanting to enjoy being touched by another man, but unable to stop it, and unable to give up the sexual high that Harry’s touches were seducing him with.
Pressed against each other, Harry could feel the stiff response that Malfoy was fighting against, and grinned into his throat, glad that there would be no half-measures of satisfaction, not stopping without fulfillment. That had been a problem with a few of the prostitutes, that even with his bewitching hands, his pleasurable kisses, and his ability to know exactly what the other wanted, they’d been unable to reach orgasm, already so spent and desensitized from other customers. It had left him feeling as if he’d had a snack, but nothing truly filling. Malfoy, though, seemed highly responsive, his body twitching involuntarily as Harry’s hand slid around to cup his erection. He was feeling things more strongly than Harry was used to, and he wondered if it was because he was so aware that it was Harry who was touching him. Was his hatred and distress making him extra sensitive? God, he hoped so. It made his meal taste so much better, fill him so much easier.
A soft moan filled the air between them, and Harry encouraged it, licking and kissing his way down Malfoy’s chest, pausing to torture one small round nipple as he yanked his dinner’s trousers open, and shoved them off his body. Malfoy stood, trapped between Harry and the wall, mostly naked, wearing only the ripped shirt dangling from his arms, and as he dropped that, too, to the ground, Harry eagerly followed suit, stripping his jeans and shoes in quick, practiced movements. He grabbed Malfoy again, and shoved him roughly to the ground, dropping to his knees after him, and covering the naked body with his own. Malfoy stiffened slightly, anxious with how quickly Harry had stripped and pinned him, but Harry ignored it, grabbing his hands, and trapped them above the blond’s head. He held Malfoy down, trapping his wrists in one hand, and holding his face still with his other. The other Aurors had sometimes mocked him for using their training facilities so frequently, but he had ignored them, because he knew, being able to overpower his food, and having the muscles to hold himself up without crushing the victim was well worth the teasing. He couldn’t imagine being unable to pin them down, and take what he wanted. He hated the thought of becoming a creature of passive pleasure, letting his victims give him their pleasure while he lay back, unable to hold them up, or pin them down. He’d tried doing it gently, being a careful and lazy lover as he fed. It hadn’t felt half as good as this did, as forcing Malfoy to enjoy being held down.
He’d struggled a bit, trying to jerk his arms free, trying to roll, and get the upper hand. Harry refused to play along as Malfoy growled unhappily, glaring up into green eyes with renewed hatred. He’d agreed to feed Harry, but had he really thought about what it would entail? Harry seriously doubted he’d thought of anything beyond maybe a bit of kissing and fondling. Some well-fed incubus could snack off of foreplay for awhile, keeping the hunger at bay until they could find the victim they’d prefer. He was not well-fed, and his only preference just then was ‘breathing’. He needed to eat, and just kissing and touching wasn’t going to be enough to tide him over.
He pressed his mouth roughly to Malfoy’s, kissing him brutally, bruising his lips as he forced them apart, and slid his tongue into the other’s mouth, tasting the pleasure and hatred that swelled inside him. As much as he detested Harry, he couldn’t stop the building arousal, or gratification that Harry was forcing on him. Harry slid his hands down the bare front, and grasped Malfoy’s cock, jerking a few times, and moaning into Malfoy’s mouth as he tasted the rush of sensation that flooded through the blond. His back arched into, and Malfoy gasped, kissing him back, finally losing himself to the art of Harry’s hunger. He moaned into Harry’s mouth, and his hips thrust his shaft into Harry’s hand, pleasuring himself on his enemy’s skin. His eyes had glazed over, and Harry muttered the words of the spell he’d perfected to be wandless, filling his hand with a slick wetness. Malfoy whimpered, clearly loving the slippery feeling as he rutted into Harry’s palm, no longer having enough clarity of mind to struggle against his responses to Harry.
Harry smirked, and slid his hand down Malfoy’s shaft, sliding the wet hand across his testicles, and lower, until he was pressing his fingers into Malfoy’s hole. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait for Malfoy to adjust. He slid two fingers into the warm heat of him, and pumped them in and out, curling them enough to hit that perfect spot that made Malfoy arch in pleasure, and a strangled sound of desperation ripple from the blond’s throat. Harry growled in response, the hunger pains finally abating as Malfoy jerked and panted, wordlessly begging for more as Harry slid a third finger into him, stretching him just enough to keep him from tearing.
He released Malfoy’s arms and slid the remaining wetness around his own erection, slicking himself into preparedness. He didn’t hesitate a moment longer, he couldn’t stand waiting, he wanted to fuck Malfoy into the floor, and eat every little moan and shiver that Malfoy was giving. He thrust into the other, as deeply as he could, surprised a bit by how little pain Malfoy seemed to be feeling. Sure it felt good, but there was usually at least a wince, or a shout of brief agony before the sexual magic took over and smoothed the sensations into pure ecstasy. With Malfoy, though, he just groaned, his eyes rolling back, his hands grabbing at Harry, demanding more. Harry put the curiosity aside for later, and began thrusting his way to satisfaction. Malfoy was arching into him, and Harry could feel his every little zing of pleasure, every wave of desire that crashed over him. He could taste the desperation to cum, the need for more feeling, more touching, more kissing. Harry happily obliged, wrapping his strong fingers around Malfoy’s throat, squeezing to cut off his air, and pressed his lips to the already swollen mouth, biting roughly, kissing like it was a battle. His other hand wrapped around Malfoy’s cock, and he pumped in time with his thrusts, loving the slight choking sound of Malfoy trying to whimper and moan around the hand choking him, the flush in his cheeks, and the glazed eyes looking at him full of rapture, and silently pleading for even more. Harry growled, hardly able to control himself as he felt Malfoy’s pleasure steadily building, soaking through his skin, filling him like he so rarely got filled. And still, Malfoy was giving more, wanting to FEEL more. Harry released his neck, his hand swift as he snapped it hard into Malfoy’s face, jerking the beautiful face sideways with the strike. Malfoy gasped in surprise, the glazed look slipping from his eyes as Harry smirked down at him, getting nearly as much pleasure from hitting the blond as from fucking him. It was almost cathartic, the feel of flesh stinging against his hand, but the most startling part of hitting him was the sharp jerk of carnal pleasure that Malfoy tried to pretend he didn’t feel. He was now glaring up at Harry with growing hatred, but Harry wasn’t fooled. He’d FELT Malfoy’s enjoyment at the strike, known it wasn’t the wrong thing, and he grinned crazily, lashing out before Malfoy could start struggling again.
A small moan came on Malfoy’s next breath, and when their eyes locked, he looked almost scared, and Harry knew he was terrified of Harry knowing he liked it. After how Harry had caught him covered in blood before, he wasn’t sure why he was so worried about this little fetish, but didn’t bother asking about it just then. He wrapped his fingers back around Malfoy’s throat, choking off any protest he’d been opening his mouth to offer, and Malfoy’s eyes widened, his more lucid mind finally registering the exact position Harry was putting him in. High on the sex, he’d felt only the pleasure of being touched, but now, he felt that he was being choked, and Harry reveled a moment in the panic that sparked in his eyes. Malfoy was worried that his childhood enemy was going to actually hurt him. Harry almost laughed. Slapping and choking was one thing, but if he hurt him too badly, it would disturb the pleasure, and he was far too hungry to interrupt it.
“You get to breathe when you cum.” Harry growled, both assuring Malfoy he wasn’t going to strangle him to death, and threatening him with his own body. It was up to Malfoy whether he got to breathe again. He didn’t have to know that Harry would let up if he started to pass out, or that Harry could feel the thrill of desire that the words sent through him. Malfoy liked games then. Good to know.
Harry let go of Malfoy’s erection, and held him by the hip, pinning him by the neck, but lifting his ass slightly to get a better angle, to thrust faster and harder. He focused on his own orgasm, and was pleased to see Malfoy’s hand take up where his had left off, pleasuring himself, prompted by the threat of his orgasm between him and oxygen. Malfoy closed his eyes, his face turning slightly red with the lack of air, but it wasn’t dire, yet. He was jerking himself faster, his hips twitching as Harry pounded into him, the slapping noise of their bodies barely breaking through his feeding frenzy. He could feel Malfoy’s orgasm, his ass squeezing with the contractions of his spurting cock, the satisfaction filling Harry like a warm drink on a cold day, soothing his hunger, and bringing relief. He pried his fingers free, letting Malfoy gasp in air, choking on the little flecks of saliva that he inhaled in his desperation to breathe, and as a wash of secondary pleasure at inhaling filled him, Harry felt his own pleasure peak, and his cum filled Malfoy as he pressed their bodies together, soaking up every last shockwave of bliss.
He stilled, panting with the effort of fucking the blond, but nowhere near done. It had been enough to keep him from starving, but he was still hungry. Still craving the little thrills of desire he knew would start again if he just kept thrusting.
“Get off of me.” Malfoy sounded furious, and Harry laughed, rolling to the side, letting him up. It would be better to let him fume for awhile, and fuck him again after he’d come to terms with what had just happened. Harry knew he’d have a bit of trouble accepting how very submissive he’d been while underenath him, and couldn’t fault him for silently getting dressed, mending his shirt well enough to button it.
“Do you feed off of receiving pain, too, or is that just a personal quirk?” He asked, teasing Malfoy before he could storm off.
“Do you want to find out exactly how I feed, Potter?” Malfoy menaced, his eyes full of fire and loathing. Harry found he rather enjoyed the vivacity of that glare. It was actually reassuring to see Malfoy so energetic, and wound up, when usually, his victims were motionless puddles of moaning pleasure and need when he was done.
“Not really. Torture’s not my thing.” Harry shrugged, pulling his own pants on, dressing much slower than Malfoy. He felt his hunger had lessened enough he could feed on a normal human without losing control. Malfoy had been a perfect first course, but Harry needed more. He had the whole weekend to fill up, and he could stay sane enough to switch partners before one died of exhaustion.
“Then you’d better keep your goddamn mouth shut.” Malfoy threatened one last time, and stomped out of the room, practically spitting fire. Harry smiled as he watched him go, already planning when he could blackmail another fuck from him.
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Blackmail the Beast