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Why did Harry have to room with Malfoy?
Like, he knew why; promoting inter-house unity, showing the other students that even enemies like Malfoy and him could overcome their differences, all that bullshit. That didn’t mean Harry had to be happy about it.
“Potter, please stop dropping your clothes on the floor,” Malfoy said, picking up the offending shirt and draping it over the footboard of Harry’s bed. He didn’t look Harry in the eye, kept his voice even and composed, and it was pissing Harry off. He frowned, sitting up from where he was reclined on his bed, and Malfoy moved so he was out of his reach. Harry’s frown deepened, and severe irritation reared its ugly head in his chest. He grabbed the shirt from the footboard and threw it to the floor, right next to Malfoy’s feet. When he glanced up at Harry, Harry stared at him, challenging in posture and expression. He didn’t take the bait, however, and just turned his gaze away. He murmured something under his breath, and then hurried out of the room. Harry was left behind, feeling prickly and unsatisfied.
Harry left even more clothes on the floor. He left his bag where Malfoy would walk, left his books strewn over their shared study table. He could finally see cracks in that perfect façade, a twitch in Malfoy’s brow or his lips quirking when he almost tripped over something or had to stack up all of Harry’s books and put them aside when he wanted to study. It scratched a particularly deep itch in Harry, and he smiled smugly whenever Malfoy looked at him. If he was pushing his luck, well.
He never knew when to stop.
He’d positioned his bag so Malfoy would trip on it when he walked through the door, draped his socks over his bed, and left his books on the table and on Malfoy’s chair. He laid on the bed, book held up so it looked like he was reading it, and waited. Malfoy had been irritated already that morning, woken up late with heavy bags under his eyes, and rushed out with a sneer on his lips. Harry was sure to get a reaction out of him today.
The door opened fast, and Malfoy grunted as he almost fell over. He caught himself with an irritated huff, glancing at Harry before taking in the state of the room. He drew in a deep breath, and then slammed the door behind him.
“Hi, Malfoy,” Harry said, tone overly friendly, and Malfoy grumbled something as he walked over to his bed and started clearing it of clothes, but stopped. He dropped his bag on the floor and spun around to glare at Harry. Finally.
“Can you please pick up after yourself?” he hissed, hands on his hips, and Harry put down his book to smile innocently at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, does it bother you?” Malfoy gritted his teeth, muscles in his jaw flexing.
“Yes, so if you could please—”
“I’d rather not,” Harry cut him off, and Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Potter, just—” He shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, anger drained from his face. “Please pick up your things.” He said and turned away from Harry. His back was hunched, and Harry sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. This wasn’t the reaction he expected.
“Malfoy…” he started, but when Malfoy spun around again he was sneering, face and posture sharp again.
“Pick up after yourself, Potter, you’re not living in a pigsty!” he spit out, and Harry was thrown by his sudden ferocity. He reared back, and then rolled his eyes.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” he said, voice dripping in sarcasm and a glare directed at Malfoy, but then he furrowed his brows in confusion. Malfoy’s face was red, not pink but red, and he was blinking rapidly. He took in a shaky breath, rubbing his hand over his mouth, and then grabbed his bag and stalked out of the room. He left Harry sitting on his bed, confused on what the fuck just happened.
Even if he wasn’t aware of it, Malfoy had opened the floodgates, and now Harry was searching for his next opportunity. Malfoy wasn’t giving him any, avoiding him at all costs, but that wasn’t going to stop him.
He bumped into him whenever he could, responded with snark when spoken to, pulled clothes out of his wardrobe to strew them around the room. Malfoy would crack a little, but never let his façade slip fully, and it was pissing Harry off.
“Potter,” Malfoy hissed, and Harry smirked up at him. “Could you—”
“No,” Harry cut him off, raising his book again.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” Harry lowered his book slowly, to see Malfoy fuming, cheeks pink. “Neither of us like sharing a room but you don’t have to make it harder than necessary!” Harry closed the book and nonchalantly dropped it on his bed next to him. Malfoy’s fists were shaking.
“It’s funny,” he said, and Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. Then he looked at Harry, expression pleading.
“Potter. Could you just make this easier for the both of us, and pick up your clothes?” he said, and Harry rolled his eyes. “Please? This is—”
“I’d rather not,” Harry said, cutting him off again, and Malfoy threw his bag to the floor, books and rolls of parchments and quills scattering from it.
“Stop interrupting me!” He was panting, staring at Harry with pure rage in his eyes, and Harry felt himself crumble a touch in his resolve, but lifted his chin defiantly and stared back.
“No, sir.” Malfoy’s breath hitched and his pink cheeks darkened to red.
“Don’t say that,” he muttered, glaring at Harry. He turned away, shoulders hunched.
“Why not, sir?” Malfoy flinched, and he wrapped his arms around himself.
“Just shut up, Potter.”
“Yes, sir.” Malfoy was on him in a second, grabbing him by the shirt with both hands and holding him down against his bed. He spit out;
“Stop saying it!” and Harry opened his mouth to snap back, but then froze; Malfoy was hard.
Hard, and pressed against Harry’s thigh.
“Uhm, Malfoy?” he said, and it came out in a whisper. Malfoy was glaring at him, quietly panting, and the heat from his fists bled through Harry’s t-shirt. His eyes were dark.
“Don’t call me that,” he hissed, and Harry swallowed. He wet his lips.
“Why not?” Malfoy pressed closer, and Harry could feel the full outline of his cock.
“Just don’t call me that.”
“Is it because you like it too much?” Malfoy’s face hardened, twisted up, and his fists tightened.
“Don’t make fun of me,” he whispered, so close Harry felt his breath in his own mouth. “It’s not funny, Potter.” Harry inhaled shakily, Malfoy’s cologne sticking to his palate.
“I’m not making fun of you.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.
“You just— Then why are you saying it?” Harry swallowed again, and shrugged a little.
“I… I like your reaction.” Malfoy reared back an inch, but it felt like a mile. “You get all red.”
“Like it? You like it when I blush?” Malfoy sounded incredulous. Harry brought his left hand up to his face to push his glasses up his nose, but Malfoy grabbed his wrist and held it against his pillow. Oh.
“Yeah, it’s… It looks good on you.” Malfoy’s fists loosened, but when Harry tried to move a little, he gripped tighter than before. He was still hard against Harry, and it was a wonder Malfoy hadn’t noticed. “You didn’t answer me. Is it because you like it too much?” Malfoy leant closer, and their noses were almost touching.
“I don’t like it. At all.” Harry pressed his lips together in a flat line and he almost laughed at how ridiculous this situation was. He leaned up, so close his lips touched Malfoy’s ear, and whispered;
“Then why are you hard?” He was pushed down into the bed again as Malfoy leant his weight on top of him, and he gasped at how hard his wrist was being gripped. His thighs spread around Malfoy’s hips. “I think you can’t admit to yourself that you like it.” Malfoy made a move like he was going to pull away, and Harry wrapped a leg over his calf. “Are you trying to run away again?” Malfoy’s face twisted again, and he sneered;
“Shut up, Potter!”
“Yes, sir.” The bones in his wrist grinded painfully against each other and Harry grunted in discomfort, but it was strangely exhilarating. He drew in a shuddering breath, and impulsively drew his knees up and squeezed them tight around Malfoy’s hips. Harry could feel them trembling, and he swallowed a weird noise.
Malfoy was staring at him, pupils blown wide and mouth a touch open as he panted. Harry’s right hand laid limp on the cover but now he raised it, wrapped it over Malfoy’s shoulder and squeezed. Malfoy’s breath hitched, and he shifted his hand to grab Harry’s right wrist and pushed it against the bed, grip firm. The bones shifted, and Harry gasped.
“You like this,” Malfoy whispered, punctuating his sentence with another squeeze, and Harry held back a groan in his throat. Malfoy’s body was hot and solid against his stomach and chest, and the weight was agonising and incredible against his cock. “I didn’t know you were a freak, Potter,” he continued and pushed himself higher up, so his face was above Harry’s and shading it.
“I’m not,” Harry said, and whined quietly when Malfoy twisted his wrists.
“You are,” he said, and Harry gasped. “Just admit it.”
“I’m not, sir,” he said, and Malfoy bit his bottom lip, white teeth turning the skin a deep pink.
“You’re a pervert, we both know,” he murmured. Harry squeezed his legs tighter at the word, groaning deep in his chest. He felt like a pervert, the heat in his body growing like a forest fire. When Malfoy pushed himself up even higher above Harry, his lower body was lifted from the bed. Harry’s hands were quickly pulled down and under him, and then Malfoy pushed him down into the bed. His hands were trapped and he couldn’t wiggle them out, Malfoy putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders instead.
“‘m not,” Harry protested, even though he was so hard he could feel his heartbeat in his balls. Malfoy laughed smoothly, grasping Harry’s jaw with a firm grip and shoving his head back into the pillow.
“You’re the biggest freak this side of the Atlantic. I could spit in your mouth and you’d thank me.” Blond hair fell into Malfoy’s face and he brushed it back behind his ear, where it would inevitably fall into his eyes again. Harry swallowed hard, mouth bone dry all of a sudden.
“Do you wanna test that, sir?” he asked breathlessly, and Malfoy smirked at him. With his hard fingers he pried open Harry’s mouth and kept it open, his jaw jogging for a moment before he leaned down and spit a thick blob of saliva into his mouth. It splattered on his tongue, warm and slightly metallic, and Harry moaned louder than even he thought he would. Malfoy wouldn’t let him close his mouth so he clumsily rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and did his best to swallow.
“Absolute freak,” Malfoy murmured, but it was a warm sound. He sounded delighted, breaths shallow and fast and his mouth wide in a smile as he stared at Harry. Harry swallowed again, licked his lips. Malfoy’s eyes followed the movements.
“Thank you, sir,” Harry said. Malfoy let go of his jaw and breathlessly laughed. Under them the bed creaked, and Harry realised they’d been rocking their hips together for some time. It was hard to notice where any specific pleasure came from when his entire body felt good.
“Does it feel good when I hurt you?” Malfoy whispered, and Harry nodded.
“It feels incredible, sir,” he said, groaning when Malfoy dug his sharp nails into his waist. All the moving around had made Harry’s shirt ride up and he felt every point of impact on his skin. When Malfoy scratched him, he groaned again.
“Your perversions know no limits, Potter. Dirty masochist you are,” Malfoy murmured, voice deeper than before. Harry’s entire body felt hot, like he was burning up from sunlight, and he squirmed against Malfoy.
“You clearly like me like this, or you wouldn’t be halfway to fucking me,” he said, squeezing his tongue between his teeth in a grin when Malfoy scowled.
“Did I ask for your opinion?” he asked quietly, shoving Harry’s shirt up above his collarbones. Harry shuddered.
“No, sir,” he said, staring down at Malfoy’s hand as it stroked Harry’s chest hair.
“Don’t presume you know what I want,” Malfoy said. Harry’s arms were starting to fall asleep from their awkward position but he didn’t care. Malfoy dragged his nails up Harry’s torso, catching one nipple on the way up and sending a hot strike of pleasure through his body. “Pervert,” Malfoy said, using his other hand to pull Harry’s mouth open to spit on his tongue. Harry moaned and swallowed, opening his mouth again and sticking his tongue out. Malfoy smirked. He roughly shoved Harry into the pillow, letting go of his jaw, and with both hands he smacked Harry’s chest. It stung and reverberated through his ribcage. Malfoy grabbed his nipples and twisted, and at the same time he drooled into Harry’s mouth, finishing it off by spitting.
“Fuck,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his tongue around the inside of his mouth to savor the taste of Malfoy’s spit. His body was wound tightly, knees digging into Malfoy’s bony hips; his teeth felt too big for his mouth.
“Are you gonna come?” Malfoy asked when Harry whimpered and threw his head back against the pillow.
“I’m close, sir,” Harry mumbled, shamelessly humping up against him. Malfoy twisted his nipples again, even harder, and then let go so he could grab Harry’s jaw. He smacked his cheek with his other hand, slapping harder when Harry moaned. Malfoy let go of his face and slapped even harder, that pain echoing through his head and ratcheting up the pleasure in his stomach.
“Pervert,” Malfoy ground out. He leaned down and brushed his lips over Harry’s, but instead of kissing him he bit him, the sharp sting and sudden tug making Harry cry out. Malfoy drew back with Harry’s lip between his teeth and let it go to spit in his face. It landed on his cheek, some splattering into his mouth but most slipping down to his neck.
“Slap me again,” Harry panted, tongue darting out to lick around his mouth. Malfoy smirked at him. He dug his nails into Harry’s waist again, both hands so he could push himself up and put all his weight on Harry. “C’mon,” Harry groaned, and Malfoy thrust sharply against him.
“You’ll take what I give you, freak,” Malfoy said and slapped Harry’s chest. He leaned down again, noses bumping as he drooled into Harry’s mouth and panting heavily. Harry’s shoulders burned with pain and his hands were numb, almost cold; Malfoy’s entire body was heavy and hot between his thighs. Harry surged up and licked the inside of Malfoy’s mouth, tasting his tongue and teeth and lips. He tried to get his hands out from underneath but he couldn’t, no matter how he struggled, so he gave up on that and fell back on the bed.
“Spit in my mouth, sir,” he said, and Malfoy did with a mad grin. Harry swallowed it and as soon as he opened his lips Malfoy spit again, then licked up the drops of saliva that landed on Harry’s cheek.
Malfoy’s manic face was burned into Harry’s eyes as the pain reached its peak and pushed him over the edge. He dug his heels into Malfoy’s back and clung onto him, completely at mercy to the pleasure exploding through his body. Above him Malfoy also shook, mouth hanging wide open as a stream of guttural noises escaped him.
It was quiet, still, while they caught their breaths. Harry’s mind came down from the strange, almost intoxicated state he’d been in and the sensations were replaced with pain and numbed arms.
“Ow,” he muttered, wiggling in an attempt to pull his arms out without being able to sit up. Malfoy sat up and shook his head hard, and when he noticed Harry’s struggling he slid an arm behind his shoulders and helped him into an upright position. Harry’s arms tingled and ached and he slumped back with a groan. Malfoy untangled himself from Harry’s legs and laid down in a graceless pile of sweaty limbs, one leg still hooked around Harry’s but he clearly didn’t care. He twitched several times in a row and it turned into shaking, and Harry sat up with a groan.
“Why did I do that?” Malfoy muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. He sounded like he was crying. Harry wiped his face with the back of his hands and laid down next to Malfoy, slinging his arm over his waist.
“My fault,” he sighed. Malfoy shook his head, turning onto his side so he was facing away from Harry.
“Fuck, what did I do?” he whispered, gasping for breath. He was breathing fast and shallow, words rasping their way out of his throat. “What—” Harry sat up and pushed Malfoy to roll onto his back again, grabbing his face between both hands.
“Malfoy, calm down,” he said, looking into his eyes with what he hoped was a comforting expression on his face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Malfoy shoved him away and sat up, burying his face in his elbow.
“I’m a fucking monster, Potter, don’t pretend otherwise,” he hiccuped, painfully grabbing his own hair. Harry felt helpless for a moment, unsure of what the hell he could even do, and then let out a huff of determination.
He wrapped himself around Malfoy from behind, one foot tucked over his thigh and his arms tight around his waist.
“Thanks,” he whispered, and he could feel Malfoy hold his breath. “I-I didn’t know I needed that but it was bloody amazing.”
“I hurt you,” Malfoy asked, voice in a hysterical pitch. Harry squeezed him in a hug.
“No shit, Sherlock, I wanted you to.” He rubbed his cheek against Malfoy’s back, feeling the knobs of his spine through his shirts. “I egged you on.”
“I shouldn’t have—” Harry reached up and grabbed Malfoy’s face, firmly shutting him up with a squeeze of his cheeks.
“Shut up,” he grumbled. He was also starting to tremble, that feeling of adrenalin leaving his limbs and leaving him tired. “I made you do it.”
“I shouldn’t—” Harry squeezed his face again.
“Seriously, shut it,” he said, irritated. He pushed his free hand up under Malfoy’s shirts to feel his warm stomach, and Malfoy gasped in panic and latched onto his wrist with both hands.
“Don’t— What are you doing?” he rushed out, twisting his head around to try and look Harry in the face.
“My arms are cold,” he said, ticking an eyebrow up since they both knew why. Malfoy stared into his eyes, usually harsh grey irises soft and watery, and then slowly let go of Harry’s arm. He placed his hands on the bed cover for a moment, but lifted them to carefully touch Harry’s legs. Gently, like he was touching an easily spooked horse, Malfoy stroked his legs, and when Harry sighed deeply and relaxed against his back, the touch became firmer.
“Do you, how easily do you bruise?” he asked softly, breathing still erratic but slowing down.
“It should be fine,” Harry sighed. “I’ll be sore for a few days, at most.” Malfoy swallowed hard. He continued to stroke Harry’s leg with his right hand and raised his left to touch Harry’s hand that was on his stomach. His fingers trembled.
“You’re awfully calm about this,” he mumbled. Harry dropped his hand from Malfoy’s jaw and tucked it up under his shirt as well, tangling his fingers with Malfoy’s and making him twitch in surprise.
“It felt too good to freak out about,” he said. He felt Malfoy swallow.
“I spit in your mouth,” he said, sounding disgusted with himself. Harry laughed, rubbing his face against Malfoy’s back.
“Hot,” he said, and it seemed to catch Malfoy off guard because he laughed too. When they both quieted down, Malfoy was more relaxed. He leaned into Harry’s embrace, rubbing his thumb over their intertwined fingers.
“… Harry.” It took a moment for Harry to register Malfoy saying his name, and he lifted his head.
“Yeah?”
“My back hurts. Could we lie down?” he asked, and Harry nodded. They untangled from each other, Malfoy standing up from the bed to stretch with a groan. Harry moved the book that had been tossed aside earlier to his nightstand and folded the duvet down to the foot of the bed. Malfoy hesitated before laying down next to Harry, kicking off his shoes in the process. Harry pulled the duvet up over them and snuggled up to Malfoy, grabbing his hand under the covers to interlace their fingers again. It felt wrong, bad, to not touch him in that moment, like Harry was borrowing stability from him and vice verse.
Malfoy was tense at first, but once Harry had wrapped himself around him and tucked his head under Malfoy’s chin he relaxed. He stroked Harry’s hair slowly and gently and when he sighed it sounded like the action was comforting to them both.