Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Fate	By : silverdragon4736 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4778 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor any of the character from the books or movies, I don't make any money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter 4

Draco stood in front of Potter, a bowl of food in his hands. Pansy and Blaise had gathered in a circle between the stagecoaches and were busy eating. They were as famished as he was. After all, they only had one meal in the last three days, and that was only a couple of stale bread they've managed to steal.

"Go and get yourself something to eat, Goyle. I'll guard the lummox."

At that, Potter slowly opened his green eyes and looked at him.

"Here's some food." He shoved the bowl towards him.

"I didn't think filling my stomach was one of your concerns."

Draco snorted. "We're Slytherins, Potter. We don't starve our enemies unless there is something to gain… not that you'd look like you'd starve."

"Ah, like what you see, do you, Malfoy?"

Draco felt his cheeks turn red only out of anger, of course, and he swung the bowl high enough to heave it at him.

"Throw it." Said Potter.

Draco wanted to throw it—would have thrown it—until he told him to. Evil, speccy git. He lowered the bowl instead and held it out to him. Potter said nothing.

"Do you want it or not?" snapped Draco.

The black haired man gave him a lazy, winner's smile. "I can't take it. My hands are bound."

Draco looked at his mocking face, took a deep breath, and knelt in front of him, determined to remain calm, controlled—unaffected. One didn't give in to the devil. Kneeling in front of him only brought home to him the fact that even when sitting, Potter was still a couple of inches taller than him. It was unsettling as his staring games and made him feel as if he had to be more defiant to show him—prove to him—that he couldn't be intimidated.

"Untie my hands." Potter suggested too lightly for his tastes.

"So you can escape? I'm not a fool, Potter. I'll feed you."

He laughed again, as if this were only a game. "I would think you'd prefer to let me starve."

"A part of me would, believe me, Potter, but I would not let you starve." He jabbed the spoon into the bowl.

"Why not?"

"I'm thinking about figuring your ransom price with your weight. It's only poetic justice, wouldn't you agree? Though, you're fat enough that I could let you go on by without a couple of meals. However, like I said before, we're Slytherins. We don't let something as petty as revenge get in the way of our judgment. You lose weight. We lose gold." He sat back on his heels and studied him for a moment. "I'd say your head alone is worth a small fortune."

"Ouch, Malfoy. What does it take to close your shrewish mouth?"

He held up the spoon. "What would it take to open your big one?"

"Are you referring to my mouth?"

It took Draco a moment to understand him. He felt the heat of a blush that showed he'd understood his meaning all too well. This was not supposed to be the way it goes. Harry Potter was not supposed to be making suggestive comments in this casual tone as if he's always done it (which he certainly hasn't for he was St. Potter), as if he's comfortable with it (which he was never supposed to be since he was an incompetent Gryffindor), much less say it without stuttering or tripping over his words (which Draco believe to be impossible for the Potter he knew was far from eloquent and was, in fact, a great bumbling fool). He, Draco Malfoy, was supposed to be the one to throw lewd comments that would make Potter embarrassed, humiliated, uncomfortable and angry and thereby be able to torture the prisoner like the perfect captor that he is.

Then Potter opened his big mouth and gave him a look of feigned innocence. He knew that look. He'd used it often enough himself. He's practically perfected it. Potter, on the other hand, could use a little more practice, which made Draco feel smug about besting Potter.

From the sparkle in those green eyes he could see that Potter, the bastard, was enjoying this immensely. For just one moment he asked himself if he could dump the bowl on the git's head. But someone who knew true hunger could never waste food.

Draco lifted the spoon towards Potter's mouth, anxious to get the deed done.

Green eyes watched him expectantly.

His hands had slowed as if Potter could control him with his very eyes.

Draco fed him and it was unnerving. Not once did Potter look away. He resisted the urge to squirm and looked back down at the bowl instead of him. It was a game, Draco feeding him and Potter giving him a look as if it could melt him.

Draco took a deep breath and lifted the spoon toward Potter's mouth, not knowing that he moved with it, closer, his mouth still parted. Potter moved toward him simultaneously and his green eyes shifted to his mouth.

Draco could smell Potter.

Potter moved closer and closer with each bite.

He was so very close, but Draco refused to back away from him. He would not. He was still a Malfoy. He still had his pride.

"Thank you, Draco Malfoy, for the food. It was sweet of you."

No one had ever called him sweet.

Before he could think or move, Potter's mouth touched his and moved softly, tenderly, in a touch he'd never known. A kiss. His first kiss.

It was not his fault that he was inexperienced in this field. Being a Malfoy, he had to have high standards and he did. After all, he was taught to never settle for second best. Not to mention, the war set off at a time when these interests were discovered and supposedly developed. Puberty was lost on him since he couldn't very well have or look for these relationships when all his thoughts centered only on his survive both during and after the war.

At that instant, Draco forgot that Potter was Potter and just let himself feel this thing that he had often wondered about. This thing that he couldn't have talked to anyone about because it would show his inexperience, which was, of course, unacceptable to his pride.

When Potter licked his lips, he felt himself shiver.

Potter shifted so his hard thighs were suddenly outside Draco's; then he edged him back until they were shielded from the others by the tree. Before he could react, Potter's tongue filled his mouth, and he pinned Draco against the tree with his body.

Potter kissed him for a long time that way. He had no idea how long.

Potter surprised him and broke it off.

Instantly, Draco wanted his mouth back.

Potter's lips drifted like snowflakes all over his face.

He opened his mercury eyes and looked at him.

Potter looked somewhat dazed. There was no calculation, mischief or smugness in his expression, just surprise, and something more elemental—power, possession, and passion, an intensity that excited and frightened him at the same time. And there was a small bit of doubt, as if he didn't believe that Draco was real.

He understood the feeling all too well.

Harry knew this feeling not at all. He had his fair share of lovers but never had he felt this violent consuming need to possess Malfoy. It was a deep and passionate urge that felt as if it bordered on obsession.

They panted little clouds of ragged mist. He watched him close those stunning orbs of mercury in an effort to deny what had passed between them.

But it did no good. It was undeniable to him, too.

Draco's eyes were tinged with dampness, and his cheeks had begun to blotch. He was fighting to control his tears.

Pride he understood. "Go on, shed your tears," Harry said with grudging respect. "To cry is not shameful, Malfoy."

"I do not cry." He said fiercely.

But Draco wouldn't look at him. Instead, he scrambled away. "Do not touch me again, Potter." He stood quickly—a power play if he'd ever seen one—and then he did look down at him with blazing quicksilver eyes. "You'll regret this. You'll regret ever making a fool of me."

He spun on a heel and walked away, his pride high, but Harry knew he was not as strong as he tried to be, as unaffected and without care. He had to work too hard at it. In fact, he'd never before seen anyone who worked as hard to be what he wasn't.

Harry leaned back against the tree trunk then, adjusted his "bound" hands, and closed his eyes. He dreamt of muddy prats and pointed gits, of blonde-haired beings who looked like heaven and could capture a heart with only a kiss.

TBC...
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