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A Wayward Dragon In Little Whinging	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9030 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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
- 1-Ch 1
- 2-Ch 2
- 3-Ch 3
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-Ch 7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Six

I'm taken up jogging. Starting this morning and probably lasting until I don't have to share a room with Malfoy anymore. Waking up rock hard listening to him breathe nearly in my ear, his arm hanging over the side of the bed with fingers brushing my chest is great motivation. This is going to kill me. Being around him all the fucking time is definitely going to kill me. Running is going to be the escape I need.
It's the same time of morning as yesterday, dawn just deciding to steal the chill from the air as I step out in sweats and a t-shirt. I keep my head down as I go, fairly new sneakers already scuffed by my time spent at the gym. I renewed my membership to the place three blocks away when I returned to the Dursleys this summer. I go there about three times a week. To lift. To convince myself that a couple extra pounds of muscle might make the difference between living and dying if someone manages to hit me with another killing curse. It gives me something to do besides watch my grey hairs grow in from all the fucking stress I live with. Also gives me something to look at—Not a ton of guys go to the gym when I do, but a few are built and worth looking at.
Every time I think of turning back and getting some damn breakfast in me, the image of him sprawled on my bed hits me. I pick up speed, run till my muscles are screaming at me, heat roiling off my thighs, sweat drenching my clothes. Can't escape it. He's in my fucking head—In my bed—and I can't escape him.
I stretch on aunt Petunia's little white picket fence, trying to get the pain I've inflicted out of my tight limbs. The stretch and heat feel good. Too good. Him touching me good. Second day. Second day and I'm already a fucking mess. Sleep was supposed to help, energize me enough to see things proper. But in the same way I woke up yesterday, gasping from those damn sparks hitting my window, today I'm just fucking sparking from his warm fingers curled ever so lightly on my chest. Second day.
“You're up?” I am, but from out of Vernon's mouth it's definitely a question.
“Jogging.” I open the refrigerator, ignoring my sweat and likely funk to get some orange juice. No donuts today. I want a fucking donut but sugar is not going to help this problem. Pain and exhaustion are the only things—And a cold shower. I should go take one of those too. Hopefully he's awake now and not in my bed.
“Petunia says we're seeing the new mall today. I hope you're going to be respectful. It would be a pity to embarrass that proper friend of yours.”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon. I'll be a perfect saint.” That Vernon doesn't know my Saint Potter reputation makes it mildly amusing. Because the idea of having to be respectful for the prat sleeping in my bed is just ludicrous. Death Eater. He was going to be a Death Eater.
Sure, they would have killed him if he refused... But I really can't think like that. Desperate people do desperate fucking things. Like attempt to kill me. Repeatedly. He hasn't tried it yet, but I'm starting to wonder if this is his plan. Distract me constantly with his hotness until I die of a heart attack... or fall down an open manhole or something while looking at him. I look at him too much. I think about looking at him too much. I really need a shower.
I rinse my glass and place it upside down on the counter, walking past Vernon and his newspaper. The halls empty, but the bathroom isn't. Aunt Petunia usually doesn't take long—She's a no frills sort of woman. Except with the decorating. She likes lace. Curtains, table clothes. No ruffles, thank god.
Naturally, it's not Petunia. It's him, nearly jumping a foot when he steps out to find me standing here. Whoops. He's in yesterday's clothes. Slightly rumpled, but still damn fine.
“For someone being hunted by You-Know-Who, you sure leave the house a lot.”
Ah. Maybe that's his plan. Forcing me out of the safety of the wards with his unbearable sexiness until Voldemort just comes up to me on the street and hexes me dead. It could work.
His hair's different today. Softer looking, messy, like he wasn't able to charm it perfect. He has the slightest of kinks in one of his locks, the strand falling into his eye, nearly brushing his long lashes. For some reason it makes me hyper aware of my own hair, curling from the run, drops of sweat sliding down my neck. But I'm staring at his mouth, not his hair anymore. Yeah, I should have run more. Like another five miles. Can you run yourself blind? I need to be blind if I'm going to survive this.
I really don't feel like verbal sparring this early in the morning—hell, talking in general—and I push past him into the bathroom without another word. Then, because I'm an idiot, I turn. “If you need a change of clothes, feel free to go through my bureau. Probably not up to your standards, but...” Whatever. I close the door before he can say anything. Insults or thanks cannot be handled this early in the morning.
God, I want to do things to him. Bad, terrible, nasty things. Voldemort doesn't have anything on what I want to do to that kid.
It apparently doesn't matter how tired my legs get, my dick still works. Cold water is not a deterrent. My body makes enough fucking heat to fight it. I jerk off twice in the shower, and I'm pretty sure I can go again in about twenty. I'm totally doomed. I should just walk outside and send up a signal in the sky that looks like my scar. Voldie will know what it means. I give up. Totally losing to Draco Malfoy, and it's only the second day.

He's wearing my shirt. I didn't know my Metallica shirt was my favorite, but I know it now because he's wearing it and he looks fucking amazing in it. Same jeans as yesterday, pulled down over his boots. Hair's nearly perfect. He has a little bristle on his jaw, and I'm starting to realize just how much he depends on spells to do fucking everything for him.
It's not until Dudley's in the back seat that I realize just what hell I've gotten myself into. Dudley's massive. It's usually a tight squeeze when it's just the two of us in the back. Now Malfoy's going to be back here to. Fuck my life.
“Um, I can sit in the middle.”
“No.” No way in fuck he's sitting next to Dudley. I get in before he can say another word, glaring warningly at my cousin. “What am I going to do to you if you touch him?”
“Fuck off, freak.”
“Dudley, language! We have a guest.”
“Sorry, Mum.” He punches me in the leg, but I'm used to it. I'll be black and blue by the time the trip is over, but as long as he doesn't touch Malfoy, we're good. Draco slides in beside me and everything goes hazy by the time he shuts the car door. His entire right side is pressed up against my left. Dudley's on my right just as tight, but believe me when I say, I don't even notice.
“Do you think you could...?” Malfoy gives me a mildly pained look, wriggling his shoulder against mine. He's nearly flush against the door and it probably hurts. Dudley won't be moving, that's for sure. I pull my shoulder back, extending my arm behind his seat so he's now in the nook of my embrace and pressed tight to my chest. Fucking hell. Should have sent up that lightning bolt. Voldemort would have been way easier than this.
“Well, this is cozy.” Aunt Petunia. She's funny. Really. “It shouldn't take too long, boys. And I was thinking, since it's a special occasion we might even stop at a restaurant.” There's a round of halfhearted cheers, Dudley already turning on his handheld video game and turning the noise up obnoxiously loud.
About ten minutes into the ride, I start noticing that things are going to be going from bad to worse. Malfoy's pale. Sweating, eyes closed shut, face pinched in an expression of pain or nausea—I have a good guess which.
I duck closer to whisper in his ear even though Dudley's game will probably keep anyone from hearing. “You've never been in a car before, have you?”
He shakes his head no, a small whimper escaping him.
“You sick or just scared?”
He cracks an eye open, glaring at me in challenge. “Both.”
Of course. “Lean forward and look at your feet. It helps.” He looks like he wants to argue, but he's also turning a bit green and does as I say. “Better?”
“A little.” His shoulders are shaking, and every time the car slows down and speeds up again, he groans miserably.
“Oh dear, he's carsick.” Petunia clucks lightly. “Don't worry, Drake, it's not much longer. Harry, rub his back. That always helps.”
Dudley snickers, but I ignore him because I love my aunt and her many brilliant ideas. I'm probably an asshole for using him being sick as an excuse to touch him. Oh well. I press my palm gently to his back, then firmer when he doesn't bitch at me. I soothe small circles, then larger, trying very hard not to notice just how good his muscles feel flexing under my hand. He sighs, relaxing slowly, leaning towards my leg by the time we get to the next traffic light.
It takes everything in me not to push his shirt up and touch his flesh. Instead I cup the back of his neck, his skin warming under my palm while I rub my fingers in. He makes the softest noise of protest when I drift away from his neck, moving down over his shoulder and breaking up the tension there as well. He has amazing shoulders. Strong, hard, fucking gorgeous. By the time I get to his other shoulder, he's nearly limp, head lolled to the side, breathing much calmer. God, he's sexy.
“Can you get my neck again?” He whispers hesitantly when I start moving up and down his back again.
Fuck, yes. I move my hand up his spine, pressing down hard with my palm, feeling him shudder under my touch. Has he ever been massaged before? Touched? Hell. It's dumb, it's just a fucking back rub, but I'm going to be the fucking happiest person in the world if I'm his first.
I stroke the back of his neck carefully, kneading the tension away, letting my fingers dig in deeper as he relaxes with every touch. I slowly drift higher, moving up the side to below his ear as I press in firmly with my thumb, reveling in the sensation of his cool hair brushing the back of my hand. He stretches forward, going boneless under my hand with a loud groan. Shit, I'm getting hard.
“Just a little more,” he mumbles when I try to pull away, his body pressing into my hand.
Hell, I can't say no to that. I should, I really fucking should, but I can't. What I wouldn't give for a simple concealing charm right now.
Thankfully we arrive, pulling into the parking lot. Aunt Petunia gazes sympathetically while Vernon shuts the engine off. “Just relax and get used to the world being still for a bit, dear. It can take a little time. We'll meet back at the entrance by five, then figure out dinner from there.”
I give her a look. I'm getting this growing suspicion that my mother might have gotten carsick, having spent so many years in the wizarding world. It's not a question Petunia is going to let me ask though. Dudley lumbers out, head still stuck in his game, the car tilting from his absence. Malfoy doesn't move, just continues to rest his head against the driver's seat as I rub his neck with my thumb. It's quiet, the Dursleys' voices fading away as they walk to the mall. I should stop.
I don't. I rub down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, digging my palm in, making him groan again. God. He should really tell me to stop. Cus I'm not going to. I don't think I can. Definitely don't want to. I move to the same spot on his other side, digging my fingers in, squeezing until he releases a shattered moan and arches his head back. God, I want him. I grab the back of his neck again, firmer, possessively. When I pull him up, he lets me, his head falling back on the seat while I hold him by the nape and stroke my fingertips slowly over his long throat.
“Any better?” I ask, my voice too low, too rough sounding as I drink in his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
“Potter... do you know wandless magic?”
“What?” I'm not fully with it, but still. Where the hell did that come from?
“Because you have fucking magical hands.” He opens his eyes, glaring at me suspiciously.
I try really hard not to grin like an ass. I fail. “If I knew wandless magic, I could have just cast an antinausea charm on you. Sorry. Remus said he'd teach me this year.”
He just continues to glare at me, like he doesn't believe me. I still have my hand on his neck. I cannot, for the life of me, bring myself to remove it. His lashes flutter on every downstroke of my thumb, his eyes growing darker and heavier as each minute ticks by.
“Let me know when you're ready to go.”
“Yeah...”
His eyes are drooping, and even though the backseat is devoid of Dudley, he's half in my lap. “You tired?”
He shakes his head no, bringing his face dangerously close to mine.
“Still feel sick?”
Another shake. His eyes are silver slits, trained on my mouth. Dangerous, really fucking dangerous.
“You want to go?”
Another shake. God help me.
“Potter?”
“Hmm?”
“How many people have you kissed?”
Please don't talk to me about kissing when all I want to do is kiss you. “Er, half a dozen or so.”
“All boys?”
“Nah. Took a bit to figure that out.” He has the prettiest mouth I've ever seen.
“How'd you figure it out?”
“Kissed a boy.”
“Oh.” Again he looks at my mouth. “You had to kiss one to know for sure?”
“No, not really. I had to kiss a boy to finally prove to myself that I wasn't ever going to like girls the way I wanted to.”
“You want to want girls?”
“I want a family.”
“You can adopt.”
“Maybe.”
“Get a surrogate.”
“It's not something I'm thinking about now. You-Know-Who keeps fucking things up. If I live, years down the line... maybe.”
“There are spells.”
“Hmm?”
“For gay wizards. So they can have kids that are genetic offspring of both. You just need a surrogate.”
“Oh... you just know a bit of everything, don't you?”
His smile makes my mouth dry and head spin, his lips stretching lazily, eyes sparkling mischief. “About gay wizards? Yeah, I know a lot, actually. I never even had to kiss a boy to figure it out. Sure didn't waste any kisses on girls.”
Son of a bitch. The goddamn fucking prat with his nightlight, and cock blocking, and fingers on my arm for nearly a day and then on my chest for the night. Taunting, teasing bastard.
“What's the matter, Potter? Hit a nerve?”
I really need to get the fuck out of this car. I grip his neck harder, watching his face, watching his lips as they part in a soft groan. “Wasn't a waste. I learned from it. As long as I learn from my fuckups, it's never a waste.”
“Yeah?” His eyes close for a moment, head tilting back into the touch of my hand. “Planning on learning something new?”
Shit. I really need to stop touching him. He really needs to stop saying sexy shit to me. I pull him until he's resting against my chest, hot puffs of air heating my neck. “Malfoy, what the fuck do you want from me?”
I can feel him smirk, his lips pressing to my skin sending sparks jolting through my body. “Who says I want anything? Just enjoying your magic hands. They feel very, very good, and my head hurts since someone woke me up screaming last night.”
Yeah, I'm probably going to be ash by the end of today. He's totally fucking with me, and he knows I know it. I'm a weak, weak man when it comes to Draco Malfoy. I trail my hand up, tangling my fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp and temples while he sighs into my skin.
“Better?”
“More.”
God, maybe now. With his lips on my neck, his gasps vibrating in my chest. Burn me alive now.
- 5
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- 7
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A Wayward Dragon In Little Whinging