clairie_poo (clairie_poo) wrote in dracotops_harry,
clairie_poo
clairie_poo
dracotops_harry

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One Shot - "Lips and Claws" - Harry/Draco

Title Lips and Claws
Rating R/NC-17 for language and implied sex
Pairing Harry/Draco
Word Count 1,991
Warnings Unbeta'd - Angst/Death.
Disclaimer Unfortunately, Harry Potter and all that dandy nonsense does not belong to me. This is not for profit, merely for fun and tears.

Oh, yeah, it's been cross-posted like MAD I TELLS YAH.



LIPS AND CLAWS.

His words burned to the edge of my soul, tearing me apart from the inside, pulling out all my deepest fears and insecurities. I wanted to yell at him, tell him to shut up, tell him that everything he was saying was said without conviction. Something was holding me back; maybe it was the part of me that had secretly believed this side of the possibility all along.

I knew he was telling the truth, calling me a coward, telling me that everything for the past month had been all lies. That for the past weeks, the few moments of pure sincerity between us hadn’t been at all what they seemed; they were all a part of one big façade.

I closed my eyes, remembering all the touches, the way he broke down all my walls, building new ones at the same time.

It was pathetic really, how he convinced me to leave all of my friends, convince me that they were only judging what we had. They told me he was terrible for me, that he was going to hurt me. I chose to ignore them. I chose to take the risk. I chose to believe in my hope for him.

All the times you kissed me fiercely, with that undeniable passion, I never thought I was out of hate. I never thought that you could have that much fervor solely out of hating me; I was foolish enough to believe that it was out of something else, something I can’t stand to think about.

If you asked me whether or not it was all worth it, I’d have to say yes. For at least a month you had given me everything and more. We fought, I can’t deny that, but what we had otherwise was too great to sum up in a fucking sentence. You touched me, kissed me, fucked me. You had girls falling at your feet, boys, even. It was common knowledge that Zacharias Smith and you would meet after dinner, that he was still lusting after you. You denied him, you chose me. Something about knowing that you denied one of the boys that doubted me in fifth year gave me great satisfaction.

I couldn’t explain the red love bites on my neck, the ones that you gave me, I said they came from scratching myself in my sleep. I never told anyone how I would claw my fingertips down your back as you thrust into me, our countless sounds of pleasure and pain silenced with one simple charm.

You were never gentle, something I thrived on. I didn’t think too much of your forcefulness, but looking back on it now, I guess it was a tell tale sign that you actually didn’t care. That you don’t care.

There was rarely a time when we talked about anything related to the war, but when we did, it was never pleasant. The first time I brought up your father in one of our heated conversations, you grabbed my wrist so hard your fingernails left markings on my skin, drops of blood traveling down my arm. When I brought up your loyalties, throwing all your confusing words back in your face, you retorted by mentioning Sirius, telling me he was “a filthy mutt, a traitor”. My anger rose, my tempers flared. I saw fear flash in your grey eyes, but before you could’ve said anything, I had pressed my lips to yours, pressing so hard it hurt, so hard that your lips were bruised, so hard that all my rage had melted away into that scorching, smoldering kiss.

I can’t lie, there were times that I wanted more than something tangible. I wanted more than just the physical, I wanted the reassurance, the knowledge that you were there for me to talk to. And I guess, in the end, that’s what you were hoping on. You were hoping that I’d turn to you, ask for your support, your opinions. I ignored the warnings my friends gave me, I thought I knew you better than them. It’s hard to believe that they still knew you better than I did, even though I spent a month, many weeks, and thousands of seconds spent with you.

After I divulged to you my worries about The Order, about what I was going to do without you there, you had everything you needed. That, really, was my greatest mistake. It wasn’t trusting you, it wasn’t loving you, it was telling you what I felt. I had let slip my true feelings for you, which made it more real. Telling you everything was millions times more real than all the nights spent fucking, something that we could both deal with. Subconsciously, I knew that I had always had the excuse to make up an alibi, explain why I had done what I did. We were teenage boys, frustrated and confused, desperate for any source of attention. If we ever stopped, I could logically assume that the attraction had faded, but telling you I really loved you… that was real. You were waiting for that, because the next day, you brought me here, where I am now. The reason all these thoughts are running through my head.

You told me that you wanted to show me something special. I took your hand, feeling the soft clink of metal against metal. We got matching rings, something I had been too childish to see as something palpable. You brought me to the North Tower, pressing me up against the wall just outside the entrance, giving me the hardest kiss yet. I clung to the fabric of your robe, quickly muttering in your ear that I couldn’t wait, that I needed you inside me at that moment. You almost gave in as I stroked my hand up and down your leg, murmuring how much I wanted you to fill me up, give me something to really feel. You breathed harshly against my neck, biting at that one spot below my ear, the area of skin that was almost always red, bruised, and abused by your unsympathetic teeth.

Still, you shake your head, muttering that we’ll have time later. I don’t notice the sharpness of your voice or how urgent you are to get inside; all I’m focusing on are the sweat drops forming in the hollow of your throat and how your thumb caresses the back of my hand.

I now see the movement as more of a persuasion than a soothing action.

As soon as my foot steps past the threshold, you let go of my hand, immediately shutting the door with my wand that you’ve taken out of my pocket when you had pushed me up against the wall just outside. It takes a couple moments for it to sink in, the reality of the situation not breaking my many yet feeble walls of idealism. Finally, as my eyes adjust to my surroundings, to the many men in cloaks surrounding me, it all comes full circle. Every moment together flashes before my eyes, all the times you yelled, hit, fucked me. All the times you whispered, caressed, made love to me. It all makes sense.

When you approach me, your snicker back upon your face, I don’t even realize that I’m fully surrounded, your father among them. He laughs as you tell me that I’ve been such a fool, believing that anyone would ever love someone like me. How idiotic I was for ever believing that someone would associate with me by their own accord. How you were disgusted at the thought of touching me, but you had to do it to maintain your true loyalty, to please the Dark Lord and your father. I then think about Smith, about how the two of you had fucked way before I came along, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I choose to stare forward, meeting your cold grey eyes for each syllable falling out of your mouth.

A dry sensation sweeps through my chest, as if my lungs are being punctured, the air being sucked out by an invisible force. The blood gushes to my head even though I’m upright, nausea rising slowly but surely. I’m not crying, I’m forcing myself not to, forcing myself to not give you any satisfaction what so ever. You’ve cornered me; you’ve singled me out for the worst, tricking me into believing that you ever loved me. You step forward, your footsteps resonating throughout the small room of the tower. I search in your eyes for any sign of compassion, any sign of love, but I know it’s a futile effort. In the end, I’ve only betrayed myself for allowing this to continue. They were right; they were right in believing that you hadn’t changed. The summer away had only changed you more, made you more like your father every day. The funny thing is that this was the exact reason you had driven them away. You didn’t want them to come sneaking up on us, you didn’t want them to come and foil your plans. You needed me alone, and to accomplish that, you ironically took away the loneliness etched in my bones since my first birthday at the Dursley’s.

Your wand is pressed against my neck, my Adam’s apple bobs up and down hesitantly as I swallow. Your words are hollow but sincere, and I think that’s the first time you’ve ever spoken the truth to my face. You hate me; you are going to make sure I know that. The breaths feel shallow now, my chest feels tight. My hearing isn’t working, I see your lips moving, but nothing falls out. Your tongue is hitting the roof of your mouth, indicating the new break in the word, but I cannot hear them. I see you nod as someone else speaks, and you immediately grin, deviant.

I wanted something more. You had said something about coming to my side, entrusting me with your life. I forgot that you were a Slytherin. I forgot that you didn’t trust and that your promises were filled with loop-holes and recycled, practiced phrases.

You move your wand to my chest and breathe in deeply. Shutting my eyes, I stay where I am, knowing what comes next. I don’t attempt to fight back, my energy low, my spirits abysmal. I’m not even aware when you finally announce that you’re completing something you’ve dreamed about doing for years, something that you’ve been working towards for months. Sweat trickles down my forehead, curving as it reaches my nose, falling into the crevice between my lips. The void sensation spreads through my body like a disease, the negated feeling wrapping around my veins like fire. Finally, the room goes quiet, I’m only aware of this because your lips are not moving. Your eyes clear slowly, it’s strange how they’ve gone from grey to… grey. Before so alive and awake, now they seem dull and dead. A choked sob is stilled in my throat, my heart slowing to an achingly sluggish pace. Then, in one movement, you yell out the curse, a green light erupting from the end of your wand. I let it hit me squarely in the chest, my hands falling to the floor. The world goes completely still, as if even though I’m the one not moving, you’re the one who has gone immobile. I don’t feel anything as it consumes me; the blackness spreads over my body slowly but surely. The cold sensation in my chest slowly fades away and I realize that nothing hurts any more. The thump of my heart has stopped completely, the null feeling in my chest has disappeared, my whole body going pleasantly cold, cooling me down. The last thing I remember is seeing your grey eyes turn even hollower, the soft sound of a ring falling to the floor humming me into the deepest slumber.
Tags: contains: major character death, fic length: one shot, fic length: short, genre: angst, rating: nc-17, type: fic
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