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By Bracken Disclaimer: J.K. owns them. I make no money. Be a good sport and don't rub it in, eh? Spoilers: None really, but they're older, slightly Author's Notes: I know, I know, I promised it sooner but I got specific writers' block. As in: I could write anything but this. My stupid brain always freezes when I demand long, last chapters that require NC17 slash. <see the month it took me to churn out "The Playing Field's" last chapter> Anyway, hope it's marginally worth the wait… Feedback: Oh please, maybe it will prompt my 2 muses to speak, they've gone horribly silent.
Dedication: For Tessie and ChrystalStarGuardian who have reviewed all 3 chapters of "The Playing Field" and all 6 chapters of "Rematch". What did I do to deserve you guys? And for The Childe, who's sulking because she thinks I didn't write her, but I did. Go check your inbox again, luv, and if it's truly empty feel free to lynch me… Chapter Seven: Draw I know it was the smirk that did it. Draco could ignore an apocalypse, but not a kid that pulled a face at him. He's so easy to get to, really, so very easy to bait. I saw the anger and annoyance flash in his eyes when I threw that smirk over my shoulder. Draco is very angry with me because I've done well in my little campaign and that directly contradicts some heavenly ordained law: Thou shalt not get the better of Draco Malfoy. And that's exactly what I've done, isn't it, gotten the better of Draco? I know I'm smiling now. Don't get me wrong, I have no illusions as to holding this position of power for very long. Quite frankly, I don't want it, not where he's concerned. Besides, I know Draco will take it upon himself to prove he's more powerful and masterful than I am. I can only hope and pray he decides to prove it in bed. Damn, my smile just got wider. You know if I'm still smiling when he follows me out into the hallway there's going to be hell to pay. I ought to look…at least a little less smug. And speak of the Devil…here comes the poster boy for all things evil himself. And he's making his way down here pretty fast too, I'd say he's "storming" except that he's too graceful for the word. How he moves so fast, so fluidly I'll never know. And oh boy does he look furious with me, and I *know* I'm only making it worse because I *still* haven't managed to lose my self-satisfied grin. He's going to thoroughly punish me for this. Heh, so now I have something to look forward to. I'm probably grinning like an idiot now, but I really can't bring myself to care. Let's see how Master Malfoy stands up to me when I'm feeling as brazen as this. I don't mind losing to him (how could I?), but I'm not going down without a fight. And what a fight it will be… How *dare* he stand there grinning. He may have triumphed in calling this rematch but that doesn't mean he's going to win it. I'll show him his place, novice! Still, beneath my hurt ego and surging indignation there lies a deep admiration that he dared to pull this little stunt. But admiration is *not* what I should be focusing on, payback is. Retribution for his awful crime of making me need him. Crave the very sight of him. Retribution for the dreams that shake my soul. He is going to pay. And I know I must have been moving fast because suddenly I'm right in front of him, in that gloomy abandoned passageway close by the great hall. It really is an insult, that "it was only matter of time" grin and the flash of defiance in his eyes. They'll be the first things to go. Oh, he's so close now. I could punch him. I could kiss him. I settle for a comprise between both and before he knows it I've grabbed the front of his robes, spun him around and shoved him hard up against the passage wall, tempering my aggression with a deep kiss. And wow, no resistance. Doesn't he know that he has to resist in order to win this game? A hand tangles in my hair and tugs lightly but ends up just twining itself further instead of pulling me away. Was *that* resistance? Obviously he really needs this, he's confessing with every subtle thrust against me, with the desperate way his hands are fisted in my hair and in my sweater. Like he's drowning, like to lose me would be to die, to get swallowed whole by a sea of lust, obsession, need and competition that he created all on his own. But while I can tell from his urgency how much he needs this //Oh! I didn't know tongues could do THAT!// I really need to hear it in words. Words mean talking and talking means no tongues and lips for a while. I break off the kiss with a *big* inward sigh. Sexual assault. As in he wants to he wants to hit me, then fuck me, or fuck me and then hit me. Or quite possibly both at the same time….. Don't *go* there Draco, just don't. You are calm, you are in control. You are shoved up against a wall with Harry's tongue in your mouth. Oh! This is so. not. fair! How on earth am I supposed to teach him his place when he's kissing me with such wild abandon? How am I supposed to lie through my teeth and say I don't want OR need him when I can smell him and taste him under sweet traces of dessert? Self preservation reminds me that enemies are emphatically *not* for making out with and I reach up to his hair, fully intending to wrench him away but his hair's still damp and soft and very reminiscent of wet silk and I can't let go… Lost, I'm quite lost. Not thinking at all. And then he stops the kiss… He looks at me quite expectantly, eyes heavy-lidded, icy hair mussed. I smirk, he remembers himself and his mask comes down while his defenses go up. That's ok, I know how to deal with this now. I slide one leg of mine between his and ask: "You're a right git, Draco, you know that?" I'm surprised at how conversational I sound. And how easily his name falls from my lips. He bristles. "If I'm a git, then you're more the fool for kissing me." I smile, perhaps a little self-depreciatingly, "I'm fully aware that you bring out my more mentally unstable side Draco, but admit it: you want me still." "You're insane, I want nothing to do with you except to ensure that you stop harassing me. Which is what I came out here to demand of you. Only to be jumped and assaulted-…" "- You talk too much." And I lean in, my perfectly positioned leg rubbing against his crotch. Draco's body seems to be very appreciative of my actions, even if his mind is not. And I tell him as much. "Perfectly natural physical reaction to concentrated stimulus." He gasps, his breathing is ragged and I press harder. He arcs off the stone wall, his cry a choked sound caught in his throat. I don't release the pressure: "You want me." "I want you." He relents, his voice is husky, his answer guttural. "You need me." I say, thinking he's ready for the next step. Apparently not. He glares at me defiantly, still panting. "Fuck you!" He hisses violently. I smile. "Plenty time for that later. And we already know how good you are at that." I whisper close to his ear, moving down to lick and nip at his neck while I unbutton his robe. I slide my hand inside and ghost my finger - tips over his chest, nipples, ribs. Sexual tension is making him shudder in my arms. I slip my hand into his underwear but don't touch him. He can feel the heat from my hand, the closeness of it, and the all-powerful Draco Malfoy whimpers and arcs into my hand. I move it away before any contact is made. He gets all hostile and growls; sexual frustration is not a good look for Draco. "Say it first." //sayit.sayit.sayit.sayit.because I'm not immune to any of this either and I'm seriously turned on too and I wouldn't mind release. Just say it.// And he gives in; I can see it before he even says anything. His shoulders slump and he leans forward, resting his forehead on my shoulder, his arms round my waist, content to let me completely support him because his knees aren't particularly dependable any more. "I need you." He whispers. My other hand is gently tracing patterns on the fabric of his robe stretched over his back. I know how painful this must be for him, how much this hurts his ego, pride, dignity and I really ought to give him a break but I can't. Not yet, there's one more thing. "Draco, I'm going to touch you now." He shudders at the frank statement. "But before I do, you have to do one more thing, okay?" I feel the barely perceptible nod against my shoulder. "Say it again. And…say my name." There is what feels like a long silence. "I need you, Harry." I kiss his temple and reach for him under his boxers. At first contact Draco moans throatily and his knees give out. We're too close in size for me to support him and manage to give him a hand-job at the same time and so by silent understanding we drop to our knees together, kissing hard. It may be the height of passion but Draco's got great co-ordination and pretty soon my jeans are undone and his hand is inside them. We're wet and slick, mindless of everything but the thrust-slide rhythm we've established and it feels very, very right. And just before my mind stops functioning I note how equal this all is. The matching rhythm, the mutual pleasure and the fact that despite our ambitions to win in this game of one-upmanship; we're *both* down on our knees. //Yeah, this is going to work out just fine.// I think, and our worlds explode together and we're calling out each other's names. *~The End~* |