
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10052162.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Language, Slash_sex, Sexual_Content, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without
      Plot
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-12-05 Words: 1696
****** Given ******
by thewickednix [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     Denial is a beautiful thing.
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned
by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury
Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
____________________________
He is drunk the first time he kisses you.
You have absolutely no idea how it happened. One minute you are snickering at
him, gloating over yet another Quidditch game won by Gryffindor. Malfoy leers
at you, his expression made slightly less intimidating by his drunken stupor.
Then suddenly he grabs you violently, pushing you up against the wall, his lips
crushing against yours. You would tell him to fuck off immediately, but somehow
your brain is addled by the hot body against yours, the feverish throbbing in
your stomach.
“Harry? Harry?”
Hermione's voice breaks the two of you apart, and for some reason you hate your
friend at that moment. Still, you are forced to wipe your mouth with the back
of your hand and spit at Malfoy.
“Fuck off, you freak!”
Malfoy sneers, raising an eyebrow, but says nothing. He turns around and
disappears into the shadows of the corridor just as Hermione appears next to
you. She asks where you have been, and you mumble a lie about needing fresh
air, the party was too crowded. She admits that you do look flustered, perhaps
the two of you should take a walk. You refuse not so courteously, saying that
you've had enough fresh air for tonight. Right now all you need is a drink.
You need something to take your mind off certain things.
 
A week runs by and you tell yourself that you have not thought of Malfoy any
more than you usually do. Of course, you note him when he is at breakfast in
the Great Hall, when the Slytherins practise Quidditch, when he stands too
close to you in Potions. Nothing unusual. But when you find yourself seeking
his name on the Marauder's Map, and seeing dreams of grey eyes and malicious
laughs, you know you are in trouble. And when you wake with a throbbing hard-on
after one such dream, you realise it has gone too far. You need to talk to
Malfoy, ask him what he was playing at, and once and for all tell him to sod
off.
The next day you get your opportunity. You watch him as he goes to the supply
closet during Potions. Making sure that everyone else is busy with their
potions, you follow him. He startles as you close the door behind you, but his
surprise fades quickly to apathy.
“What are you up to, Potter?” he drawls, raising a pale eyebrow and leaning
back against the shelves nonchalantly. You take in a deep breath and open your
mouth to finally confront him, you ball your fists to hit him, but somehow you
find yourself paralyzed. Your eyes dart to Malfoy's eyes, to his neck, down to
where his collarbones peek out from under a loosely buttoned shirt. Malfoy has
begun breathing heavily under your piercing gaze, his chest rising and lowering
rapidly. And suddenly what you want, what you need, is not to hit him.
Before you know it you have leaped over the small space between you and pinned
Malfoy against the shelf. You kiss him violently and are ecstatic when he
answers with just as much fury, his fingers digging into you shoulders as you
bite, suck, ravage until you taste blood. The shelves shake with your drastic
movements, bottles of various potions bumping together. Your hands slither
under his shirt, his warm skin shuddering beneath your touch. His gasps and
moans are music to your ears.
Then a bottle of Calming Draught falls to the floor, and both of you freeze
mid-movement. Taking a step back from Malfoy, you stare at him quietly for a
minute. He looks back, swallowing loudly, before beginning to tuck his shirt
back into his pants. You need to find something to do, so you crouch down to
pick up the shards of broken glass.
“Potter! Why am I not surprised?”
You jump at the sound of Snape's voice, thanking god he didn't walk through
that door a minute earlier. Self-consciously trying to hide the blush creeping
over your nose, you stand before the Potions professor.
“I'm sorry, sir.” you mutter between clenched teeth, trying to catch a glimpse
of Malfoy's expression. To your frustration he looks completely calm, crossing
his arms in front of his chest. Smug as ever, knowing he wouldn't get in
trouble with Snape if he so brought a Blast Ended Skrewt into the classroom.
That would probably only result in additional points for creativity.
“Why is it always you who manages destruction in my classroom, Potter? Thirty
points from Gryffindor, and that potion will need to be replaced. Detention at
eight tonight.” Snape drawls in a manner that suggests the potion probably
wasn't even worth five points.
“Yes, Professor,” you sigh, while Snape huffs incredulously.
“Mr Malfoy, you get back to the classroom. I believe Mr Zabini has some
problems with your concoction. Potter, you will stay here and clean this up.
Manually.” The professor disappears in a swirl of black robes, followed by the
Slytherin. He doesn't even look back at you, and somehow that feels worse than
getting caught red-handed.
 
You spend the entire while in detention trying to ignore Snape's constant snide
comments, instead wrapping your mind around the issue of Malfoy. You have a
hard time believing your own actions earlier this evening, but an even harder
time believing Malfoy's reaction. You curse the blond Slytherin, the bastard
who has fucked you up so royally. As if you hadn't enough problems to begin
with.
“Alright, Potter. I think we're done here.”
You sigh out of relief and hurry out of the door before the greasy git changes
his mind. It's already 11pm, and the halls are long since empty. You curse
Snape out loud, thinking of how the hook-nosed bastard snatched the whole
evening from you. He probably knew you have an essay on Herbaology to turn in
tomorrow. Climbing the stairs, you clench your teeth, knowing you won’t get
much sleep tonight.
“Potter!”
You fight the urge to ignore Malfoy’s voice and continue up the stairs, and
turn around slowly.
“What is it, Malfoy?” you grit between clenched teeth. You really aren’t up for
any more of his bullshit right now.
Malfoy sneers, his white teeth glistening in the dim light of the moon. “You’re
out after curfew. That’ll cost you fifty points from Gryffindor and a
notification to McGonagall.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” you roar at Malfoy, face flushed from rage.
Reaching for your pocket, you look for your hall pass. Then you realise; Snape
didn’t give you one.
“Fuck!” you exclaim loudly, turning back to Malfoy who has reached you on the
stairs. You look at him pleadingly. ”Come on, Malfoy! You know Snape gave me
detention, cut me some slack, will you?” You try your best though you know your
pledge sounds for deaf ears.
“I never heard anything about a detention.” Malfoy grins, raising an insolent
eyebrow. “Sorry, Potter, there is nothing I can do for you.”
Something inside you snaps. You lunge at Malfoy, and only have time to see his
eyes widen in surprise before the two of you hit the floor. Your knees hit the
stone painfully, and Malfoy cries out under you as his head does the same. You
feel the urge to laugh at his pain, and before you know it you have raised your
fist and hit Malfoy hard above the cheekbone. He hisses and squeezes his eyes
shut for a second before he looks up at you and roars.
“You’ll pay for that!” He knees you in the gut, and you fall over in pain.
Malfoy straddles you as you fall, sitting down on your stomach and pinning your
hands above your head. You struggle beneath him, but he is strong and your
kicks fail to hit him. He leers viciously.
“You hit like a girl, Potter.”
And he leans down to kiss you.
In contrast to his hands still gripping you hard, his lips are surprisingly
soft against yours. He teases you, his slick tongue flicking barely inside your
mouth, his teeth lightly nibbling on your lower lip. You feel your breath start
to exhilarate, and you break your arms free from his grip to be able to tug at
his collar, run your fingers through his hair, claw at the naked skin you find
beneath his shirt.
He shivers under your touch, and you feel his erection digging into your hip.
It isn’t long before you are rutting together, giving into your lust as you
wanted to do in the storage room, giving into these insane desires that have
plagued you for days. Everything is rushed, you are breathless and seem to be
burning up, Malfoy’s every touch feels like fire on your body. It’s too hot, it
burns so much that you want to crawl out of your own skin. Yet, you can’t seem
to get enough. To know teenage lust has never felt as good as it does right
now, will never feel as brilliant as it does in this moment, on this cold, hard
floor, where anyone could walk by any minute and catch you.
When you come, though there are no fire works, you feel the earth shifting
beneath you. Malfoy gasps in your ear, repeating incoherent words with his eyes
closed, mouth twisted in a sneer as he too descends into bliss. He then rolls
off you, but remains laying beside you on the floor. You hear his breath
starting to even out, and you fight to calm the beating of your heart. After a
moment Malfoy draws a deep breath.
“I’m still taking those fifty points.”
You chuckle, closing your eyes as you move into a more comfortable position on
the floor. And for the first time in a long time, you decide to be honest to
yourself.
“I would’ve given a hundred.”
 
Finis.
 
 
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