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Lost Cause	By : sparkofchaos Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1256 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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
- 1-Lost Cause
- 1
"Do you concede, Potty?"

"No!"

But it was a raspy, hoarse, half-gasped, half-groaned "no" that didn't sound all that convincing.

Draco Malfoy was looming over Harry Potter, knee digging into his chest. His pale, well-manicured but obviously quite strong hands were pinning the dark haired boy's wrists to the cold stone floor. On his face, the blond wore the same smirk that had been a trademark during their school days.

Technically, they were still at school; the Auror Training Camp they both lived at was a place supposed to give them some knowledge. Yet, it was nothing like Hogwards except for the fact that the school building was a castle as well.

But what a castle! Small, dingy and cold all the time, the place was scarcely furnished, barely cleaned and deliberately filled with creatures you never knew existed. While Hogwarts' educational policy aimed to foster sense of unity and team spirit in one way or another, ATC forced all the trainees apart, made them live into a closed society reeking of suspicion and too much competitiveness. Personal one-on-one battles were not only allowed but also almost obviously encouraged and applauded. It was perfectly normal to see people fighting in the corridors; not only wizarding duels but all kinds of martial arts and fist matches as well.

It was like living in the jungle; trying to survive alone in a lion's den.

In some ways life here was more difficult and dangerous than out in the real world.

So, here they were, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, on the floor in the Dining Hall. The room was thankfully empty, for it was still early afternoon. The blond wizard was on his knees and it was such an irony that this was a position of force and victory. One knee on Harry's chest, one on the floor. It wasn't such a balanced stance if you came to look at it, but he held his victim's hands practically immobile and that gave him some stability.

Harry was panting, Malfoy was grinning, their faces were almost touching.

"Concede, Potter. You know it's a lost cause already.What can you do from there?"

Harry kept silent, wriggling, trying to upset Malfoy's delicate balance. Tensing, he brought a leg up to kick the blond in the back. It was almost successful, but Draco caught on and quickly slid down Harry's body, managing to keep him under control.

Harry was breathing much more freely now, without the weight on his chest, but, unfortunately, in his current position he was even more defenseless than before. Malfoy was lying almost completely atop him; thus having enough leverage to prevent him flipping them over. He could feel Draco's leg holding his own limbs down, motionless.

All Harry could do, was writhe; which he did, fiercely. The only response was that Malfoy kept applying more and more force, to the point where his grip positively bruised.

With each passing second the coldness of the floor seeped into Harry's body and his muscles grew more and more reluctant.

He had no choice; never had, truth to be told. Finally, he had to admit it even to himself.

"I concede," he uttered, his voice bitter and hoarse. Malfoy's grin was too humiliating to bear, so he closed his eyes before continuing. "So what will it be?"

It was another little detail that the authorities here particularly enjoyed: stakes. The winner was expected to make a wish (more like give an order, really) which the loser had to fulfill.

Those, who refused to follow this unspoken rule, were unofficially, yet quite palpably, punished and one did not want to be punished here. The stake, no matter how cruel or mocking, was almost always a much more acceptable choice.

Malfoy laughed quietly again and moved closer, so close that their noses were all but touching. In the short moments before Draco spoke, Harry thought that Malfoys' coldness be damned, all of them looked far better off passionate and fierce.

Maybe all the time he had spent here had finally gotten to his head; such thoughts about Draco Malfoy at a moment like this.

"You have your day out next Monday, am I right?" the blond asked.

Once a month the trainees (all in paper, but in truth only those good enough) got one free day outside the castle's grounds. In the eight long months the Boy-Who-Lived had spent here, he'd only been out four times.

"Yes," Harry answered, grinding his teeth, sure that his award would be ruined in some way.

Draco smiled yet again, which was getting really frustrating.

"I just wanted to ascertain that you'll be able to prepare for your task."

"Giving me an achievable task? Don't you wish to see me fail, Malfoy; to see me locked down that hole?" he asked bitterly before he could stop himself. Fuck.

The blond's grin just widened.

"No. I have... other desires for you. Dress as a woman Potter. Surprise me, stun me!" Draco whispered in Harry's face. "On the Friday after your day."

Green eyes went from perplexed to understanding to furious.

Currently, by coincidence or not, the two of them were in a constant fight for the title of a community leader. Despite its unofficial status, like many other unannounced businesses, the position held much power and privileges. A person with such authority would be pretty much free of the pointless wrestling all around. Another valuable bonus was the little note in the personal profile reading 'Good leadership skills in stressful situations.'

From that angle Malfoy's wish would almost surely lessen the respect toward Harry. At a place like this, with so many men, being suddenly stripped of one's maleness and put into a woman's skin equaled utter humiliation.

Not to mention that wearing a skirt, Harry would almost certainly fail all his classes that day.

Emerald eyes darkened as he weighed all the possibilities in his head. He'd never assumed that Malfoy would enjoy such a domination, not on this matter.

The blond raised an eyebrow; a silent mockery at the other's concerns, a shrieking challenge.

"I agree, of course," Harry snapped. "It's a choice without the choice. Would you let me go now?"

He writhed, but Draco pressed down, amusement evident.

"Not all day, Gryff. Only during our tutoring session." And then, after the smallest pause, "A dress."

"Why?" Harry's voice rang, tight with lack of comprehension once more.

Draco turned and flashed a smirk.

"First, I want my victory clean. Second, you are only for me to have."

~~~

'...for me to have' sounded in Harry's mind for what seemed like the thousandth time. 'Surprise me, stun me.'

What had he meant?

Just at the thought of Malfoy Harry's body began to stir. It seemed to him now that there had never been a single moment in his life not permeated by the presence of a certain sharp-tongued blond. The yearning to beat him to a pulp or the the mad desire to fuck him senseless, at times a mixture of both; there was always something there, like a constant prickle, just a reminder that a person called Draco Malfoy breathed, lived, teased.

'Stun me.'

Urgh.

He walked out of the gates of his current 'home', still deep in thought, and, through the perfectly arranged system of portkeys, reached the Leaking Cauldron's arrival hall.

He looked at his wrist-watch. There were four full hours before he had to meet up with Ron and Hermione.

What to do?

He stepped out; into London, into the Muggle world. Damn Malfoy for wreaking havoc in his mind and hormonal balance!

~~~

Harry was was walking down the corridor to the secluded room where he and Malfoy had their tutoring sessions. This part of their schedules was a punishment; the result from a particularly vicious fight between the two of them in the middle of the Dining Hall during meal. Now that he came to think of it this place was their 'favourite' wrestling spot. And while they had been mostly unharmed in the aforementioned occasion, there had been at least a dozen other trainees hit by stray curses and the damage to the room itself had been impressive.

They had been told off severely, and their trainer had decided that they needed to learn how to cooperate when necessary. So now they were obliged to spend two hours every week in one and the same room. In his head, Harry called it their 'mutual tutoring in tolerance.' Horror. Every Friday at six they had to go to the appointed room, hear the door click locked behind them and bear the presence of the other for one hundred and twenty minutes.

Reluctantly but inevitably, Harry thought about tonight's business. God knew that Malfoy would probably sent him to hell and back; just like that, to humiliate him. So why was that strange behaviour? Not that he was complaining, but Malfoy could have made him walk around all day in his current clothes. Yet, he hadn't.

Harry reached the door and took a deep breath before entering.

One, two, three, calm down.

"Good evening."

~~~

Draco entered the room a bit early and sat on the window sill. It felt strange, Potter had always been the one to arrive first. This time that was not so. Draco smiled smugly and felt anticipation course through him.

Would his plan fail? Would it succeed?

"Good evening."

He looked up and saw Harry Potter enter. The door closed with a quiet click and locked itself.

"Potter," he acknowledged.

Harry was wearing black robes buttoned up to the collar, his hair was pulled back. As always, Draco briefly wondered where his glasses were; he still had problems remembering that particular change.

"Have you forgotten our deal, dear?" the ex-Slytherin drawled, making Harry's colour rise immediately.

"Don't worry, Malfoy; I haven't," he answered stiffly and unbuttoned the robes.

Beneath, he wore a simple but stylish ensemble which someone might have called lilac. Draco, however, having lived with Narcissa Malfoy herself, knew that it was the exact hue of amethyst. The skirt was straight, falling just below the knee. The blouse was almost the same colour, only a shade lighter. The neckline was high but wide; reaching up to the dip at the base of Harry's throat but then showing slivers of smooth skin to the tips of his shoulders. The sleeves were long and almost translucent, going bell-like at the wrists, giving a nice view of Harry's arms.

It should have been funny but it wasn't. It was breath-taking to watch someone who looked positively masculine wearing clothes that suited a fine lady and that gave such an aura of vulnerability.

The blond left his eyes travel over the body presented to him. It was decidedly odd to see the planes of a male's body defined by soft, yielding fabric. There was a bulge between Harry's thighs, not big but still impossible to miss; a simple reminder that something was there. Draco swallowed. The skirt left little to the imagination.

Draco instantly wanted to know how the other would look like with erection in that garment.

"Potter, I'm floored," he drawled, trying to be dismissive of the obvious pause that had occurred. "And matching colours, too. Impressive. But I think I said a dress?"

Harry's hands, which had clenched in fists after the first sentence, now tensed even further, and he lifted his chin defiantly.

"The stake is one wish, Malfoy. You said dress as a woman. Here I am," his voice was laced with bitterness and something else which Draco could not define. "What did you expect me to do, serve you tea?"

Draco laughed, despite the fact that his plan wasn't going quite as supposed to. He had wanted an advantage; something to make Harry less perfect, less strong, less on top. But here indeed Potter was, wearing woman's clothes that brought out his eyes; that made him look like a martyr tortured by the Romans; that made him sexy.

Harry only glared at him as he continued to laugh quietly. Gradually, he fell silent and they simply watched each other for a while.

"Turn around, Potty. Let me see you."

His throat was suddenly dry and the request went out with a rasp in it.

The blond didn't actually expect Harry to comply. But he did. Slowly, he spread his arms wide and turned half a circle, showing himself off; all planes and curves, all challenge in the submission.

Draco could sense tension in the other wizard --defensive tension-- but there was something else; something that he was absolutely sure Harry wanted to hide.

Could this something be what he wished to see?

He moved away from the window and toward Harry, who was now facing the door. When, finally, the Boy-Who-Lived spoke, they were almost touching.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy."

With one last move, Draco pressed his chest to Harry's back.

"I don't want to."

Harry turned around and took two steps back. His eyes were wide, deep, and Draco could see so many things in them.

"Why do you humiliate me?"

And there was so much confusion in his voice.

How could anyone deny him an explanation?

"I didn't try to do so. I just wanted to see you stripped --" Draco made a step forward and Harry moved back "-- of all the strength and aloofness of your attire. I wanted --" they both shifted again toward the door "-- to see you without the layers of cultural veneer you hide behind. I wanted --" one more step each, and now Harry's back was pressed to the door and he had no escape "-- to see if you would be the same if robbed of you shield. I wanted to see you."

Without hesitation, Draco made that final step that had them pressed tightly against each other.

"The colour really suits you," the blond whispered and leaned to kiss Harry, but he turned his head aside.

Draco's lips landed on the tender skin where cheek met ear.

~~~

I can see you moving to kiss me and turn away.

Is this the next way we will fight? The next way to lead the other on, to defeat him? To hurt him, to have him bleed?

If that is so; if you think that is simply the next game, I won't participate willingly. I won't. I can't.

I feel you teasing the ridge that marks the point where my ear begins and it's making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I hear your breath ghosting over my skin. It's erratic and uneven, which comes as a surprise, because you are usually so cold and composed, controlled at all times. The sensations you awaken are exquisite, each single one of them, and feeling the dexterity of your tongue on my skin makes me want it all over my body. So good, so expert...

The thought brings me back on Earth while I fiercely wonder who you have practised with; who was your first; whether someone has made you scream.

"Stop," I say, and you actually do.

I can hear you fists connecting with the wall on either side of my waist. You lean you forehead against my temple and your breath caresses my damp ear.

"Want do you want?"

I barely manage to hold 'Draco' back, but I am perfectly aware that such a thing coming from my mouth will show vividly how shaken I am.

"You," you say, and your voice is softer than I've ever heard it.

Your response causes a twitch in my chest and a wave of warmth in my groin. I close my eyes against the feeling, which, I'm sure, is deceitful. Your head drops and you start to nuzzle my neck. I try to push you away but you resist.

Suddenly, I desire nothing more than to know what drives you. "Why?" I ask, and it's a harsh sound from my dry throat.

"I have no idea," you say, "but I always have."

That comes a bit over the top for me and I laugh; a brittle, strained tone.

"That is not another field to fight on, Draco," I don't manage to hold it back this time and, spoken out loud, it makes me flinch. "If it just a game, leave it, because it's too much; even for you, even for here."

I hear you inhale sharply at the use of your given name, and I am shocked the feel the way this little sound causes a slight reaction in my body.

"Harry," you say, and it's akin to a sigh. "I don't... I can't promise you anything. But right now --and it's been like that for quite some time-- I want nothing more than to have you around me."

It is my turn to shiver and my response to your presence gets harder. Literally. I try to back away because I'm sure you can feel it. But there's no way out; the door is behind me, tight to my back.

I start to think that this night will be the epitome of humiliation. First, I get to fulfill some wish you make with the sole purpose to laugh at me; second, I fail to control my own body.

But you press your pelvis against me and I gasp at the feeling of how much affected you are by the sensations as well.

My hands are grabbing at your shoulders now and, as you slowly grind your body against mine, I quickly come to full hardness. You return to tormenting my ear, and there is only so much I can do to refrain from sighing.

"Are you going to let me have you?" you ask; your voice low and warm, a sensation as much as a sound.

"No," I reply, and it is a surprisingly steady answer. But immediately, the hedonistic side of me asks why not and besides, I can tell that you are not listening to my rejection.

"No?" you raise an eyebrow and move an inch or two away from me.

My body, despite my intentions, shamelessly arches forward to regain the delicious contact and I flush with embarrassment and frustration.

"Or yes?" you continue, and as you press back I feel your smirk.

I don't answer because... Damn you, do you have to push me beyond my limits every single time we meet? I turn my head to the side and close my eyes, refusing to look at you. This is, perhaps, the capitulation you want, because you start kissing my face, my ear, my neck. Fervent and demanding touches of your lips, then tender and lingering, then rushed again.

At one point you concentrate on my neck, just below the jaw line, and I sense your hands at my waist, moving. By the time you slide them up my back to the uppermost of a row of buttons, I'm sure I have a huge mark. One by one you free the little nubs from their holes, and I should stop you, complain, do something but I don't; I can't.

When you are finished and the stupid blouse is hanging loosely from my shoulders, you let your finger roam my now naked back. It's too good a feeling for me to ignore; just the knowledge that these are your hands is driving me insane. The moment I moan for the first time, you still and I arch at the lack of movement.

"I am going to fuck you, do you understand this?" you ask urgently, and your lips tickle my cheek.

"I don't trust you," I answer as if it is what I am supposed to say, and my panting tone is wholly inappropriate for the seriousness of the matter.

"With reason," you gasp, and your voice goes directly to my groin.

I thrust, subconsciously trying to lessen the tension welling in me, and you roll your hips against my movement. My fingers claw at your shoulders and we both groan.

Your hands are quick to get me out of the blouse now, and I will never --I mean never!-- admit how good it feels when your touch isn't hampered by cloth.

You are not a novice in the act of satisfying sexual desires, I can tell so just by the way you caress my back. Your fingertips slide teasingly and, without any difficulties, find all the right places to press, knead and tease. I am intensely jealous once more, although I know fairly well that I have no right for that.

But I am helpless.

I grab your head suddenly and, even before the confusion in your eyes turns into understanding, my mouth covers yours. I want to get it back to you, so I put some conscious effort to make this kiss a gentle one. At first I just let our lips touch. It is tantalising, tickling; awareness but not quite. Then I move slowly, exploring the soft swells of your mouth, giving my tongue the right to taste you.

You sigh, and the entrance between your lips falls open. Your fingers don't move anymore and I allow myself the illusion that you are too focused on that first kiss to do anything but tighten your hold on me.

I lick your bottom lip and then, swift as a thief, move in to feel the insides of your mouth and the ridges of your teeth. You taste of caramel and cinnamon, and I'm sure that I sense traces of whiskey. I slide the tip of my tongue in and out, across your palate, and you shiver. I smile and coax your tongue into motion. We duel and it is as fierce a battle as all those we've had in the corridors of this bloody place. But you are the one to concede this time and then break the kiss to move your sweet lips down my body.

You've already discovered every curve of my neck, so now you start with my chest; licking and nipping. Your fingers are dancing on my back again and I can only moan at your mercy.

When you lick at a nipple, I arch into your mouth and you laugh, your breath tingling my wet skin.

You are almost on your knees in front of me now and the notion itself sets my whole being on fire. One more fire.

Your tongue is dipping into my navel and one may say it wouldn't be such a sensitive place but it is. Or maybe it's just you making the magic. Your hands are on my bottom and I lean back on the wall with my shoulders so that you can have more space and I -- more support. You knead and I have to groan because, well, it is so good...

Your hands move down gradually, until they rest on the backs of my calves. Then they start going up again, only now sliding under the fabric this ridiculous skirt I'm wearing. Your face is rubbing at my hipbone and sometimes you pause to graze with teeth at the place through the cloth. I can't control myself anymore; what you are doing is making me shake and twitch and pant; I squirm piteously.

Your fingers tickle the hollows behind my knees, the backs my thighs... When you reach my bum, you stop and look up at me, teasing and mischievous; your eyes are swirling, drawing me in, pulling me apart. I let my lids fall shut and I feel your quiet laugh on the skin of my stomach. You trace me with tip of your tongue there, just above the waistline of the skirt. Almost immediately afterwards you push the thing up all the way, leaving it twisted around my stomach, and devote your attention to my cock.

Not that I'm complaining.

By now I'm nearly weeping with need; the fact that you did all the convincing and yet, you are composed and cool, is making me feel even more out of control.

You trace me with quick fingers and that forces a series of intelligible sounds from me. When you let the tip of your tongue dance over my slit I meow --of all things!-- and am so sure that it'll do me in. But it doesn't, for which I'm thankful; I'm not going to have it so short when I have finally accepted what you are doing.

My hands slither into your hair and I pull you up to kiss you again. I'm practically naked, and you haven't even shed your robes. Right now, I'm not quite coherent or gentle, and I am so close to coming that it hurts. But I don't want this to be like a quick fuck in a communal bathroom. I crave your silken skin next to mine; I wish to see exactly how much affected you are by what is going on between us now.

So I pull at your clothes fervently; robes, shirt, trousers. You just chuckle at first, but I'm nipping at your lips and jaw, sucking your ear and making such pathetic little noises of desire and frustration... I can tell when you give in, because the smile's still there, but you push me away, to the wall, and with fingers far surer than mine rid yourself of all clothing in the matter of a minute.

I want to see every part of your body, all the skin, everything, so I hope this won't be our only time together. Right now I'm way too gone for slow exploration. You finally seem as aroused as I am; your hands winging impatiently around my waist and torso, your lips demanding my attention.

It's so satisfying to have skin-to-skin contact at long last. Your palm is pressing against my backside and I feel the cool wood of your wand.

You whisper a spell and I recognise it; the thought about what are you preparing to do is making me ache all over.

Slick fingers spread my cheeks and you start massaging my cleft, the opening quivering with my need. You move a bit away from me and probably it is a good idea because I'm so close, but I want the contact too much and I start to arch into you. You choose precisely that moment to slip the finger inside me and I groan with frustration and satisfaction at the same time.

When you graze my prostate seconds after, your teeth are trying to break through my bottom lip and I scream because I want you, now!, and the pain and pleasure of your actions right at the moment are starting to trip me over the edge.

A minute or two more, and you are pulling me down on the floor. Exactly when I begin thinking about my back's welfare, I feel your robes under me. I smile and stretch just that bit to kiss you. You bite and I retaliate; licking and nipping and panting merge into one.

The blunt tip of your cock presses slowly into me and I gasp, tightening my hold in your hair. You whisper in my ear while you're sliding in; hot, meaningless words that send shivers all over my body.

You are all the way in when I push your face away and, barely breathing, ask the stupidest thing imaginable:

"How many have you had?"

You laugh, and I feel the tremours at every place that our bodies touch. Your face buries in my neck and I hardly hear your answer, 'I don't remember'.

You start moving and my pleasure is building quickly, friction and wonderful warmth.

"Will you --"

I'm panting, on the edge of a chasm. But I put every single ounce of energy I can muster into that attempt. The attempt to ask it, finally; to last that bit longer; to keep this little part of myself that has remained unshared.

"-- remember --"

It's like you are feeling my question and trying to stop it from coming out. Your teeth are on my lips, your hand on my hip, nails digging in. It's all just a storm of sensation; high and burning. One more word...

"-- me?"

You don't answer and I want to be sad but I can't; there's too much pleasure for that. You stroke my long-since-weeping cock and in three squeezes I'm done, screaming your name, doing just the thing I hoped I wouldn't. And at that moment, when I am beyond understanding or even coherence, you simply whisper in my ear, 'Of course'.

I can't react --God, I can't breathe-- and you drive into me, climbing your own stairway to bliss.

You come, a violent shudder that washes over us both and, with the waves, you bite at my shoulder. I gladly bear your limp weight when you collapse and the soft repetition of 'of course' clears all my doubts.

Maybe your pause before answering has been simply a clue that you are not about to give a mindless reply...
- 1
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Lost Cause