I have never wanted to punch someone so much in my entire life.
Malfoy has done it again, riled me up beyond sane during Quidditch practice. First he stormed in with his team during our training hours claiming he’d gotten special allowance from Snape, so we had to abruptly stop it and fly down to the ground to confront his madness. Then he proceeds by trying to kick us out of the Quidditch field and his teammates start tugging on mines robes and limbs to usher them towards the dressing rooms to come back when we’re welcomed. Ugh.
Since we stand put and doesn’t budge of course Malfoy is the one designated to lead me away.
This is our training time, it’s the start of the fourth year and I’d begged Professor McGonagall for this hour meaning we’d need it to bond and progress as a team before our first match, which so happened to be against Slytherin. Who sucks. I mean, they don’t suck, that’s why we had to train extra, but they’re bad so they suck.
“What is it, Potter? Can’t handle a little competition?” Draco Malfoy sneers while making a move for my robe.
No one was looking at us, they’re all occupied on their own ends. I growl at these childish games and barge towards him, knocking him onto the ground in one push at his middle, but the fabric from my uniform in his hand and his instinctive pull on it as he fell drove me down with him.
I land on top of Draco, huffing.
“Why can’t you just train another time? It’s before breakfast and we’ve got class, just let us finish, you pile of Troll piss!” I position my elbows in the dirt next to his shoulders and try to lift myself up but he’s got an arm thrown over my back to keep me down.
“Psh, you can’t pile urin, stupid Potter” He retorts as he beat my head with the back of his hand.
My nose lands behind his ear and a sweet yet musk smell invade my senses and partially make me not hear what he said, and instead listen to the vibrations of his voice and the ups and downs of it. My nose wanders and I feel soft stands of hair brush against it as the smell intensifies. Mesmerized, I slowly inhale it, lips feel smooth skin that budge out by heartbeat and –
Suddenly my eyes break open by my world spinning.
“What’s that?” Draco had rolled us around, I guessed, seeing as his face looms over mine. I had instinctively clinged to his neck and I try to reposition my hands; but all that does is make it seem like I’m caressing his neck. He’s laughing and I lift my hand to wipe that grin of his face, cursing the fact that my wand is tucked away under my shirt as my face reddens.
He dodges my punch and starts to pull away. Panic. He’s going to make the whole charade out of this. Play out how I fondled his neck and smelled him in front of his friends in the Great Hall. Tell everyone I like guys. Do I? He’ll bug me about it in all eternity.
I have to stop him.
My hands find the collar of his shirt to drag him down again and I start to wrestle him around, mainly pushing on limbs and growling at him. We roll around, Draco protests and as he angers over my antics as a sloth clinging to a tree he starts to push and pull on me as well to get away. My head hits a rock once and our clothes are clinging to our bodies via sweat and dirt. The sound of distant fighting reaches my ears but it’s faint, as if it’s far away. As well as the huffing of Draco’s struggling and mumbling of how disgusting it is, how I should just let go and was that a curse?
My face reclaims its fluster as I feel heat travel down my spine and a tug in my lower belly. I look down just as I notice we had simultaneously bucked our hips into each other’s as we rolled around in the dirt wrestling. I try to escape before Draco notices, but then he gives in to my pulling and his head falls next to mine and my nose catches that enticing smell again.
My hips stutter and at the sensation grinds on what I suppose is a leg.
“Fuck … hah-, s-shit”
“What the- hhh, P-Potter!” I line us up so that his crotch is on mine and feel his hardening as I bite my lip from moaning. Our pace quickens as do our breaths. I hear a sharp in-take of air next to my ear as my hands travel down to squeeze firm ass-cheeks making Draco growl as he push down on me with vigor. My pants feel tight against my growth, sweat trickle down my forehead and I have unknowingly started to suck and bite at the blondes neck, blinded by a lust I’ve never felt before and a gorgeous smell I can’t pinpoint as a cologne or a shampoo. Might be that was Draco’s natural scent, hot and musky, now intensified by his sweating and my alert senses.
I have turned us around and Draco’s half-hearted protests ends. He grabs a fist of my hair and pull as I position myself up between his cheeks, moaning at the feeling of his plush flesh through too many layers of clothes and his legs locked behind my back. I don’t know what I’m doing. I have never done this before, never felt this way before. All I know is I need more, and that there might be as much passion in love as in hate and that it could be hard to make them apart. Right now I want to praise Draco more than ever and not tear him to bits, at least not in the sense I wanted to before.
Our lips met. Teeth clashed initially but it’s fine, because Draco’s little whine as I sucked on his bottom lip and the feeling I get when pressing my mouth against his like my life depended on it made it all worth it. We’d get the hang of it eventually, find a rhythm that matches our big personalities and maybe even move on from our enmity. I don’t know for sure if Draco will acknowledge his feelings for me or if he’ll brush this off after we’re done here rolling around lip-locking on the field. I should push him off of me to talk things through but the heat traveling through my body makes my head dizzy and all I can’t think straight.
We didn’t get much time to practice that day, neither in Quidditch nor tongue wrestling, as all fighting and other activities ends as madam Hooch enters the scene and commands order.
I would be disappointed over the interruption, and I was initially, but opening up my eyes to the sight of a flustered Draco with swollen pink lips, glassy eyes and heavy lidded eyes had me glad I persuaded professor McGonagall to give us an early Quidditch practice.
And when Draco sends a knowing smirk at me minutes later with color still on his cheeks, as madam Hooch reprimands both teams across each other, I know this won’t end here. I won’t let it with the fluttering feeling I’m feeling in my stomach when Draco returns my shy smile with one of his own, not once breaking his gaze from mine.