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Make Me Bleed	By : Insatiable_Fox Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7610 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any characters from the Harry Potter series. I make no money nor claim a profit off this work.

Chapter List
- 12
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Lucius was dead.

Lucius, his father, was dead.

Draco shut his eyes. A regression into childhood; a time where ignorance of what was before you was enough to trick the mind into believing it wasn't there. The undulating blackness which danced under closed lids a reassuring safe haven, a space where monsters couldn't lurk and truths couldn't penetrate. Comfort, in the midst of insanity.

He perceived movement around him. The disturbance of air as Harry moved away from him to some unknown destination, the scrape of his mother’s weight against the damp stone of the floor as she withstood the pain of the potion.

He was sure that if he stood face to face with himself in the mirror, he would see eyes brimming with the ghosts of his past. An onslaught of memories which had come on like a blood stained hurricane, leaving him a broken man desperately trying to erase the vitriol of his past from his mind.

Yet you couldn't erase the past, the events of time passed only ignorable in the grand scheme of things. His life was his own to live with, his job to withstand the hardships rained upon him, his luck to revel in the pleasures given. As hard as he could try to believe otherwise, this was his life, and he refused to dwell in anamnesis of history foregone.

He opened his eyes, only to find his mother regarding him with longing, love, and terror.

“Draco” she rasped, her voice broken and hoarse, and Draco instantly wished to hush her, save her from the agony as her body worked to produce words.

“Mother. Please. No more.” He was surprised to hear the roughness of his own tone, the stiffness in his speech. “Just until the potion has worn off. Whatever needs to be said can wait for then.”

Narcissa was silent, and Draco moved to seek out Harry, finding him stood in the far right of the dungeon. “Are you okay? Harry murmured softly, finding Draco’s hand in the flickering light and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I will be” he answered honestly. Harry turned to face him, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek in an achingly sweet gesture. He cast a quick glance to Narcissa, his palm hardening on Draco’s face.

“Is this okay? In front of your mother?”

Draco laughed, leaning into the warm hand. “Harry. You’re touching my cheek. I’m sure she would be okay with that. Anyway -” he pressed his lips gently to Harry’s for a second before pulling back “- I would be surprised if she didn’t already know. Or suspect.”

“When this is all over, I’m going to do much more than palm your cheek.” Harry’s eyes smoldered even in the low light. “I need to make sure you’re intact. Every. Single. Inch. Of. You.” he accentuated the last part, voice dropping and running his gaze suggestively over Draco’s body, making him squirm.

“Oh really, Potter. Is that a promise?” Draco reached a hand out to brush lightly over Harry’s crutch.

“More than a promise, Malfoy” Harry growled, his hands moving to tighten on Draco’s hips and pull his flush against his body. “When I get you alone I’ll-”

“Draco?” Narcissa whimpered, and Draco pulled away from the intoxicating heat of Harry’s body to move to his mother’s side.

“Mother. I’m here, don’t worry.” His hands rested inches from his mothers, wanting to hold her so badly, yet terrified of hurting her.
Narcissa lifted her head with a grimace to look at Draco directly. “Get... Get Bilbo. I want my rooms.”

“Of course, Mother” he replied immediately, before summoning the house elf.

The elf appeared in front of him, head bowed slightly. “Master Draco be calling Bilbo. How can Bilbo be servicing- eeeek!” The elf had spotted Lucius on the floor and his eyes bulged obscenely, hands clutching his pillowcase clothes. “Master Malfoy Sir! Master Malfoy Sir is dead! Oh, Bilbo has been a bad, bad elf and let Master Malfoy Sir die! Bilbo must be punishing himself!”

“Bilbo!” Draco reprimed with a stern tone as the elf made a lunge for the selection of whips attached to the dungeon walls. “You will not punish yourself! Lucius was a bad man, who was doing his best to hurt my mother and I.”

Bilbo froze with a start, over-sized head turning slowly back to Draco. “Master Lucius Sir be trying to hurt Missus Malfoy?” The elf’s voice rose to an angry squeak. “Nobody be hurting my Missus Malfoy!” He stormed over to Lucius’ body and gave it a sharp kick with his tiny foot, followed closely by another one.

As satisfying as it was to watch the elf kick his father, Draco knew he had to stop it. “Enough, Bilbo.” Bilbo stopped instantly, small body shaking slightly, from anger or exertion he wasn’t sure. “Please escort my mother to her rooms and make sure she is as comfortable as possible. Apparition, if you don’t mind. The faster the better.”

“Of course, Master Draco Sir. Bilbo be doing all he can to make sure Missus Malfoy be comfortable.” He hobbled over to Narcissa, curling a hand gently around her forearm before apparating her away with a crack.

“Elf rage” Harry commented dryly, a smile tugging at his lips. “A true force to be reckoned with.”

“Don’t knock it, Harry” Draco warned, suppressing a laugh. “I might be tempted to sic him on you.” He looked over to his father, the smile dying on his face. “I’m going to have to deal with... that. I don’t want my mother having to. I’m just not sure how I’m going to...” he trailed off, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“Let me.” Harry moved behind him, wrapping strong, reassuring arms around his waist. “You shouldn't have to deal with that, either.”

“I hated him” Draco croaked, his voice breaking. “I fucking hated him, yet I still don’t want him dead.” He turned quickly to stare panicked at Harry. “So what the hell does that say about me when I still mourn a man who ruined my childhood!?” Draco’s tone had taken on a hysterical edge.

Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s head, pulling him close in an attempt to soothe the trembles racking his body. “It makes you human, Draco. A much better person than Lucius ever was. You rose above, overcame him despite the power that he wielded. In the end, no Ministry contacts or social standing could protect him from the wrath he brought on himself.”

Draco plastered on a smirk, yet inside he was silently awed. “When did you become so philosophical?”

“When did you get so sexy?” Harry retorted with a leer.

“Don’t kid yourself, Potter. You’ve loved me since first year Hogwarts.”

Harry paused, a soppy grin forming. “Possibly, Draco. Perhaps even probable.”

Draco smiled briefly, before letting out a long sigh. “I need to go check on my mother. Will you be okay down here for a few minutes?”

Harry simply looked at him, and Draco rolled his eyes before leaving.
*
The visit with his mother had been brief, just long enough to assess that she was okay and being looked after, before he had fled as fast as he could. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her - after going five years with no contact he ached for her with an intense longing found only between mother and child - more that he was afraid of the questions he knew he had to ask.

Someday, at least.

Descending back to the dungeons felt like he was moving down into the bowels of the earth; the air stale and musty, the walls confining and suppressing. Preparing himself for the task ahead set his nerves on edge and a lump of dread sitting heavy in his stomach, his body screaming at him to run while his mind desperately tried to procrastinate.

“No, Draco. You do not have to check your winter coat collection” he muttered testily to himself as he wound his way down the crumbling steps before immediately deciding he was going crazy. “It’s the stress. Normally you’re normal-”

“Normally you are most definitely not normal, Malfoy” Harry stated, and it was only then that Draco realised he had almost reached the dungeons, his voice carrying as if in an amphitheater. Entering the space, he paused, observing Harry down on his hands and knees, murmuring softly at the ground. His father’s body was nowhere in sight.

“Harry. What are you doing?” Draco questioned lowly.

“Cleaning.”

Draco swallowed. “You’re not going to get the blood stains out.”

Harry turned to give him a quick look over his shoulder. “I can try.”

“Where’s my father?” He couldn't bring himself to say ‘body’.
Harry sighed, standing from his position on the ground to wipe his hands casually on his pants. “Gone, Draco. I couldn’t let you deal with that.”

There was an irony in Harry’s words, and Draco wanted to laugh at the fact that he was once again being saved by the Saviour. He owed the man standing in front of him everything. The man in ratty, threadbare jeans and a holey t-shirt, who knelt in the place where he was once held prisoner by his family, to clean blood past spilt from the ground. The man who had drawn him back from the precipice, had forced him to face his demons head on, and conquer them. The man who had lost much more than Draco ever had, who internalised the blame for every drop of blood spilt, and upheld Draco’s body in a misplaced shrine to escapism.

The man who he loved, and owed his life to.

He reached for Harry, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to curl his hands around Harry’s body, pull him close so that skin melded to skin and heat flowed unbidden. Harry caught him, steadied him, brought their lips together in a kiss that chased away the blackness and heated limbs Draco hadn’t realised were frozen, breathing life into his deadened existence.

A kiss, in this place of torture and death. Exultation and damnation at the same time; a concedence to his besmirched desires, a plea to fill the tainted rooms with something other than bloodshed.

Harry pulled back, just an inch so that their breath still mingled, yet enough that Draco could see blown pupils and the promise of more. “Here?” Harry breathed, and the fact that he stopped to ask sent Draco skittering off the edge.

“Yes. Here. Now.” Draco’s hands clutched at Harry’s clothes, ripping, tugging, pulling, until his chest was bare and his pants were shoved down to his knees. Harry grinned at Draco’s fervour, his hands replacing Draco’s, pushing down until

No shyness, no fear. No concern that he was standing bare where Lucius had laid slain not an hour before, only that this was what Draco wanted, and he would give it.

Give anything, Draco suspected, if he asked.

His hands moved to his own clothes on auto-pilot, hastily removing them with unconcealed eagerness, his only thought that they be gone, now, the barrier between their bare skin. Harry watched as if Draco was performing the most erotic striptease just for him and not an unwieldy disrobing which had Draco stumbling, caught in his pants, Harry’s gaze roaming over his bare skin with unrestrained lust. Eventually, he too stood naked, and they stared, green to grey, two sides of the same coin, supposed opposites yet parallel in so many ways, each the other’s safe haven in a sea of blood and turmoil. Each the other’s love.

They stared; for one beat. Two, three, before base instinct catapulted them forward and primal desire clouded their brains.

They met with a clashing of mouths and groping, needy hands, nails digging into soft skin stretched over hips, the press and whimper as dick rubbed against dick. Draco melted against Harry, let the hunger and desperation consume him, lost himself to the sensations that battered his body. A reprieve from the pain, yet is was more than that, more than the arousal and the pleasure and the need. Harry was the island in the middle of the storm, a safety Draco knew with every fibre of his being would always be there to shelter him against the harsh bite of the world. A clichéd hero who had been used over and over again, yet he hoped that in this instance, with this love, he too would get to be just that. To Harry.

It was him that pulled back with a harsh whimper, he who looked around the room and let his gaze fall upon the wall of shackles. Draco, who pushed Harry back, a hand tight around Harry’s waist so he wouldn't stumble, he who crushed Harry up against the damp stone wall. “I want you to bind me in these” he breathed in Harry’s hair, fingering the cool chains. “But first I want to taste you.”

Draco heard rather than saw Harry’s head thump back against the wall, and he was pulled into a messy kiss that conveyed more than could ever be spoken. Harry’s belief in him; awe. It wasn’t capitulation that had Draco needing the restraint of shackles that had held so much torture, nor was it the thrill of iniquity. He was finally beginning to accept what Harry had preached to him; that wanting the weals Harry created didn’t make him weak, or less than. It made him more, not giving in to the person he was conditioned to be but embracing the want, because it made him whole.

He dropped to his knees, hands palming Harry’s thighs, nose rubbing along the crease between thigh and pelvis like a cat marking its scent. Harry’s cock rubbed enticingly against his cheek, heavy, hard, hot, making Draco suspect that Harry could smear his slickened tip over every inch of his face, degrade him, leave him with streaks of pre-cum cooling on his cheeks, and Draco would beg for more.

It was only when Harry started whimpering, garbled pleas of “Draco, yes, please, Draco” that he took Harry’s cock into his mouth, relishing the salty warmth on his tongue and the addictive weight. The throb as he sucked hungrily, tracing the vein that ran along the underside with a feverish intensity, one hand gripping Harry’s balls, the other curling under to press firmly against the soft stretch of skin that made Harry moan delectably. Harry’s hips bucked, forcing his dick deeper down Draco’s throat, and he took it, loved it, the tricks of a whore, learnt on the streets, finally being put to good use. He glanced up under a thicket of lashes, wanting to see Harry’s face as he slowly undid him, and what he saw could have been a case-study in lust - pleasure - abandonment, Harry’s mouth parted slightly and hands clenched at his sides.

As if feeling Draco’s stare Harry looked down, his eyes connecting to Draco’s with an unrestrained hunger; burning need clashing with unmistakable tenderness so out of place amongst the primal desire.

“Wait, Draco” Harry abruptly growled, hand reaching down to clasp Draco’s jaw, holding him back from sucking. “I want you in chains. Now.”

“Didn’t you like my ardent display of affection for your penis?” Draco breathed, fluttering his lashes in a brazenly coquettish manner and only just managing to hold back a snigger.

“Your affection should be banned by the Ministry” Harry roughly replied, fingers tracing the sharp angles of Draco’s jaw. “But I meant what I said. You. Bound.” He lowered his voice. “Please?”

Draco smirked. “Make me.”

“Make you?” Harry repeated lowly, fingers moving down to wrap lightly around Draco’s neck. “Are you quite sure about that?” His fingers tightened slightly and Draco let out a stifled moan, the sensation going straight to his cock.

“Quite sure, Potter.” Draco breathed. “Why don’t you show me what you can really do? Or are you too scared to fail in the face of adversity?”

“Your dick is hardly my opponent, Draco. More my ally” and with that, Harry took said ally in hand and gave it a sharp tug, while tightening his other hand around Draco’s windpipe. His hands clenched where they were resting on Harry’s hips and his mouth fell open to a small O, lidded eyes growing heavy. A hitched intake of breath, as he felt his oxygen lessen, and the heady knowledge that it was Harry controlling it.

With an alarmingly dexterous movement, Harry spun them, throwing Draco up against the wall and lifting him, spreading his arms, nimble fingers working the cold steel cuffs around Draco’s thin wrists. He bent down and attached the ankle restraints, giving a pleased moan when he stepped back to take in the view of Draco suspended as if in some bizarre imitation of a sacrificial cross, arms and legs spread in a taut X and head hung.

In Draco’s case, though, it was hung as he tried to regain his composer, even as his dick leaked demandingly and his breath came in short pants.

“Your shoulders and wrists will get sore” Harry commented conversationally, running a finger along the line of bunched muscle between shoulder blade and neck, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

“Doesn't seem like there’s much I can do about that, is there?” Draco dryly replied, flexing his wrist to test the hold of the shackles. They didn't budge.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them they were dark with want and his voice was husky. “I’m going to choke you now. Choke you, then bleed that pretty aristocratic neck of yours and lap at all the blood that runs down your pale skin.”

Draco blinked. Gulped, swallowed, before his eyes fluttered closed and he tilted his head, presenting his neck as much as he could given his bindings.

An explicit show of permission. A symbolic acceptance, for not only this, but everything.

Harry grunted before moving his hand, bringing it around so his thumb was on one side of Draco’s neck and his fingers the other, Draco’s chin resting on the webbing between thumb and forefinger. Harry squeezed, eyes never leaving Draco’s, and Draco moaned, blood rushing to his dick and his body reacting even as his mind started to plead for oxygen. He could feel his heartbeat hammering under Harry’s thumb, feel the pressure building and his vision distort. He wondered, briefly, if Harry was going to let him black out, and part of him welcomed the idea even as his head screamed for help.

Yet just before he felt himself pass out, Harry’s fingers loosened, thumb lightening to stroke over his adam's-apple, massaging the tender flesh. Draco gulped in a desperate breath, throat protesting slightly, arousal running deep through his body. He wanted Harry. Wanted him to fuck him, slam his body against the wall, make his limbs ache from the restrains even as his ass was used over and over again. “Bleed me” he managed to groan out, wishing he could pull Harry to his neck.

Harry smirked, yet his own desire was evident and he complied quickly, dragging his thumb over the side of Draco’s neck. It stung, and Draco stifled a gasp, only realising when he felt a bead of blood well over the cut that Harry had used wandless magic to slice him.

Fuck, Merlin, Draco hadn't realised anything could be that hot.

Harry’s mouth was on him in an instant, tongue lapping at the rivulets of blood making their way down Draco’s neck, sucking hungrily at the wounds and moaning in delight as the crimson rushed into his mouth. Draco groaned, begged, his body reacting to Harry’s ministrations with a feverish intensity, needing everything Harry had to offer. He pulled helplessly at the shackles holding him prisoner, wishing he could put his hands on Harry - to pull him closer, to push him for more, he wasn't sure - only that it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

Harry’s mouth left Draco’s neck, moving down to suck at his nipples, one after the other, before nipping and pulling them harshly between his teeth, leaving them pink and sore. An achingly sweet kiss on each left Draco fighting a blush, before Harry was once again moving down, nosing at the pale skin on show for him, paying homage to Draco’s body as if it was a gift from Merlin himself. Hot breath danced over his cock, and Draco barely had a chance to moan before Harry’s mouth engulfed him, enthusiastically sucking him with a zeal he hadn’t known possible for dick.

“Salazar, Harry” Draco managed to breathe when Harry came up for air, his cheeks shiny and lips swollen. “Were there dick sucking classes held in the Gryffindor common room that I didn't know about?”

“Something like that.”

“You would have made a killing as a whore” Draco muttered, head falling back against the wall with a soft thud as Harry proceed to swallow him once again.

A glint appeared in Harry’s eye, and he pulled back slowly so that his lips were almost, yet not quite caressing the tip of Draco’s cock. “Would the customers have enjoyed this?” he whispered lowly, before raising his hand and rolling a neatly contained fireball up over Draco’s torso.

It was decidedly un-Slytherin to say that time stopped, but Draco had decided long ago that he really didn’t give a shit about the silver and green, and if he wanted to be a clichéd mess, he could be one. It was true, anyway, that time did indeed seem to stand still as the ball seared over his skin, his eyes following its progress, hypnotised. It pricked at his skin, hot and alluring, warm enough to leave behind a pink trail, yet not enough to burn the skin.

Yet.

Draco choked. Closed his eyes, clenched his hands. Whimpered “again.”

Harry complied.

Another fireball flowed over his body, a trail of steam rising in its wake as its heat evaporated the moisture on Draco’s skin. A slightly different path; a slightly different tangent, yet enough that the second overlapped the first and Draco hissed at the burn, his eyes fluttering helplessly at the sensation. He opened them to find Harry grinning up at him, a flame burning in his open palm. “I’ve always been good with fire” he said, and it sounded like a promise.

“Such a Gryffindor” Draco sneered, yet he was more focused on the hand that was coming closer and closer to his junk, the flame flickering menacingly in the low light. The hand, that was ghosting over his hips, tracing down his thighs. Hovering between his spread legs. A game of fear; promise. A need to push the boundaries and revel in the sensations - tangible evidence that this was real. That they were alive.

Harry’s hands suddenly gripped his hips, holding him over the two perfect lightning bolt scars, and Draco screamed. Part shock, part pain, part lust, moaning at the loss as Harry moved them away, only to land over his nipples. His body spasmed, anguish flooding his system, relief instantaneous as the burn was replaced by the wet soothe of Harry’s tongue.

“Enough. Enough” Draco panted, head bowed. “Just fuck me already you fucking bastard.”

Harry’s dry laugh echoed around the dungeon before Draco’s feet were abruptly freed and his legs manoeuvred under Harry’s arms. “Like this, Draco?” Harry purred, hands caressing Draco’s thighs. “Fuck you like this? Bound to the wall in Daddy’s chains?” Draco nodded wildly, and when Harry slammed into him, he felt at home.

“You are fucking exquisite” Harry panted as his thrusts pushed Draco’s back up and down against the stone walls, grazing the pale skin. “With your tightness and your blood and your legs and your you.” Draco could only moan in response as Harry took him harder, his ass protesting and sore even as Harry hit the bundle of nerves which sent him gasping helplessly, fervently wishing he had the use of his hands even if it just meant wanking himself off. Harry pushed him higher, taking the weight of Draco in his arms, moving his hips so that he could fuck that little bit harder, Draco’s body suspended in more ways than one. “I’m not going to touch you” Harry groaned lowly, breath panting. “I know you can cum without it. Cum, Draco.” Draco whimpered, and when he felt his back rip under the harsh bite of the wall from Harry’s thrust, Draco knew he was gone. He cried out as ecstasy blinded him, his body exploding, limbs clenching, carrying him high on a cloud of contentment.

He was only vaguely aware of Harry’s replying moan, the increase of pace and the frenzied loss of rhythm. Yet when a hot - too hot, burning hot - hand pressed firmly to his chest, he screamed, the sound getting lost as Harry found his own release. Draco looked down, and although it could have been only seconds, a minute, he could clearly see the perfect imprint of Harry’s hand seared into his skin.

Over his heart.

Green to grey their eyes met. “Mine” Harry replied, answering the unspoken question that had passed between them. The explanation. “You’re mine.”

Draco thought of where he was now, where he had been. The paths he had travelled to get to this point, all with Harry by his side.

“Always.”
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Make Me Bleed