dracotops_mods (dracotops_mods) wrote in dracotops_harry,

FEST FIC: I don’t have the strength (to resist or control you)

We are posting two shorter stories today. But wow, what short stories! Do enjoy.

Title: I don’t have the strength (to resist or control you)
Author: b_o_w_a
Prompt: #33 by dracolyn
Summary: Draco slams his fist down.
Rating: PG-15
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Warnings: Violence, AU, slightly dark
Word Count: 2480
Author's Notes: Thanks to the amazing humbled_x for the beta and the support. I’ve got a major thing for mafia!fics lately, so thanks for the prompt dracolyn.

I don’t have the strength
(to resist or control you)

The other man’s eyes are beautiful, dark and challenging, a friendly dare that they both know will end the same way it always does, with the dark haired beauty giving him the closest thing to submission he knows.

Draco smirks, pulling the man closer by his belt loops.

The man smirks back, resisting just for a second, before tumbling into Draco’s arms, his arms automatically wrapping around Draco’s neck.

The man is short, darker in complexion than Draco, and most people would say that he’s submissive, but Draco knows he’s anything but; a devil in disguise.

“Are you gonna to fuck me, love?" the man asks it in a gentle whisper, looking up at his taller partner from behind his eyelashes.

Draco groans, tightening his grip on the other man’s waist. “No," he whispers back, delighting in the disappointment that flashes in the man’s emerald eyes. “No," he continues, “First I’m going to make sure that everybody knows you’re mine, licking and caressing your body, making my mark on your skin, and then I’m going to take you in a way that makes sure you know you’re mine." Draco leans forward, teasing the smaller man with his lips across his face. “And then I’m going to make love to you."

“Draco," the man sighs, his fingers tightening at the base of Draco’s neck. “Yeah."

Draco grins, pushing the other man forcibly enough for him to land on the bed, his legs splayed.


Blaise’s figure looms over him, his movements harsh and jerky and Draco knows instantly that something is wrong.

The clock says 15:54 in blinking red lights.

It’s simple, the words he says – Harry, Rosie, park, missing, sorry, and then, I trust you – simple words that even Rosie herself could understand, but Draco can’t seem to wrap his mind around them.

Except he can.

Draco frowns, organizing the papers on his desk. “Where is everybody?"

Blaise pales.

Draco nods. “Get them in here, now."


The men file in, three of them, four including Blaise.

They sit quietly, all knowing what’s at risk, what the consequences and meanings of their actions are.

Draco twirls the knife in his hand slowly, holding the gaze of each man in the room.

Theo breaks first, forcing a scowl of disgust across Draco’s face.

“It wasn’t our fault, Sir."

“Just like it wouldn’t be my fault, if my knife accidentally flew out of my hand and in between your eyes?" Draco speeds up playing with the knife.

Theo swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Please, Sir ..."

Draco drops the knife, smiling in satisfaction as it digs into Theo’s thigh, ripping a harsh grunt from the other man’s throat.

Draco steps back, looking at men he considers family. “Let this be a lesson, think about what you’re going to tell me… and make sure it’s true."

Theo whimpers, his blood running freely over his jeans and onto the floor.

Harry’s going to kill him when he sees it.


The man sits tall, confidence in his posture and hatred in his eyes. He hates him too; hates everything that the other man represents, hates that even now, like this, tied up and beaten, the man can still have the will to stand up to him.

He grins as he sharpens his knife. Before he’s done with him the boy will be a whimpering mess.

He’ll make sure of it.


Draco growls, flinging his knife at the wall in an attempt to miss Ron; it barely clears his head.

“Tell me where the fuck you were!"

Ron struggles; his eyes are wide with fear and panic, but Draco can tell that the redhead won’t be talking soon.

He’s tempted to cut his tongue out. If he doesn’t talk now, he won’t for the rest of his life either.

But that would make Harry mad. Draco growls again. Everything always comes back to Harry.

“Tell me where the bloody fuck you were, Weasley." Draco moves quickly, grabbing one of the many tools on the table in the back; a hammer.

He can already visualize the cracking sound it’ll make when it hits Ron’s hand.

“I… can’t, Sir." Ron looks up at him, his eyes glancing at Blaise. Blaise stiffens, his back going rigid as his skin pales.

“You ..." Draco glances between the two men, understanding suddenly coming to him.

The hammer lands heavily on Ron’s hand, the sickening crunch echoing around the room; no one says anything.

Blaise walks towards Ron, watches the acceptance cross his face; he knew what he was risking by sleeping with Hermione.

Blaise’s punch is swift and to the point, knocking Ron’s chair backwards and taking him with it.

Blaise turns to Draco, giving a small nod. “I still trust you."


Ron slumps in his chair, resting his head against the cool metal of the table. “I know I should have said… But I couldn’t risk it, risk Hermione." Ron glances up. “Not even for Harry."

Dean’s hand tightens around Ron’s shoulder, making the pale man turn even paler.

“It’s wrong… I know it is… but Blaise and Hermione… They don’t get along anymore."

“It wasn’t your place, Ron." Draco organizes the tools in the middle of the table, straightening them out. “Blaise can have you killed for this…" Draco glances up at him. “And I would let it happen."

Ron shutters, his eyes falling closed but he doesn’t say anything. He curls his arm inward, protectively holding his shattered and swollen hand. “You crossed the line. You know that. You can step out on Marietta all you want, but taking one of our partners… You know better than that."

Ron stiffens his back, straightening out.

“And because of this, because of you, Harry and Rosie are missing. Rosie was taken while you were off fucking her mum! My lover was taken because you couldn’t keep your bloody hands to yourself!"

Draco slams his fist down.

“And if this doesn’t end well, the blood won’t be figuratively." Draco looks at him, his silver eyes harsh and cold. “I will take you down, Weasley. You’ve wasted our time, time we could have spent looking for Harry and Rosie because you’re a bloody fucking coward."

Draco leaves without looking back.

Ron’s screams echo down the hall.


She smiles, picking up the small toddler. The little girl’s skin is smooth, a lighter version of her father’s milk chocolate skin, and even though the girl is no longer a baby, she understands the saying ‘smooth as baby’s skin’.

“Auntie, Auntie!" The little girl giggles, lifting her arms up.

The woman reaches for the small child, smiling as she lifts her up, high up above the ground.


It’s been two days since Harry disappeared.

Draco hasn’t slept on his bed in just as long because, fuck it all, he may be the boss, but he’s not sleeping in their bed without knowing where Harry is.

Sometimes he hates Harry for turning him into this, this man who’s sick with worry over his lover instead of the man who’s strong and confident even though one of his family members was taken.

But most of the time he likes the way Harry’s bare skin feels against his.


The man’s breathing is harsh and raspy but laughter still bubbles out of his throat. He winces, lifting his head up, his eyes wild and dark.

“Draco’s going to kill you."

His laughter turns into screams as his captor slowly pushes another knife into him.


“We’ve got a name, Sir." Neville looks up at him, shaking his saggy brown hair out of his eyes. “Real name is Tom Riddle, but goes by Lord Voldemort in the underground. My contact heard him bragging a few nights back about a big job that was coming his way. My guy said he couldn’t get a name out of the bloke, just that it was a bird."

Draco nods, knocking his knuckles against the wood of his desk. “Thank you, Neville."

It’s past two in the morning and Draco’s not letting anyone sleep. It’s going on four days and Draco knows the statistics about missing people, especially with small children involved.

“Ask him to keep his feelers out… I want to know everything this Lord Voldemort does."

Neville nods his head, exiting the room silently.

Why hasn’t he heard of a Lord Voldemort? Draco scowls, pushing away from his desk swiftly.

He’s got things to do.


“Auntie?" The small girl looks up at her, her brown eyes wide. “Auntie, can we go home? I miss mummy and daddy…"

She scowls, shaking her head. “No, little one, we can’t."

The child’s lip quivers, tears threatening to fall. “But why?"

She picks Rosie up, settling her onto her hip. “Because your mummy and daddy have been very naughty, and they need to be punished."

Rosie’s eyes widen. “But I wanna see them!"

She winces, a shutter running through her body – and to think, she wanted to start a family with him. “I know you do, sweetheart, but mummy and daddy need to be punished first."

She sets the child back down, ignoring her cries as she walks out of the room.


Draco tenses as Neville walks back in, a stack of notes in his hands. “This Voldemort guy… he’s not good, Draco. He’s leading seven different lives, as far as we can tell; Tom Riddle isn’t his real name, its Ralph Fiennes, and the rap sheets are miles long for every name he carries."

Draco sighs, brushing his hair away. “Where are we on finding him?"

Neville shifts his weight. “Close... we’re taking down names and checking out females who could have something against either any of you guys, but it could be a while yet."

Neville turns to leave.


Neville turns back around, shifting the papers in his hands.

“Start with Marietta."

Neville’s eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything else, just nods as he steps out the door.


He scowls as the woman comes closer, running a hand down his cheek. “Come on, love, don’t worry about them…"

He pushes her hand away. “Don’t," he hisses. “Do you have any idea what you’ve gotten us into? They know. Pay me."

Her laugh is cold and cruel as she runs her nails over his chest. “They know who you are. Running doesn’t matter now," her eyes harden, “You’re dead."

He grabs her wrist, squeezing it painfully. “Pay me now or I’ll kill you and bring Harry and Rosie back and disappear into thin air."

She gasps, trying to pull away. “No!" She scowls at him. “I don’t have the money."

His hand connects with her face with a loud crack, her head snapping to the side. “You have four hours to come up with the money before you and I disappear."

She cradles her wrist into her side and touches her face softly as he disappears, wincing as she feels her cheek swelling.


No one has slept in at least twenty-four hours, including Draco, but Draco doesn’t care.

He’s standing outside a two-story house, a perfect hiding spot. Somewhere in the house is Harry, is Rosie.

Marietta had the gull to return to Ron and her house, to act like she didn’t know what they were talking about even though there was a rapidly forming bruise on the left side of her face and another bruise on her right wrist.

Draco can still hear the sound of her screams in his ears.

Draco walks up to the door, acting like he owns it.

He does own it.


He’s not surprised when Marietta doesn’t show up. They know.

He packs his bags and walks out the front door.


Harry’s slumped over in a wooden chair, his clothes soaked with blood. His blood.

Rosie’s upstairs, fine and healthy, happy to see her father again, her cries of delight still echo in his mind.

Harry’s unconscious, his chest barely moving; Draco unties him carefully.

When the ties fall from around Harry’s chest, it’s Draco’s chest that seems to be able to breathe again.


Harry’s sleeping, his breathing soft and shallow; it’s been four days since Draco found Harry, and Draco’s afraid that he’s going to break the other man.

Draco’s counted the healing bruises and cuts more times than he can count, more time than he should have, but he can’t stop.

Harry groans, his eyes fluttering. Draco grabs his hand, squeezing it softly.

“Stop worrying, Dray." Harry’s voice is rough and low, barely above a whisper, and Draco wishes he could do as Harry asks, he wishes he could stop worrying, but Harry’s important, more important than Draco ever thought he would be, and Draco doesn’t know how to stop.

“Okay," he says.

Harry smirks, his disbelief obvious; he winces when he moves too fast, trying to sit up.

“Hey, take it easy."

Harry opens his mouth, and Draco knows what he’ll say, the same thing he always says when Draco tells him to take it easy, ‘fuck off’, but the door opens quietly and Hermione moves to stand just inside the door.

“How are you doing, Harry?"

Harry shrugs, lifting his bandaged covered hand. “Good enough to see my favorite niece."

Hermione laughs, opening the door so Rosie can come in.

Her eyes are wide, and her movements are slow. Harry laughs.

“Come here, goofball; tell me how preschool went today."

Draco laughs as Rosie jumps onto the bed, curling into Harry’s side.


Draco smirks as he sets the box down in front of Harry. It’s just a plain cardboard box tied in a ridiculously large pink bow.

Harry scowls at him.

“Happy Valentine’s day, love," Draco whispers against the skin of Harry’s neck, his fingers dipping below Harry’s thin cotton shirt.

Harry hums, arching back against Draco.

Harry opens it slowly, savoring the way Draco’s lips never leave his neck and the way Draco’s fingers slowly creep up his chest.

His eyes widen, a slow grin forming on his face as he opens the box.

“It’s Fiennes’s," Draco whispers, his voice going harsh.

“You found him," Harry says, turning to look at the other man.

Draco nods, one of his hands wrapping around Harry’s waist.

Harry groans as he leans forward, capturing Draco’s mouth with his own. The kiss is deep and passionate, their tongues battle for dominance, and Harry’s hips rock backwards into Draco’s.

“I love you," Harry says, when he pulls away, his breathing harsh and ragged.

Draco just smiles.

Harry groans again as Draco turns, pushing Harry against the wall, Draco’s teeth nipping and sucking at Harry’s neck.

Both of them forget about the bloodied box that holds the only thing left of Ralph Fiennes, his heart, as their groans slowly start to fill the room.

the end

Tags: [admin] fest-2011, author: b_o_w_a, fic length: short, genre: dark, rating: r, type: fic

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