Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13308336.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Hogwarts_Sixth_Year
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-08 Words: 3880
****** Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had a Wand Fight in the Bathroom ******
by petulantpages
Summary
     If, when Draco begins to cast Crucio, Harry reverts to his days
     defending himself from Dudley rather than whipping out a spell he'd
     never used before, what could happen? Oneshot. Smut. PWP. HPDM
Notes
     This story is unedited, so please forgive any spelling errors. Also,
     it’s all J.K. Rowling’s, I own nothing, but I like to play with her
     boys.
Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Draco Malfoy crying had been
the furthest from whatever that was. And he wasn’t really surprised when Malfoy
responded by trying to curse him. He supposed, had he been in Malfoy’s
position, he wouldn’t be keen to show his enemy weakness, either. Nevertheless,
he thought as he logrolled out of the way of another curse and fired off
another of his own without really thinking about it, this was getting out of
hand. The bathroom was being destroyed around them, bits of debris kept pelting
him from all angles and a layer of dust covered the floor, mixing with the
water now spraying from several different leaks to create a cakey mixture that
was slowly covering his entire person. Harry sprung to his feet, ducked behind
a stall, and darted out to try to get closer to Malfoy and take him by
surprise, but the blond git was closer than he realized, and Harry stumbled as
he tried to redirect himself. Malfoy snarled and shouted, “Cruc—“
In the face of that curse, Harry’s brain shut down, reverting to his childhood
days fending off his cousin. He dove for Malfoy’s legs, where he could easiest
unbalance the blond, and the slippery mixture on the floor sent him sliding,
sweeping through Malfoy, who fell over on top Harry, his wand flying from his
hand in the confusion of the fall. Harry scrambled to get the upper hand,
slipping out from under the blond while he was still surprised and heaving his
own weight on top of Malfoy. There was a moment’s pause, and Harry thought he’d
won. He grinned, and had just managed to bust out a “Ha!” when he found himself
flat on his back, with Malfoy’s eyes glittering down at him with a “ha” of
their own. But Malfoy had made the mistake of straddling Harry, and Harry knew
how to deal with that. He thrust his hips up, and Malfoy fell forward with his
lips in a little “o” and his hands planted on either side of Harry’s head.
Harry grabbed the right one, bending Malfoy’s elbow to unbalance him so Harry
could flip them back over. Of course, he didn’t expect Malfoy to be ready for
that, and have his legs locked firmly around Harry’s waist. Malfoy was smirking
at him now, in an infuriating way, but after seeing Malfoy’s real anger, his
real hatred, this expression almost seemed friendly. Challenging. Like when
they were younger. When things were simpler. When Harry could notice how sharp
the other boy’s hips were and how pink his lips were without it being sexual.
Like now, where Harry was wondering if Malfoy’s hair would really be as soft as
it had always looked.
He shook himself. None of that, now. It wouldn’t do to be distrac—Malfoy
flipped them over again, and this time Harry wrapped his legs around Malfoy’s
waist, tight, to restrict the other boy’s movement as much as possible. He had
a feeling Malfoy wouldn’t get distracted as easily as Harry had. And, because
he had locked him in so tight, Harry happened to notice that there was a
distinctive bulge in Malfoy’s trousers. He noticed this at nearly the same time
that Malfoy felt the bulge in Harry’s trousers. Harry watched Malfoy’s gaze
carefully as his grey eyes melted into silver pools, so warm that Harry started
to sweat.
“I don’t think—” but then Harry wasn’t thinking anything, because Malfoy had
leaned down and planted his mouth on Harry’s. Malfoy’s lips were as soft as
they were pink, and Harry found his fingers in Malfoy’s hair without quite
remembering how they’d gotten there, and it was just as soft as it looked, even
with the dust and mud in it from their fight. Harry tugged at it, and that
somehow meant that there was more of Malfoy against more of Harry and Harry
thought that was quite alright. Malfoy was at least as good at snogging as he
was at fighting. Then again, the way that their tongues were pushing and their
teeth were nipping and their cheeks were sucking, kissing was rather like
fighting. It was competitive, and they’d always been good at competing.
Harry bit down on Malfoy’s lower lip, hard, and a metallic taste fluttered
across his tongue as Malfoy moaned, his tongue finally wrestling Harry’s into
submission and then stroking the roof of his mouth, just behind his teeth, in a
way that sent shivers down Harry’s back. He tilted his head back with a gasp,
and Malfoy took that as an invitation to latch himself onto Harry’s neck, where
he nipped and sucked until Harry gasped, seeing stars, and then he bit hard on
that particular spot. Harry dug his fingers into Malfoy’s back, clutching at
him and pressing his own body into the Slytherin’s. He forced his thoughts
together long enough to force Malfoy back onto his back, but the Slytherin
looked like he didn’t have any protest to the new position, not even after
Harry had ripped his shirt open, popping all the buttons off, though he did
raise an eyebrow, as if to say, “Now, was that really necessary?”
Harry wasn’t interested in debating methods with Malfoy. He was interested in
the expanse of pearlescent skin that gleamed up at him. For a pointy git,
Malfoy was remarkably well-defined. And Harry decided to punish him for having
such well-toned muscles by licking his way through the ridges between each and
every one of them. He started with Malfoy’s pectorals, and bit savagely at his
nipples before he moved on, passing over his abs with fervent purpose, pausing
to bite down when it suited him. Harry was moving ever closer to the waistband
of Malfoy’s slacks, and he slid his hands down the boy’s thighs, pushing them
wide so they straddled Harry’s shoulders.
Malfoy was panting and sighing, huffing and hissing, biting down moans and
pulling Harry’s hair with both hands. When Harry had finished with his abs, he
planted his tongue on the seat of Malfoy’s trousers and licked a firm stripe
all the way up to the waistband. Malfoy moaned loudly.
“Tell me what you want,” Harry said, “I want to hear the Slytherin Prince
begging me to get him off.”
“In your dreams, Potter,” Malfoy huffed, but his hands were still in Harry’s
hair, urging him towards his cock.
“Say it, or I’ll leave you laying here on the floor like a cheap whore, to take
care of your problem all alone,” Harry murmured, rising up to whisper it hotly
in Malfoy’s ear, hand palming the problem in question.
Malfoy growled and bit Harry’s earlobe. He tugged on it meanly, but hissed
through his teeth, “Please, Scarhead. I need your pretty little lips on my
cock.”
Harry decided that was good enough, after all, he was rather eager to perform
the act in question, and it wouldn’t do to scare Malfoy off before he got a
look at the goods. So he drew back long enough to unzip Malfoy’s trousers,
discover that the Slytherin wasn’t wearing any pants, and pull his prize free.
Then he set about reducing the Ice Prince to a hot, sloppy mess. He sucked and
licked and spat and nibbled the skin around the base, he touched his teeth
ever-so-gently to the back of Malfoy’s cockhead, he sucked the blond’s balls up
into his cheeks. In minutes, Malfoy was writhing and moaning and clutching at
Harry as if he never wanted to let him off his cock. Harry looked up to find
Malfoy watching him with a look of awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he
was seeing. He backed off of Malfoy’s cock, and without breaking eye contact,
slid all the way down it until the head slipped into his throat. Malfoy’s jaw
fell open and suddenly he tossed his head back, smacking it against the stone
floor in what Harry could only assume was a very painful surrender to his
bliss, which distracted Harry from dwelling much more on Draco’s head, since
his other head was expelling said bliss down Harry’s throat. Harry swallow it
happily, but as Draco came down from his high, Harry became increasingly aware
of his own need, and he sat back on his heels, undid the zipper of his jeans,
and pushed past the waistband of his pants to grip his own cock.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re not the only one with a need,” Harry said.
“I’m not done with you yet,” Malfoy snapped, scowling.
Harry gaped at him. “I’m not a pet, or a servant.”
Malfoy smirked and reached for his trousers, rocking his arse up and sliding
them off his legs in one motion. “Don’t worry, I think you’ll like this.” Then
he sat up, put one hand on Harry’s chest, and pushed him back so he was
sitting. He spat on his fingers and reached around behind himself while he
lowered his mouth over Harry’s cock. Harry suddenly understood Malfoy’s
awestruck expression. To have the Slytherin Prince on his knees in front of
him, bent over with his pink lips around Harry’s cock and his long, slim
fingers up his arse was a picture that Harry thought he would be having some
really inappropriate fantasies about for months to come.
For a moment, Harry remembered that there was a war on, and that Malfoy was one
of the bad guys, and that they had been trying to kill each other not ten
minutes ago, but he couldn’t think about that now. Not when Malfoy made such a
nice picture over his lap. Though now that he had time to really look at him,
and look at him naked, no less, or mostly naked, since the shirt that used to
be a button-up was still hanging off one arm, Harry could tell that Malfoy was
not well. He was covered in bruises and cuts, and though his muscles were well-
defined, they didn’t fill him out, leaving him looking emaciated. Harry knew
that he hadn’t been eating. He’d noticed as much, and the dark under his eyes,
but to see him like this made it obvious that Malfoy was distressed.
But Harry didn’t care that the blond was distressed. It wasn’t his place. They
weren’t friends.
He groaned as Malfoy sucked deeply on Harry’s cock. Well, they didn’t have to
be friends to bugger. Right? He watched Malfoy spit on his fingers again and
add the lubrication to his now well-prepared arse. He smiled up at Harry around
his cock. It made said cock twitch. Without warning him, Harry reached forward
and slipped his hands under Malfoy’s thighs. The Slytherin released his cock
and Harry pulled him up so Malfoy’s legs were on either side of Harry’s hips.
He looked up at Malfoy, who he was disappointed to find looking at something
behind Harry’s back with a little frown. It wasn’t like the over-performed
frowns Harry was used to seeing on him, but a small, genuine little thing that
seemed almost uncertain.
“What?” Harry asked, sounding a little bitterer than he had wanted to. But
honestly, what could be more deserving of Malfoy’s attention at that moment
than Harry, and Harry’s cock, and the fact that he was about to completely
destroy Malfoy’s arse?
“It’s just… I realized we hadn’t locked the door. Anyone could come in, and
look at this place. Salazar, look at us,” Malfoy groaned, but this groan was
one of displeasure, and he raised a hand to run anxiously down his face. “We
really can’t be…”
Well, Harry had to put an end to that. So he waved his hand at the door, the
lock audibly clicked, and he stuck his tongue in Malfoy’s navel.
“Bloody hell,” Malfoy moaned, and then he was gripping Harry’s head, tugging
him towards his mouth. “Fuck, that was hot,” Malfoy moaned, fixing his mouth on
Harry’s and still tugging at the Gryffindor’s head. Harry decided he’d had
rather enough tugging, thank you very much, and instead pushed the blond back
against the nearest wall, got his feet under him, and hoisted Malfoy up the
wall, all without breaking the kiss. Or, rather, all while furiously claiming
Malfoy’s mouth. He held the other boy up against the wall with the full length
of his body, which he was realizing was still clad in far too many clothes, so
he quickly dropped his jeans and pants and let Malfoy send his T-shirt the same
way as Malfoy’s button-up, which was still hanging from his forearm like a
pesky hangnail. Harry reached for it, but the moment Malfoy felt his touch on
his arm, he drew back. “Don’t,” he snapped. Then he looked away, and said in a
quieter voice, “Don’t.”
And Harry understood. He was hiding the mark. “I know it’s there. No sense
hiding it from me.”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
Malfoy scowled. “It’s sex, not therapy, Scarhead.” But there wasn’t any venom
in it, really. Not the way Harry used to think there was when Malfoy used one
of his patented nicknames for Harry. In fact, considering the array of them,
Harry was wondering if there wasn’t some small bit of affection in them.
He adjusted his grip on Malfoy to make sure the git was thoroughly trapped,
then offered a genuine smile. A safe smile. “I want to know. Then sex. As much
sex as you want.”
The scowl turned into a feral, appreciative grin. “Careful about making
promises you can’t keep, Potter.”
Harry looked him over with as much appreciation. “Oh, I intend to keep it. Just
tell me this.”
Malfoy was scowling again. “Why? So you can mock me? Rub it in my face?”
“No. Just so I can know. It’ll stay between us.”
He half expected Malfoy to hit him with some barb about Ron and Hermione, but
none came. He was steadfastly avoiding Harry’s gaze. So Harry prodded him a
bit, rocking so the tip of his cock brushed over Malfoy’s arse. “Why hide it?”
“I’m not hiding it. I’m hiding from it,” Malfoy grumbled. “Happy?”
Harry wasn’t, not really, he didn’t understand. But he wanted to appease
Malfoy, so he nuzzled the other boy’s neck, found the sensitive spot, and
started working on it. He paused long enough to murmur, “Why hide from it?”
“I should think you- ah- would under-ah-stand, of all people, Pot-Pot-ah…”
“I understand hating it, I don’t understand why you hate it.”
Malfoy moaned under his ministrations, and started thrusting his hips, but
Harry put a quick stop to that, and Malfoy growled. “Because it’s a bloody
curse. A curse on my home, on my family. A curse that my father passed to me
and I don’t want it spoiling this.”
Harry felt a little thrill at the thought that Malfoy thought there was
something to spoil, but he wasn’t eager to evaluate what that meant. Instead,
he growled appreciatively, lifted Malfoy’s arm to a squealed protest, and used
his teeth and one hand to rip the shirt off at the sleeve, so Malfoy could hide
his mark and Harry could get the blasted shirt out of the way.
“That was Kiel Arman.”
Harry didn’t know who that was, and he didn’t particularly care, and he thought
it would be much better if Malfoy didn’t care, either. So he set about making
sure that Malfoy forgot all about Kiel Whoever. He spat into his hand, rubbed
it over Malfoy’s hole, and then spat into his hand again to rub it over his
member. Deciding that it would have to do, he steadied himself and Malfoy
against the wall, lined himself up, and slowly pushed the head of his cock into
his rival’s tight channel.
“Merlin, you’re so tight,” Harry moaned. He rocked himself deeper. Malfoy was
clawing at Harry’s back, his fingernails bringing a sharp sting, like shooting
stars, to his skin. Harry kept rocking in deeper until he bottomed out, and
Malfoy’s arse was flush against Harry’s hips. Malfoy was panting like a wounded
animal. “Are you alright?” Harry asked.
“Alright? Salazar, Harry, I’m bloody brilliant. Just move, will you?”
Harry heard his name, he supposed, but he heard it more physically than with
his ears. It wasn’t quite so much a name as it was a gas pedal, and Harry
obliged Malfoy in his request to move. Harry moved as if it was his very last
chance. He withdrew nearly all the way, only to slam back into Malfoy’s tight
channel, and Malfoy’s head was buried in his shoulder, his arms wrapped tight
around Harry’s back, so they weren’t so much against the wall, now, as Malfoy
was clinging to Harry as if his life depended on it, moaning like a wanton
whore. Harry lifted a hand to Malfoy’s head, threaded his fingers through his
hair, held the other boy’s head to his shoulder in an oddly tender position,
and suddenly Malfoy had latched on to Harry’s earlobe again and his moans had
turned to murmurs.
“Take me like I’m your bloody consolation prize, Harry. Like I’m your spoils of
war to do with as you please. Put those Quidditch muscles to work, show me what
makes you fly, fly like a fucking eagle. You’re not just a pretty face, Potter.
You’re a fucking stud and everyone knows it. Everyone sees it but not like I
do, because I made you that way. I challenged you and you made yourself better
to meet me tit for tat, but now you’re going to show me, aren’t you? Show me
what a fucking stud you are, come on, Harry. Make magic to me, show me your
power, how the magic just bends to your will, no wand, no words, that sexy
power, come on Harry, show me.”
And Harry did. He became wrapped up in Draco’s words, and he was moving faster
and faster, and Draco’s murmurs broke off in favor of a broken screech of
“Harry! Harry!” and Harry heard himself saying “Draco,” which did it for the
blond, and his muscles clenched around Harry as he slammed into Draco’s body
once more and exploded. He tossed his head back, eyes wide, and they became
wider still when he saw all the debris from their earlier fight frozen in
midair. It hovered all around them, even the droplets of water, now separated
out from the dust. It seemed to glitter, almost, the water reflected the light
from the little lights near the sink and tossed it all over the room. For that
moment, when Harry and Draco both peaked and their bliss wholly overcame them,
everything froze. Then Harry lifted his head enough to find Draco’s mouth and
he was snogging him with gusto as he pumped the last of his release into the
blond. Draco sighed happily.
“Did you see that?” he asked. “Merlin. You’re incredible.” Almost before he’d
said it, Draco scowled, as if to say that was meant to be an insult, and Harry
had better take it as such. But Harry just laughed.
“Secret’s out, Draco. You’re a closet Harry Potter fan.”
“I’m not a fan. I’ve got an actual right to you, fans are nobodies.”
“You don’t have a right to—” Harry began indignantly.
“Well, you do clean up well, don’t you,” Draco said, climbing off of Harry with
far too much elegance for the Gryffindor’s taste. Draco was supposed to walk
funny. He was supposed to be embarrassed that he had clung to Harry like a
child and let him do all the work. He was supposed to—
Oh. Harry got it. Harry had done all the work. And Draco had provoked him into
some very intense, practically mind-blowing sex. It had worked out for both of
them, but Draco was very aware of what he had done and was quite pleased with
himself.
“What do you mean ‘clean up’?” Harry asked, turning to watch the blond. And
when Draco walked up to a fully intact set of mirrors to arrange his hair,
which didn’t contain a speck of the earlier debris, Harry got it. He looked
around the room. Everything looked as it had when he’d entered. As if their
fight had never happened. “Oh.”
“There’s the IQ, making a brief appearance,” Draco said, but his eyes met
Harry’s in the mirror, and they were light. Harry found it hard to believe that
this boy had been crying when he’d entered. That he’d called him Malfoy when he
entered. That he’d hated him when he entered. Harry remembered why he was
supposed to hate Malfoy, but suddenly he wasn’t quite sure he trusted his
memories. He’d seen for himself how tender the names were, and how lighthearted
the smirk could be, and how honest-to-Merlin sensitive Draco could get. He’d
seen for himself how appalled Draco was by the mark on his own arm. How upset
he was when Harry had entered. It occurred to Harry that what had started this
rivalry was a hasty decision during the very first meeting of two boys who had
only a small world view from which to judge. When they had met, Draco had
likely never been told by anyone that his father might sometimes be wrong, and
Harry had only known of two kinds of people: like-the-Dursleys and not-like-
the-Dursleys.
Now, the world seemed to be at least thirty shades of grey.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, ok?” Harry said.
Draco snorted. “What, my arse too tight for you?”
“I can help. I’d like to help.”
“With what?” Draco asked. His attention had drifted to his scattered clothing.
“Your problem. Or problems. Anything. Everything. The Mark. Whatever had you
upset when I came in here. I want to help.”
Draco looked up, then, and he seemed to be debating with himself how to take
that. Finally he said, “Why?”
“Because,” Harry held out his hand in a gesture he was fairly sure Draco would
recognize, “maybe I was too hasty. Maybe I didn’t know how big of a decision I
was making. Maybe there are better uses for our energy than fighting each
other. Maybe it’s not too late to try a different path.”
Draco did nothing but stare at Harry’s hand for a minute, but Harry didn’t
budge. He intended to stand there with his hand out until the blond took it.
Eventually he looked up, meeting Harry’s eyes with his own conflicted grey
ones. “You mean it?”
Harry smiled. “I mean it.”
“What will I owe you?”
Harry laughed. “The whole point of friendship is that you won’t owe me
anything. Though you do have a fine ass, so if you wanted to do this again I
certainly wouldn’t argue.”
Draco looked back at his hand, and slowly, haltingly, he took it. They shook
once, and then stood there, staring at their joined hands. Harry was the one to
let go, but he smiled reassuringly at Draco. They dressed in silence, passing
clothes without really looking at each other. As they headed for the door,
Draco said. “You know, I wouldn’t mind doing this again either.”
Harry grinned and held the door open so they could pass through the door and
into a completely different reality.
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