Author:Cheryl Dyson
Website:http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1152666/
Email:xcpublishing@yahoo.com
Permission：
Absolutely! Thank you for asking! *hugs* I hope everyone enjoys them!
Cheryl
Title:Banishment
Paring:Draco/Harry
Summary:Auror-in-Training Harry crosses Pansy Parkinson, who gets revenge in a rather embarrassing fashion. Luckily, Draco decides to rescue him.
Rated:M
Warnings:MATURE SEXUAL CONTENT WARNING BLAH BLAH
~*~
Harry dragged back the shower curtain after setting his glasses on the edge of the sink. The door opened behind him and he turned with a frown, wondering why Ron always had to pee the moment he stepped into the shower. Honestly, couldn’t he hold it for ten minutes?
“Potter! Catch!”
Harry’s surprise at seeing Pansy Parkinson standing in the doorway did not prevent him from reflexively lifting his hand to grab the small, shiny object that spun toward him. He barely had time to note her smug smile before the wrenching sensation of magical travel gripped him.
A fucking Portkey.
He lost his balance when he landed and sprawled on a grassy hillock before shoving to his feet and looking around frantically.
“Parkinson, you fucking bitch!” he bellowed.
There was no one to hear him. Harry turned slowly, taking in the entirety of his surroundings. It would have been picturesque, if he had not been naked. And half-blind. And wandless.
Harry’s fists clenched and he threw the object—a pop top from a Muggle soda can—onto the ground and stomped on it with his bare heel. Which was only satisfying until his foot began to hurt from the repeated motion.
Fuck. He looked to be on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean. Waves lapped against the rocks in uneven rhythm and a gentle breeze made the grass undulate. Flowers grew in profusion. There were no trees, or buildings. Or anything else.
Harry made a slow circuit of the place, looking for anything that might provide cover or allow him to return to the Auror Training Facility. Fucking Parkinson. The only reason she had applied to be an Auror was her utter inability to stay away from Draco Malfoy. Why Malfoy had applied was anyone’s guess.
Harry turned his thoughts abruptly away from the blond, eyes searching the rocky shore for anything to use for clothing. Thankfully, it was a warm day, but the endless breeze was giving him a chill.
Thirty minutes later, he huddled near the cover of a large boulder, planning the ways in which he would have revenge on Pansy Parkinson, most of which involved using her as a test subject for George Weasley’s latest projects.
“Is anyone here?” he heard and bounded to his feet with a glad cry. He poked his head over the side of the boulder and then pulled it back with a horrified gasp.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Why him? Why did it have to be him?
Harry thought about banging his head on the rock before him. Maybe if he knocked himself out, Malfoy would take his unconscious body back and Harry wouldn’t have to see the mocking expression on his face.
“There you are, Potter.” The voice came from above him and Harry looked up with a startled cry and took a step back. His foot turned on a stone and sent him sprawling backward into the grass. The resulting pose left him fully exposed to Malfoy’s amused gaze—cock, balls, and arsehole.
Harry felt a blush start somewhere near his chest and flood to every cell of his skin. Hell, his hair had probably turned six shades of red. He had envisioned laying before Malfoy in such a fashion, but never with utter humiliation attached.
He scrambled to his feet as Malfoy hopped down from the top of the boulder, graceful as ever. Harry brushed dirt from his arse and kept his gaze firmly on Malfoy’s feet, wishing for something—anything—with which to cover himself.
“What did you do to her this time?” Malfoy asked in an amused tone.
“I called her a cow at breakfast,” Harry admitted petulantly. “After she insulted Hermione.” To his horror, his teeth began to chatter and he realized the blush had only warmed him for a moment.
Malfoy sighed. “I would have been here sooner, but it took me a while to pry your location out of her. She can be vicious, Potter. You really should stay on her good side.”
“She doesn’t have a good side,” Harry snarled. His teeth clattered and he clenched his jaw to stop the involuntary movement.
“Bloody hell, you’re freezing.” Malfoy stepped forward and began to unbutton his shirt. Harry’s eyes snapped upward, meeting the grey eyes for the first time.
“W… What are you doing?”
Malfoy stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around Harry’s shoulders before pulling him close, holding him like a lover. Harry’s brain went elsewhere as coherency deserted him. Malfoy’s shirt—still warm from his body—felt exquisite, as did the strong arms around his shoulders and the bare skin of his torso.
“You’re going to catch your death, Potter. Hypothermia is a very real danger. Damn Pansy, she went too bloody far this time,” Malfoy was saying.
Harry no longer cared about Pansy Parkinson. He rested his jaw on Malfoy’s shoulder and pressed his cheek against Malfoy’s ear and breathed in the lovely, clean scent of his hair. He refrained from putting his arms around the blond, standing woodenly, as if he hadn’t fantasised about this a thousand times, ever since Malfoy had appeared in the Auror Training Program, looking ridiculously fit, and acting like a completely different person. Gone were the sneering looks, the barbed insults, the vicious hexes. Malfoy never even rose to the challenge of Ron’s thinly-veiled threats. He seemed utterly focussed on becoming an Auror.
“Come on,” Malfoy said against his hair. “Let’s get you back and warmed up. You’re shivering.”
Harry felt the wrench of Apparation and then more blessed warmth surrounded him as the wind disappeared and they were inside once more. Malfoy moved away immediately and Harry glanced around. They were in a small bathroom that resembled the one Harry had been yanked from earlier, except the layout was reversed.
Malfoy’s bathroom, he realized. One floor up and down the hall from the room he shared with Ron. Malfoy did not share his room with anyone, ostensibly because it was the smallest room in the house, but also because no one wanted to share with him. Except Parkinson. And Harry, but no one knew about that.
He watched, clutching the white shirt tightly, even though he realized the hem was not quite long enough to cover the tip of his cock, which peeped from beneath the fabric. Thankfully, Malfoy was paying no attention; he was busy turning on the water in the shower, adjusting it until steam billowed.
“All right. In you go,” Malfoy ordered. Harry reluctantly stripped off the shirt. After all, Malfoy had already seen everything there was to see. His entire arm shook as he gave the shirt back. Harry had not realized how cold he had become. His body temperature must have dropped quite a lot during his exile.
He stepped into the shower and nearly yelped at the heat. Malfoy quickly turned down the temperature and pulled the curtain partially closed.
“Better?” he asked.
Harry nodded and let the warm water cascade over him. It seemed to increase his need to shiver, for some reason. Malfoy looked at him critically. Harry was hyperaware of his presence, torn between the need for him to leave and the desire for him to stay.
“Th… thanks, Malfoy,” he stuttered.
“Damn it all,” Malfoy said and wrenched the curtain shut. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the sound of the door.
Instead, the curtain rings slid over the bar again. Harry’s eyes flew open when an arm snaked around his abdomen and a warm torso pressed up against his back.
“Relax, I’m not doing anything perverted; I’m only trying to warm you faster. I’d rather not be blamed for Pansy’s moment of foolishness if anything should happen to you.”
Harry barely registered the words. All he knew was that Draco Malfoy was in the shower with him. Draco Malfoy. Was Naked. In the shower. With him.
Malfoy’s skin felt nearly molten against his back and his hands splayed over Harry’s front, one on his chest and one on his abdomen. Malfoy’s right cheek pressed into Harry’s left and—oh dear Merlin—his cock nestled right up against Harry’s buttocks. It was soft, thankfully, with no interest on Malfoy’s part, but the feel of it alone, coupled with Malfoy’s nearness… With a flare of panic, Harry realized that all the blood that was supposed to be warming him had made an abrupt detour and began to gleefully engorge his prick.
“All right?” Malfoy asked softly, turning his head so that his lips brushed against Harry’s earlobe when he spoke.
Harry could only nod, hoping like hell that Malfoy would not look down and notice his condition, which only worsened when Malfoy began to move his hands. He stroked Harry’s chest and abdomen in sweeping movements intended to warm him up, Harry supposed, and it was certainly working. Harry’s chills were rapidly diminishing.
Fuck, Malfoy’s hands felt good. One of them drifted down, sliding past Harry’s navel and a bit beyond. Lower! Harry’s senses screamed even as rationality nearly stopped his heart with nervous tension.
Malfoy’s other hand brushed over a nipple, sending a spike of unexpected pleasure to Harry’s painfully hard cock. His head lolled back unconsciously and he bit his lip to suppress a moan.
“Potter,” Malfoy said and his voice was different, somehow, deeper, making the R sound almost like a growl. It was ludicrously erotic, not that Harry needed assistance in that department, at the moment.
Harry tried to reply, but the only sound that came out was something like, “Unnnghhh.”
“Fuck,” Malfoy snapped and then a hand curled in Harry’s wet hair, twisting slightly, and then Malfoy’s mouth was on his. He was kissing Harry and it was an odd angle and almost painfully harsh, and the most wondrous thing Harry had ever experienced. With a jolt, he realized Malfoy’s cock was no longer limp, but quite hard between his arse cheeks.
Harry opened his mouth and turned his head even more, granting Malfoy better access, hell, begging for his tongue, which obligingly inserted itself with flicking caresses. Harry’s brain sparked enough for his hands to move and he reached back to grab Malfoy’s buttocks with both hands, wrenching the blond even closer.
Malfoy retaliated by grabbing Harry’s cock. Harry nearly came right then. His cock jumped in Malfoy’s hand, which thankfully tightened in just the right spot, preventing Harry’s orgasm.
“Damn you, Potter,” Malfoy said and this time his voice was a definite growl. “I thought I was imagining it. The lustful glances, the dreamy stares, the sighs. How long have you wanted this?”
“Forever,” Harry admitted, although it wasn’t completely true. He hadn’t known he preferred men until somewhat recently, and hadn’t known he wanted Malfoy until seeing him again when Auror Training began. But it had seemed like forever, stuck in this communal house with Malfoy so near, and yet so untouchable.
“I wish I’d known,” Malfoy said. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since sixth year.”
Malfoy wrenched him around and slammed Harry’s back against the tile without losing his grip on Harry’s cock. His feet kicked Harry’s legs apart, forcing him to clutch Malfoy’s shoulders for balance.
“I’ve dreamed of you on your knees, Potter. On your back, bent over my desk, tied up, collared, shackled, begging for mercy. But Gryffindors don’t beg, do they, Potter?”
Harry shook his head, too drugged with lust to be alarmed, because Malfoy’s hand was moving, sending shudders of pure delight coursing through him. Malfoy’s lips captured his again, bruising, and that was all right, too. Harry’s hands left Malfoy’s wet shoulders and moved downward until one curved over a sharp hipbone and the other found Malfoy’s cock.
The near-painful kiss ended when Malfoy gasped against his lips and then groaned. He tipped his head and pressed biting kisses along Harry’s neck. Harry stroked Malfoy’s cock, following the rhythm set by Malfoy’s hand. Their thumbs bumped for a moment, and then Malfoy’s hand disappeared. Harry moaned aloud at the loss.
Malfoy’s hands were on his hips, pressing him even harder against the tiles. Malfoy’s mouth nibbled at Harry’s earlobe. “Tell me how much you want this, Potter. Tell me you want it.”
Harry opened his fingers until Malfoy’s cock rubbed against his own. Malfoy thrust forward, driving the tip of his prick into Harry’s.
“I want it,” Harry rasped.
Malfoy’s hand snaked between them and he cupped Harry’s balls while asking, “You want me to fuck you?” His fingers brushed the sensitive flesh near Harry’s arsehole. His other hand twined in Harry’s, removing it from their pricks and placing it firmly against the wall.
“Yes,” Harry said, near mindless, willing to agree to anything as long as Malfoy kept touching him. He rutted against Malfoy, seeking more contact on his throbbing erection, but Malfoy shifted his hips back, denying him. Harry petulantly raised one leg and hooked it around Malfoy's arse, trying to drag him forward, but the blond held steady.
“Beg me,” Malfoy demanded and Harry’s outrage rushed to the forefront, halted in its tracks when Malfoy touched his hole with a fingertip and pressed in lightly.
Oh dear Merlin. “Please,” he whispered, quivering with need.
“I can’t hear you.”
Fucking tosser! “Please,” Harry snarled loudly through clenched teeth. “I would very much like it if you would please fuck me right fucking now.”
“Well, if you insist,” Malfoy said smugly and buried his full length in Harry, who yelped at the unexpectedness of the entry. It hadn’t hurt—how the hell had Malfoy cast a wordless, wandless Lubrication Charm? The question was fleeting and lost all importance when Malfoy pulled partially out and drove in once more, slamming Harry up onto his toes and causing his back to slide almost painfully against the tiles.
The third stroke lifted Harry completely off his feet and he frantically wrapped his legs around Malfoy’s hips. Malfoy grunted, suddenly encumbered with the entirety of Harry’s weight.
Malfoy dragged him away from the wall with a muffled oath and turned, gripping Harry’s arse with both hands. He overbalanced, or slipped, and Harry felt them falling. His reflexes were useless—he flung out a hand, but there was nothing to latch onto. Harry’s felt the shower curtain against one side of his back, an instant of resistance, and then the curtain ripped free of the rings as he and Malfoy tipped straight out of the shower.
Harry landed on his back and would have cracked his head against the floor if not for some sort of cloth that cushioned him—Malfoy’s trousers, most likely. Malfoy sprawled atop him and, miraculously, his cock had not completely dislodged from Harry. They stared at each other in surprise for a moment and then a familiar smirk decorated Malfoy’s lips.
“Much better,” he said and shoved into Harry again. It was better, because now Malfoy’s cock dragged over something inside that caught Harry unaware. It caused him to gasp and arch his back, and dig his fingers into Malfoy’s arms hard enough to leave bruises. It gave Malfoy additional leverage for his movements, which became almost frenzied as Harry’s murmured phrases (yes, Malfoy, fuck, fuck, harder, yes) drove him faster and deeper.
Malfoy latched onto Harry’s leaking cock suddenly, fisting it roughly. “Is this what you want, Potter?”
Harry had no chance to respond, because the touch was more than enough to send him over the edge. Hell, the question alone might have done it. He nearly bit though his lip to suppress a cry, knowing the walls of the house were not exactly soundproof. He was surprised the thump of them falling had not brought someone to investigate.
He felt Malfoy shudder and the grip on his cock tightened, milking the last few drops as Malfoy shivered above him and then collapsed, nearly jarring the air from his lungs again. Their breathing was loud, but as it resumed more normal levels, Harry could hear the shower. He knew water was beginning to pool on the floor, but Malfoy seemed under no compunction to rise.
Harry tentatively stroked one firm arse cheek, knowing he would likely never get another chance, now that Malfoy’s need for angry sex had been sated.
The blond head rose and grey eyes met his. Malfoy’s expression baffled him.
“Are you all right?” Malfoy asked gently.
Harry nodded. He would no doubt have bruises on his arse, and probably other places, but he was beyond satisfied at the moment.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Malfoy continued. “Are you… warm again?”
Harry had to laugh. One moment Malfoy was trying to fuck him to death and the next he was concerned.
“Yes, the next time I have a chill I will definitely seek you out,” he admitted.
Malfoy smiled and Harry thought it might have been one of the nicest sights he had ever seen. The blond leaned down and placed a surprisingly tender kiss on Harry’s lips. At that moment, the door opened. Harry jerked his head back and blinked, upside down, at the person who stood there, struggling to focus without spectacles.
“I hate you, Potter!” Pansy Parkinson snarled. The door slammed with enough force to knock something into the sink and Malfoy began to laugh.
Harry frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Obviously, you’re going to have to move into my room so I can protect you from her wrath. She’ll be out for blood, now.”
Harry touched Malfoy’s handsome face in bemusement, wondering where the animosity had gone. Not that he minded.
“Do you… want me to move into your room?” he asked.
“Sixth year, Potter. We have a huge number of issues to work out, don’t you think? Whenever I get annoyed with you, I plan to fuck you into any available surface. That will be easier if you’re already in my bed.”
“I think I can live with that arrangement,” Harry said quickly, already plotting ways to annoy him.
—END—
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发表于 2009-7-25 16:20
