borrowingfaces

[borrowingfaces]

Icarus Draco/Harry

Mature content First fanfic in a while ........... Draco's mouth was dry and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. Warm to touch despite the chill of his dungeon dormitory the Slytherin Prince twisted in his sleep. Gasping breathless with thin fingers curled into his pillow the blonde rocked and rolled as if in the grip of some unseen sufferance. By pure luck he was alone in the shadows of the room when he woke. Jolted from sleep into the full harshness of conscious. He felt more feverish than he had before passing out and drew a shaky breath in a bid to control the shivers trailing through his flesh. It failed and he dragged sweat damp sheets across his body, huddling from the room hidden beyond his bed curtains. He did not need to see to know he was alone; the lack of snoring and wheezing breath told him as much and he was thankful to whatever power allowed him such privacy. Trying to focus on the irregular state of his being rather than the dream that had caused it he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Immediately he leaned forward upon his knees, running his hands across his face before pushing sweat slick locks away from his eyes. His hands stayed there, resting on each side of his head as if attempting to stop it from falling off. It was spinning, throwing a helter skelter hell of thoughts through his mind. All reason had gone and he knew it, desperately dragging in deep breaths to calm the rising panic. It took a few moments before the usual defences rose and rage took the place of worry. The subtle trembling of his figure ceasing once the old familiar friend of anger had settled across him like a warm blanket. He lashed out suddenly slamming a fist into his bed, half snarling through his gritted teeth as he did so. It was unbecoming for such a pure blooded young man to act in such ways yet as soon as the thought hit him another took its place. He was unbecoming for the pure blooded family he came from. He in his useless entirety was the whole problem, not merely a harbinger of unsuitable traits. Sighing he fell back across his bed and stared unseeing into the canvas that hung above. Laid out like a corpse on a morticians slab, pale and unmoving, he held his breath; wondering how long it would actually be before he died. Well, how long it would be before his father's glorious idol ordered his death. There was no way Voldemort would waste time on Draco by killing the boy himself. It would come from any number of known faces at any time once the truth came out. Draco swallowed hard, remembering his dream with a faint reddening of cheeks. If he was this fitful when he was supposed to be happy someone would catch on. His two brutish allies were far from smart enough to notice something but Blaine Zabini had the eyes of a hawk and where there was one restless night of sleep there were others. With no one around to see or hear anything the blonde felt at ease enough to berate himself with gusto. Hitting himself on the side of the head he growled barely there words through gritted teeth. Things like 'how could you?' And 'of all the people you could have' and a lot more 'you're fucking disgusting. You are so fucking disgusting.' It was not as if anyone who may have heard it would have found any sense to it but that was part of the problem wasn't it? It had to be. He was, because of recent stresses in the 'workplace' he was clearly losing his mind. The fact that he had not decided this sooner was laughable, quite literally so as the waif of a student shuddered with near silent rolls of laughter. Meanwhile... High in a hogwarts tower the famous Harry Potter lay trapped in dreams and nightmares he would prefer not to understand. He woke with a start to the banging of a door and stared, ready for an attack, through the gap in his curtains as the familiar figure of Neville longbottom hurried to his bed. Slowly his body began to relax, drawing back its alertness for a sensible weariness instead which pushed Potter back to the comfort of his mattress and blankets, the latter dragged close around him to hide the ever so slight trembling of his limbs. Sleep had not been the cure all he had hoped it would be before he had gone to bed. Instead it had thrown him images of a brief nothing that didn't matter over and over again. He had no idea what it meant and had no desire to repeat the memory of something so insignificant being played over and over and over again in full surround sound. That was what his dreams had been; like sitting in a giant 360• screen cinema, trapped in a circle of minutes played, rewound and played again. It had made him feel small, the incident towering over him, jeering. Harry rubbed his scar, knowing it would never hurt again and pondered the value of knowing your enemy. He had been bound to Voldemort, their minds intertwined and that was how he had defeated the dark lord, with a lot of help from his friends and that tedious tether that had shared things vital to their resistance. He had been linked to that enemy so knowing it had become sort of normal but the incident his mind refused to drop was anything but that. Staring blurry eyed at the canopy above Potter squinted in an attempt to focus the image without putting on his glasses; it worked, sort of but he was already being dragged back into his own thoughts. Lying there still but for the twist of fingers in sheets and the steady rise and fall of his chest Harry dared himself to think willingly of what had happened. It had been a weekend and the day had been foul. Those who had not gone to hogsmeade had stayed in the warmth of common rooms, all but two. Thinking himself alone and still not fully comfortable in a school full of ghosts of people who had fought in the war by his side, he had grabbed his broom and marched to the rebuilt quidditch stands. Desperately seeking solitude and finding solace in the wind that roared by his ears deafening his own thoughts. It was a blessed relief to still be able to cross the grounds and he welcomed it hungrily. Not wanting to remember the school for the war and eager like others to finish his education Harry currently now sought to bring some of the better memories back to life. Seeing no one, not even Hagrid who was rarely put off the weather, Harry took out the snitch Dumbledore had left him and watched smiling as it shot off towards the quidditch pitch. The gryffindor's gaze soon losing one golden thing for another paler creature flitting across the heavens. All thoughts drawing to a halt, all but those questioning the scene before him. Draco flew the way Harry imagined angels would. Dipping and riding the slip stream winds, elegant in a way no quidditch player could manage whilst remaining successful. What Draco was doing was not flying, Harry decided from his hidden position by the stands. What Draco was doing was some sort of confessional, a dance, a masterpiece of wizardry that had the Gryffindor mesmerised. Too taken with his voyeurism of such an exquisitely vulnerable moment to pay attention to his own feet as they carried him toward the pitch; drawn in like a moth to the flame. No care for the risk. As he moved closer, silently watching the ballet of movement above Harry felt his heart stutter and catch within his chest. This invasion would come at a price yet awe overtook panic as he turned in circles, unwilling to take his eyes off of the pale creature drifting effortlessly across the grey sky. It was so strangely appealing to watch that he was reminded of the quidditch World Cup or rather the Bulgarian team mascots. Harry suddenly struck by the belief that Draco could quite easily have veela blood somewhere in his family. It would explain the sudden need within Harry to witness such a strange masterpiece in action. His mind so adrift in wonder that thoughts of reason slipped away leaving Harry reeling. As he stood plain as day upon the pitch, twisting and turning to follow Draco's path. He was soon surprised to find himself watching the slytherin effortlessly dismount his broom straight into a stroll that led him straight toward Potter, his broom tucked over one shoulder. Feeling his fingers twitch for want of his wand Harry held still, fighting the urge to hex as hard as he fought the heat growing in his cheeks. Why was he blushing? "Enjoy the view Potter?" The drawl was carried off by the growing breeze that warned of more to come as the clouds above began to darken. The growing gloom seeming only to add to the few positive qualities Harry could see within his classmate. Draco's sharp features softened, either by the lighting or the war, his skin glowing faintly with the pearlescent shine of sweat. Harry said nothing, unwilling to tell the truth and too caught up in being caught during such strangeness that any lie hovered just beyond his grasp. Silence was better than admission of enjoyment here, silence held honour and pride and most of all the slim amount of dignity Harry believed he had kept alive through all his hardships. It was not something to be thrown away simply because Draco's flying had left Harry speechless and most certainly not worth confessing what he had seen of his own heavy heart in the Slytherin's elegance. Silence protected the truth of his hummingbird pulse as it fluttered violently making his fingers tingle and his mouth dry. Silence protecting Harry from what other things stirred beneath the surface of his mind, lighting a fire within green eyes. "Gone deaf?" The annoyance in the blonde's voice halfhearted, already seeming to be bored of his fellow student as he sneered, turned in the mud and started towards the locker rooms. Stuck for a retort the gryffindor found his gaze drawn once more to the slytherin. Noting the subtle curve of hips and arse, the almost sway that accompanied each step reminding Harry of Ginny; or rather how easily she stole his attention. Watching the shadow of Draco disappear through the locker room door Harry took a deep breath in a bid to calm his now erratic heart. Flustered and unwilling to accept the reason behind why he was so confused whilst the breeze around him rose to a wind, sending shivers to the base of his spine. Unwilling to follow for anxiety of what may happen, what he may say or do, he was eventually chased in by the start of a downpour that had him drenched and dripping by the time he joined his enemy in the shelter of the locker rooms. He knew his mistake immediately as his heart leapt to his throat at the sight that greeted him. Draco was half sat half sprawled upon a bench, knees spread wide with his broom resting against his thigh. Thin fingers curled around the handle, rising and falling in a motion that stole the breath from Potter's mouth. The green eyed boy reading into the gesture exactly what was being implied. Unable to ignore the smugness upon the pale boy's face Harry clenched his fists in a bid for some semblance of control. Shivering violently beneath the weight of his sodden clothes, with green eyes fixed on grey, he waited a moment, assuring himself it was safe before struggling out of his dripping sweater which hit the floor with a dull squelch, much to Draco's amusement. "I had no idea you were into stripping Potter." The words chased Harry's thoughts around his head, hounding his senses and diving into the darker parts of his mind where anger twisted with other passions into something altogether wrong. Wrong for him. Wrong for someone who hated Draco. Wrong for someone who had managed to be a hero and now stood more uncomfortable in his skin than he had ever been. Searching for a response, fumbling over the words in his head his fingers tightened into fists once more. His limbs adorning a subtle tremble of nerves that coiled within his gut, spreading warmth beneath the waistline of his trousers that felt suddenly too tight, too close, too restrictive. "Cat got your tongue?" Draco purred, his head lulling to one side as if in mock concern that was spoilt by the mischievous smile upon his lips, matching the sparkle in pale eyes. Harry may have defeated Voldemort, finally managed to date Ginny and had returned to life from death but right here right now, standing in a pool of rain water of his own making, he felt trapped. Almost helpless but not without comfort as if the others attention somehow eased the panic tearing through his bloodstream like a muggle drug. "I saved your life." He managed to say in an almost whisper that could have easily been covered by the tempest growing outside. It was however another mistake for no sooner had he spoken Draco had risen and began to creep closer, pointing his broom in Harry's direction. "I saved yours too." He chimed, his ease almost predatory as he advanced. His pink tongue darting out to moisten the curve of pale lips, drawing the gryffindor's attention to his mouth whether intentional or not. Harry suspected it was on purpose, suspected or hoped. "Ginny been holding out on you?" Now standing barely a foot from Potter, speaking so gently that the chosen one had to lean in to hear. Harry imagined he could feel the warmth of Draco's breath ghost across his cheek sending yet another shiver through him where it spread out, sparking new life in nerve endings that soon felt charged with potential. Harry managed a silent shake of the head, his jaw set firm with the muscle twitching ever so slightly in his cheek. Yet his eyes gave him away as they followed the path of Draco's peeking tongue, studying the lines of the sly mouth that appeared frozen open in an inaudible gasp. He had no idea where it came from and he wasted no time in attempting to find reason in what was happening but simply gave in to the new hungers stirring in his chest. The beast that once growled and purred over Ginny now as transfixed as its host, lured willing in. Draco, despite appearances was surprised when Harry crashed into him, body pressed against body, lips to lips, demanding attention that came without hesitation. The blonde let his broom fall from his hands and filled them instead with fistfuls of Potter's damp clothes, fingers tracing brief patterns across the flesh hidden between the buttons of Harry's shirt. Seeking the same closeness that had his enemy's hands desperately clawing at his own attire until they found his hair where they coiled and tightened. Harry thought he could feel Draco's pulse through the savageness of the kiss. Tongue flitting against tongue whilst his fingers found platinum locks and pulled, releasing some of his loathing whilst offering proof of his strength even if his will to resist had been broken. Using his hold to command the moment, harry was rewarded by a noise that whispered from Draco's chest, a delicate hungry noise that only fed Harry's needs further. He was tired of being careful, tired of being a hero, tired of doing the right thing and the slytherin felt all too perfect pressed against him hip to hip. Neither student seeming to care for the obviousness of their arousal as Harry tested the moment with a rough grind that was met with similar. The pair soon furiously tugging at one another's clothes, trying to get closer, trying for more friction as heavy breathing and dulcet moans escaped through their animalistic kiss. The noises of their illicit game drowned by the storm now raging outside. It was as far from affection as war, lips bruised and aching, cocks painfully restrained within clothes. It was hateful and demanding, neither giving up the reigns as they fought for control. Both refusing to listen to the voices of reason within their minds which were soon drowned out by the insistent mantra of 'more, more, MORE'. Draco pulled away first, withdrawing from the kiss but not the hands that ran across his clothed flesh and left nail marks upon his hips and arms. "You kiss like your girlfriend." The laughter in his voice enough to draw a kiss-drunk Harry back to earth with a crash. The gryffindor's mind suddenly drowning in reasons not to do this, not to have done this and yet he found himself licking the taste of Draco from his mouth, struggling to keep his hips from seeking further friction. Letting his hands drop from where they caressed hair and cheek, throat and the boyish curve of the hip Harry gave in to one more urge. Finding immediate gratification as he watched his fist strike the unsuspecting boy in the jaw. Doing his best to resist confusing impulses that thrilled at the sight of blood upon Draco's mouth and yearned to lick it clean. Stepping away whilst the other boy straightened himself from a stumble, Harry shook his head, pleading internally for the sanity that seemed to have abandoned him on the pitch. Making him wonder if magic had been at work despite the gnawing feeling in his gut that told him otherwise. "That's more like it." He heard the slytherin whisper behind him, sounding just as breathless and lost to desire as Harry felt. Though at least he was trying to fight it unlike Draco who wore all the signs of an impulsive life upon himself like badges of honour. Of course he knew about the dark mark that stared at him when Draco rolled up his sleeves; but there was more. Even from a distance, even in such poor lighting he could make out the tell-tale needle marks in the other boy's arm, the bird bone fragility of long limbs and the flourish of bruises across what flesh was visible. It all seemed only to lift the hunger higher, fuelling his want of the brat prince of slytherin as much as his desire for revenge. Near mindless with years of snide remarks, duels, injuries and battles raging through his mind at full steam Harry clenched his jaw and struck out at Draco again. Unable to deny the throb of satisfaction in his cock as his knuckles struck flesh again, the stinging in his fist only reassuring him somehow that this was right. It had to be right because Draco was smiling, pushing hair out of an already swelling eye, licking lipstick-like blood from the line of his mouth. It felt strange but good, incredibly wrong but oh so natural to draw the blood of his enemy who stood willing and eager before him like a personalised punch bag. He knew what it felt like to be beaten, sort of, his cousin had beaten him enough but there was more here beneath the surface. An undeniable call to violence that had Harry's fists shaking with the temptation to continue, barely holding back as Draco swayed enticingly before him, lithe fingers stretching the distance between them to run fleeting across the hardness contained within Harry's trousers. It stole a gasp and was almost enough to draw him in again but as if sent from the gods a rumble of thunder shook Harry's thoughts apart. It forced him to step back, to get away, to put space between them despite how badly his fingers itched to run across scars he was sure were hidden beneath the thin fabric of Draco's shirt, scars he had caused. Scars whose mere idea sent a wave of guilty pleasure through the gryffindor's frame and pushed him further back. As drunk on arousal as Potter, if not moreso, Draco could nevertheless see his brief hold over Harry was breaking and prepared himself for what came next. Each punch may have left him reeling but each had filled the beast within his chest with a hedonistic joy that fed the mischievous grin now written across his face once more; pumping almost-there pleasure through his veins. It hurt but it hurt in the good way that Draco had learned to want since first tasting the delights of violent intimacy. It spread a warmth through him that others would get from embracing a loved one and appeared to make him glow, saint-like in his beauty and blood in the shadows of the locker room. He knew it too. Knew how he looked the second Harry turned back to face him and let his eyes drag all the way over Draco's body as if choosing a steak for dinner. He thrived off of it and despite a history of poor planning and poor choices he knew what had to be done and turned his back on his bewildered enemy. Crouching to retrieve his broom before turning to face Harry once more, he dug around in his pockets, ignoring the painfully obvious line of his cock that begged for attention as his fingers searched deeper into his pockets. Making no attempt to bite back the almost moan bought by his innocently rummaging hand. He tilted his head back, allowing bliss to dance briefly across his features before he met potter's gaze to be sure they both knew exactly what had happened. "You hit like your girlfriend too." The words carried on a cold flutter of laughter, suddenly throwing something golden and glinting towards the gryffindor before turning without further warning and disappearing out into the rain. Of course Harry had caught the snitch he had released earlier in hopes of a bit of private practice but by time he had opened his mouth to reply he was alone. the sounds of the storm and his still racing pulse all that kept him company as he sat down to wait out however long it took for his body to forget the enjoyment Draco malfoy had given it. Harry growled at himself under his breath as he recollected the incident, focusing on how it felt to be pushed up against Draco's slighter frame and how the other body had smelt. The blonde had smelt faintly of heady spices, summer rain and broom polish along with a peppermint touch to his breath. Harry had been able to taste it when they'd crashed together, breathing in one another's exhalations, limbs intertwined without rational plot. Harry felt his heart pick up speed and rested his hands over it. Though no one could see him, though his roommates were awake and no one knew what had happened he felt as if he had betrayed them. Fighting was not the plan of the future and lowering himself to letting Draco get so near was an embarrassing fault. It would have been worse if he admitted to himself how it had felt, beneath the surface layers of blind hatred. Harry bit his lip hard and tasted blood. Draco had smelt of that too during their encounter after Harry had struck him. There was a hearty pleasure in that and the gryffindor closed his eyes to the peace it brought. The chosen one happily ignoring the root of that pleasure which had begun to burrow deeper, through the cracks into places that were raw and unknown.