Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Valentine's Day Massacre	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11077 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6

~* Triumph *~

My chest refused to expand. I couldn’t inhale, only exhale in short, panicked, painful puffs. My traitorous fingers uncurled their grasp from around my wand. Vaguely, I thought I heard it clatter to the floor, or maybe I just knew that it clattered to the floor.

Draco leered down at me for an eternity before he latched onto my neck, just under the juncture of my jaw, sucking, tonguing, kissing.

Oh, fuck! Those teeth! His teeth. Draco Malfoy’s teeth on me. He forced my body to inhale. I did rise to meet him then, all of the hard, unyielding lines of him. Our bodies slammed together violently, no soft willingness, no curves or jiggling flesh, only urgent inflexibility. My heart screamed in protest. My disloyal body betrayed me.

Draco growled low in his throat. His growling rumbled against my own skin, my skin; Draco Malfoy was touching my skin. Damn! He thrust his groin all the more desperately against mine, forcing me to breathe erratically now. Lightheaded and disoriented, I still knew Draco felt my mangled horror pressed against his own knotted member by his very own actions. I groaned.

He bent me awkwardly over the table, clambering on top of me, no grace left in his bearing. I allowed him. He released my wrists. I should have fought back, battled harder, thrown him off. I didn’t, not even a token struggle or protest. My mind mercifully floated away to parts unknown, leaving me there, under his rutting body, purely sensate. My legs dangled, feet swinging freely in the air. The solid edge of the table dug into the backs of my knees.

Draco slithered down my body, whispering things I could neither hear nor understand as he dispatched with my robes, my clothes, my protections, my shields. Relief and even more blood flowed through my erection, finally freed from its twisted discomfort to point proudly at the ceiling. My eyes followed my own pointer to stare upwards, away from the burning demands shining from Draco’s no longer cold eyes.

When he finally stopped, he stood to one side, examining me as if I were some rare delicacy staged on an expensive serving platter. I only needed white paper booties on my hands and feet, and an apple to clench between my teeth. Merlin, if only I had something to clench between my teeth, a nice hard piece of leather, something, anything to quash the screams that threatened to rip from my lungs, and speed past my lips for all to hear. I glowered back at him, but never moved.

He moved my arms out, tracing a vein down each arm with the cool leather of his gloved finger until he reached my hands. He turned each one palm up, burying his nose in the center of each, and inhaling as if to draw the very scent of my own leather gloves from my skin.

In fascination, I watched as he kissed each hollow in turn, running his tongue in a small circle at the center, leaving a damp mark to glisten in the candlelight. My feet no longer dangled uselessly. Instead, I crossed them over one another at the ankles, toes clenched against the agonizing pleasure that Draco offered to me.

Subsequently, when he spread my knees to stand between them, I reflexively lifted my head from the wood to watch him, straining my neck. With infinite care, he disrobed, starting with those gloves, tugging each finger in turn. His eyes, with their arctic glaze annihilated, now smoldered. His lips were pursed slightly. His nostrils flared. My eyes only sought one more target: a large red, fluted target pointed straight at me like a weapon – a weapon my darkest desires wanted him to unleash on me. Finally nude, he laid over me, running his fingers through my hair.

“Your halo is crooked, Saint Potter.” He sneered, then captured my mouth with hot, demanding lips, nipping at my lower lip excruciatingly until I conceded and opened my mouth to his conquering invasion.

While my body laid supine, open, and compliant, completely, utterly, and confusingly compliant, my tongue conducted a war against his intrusion, his assumptions, his assertions. Oh, but I did simply lie on his guesthouse dining table while pleasure coursed through each and every one of my previously pained vein, artery, capillary, and cell. Every brush of his seeking tongue against my gums, the drag over my lips, the teasing tip against the roof of my mouth set my entire body afire in ways only my rage had previously.

He shifted his position slightly until somehow four swollen testicles smashed together. My back involuntarily arched off the unrelenting tabletop, imploring for friction, for pain, for pleasure, for emancipation. He stood and yanked me further off the table. My skin stuck to the polished top, dragging against it painfully until only my back had support, my backside hung in the air. Hopefully, I tried to embrace that hard, muscled body frotting against me with deliberate intent. He instantly snatched my wrists, slamming them back into the table.

“No,” he commanded, anger rising along with the color in his cheeks.

He slipped further down my body, my erection trapped painfully against his well-muscled abdomen. I didn’t understand why I yielded. I simply did. I laid there, moaning softly as this man, my school days’ arch enemy, made vicious love to my body — not me, my body. He suckled at one nipple while his fingers tortured the other, twisting it beyond the pain into sheer bolts of electricity coursing from those clean, white, manicured fingers straight to my groin. He bit down on the other nipple. I screeched, slamming my own hands painfully against the hard wood.

He smirked against my skin, tonguing my now blood red nipple softly, lapping like a puppy. With a pleased grin on his smug face, Draco lifted his head and eased over me once more until our erections aligned. His gentleness in this motion startled me. His tenderness disappeared in a flash when he grabbed the bones of my hips, his fingers sinking deep into the softer, fleshier portion behind them, supporting me. He threw his head back. Pummeling me, the sweat from our bodies commingled, creating a fount to ease the friction of angry skin against angry skin. Our erections strained against each other. My body shook and smacked against the table in counterpoint to each of his violent motions; the power he put behind each plunge freed another red-hot pocket within me in an explosion of jumbled emotions. I nearly cried with each thrust as his ridged head caught against me with each forward shove. I sobbed each time he pulled away, forsaken once more.

All the darkness I buried so deeply within my soul now burned red-hot and furious, steaming tendrils curling from the blackened, once-dead abyss, demanding to be released, the pressure of it all building against my throbbing heart. Mercifully, he increased the tempo until there was no relief from the friction. He shouted, my name, I think, and came all over me. The throbbing pulse of his release trapped next to mine sent me into spasms as well, coating both of us liberally in a thick, semi-clear discharge. With a deep breath, he pushed himself away from me.

Seemingly boneless, I slipped to the floor, a mess, literally. Arrogantly, Draco stared at me for quite a long time before retrieving his cane, sliding his wand from inside its protection. With a casual swish and flick, the remnants of our recent disaster disappeared. He dressed rapidly, his back to me. I still couldn’t move, couldn’t process thoughts properly. When he spun elegantly on his heel, he found me still sitting on his guesthouse floor, gasping for air softly, studying the pattern in the itchy wool rug where I sat. He picked up my wand from where it had skittered across the floor, and stepped closer to me.

“Fuck, Draco.” I huffed, panicking once again as I snatched my clothes from the floor. I stared uncomprehendingly at the wizard who shoved more emotions through my soul in one night than I had felt in the last five years.

“Precisely, Potter,” he sniped. “Precisely.”

He tossed me my wand. Snitch-honed reflexes threw my own hand up to catch it.

He disappeared with a crack, leaving me to boil in my own pool of molten emotions. I gathered my wits, as well as my clothes, re-dressed solemnly, and pulled my own disappearing act, returning to the cheery cottage where my wife slept blissfully unaware of her hero-husband’s hidden self.

With as much silence as I could muster, I hung up my robe, and discarded my shoes. Barefoot, I tiptoed through the house to lean against the doorframe, watching my beautiful wife sleep in the center of our big bed, her legs knotted in the blankets, her red hair spread out behind her head, her arms wrapped around a pillow. She slept deeply for a change, not moving, no groaning, no hitched breath, no jumping from the bed, startled at some sound from the children’s rooms that I never heard.

Tears spilled from my eyes, silent, cleansing tears. I allowed those almost-forgotten tears to flow like hot blood down my cheeks. Eventually, I took an old, scratchy wool blanket from James’ bed, his favorite blanket for some odd reason, and his pillow and went to the couch. I stared down at my already bruising knuckles; their darkening color a tangible reminder of the very blackness I buried deep within my soul.

The center of our sofa sagged where the springs were no longer as firm, molded to my shape after so much use. Instantly, I slept without those dreams, for the first time in years, surely only aided by that vast amount of scotch.

A/N: Ah, dear readers: a key chapter, a turning point, and the blasphemous crucifixion. Yes, the story title references a metaphorical massacre. And the downhill slide starts with a crucifixion ...
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Valentine's Day Massacre