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[hot-jupiters.livejournal.com]

Blah. So yeah. Hmm. I wrote this a short bit ago. Not sure if it qualifies as Harry/Draco since it's more about Harry beating Draco up and wanking off in the shower afterwards than anything.

Heh. Anyway, there's a hint of Bottom!Draco in it so I decided to post it here anyway!


Title: Unnatural.
Author: Danya.
Pairing: H/D, small hints of H/Hr and R/Hr.
Summary: Harry beats up Draco and then takes a shower. A bit dark, a bit bloody.
A/N: I completely ripped off the phrase "crimson stained" from crimson_stained, so I'm giving Rach the credit. Wee.

~~~~~

“Harry! No! You two! Stay back!”


There were words within that shrill shout, he was almost sure of it, but they didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense to him except for the repetitive, bruising pain that numbed his knuckles and fired his nerves. Over and over again; each blow collided with something solid, something angular and the pain refused to ebb as it spread throughout his veins and emptied into his blood. But that wasn’t all. Harry suspected that he wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for the satisfaction that came with these aches that seemed to want to shatter his bones to pieces. If it weren’t for the wounded, wheezing noises that filled his ears like rushing wind as his fingers crushed a sternum.


“Harry! Stop it! Ron! Help me!”


There were many hands clawing at his body now; grabbing at his shoulders and attempting to wrench his arms from his sockets. He continued to fight against them, lunging with all of his skinny, deceptive weight to break free of their hold. They couldn’t understand it; who were they to understand any of it? But it didn’t matter to him as he swung for more of that pleasure, growling deep within his being.


“Harry, that’s enough! You got him . . . goddamn you got him . . .” someone huffed incredulously, exertion leaking out with each hot breath that scraped across Harry’s neck. The voice was gritty with confusion, as if the owner didn’t know whether to be pleased or horrified. And then he was floating for a distinct moment. Being pulled away from a moaning, twitching body whose hands flew up to cover it’s moaning, twitching face.


There were vocal cords within Harry’s throat and he decided to use them as he continued to try and wrench himself loose. His hands were red; crimson stained from the blood pumping underneath his skin and the blood smeared atop it, and he grabbed onto the arms around his body, trying desperately to pry them away.


“Get off of me!” There was malice in his voice and a dirty hunger in his eyes as they darted left and right, wild and unsteady. He kicked and lashed out, growling as more hands lined themselves along his form to suppress his frantic rage. They cradled his jutting limbs and wrapped him up tight, keeping him from moving as someone tried to entangle their fingers with his own.


“Give him some space!” the rough, straining voice demanded. “I’m the bloody Prefect! You do as I damn well say!”


Harry heard the shuffling of feet as he lunged forward once more against the one pair of hands still firmly wrapped around him. A few students gasped and someone to the left of him coughed, the wet, gurgling sound filling his mouth with hot insults just waiting to be spat from his burning, contorted lips. There was another strangled moan and Harry’s lips curled as a few people began to haul Malfoy into a standing position.


“Hermione! Don’t let them try anything!” Harry could hear the anxiety in Ron’s voice, yet it didn’t faze him as he continued to struggle against the gangly body of his friend. Ron’s grip was strong and probably would have surprised him if he had been anyone else but himself; the one who roughhoused with on a regular basis. So he let himself appear calm for a few moments; waiting. He could handle them all if they wanted to take him on. He would bash their faces in just like he did Malfoy’s. He would leave them all in a drooling, pathetic pile of bodies if it came down to it, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.


He had only just noticed in the wake of his dormant hostility that Hermione, or a girl with equally bushy hair stood before him with her back to he and Ron both and her wand held out defensively. Harry knew it was her by the way her robes fell across her body. He was used to the sight of her slightly shapely form even without his glasses to remedy his vision. He watched as she subdued the group of Slytherins rushing forward to defend their most popular student with her easy-flowing words and excruciatingly sharp wit. She seemed to be rationalizing the situation quite calmly, but Harry was almost certain that it was the steady aim of her wandpoint that forced the six of them into a temporary non-aggression pact.


Harry idly wondered if her nipples were more brown than pink.


He watched as the Slytherins retreated angrily, supporting their wounded spokesman down the rest of the abandoned corridor. There were valiant promises of revenge and bodily torture on their part, which only made Harry smile even wider than before. Hermione turned to face them, nodding once towards who Harry assumed was Ron as her eyes refused to focus on his own.


“Clear out, everyone! Or I’ll report all of you for being out of your beds!”


“Oh shut up,” Dean returned, but the rest of the Gryffindor boys and girls that had snuck down that evening to watch as Harry finished off Malfoy once and for all eventually began to trickle off towards the tower.


“Harry. Harry, are you listening to me?” Hermione was talking to him, but he wasn’t paying attention. Ron’s hold had finally loosened, so he wrenched himself free, tossing the both of them angry glances before turning to head off himself. “Harry!”


“What?” he called over his shoulder as he continued down the corridor and dropped to the ground to feel around for his glasses. He had lost them after Malfoy had lost his wand and had turned to run for it, and for the rest of the fight everything had existed in unfocused gradients of shadows and lights. He had chased him down the whole of the corridor, finally reaching out to yank him back with a sharp tug to the back of his robes. Harry remembered that moment fondly as Malfoy had made the most pleasant choking sound when he had done so.


“Oh don’t be ridiculous. Accio Occulus!” she snapped from somewhere behind him, and Harry heard the whistling sound as what he presumed to be his glasses flew right past him and back towards where Ron and Hermione were. He shrugged, palms feeling around for shards of glass to save as mementos of one of the best experiences of his entire life.


“Harry,” she began as both her, and Ron wandered around to stand in front of him while he continued to gather up the shattered bits of his frames and stuff them into his pockets. He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth as he rose and began to scratch the drying blood from underneath his fingernails. “I’ve never seen you like that.”


“Yeah? And? We were supposed to beat the shite out of each other. We agreed to it,” he returned as he watched her utter a repairing spell on the pieces of glass still imbedded within the wire casing. He snatched his newly fixed glasses back from her, noting that she must have fixed them for him more than ten times by now, despite it being such an easy charm to do on one’s own.


“You were supposed to have a well-mannered wizarding duel, not disarm him the first second you could and resort to physical manhandling.”


“You know Malfoy never plays fair,” Harry shot back, his skin positively buzzing with tension and the promise of more violence to come. “Besides, I did everyone a favor and shut him up for a moment or two. Ron, come on, back me up here.”


Ron simply stood there with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking down at the floor. He was chewing on his lips – a habit he broke into whenever he felt the need to stay quiet.


Harry blinked, suddenly offended. His mouth split into a venomous grimace as he shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned in towards them with tense shoulders and flushing skin.


“You know what? Sod off, the both of you. I just want a shower.”


~O~


As Harry removed his shoes, he continued to remind himself that indeed, all he wanted was to huddle underneath the spray and rid himself of his treacherous thoughts.


There was so much blood – so much of it everywhere, and he had liked it. He had enjoyed the feel of something so wet, and warm, and positively vibrating with life as it dribbled across his skin. Parts of the blood had caked and dried between his fingers, and some of it had risen into congealed globs across his flesh. Most of it wasn’t his, but some of it was. Malfoy had gotten in quite a few good shots, and for someone so light and scrawny looking, he had been rather heavy-handed. Harry licked at the drying blood on his lip and slid his fingers across the fresh cut at his forehead. Perhaps Malfoy had given him a scar there too; no doubt he would love it if he had.


There were shards from his glasses on the tiled floor, and rather than step on them, he cradled the sharp edges over to the sink. He suspected they fell out of his robes as he tore them from his body, so he distractedly set them near the basin before turning to pad with cold feet along to the shower.


The shivering, fetus like position that Malfoy had curled himself into on the ground.


His lips, swollen and oozing bright red like the juices of sliced open cherries. Harry idly wondered if blood could stain his skin as he sharply jerked himself towards the shower. The sliding door felt cool beneath his fingertips and steadied him for a moment, numbing his mind and wiping away the sadistic imagery plaguing his head. Pictures of billowing dark robes faded with the steam as it hit the glass and dribbled down along the transparent door like salty tears.


Except the sprinkles of mist and steam were fresh and tasteless, wafting up from the marble floor where jets of water struck it violently; head on collisions resulting in clouds of smoke that licked at his body. The condensing water liquefied the drying crust of a trickle of blood that had laced its way across his forearm, and Harry watched as a trace of pink swirled its way down the drain.


He would be in trouble for this, he knew. He had lost control, inflicting serious wounds along Malfoy’s pale and twisting body. Harry had only seen his body a couple of times – catching little hints of it on passing through the Slytherin changing rooms after a Quidditch game or two – but he could almost visualize the rippling of skin across Malfoy’s ribcage as his body fought Harry’s beneath his robes.


Hermione had grown pert little breasts over the summer; rounded and perfect for her stature. Hermione, and her muddy brown hair. Hermione, and her stern, aggressive eyes. And her creamy, olive complexion. And her sudden, shocking femininity which she tossed around right alongside her static, bossy attitude as if to dare anyone to question her. She had a sharp wit and a uterus, and what are you going to do about it?


Ron could handle her if he wanted to, but he never did. Harry suspected that if they were sleeping together, Hermione was almost always on top.


On top of Malfoy with the knowledge that he had won before being so violently ripped from his conquest and restrained at the hands of both Gryffindors and Slytherins. Malfoy, so beautiful in all of his broken pride. So homely in his bleeding humility. His lips were even more beautiful than the usual pink when they were a bright, hissing crimson –


Harry opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t removed his glasses. He should’ve cast that damned Impervius charm on the new frames and just worn them into the shower, but he had been distracted.


His cock was firm and pulsing in his right hand and he glanced down objectively as that hand continued to squeeze and tug at the flesh at its own will. He wasn’t sure how long he had been stroking himself and decided against trying to remember when he had started as he was barely aware of his own limbs. Everything was hot, heavy, and suffocating - the drowning water from the shower blocking his pores, preventing him from breathing. The wet, droplet-coated cockhead was flushed angrily beneath the spray of the water as if personally offended that Harry’s mind wasn’t sharing in the same pleasure it was receiving from his own squeezing fingers.


The pangs of bliss finally caught up with him though and he suddenly tossed his back harshly against the marble wall, thighs shaking as his head fell against the hard surface. He barely registered the slight ache as his hair splattered against his forehead, body arching underneath the jets of water that struck his taut chest and abdomen.


He sucked in a breath, gasping dizzily as the humidity worked its way through his nostrils, into his brain and out of his ears. Everything was a blur, hitting him all at once – his hand against his cock and the murky storm before his eyes. The little moaning sounds Malfoy had made as Harry had clutched his jaw within his palm and forced those pale eyes to watch him deliver blow after blow. His cock bobbed and burned guilty pleasure through the pit of his stomach like adrenaline for the senses as he cried out, the memory of silky blond hair twisting around his fingers hot on his tongue.


Harry fisted his cock, his palm slapping wetly back and forth over the veined flesh as he slid down against the wall and curled inward. His knobby knees spread out in the shape of a V as the blood within his body began to pool at his lower body, rushing his cock and gathering within his calves and thighs. His head fell forward, chin meeting his chest as he felt lightheaded and unnatural.


Malfoy’s hair was unnaturally light for it to be considered blond. The color was indescribable, yet he saw it in his mind along with that twisting, pale body beneath his own. Legs spread and pushed up over his own shoulders – his own cock firing in and out of Malfoy’s stretched entrance – obscene and thick, tearing at him from deep inside – ripping gurgling screams of desire and need from his throat.


Blood rushed his ears and drowned out the steady sound of water hitting marble. That unnatural blond light exploded behind his eyes and rippled through his body like an electric current, shaking every last muscle within his legs and caused him to fall forward onto his knees. Come splattered the floor and trickled quickly toward the drain as Harry’s body shook violently, his eyes unseeing and his stomach beginning to churn.


It took him a while to be able to stand, and as he did so, he paused against the wall to wait for the tide to recede. It didn’t go peacefully, roaring within his ears as the soft, steady pitter-patter of the shower grew louder, his stomach muscles unusually tight and achy as if he were recovering from a particular nasty bout of motion sickness. His muscles were tingling; a sensation not unpleasant, but not enjoyable either. He pressed his shivering hands up against the sliding door and pushed it to the side with all of his might, nearly toppling forward as he couldn’t quite catch his breath and he couldn’t quite find his towel.


“Harry! Harry, hurry up!” someone called and he reached out a weak arm to clench his fingers convulsively around the doorknob. A little bit of a twist, come on, you can do it, just a little.


“Harry,” Ron announced calmly as Harry found himself face to face with him. Ron’s eyes roamed down his body, yet he didn’t blush as he shoved a towel casually at Harry’s quivering form.


“Yeah?” he croaked, voice low and raspy, breathless.


“Hurry up and get dressed. The Slytherins must have told Snape about what happened. I’ve got to bring you to Dumbledore.”


Harry nodded as he took the Gryffindor towel and wrapped it around his narrow waist. He swallowed thickly, and somehow felt the need to apologize for fantasizing about one of his best mate's girlfriend. He crushed the thought quickly though as it was pointless.


It hadn’t worked anyway.