A LITTLE TOO MUCH

A LITTLE TOO MUCH

Shipping: Harry Potter X Draco Malfoy

Summary: An 8^th year AU. Harry had an astounding epiphany and found how he calmly accepts it no matter how bizarre it may sound. It was his, after all, and he’s war drained enough to bother what others may think when the puzzles rather fit snugly together. It took a long time coming but really, it was perfect.

Disclaimer: These two wonderful boys and their world belongs to JK Rowling, else including the romance belongs to the fandom. n_n

NOTES: Inspired by the song A Little Too Much

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PART 1

And So It Begins

“Sometimes it hits like car crash

And it’s too late to reverse

Sometimes you make me a better person

Sometimes you bring out the worst.”

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It occurred to him that the “epiphany” had come to him at the most inappropriate time that it was almost uncalled for. It really could’ve come some better time. The Truth, if that was what it was, has suddenly hit him as swift as the Slytherin’s fist connected at the side of his mouth. He groaned, staggered back and tasted blood in his tongue all in the brief second it took. Just how ironic it was that he seemed to be able to do so many things at once when it involved one Draco Malfoy. Momentarily pushing the epiphany at the back of his mind, he braced himself for a counter attack and launched his right arm at the other boy’s side, his knuckles hitting flesh under silken robes with a thud. His enemy was just as quick, however, for Malfoy had dug his recently trimmed nails at Harry’s bare arms at the same time and dragged him closer for an arm lock.

“You punch like a girl, Potter.” Malfoy hissed at his ears, his warm breath tickling Harry’s hair. Harry felt a cold shiver run up his spine.

“Is that strain I hear in your voice, Malfoy?” Harry muttered back for he was certain that even if the Slytherin doesn’t always groan back from his punches, he could still familiarly identify the many tones from the other boy’s voice. Harry deftly tried to pull back from Malfoy’s clutches just enough so he could hit back but the Slytherin’s nails sank deeper into his flesh, drawing blood. Harry grunted and swore silently never to wear Muggle shirts when there was a remote potential he’d cross paths with this boy. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a little pleased in a twisted sense. And smug. Malfoy had just effectively marked him. And he supposed it had so many things to do with the brilliant and utterly mad epiphany he’d just discovered. The taller git never cared about violating him, about invading his personal space, about disfiguring every bit of Harry’s flesh he could reach.  No. Malfoy held no reservations towards the Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived-and-Died-and-Lived again. In a way, Malfoy touches him anywhere and everywhere as if it was his right to do so, no matter how urgently or brutal. Harry gazed sideways and recognized a purple blotch marking the base of the Slytherin’s otherwise pale, spotless neck. The Gryffindor couldn’t help but feel a kind of morbid fascination at that. It was from the brawl he had with Malfoy just yesterday. It was to say he was also rather proud to have branded a mark of his own on the other boy. Biting at his lower lip and wincing as he felt the gash there, Harry pulled back and lifted his knee unceremoniously with all the brute force the little space allowed. It connected satisfactorily on Malfoy’s thigh and the blonde boy fell back with a snarl, freeing Harry’s abused reddened arms.

“I see I also kick like a girl.” Harry smirked, meeting Malfoy’s steel gray orbs glaring spitefully back at him.

It has dawned on him how things failed with Ginny and how things would just continue to fail in the future should he try as everyone tells and expects him to do. It dawned on him how things might work out perfectly well with Malfoy, this Malfoy in front of him who’d just launched himself once again at Harry. Harry instinctively wrapped his arms at the other boy’s Seeker built body and felt the winds knocked out of him as his back hit the cold stone floors of the dungeon. He groaned audibly feeling the sharp pain on his shoulders and back. He felt so battered now but not enough to forego his hold on the body on top of him. Malfoy’s elbows dug at his chest and his knees at Harry’s legs.

Yes. Things might crazily work out with this Malfoy who’s probably in a high while beating him up.

Ginny was a “balance” he’d sought and needed during his fight with Voldemort. With so much destructive passion against the Dark Lord who wanted him dead for years, Ginny was like a tranquil spring soothing Harry’s ache and anger at that time of chaos---like a quiet, reassuring promise for a normal life in the future should he survive the chaos of the war; something to make him thrive and look forward to.

He realized how wrong he was during the start of their 8^th year. Ginny who’d seemed like a promise of Spring to him at first decayed to an empty season just as everyone else came to be. The war changed Harry in more ways than one. There came a restless need tugging at the core of him he hasn’t been able to put a finger on. It was a confusing myriad of haphazard emotions that couldn’t be filled or met and he soon became consumed by it that he couldn’t summon the energy to care for anyone else. Or even pay attention to anyone else. It was like a constant buzz at the back of Harry’s mind. His epiphany today consisted of the realization that the buzz disappeared whenever his fist connected to anywhere belonging to Malfoy or the other way around.

The unappealing world just fades into the background, the static along with it and at the dead center of his focus was the ever constant Draco Malfoy.

Where he thought he could no longer bring himself to care enough, he now realized how exactly it was the opposite. The exhausting war had made him want impossibly more. Intolerably more. So much that he wanted to own and he wanted to hurt. His chest now constricted as he brings himself back at the present where the Slytherin is on top of him, elbows digging at his ribs, wanting to rip. Harry realized he wanted, needed everything the Slytherin could give him. With Ginny and everyone else he’d tried, Harry felt nothing and connected to nothing maybe because they couldn’t reciprocate enough and give what he desired, even if Harry had no idea what it was.  Every fiber of him responds to Malfoy was the core of his discovery. For some unknown bizarre reason. With his epiphany today, he just suddenly knew he wanted to be owned by this rival of his who seemed intent on hating him for years. And so, Harry wanted to own him back, have him wear all sorts of mark Harry could bestow upon.

Harry saw Malfoy draw back his arms for a punch as he muses and entertains the revelation. Harry closes his eyes and welcomes it, now wanting to surrender, wanting the surrender he knew he couldn’t trust Ginny to have as Ginny couldn’t take enough of him. Harry desperately wanted to be taken. Ginny wouldn’t dare take everything Harry wanted or hadn’t wanted to give. Ginny doesn’t make him want or need to surrender this badly. And so, with his misplaced yet not unwelcome epiphany, Harry resigned himself and welcomed Malfoy’s fist that he realized belatedly hadn’t landed. He opened his viridian eyes and saw Malfoy looking back at him, brows slightly in a frown, steel grey eyes a little wider and his arms still in mid air, frozen in the middle of a punch. His cheeks are flushed and Harry realized the Slytherin was torn between things, not used to having a Gryffindor that seemed tamed.

Harry also knew that while he wanted and needed the Slytherin to claim his surrender, he also wanted and needed to own Malfoy just as much.

Not one to let go of opportunities, Harry let his blinding desire take control. He swiftly grabbed the other boy’s hand that had remained resting on his chest and pulled savagely back. He plundered Malfoy’s lips without poise, his aching lips clashing at teeth as the blonde opened his mouth in a silent yelp of surprise. Harry didn’t dare let go, his tongue brushing the roof of the Slytherin’s mouth before his lips drew back on Malfoy’s lower one for a bruising kiss. He nipped and he bit and he sucked and tasted blood. He wondered if it was his own blood from the gnash he received earlier from Malfoy’s fist or if he’d just kissed hard enough to draw blood from the other boy. Harry was thrilled at the intoxicating power brought about by simply snogging Malfoy this way, punishing and sinful.  The Gryffindor was so consumed with his need that he was taken totally off guard when the Slytherin’s tongue swept brutally and intently back at the edge of his lips. Harry had moaned then, and trembled and felt the constant buzz that had turned into silence become a soothing hum, the restless ball of energy dissipating as if the puzzles had reached their rightful place. Malfoy was kissing just as hard, if not more; Just as animalistic and raw.

Harry could imagine that this kiss shared was for him to claim alone. He could weep there with so much desire, he wanted to rip and be ripped, to shatter and be shattered, not caring whether he could trust himself to fix the other boy on top of him back or whether he could trust Malfoy to put him to right once this was over.

Malfoy clutched an armful of Harry’s shirt and dragged him impossibly closer, fingers burning on flesh underneath the clothes. His lips were merciless on Harry’s, his tongue trespassing as if it had every right to do so. He sucked especially hard at the gnash on Harry’s lips and Harry hissed and squirmed in delightful pain. Malfoy hummed pleasantly in response and Harry felt rather than saw the other git smile.

Clamping his lips on the blonde’s lower ones, Harry entwined his fingers at the silken strands of hair on Malfoy’s nape, his thumbs caressing at the hollow where the pulses bounded. He felt Malfoy shiver deliciously beneath his fingertips. This was power he couldn’t hold over anyone else, power he couldn’t have known he truly enjoyed. He was kissing so deeply and consumingly while holding someone else’s fragile neck with bold, calloused hands, a neck he could snap just as easily at the heat of the moment. It did not escape Harry how Malfoy’s right hand was cradling Harry’s cheek while the left was digging somewhere over Harry’s heart. Malfoy seemed to have acknowledged their positions and deepened the kiss, their breaths and taste mingling together until one cannot be distinguished from the other.

This was need and want and surrender. Something excruciatingly and greatly better than their exchange of insults, punches and curses and brawls. The several kisses he’s had with Ginny and some unmentionable others hadn’t even come close to how empowering and weakening this was that Harry began feeling like the lion that he really is and like a beaten masochistic slug as the muscles of the tongue battle for control.

Indeed. With this epiphany, he just knew it had to be Malfoy and he didn’t care whether or not it was a twisted mockery of fate.

Malfoy chose that moment to bite hard with teeth at Harry’s abused lips and licked viscerally at the added droplets of blood before letting go, both of them grasping headily for air, heaving audibly. After a couple of lungful, Malfoy rested his forehead at the crook between Harry’s neck and shoulder and bit at the flesh on his collarbone, teeth burying hard through flesh then sucking as if the torture inflicted wasn’t enough. It was a brand and Harry was just too lost to wonder about what. Harry in turn raked his nails at the back of the Slytherin’s neck even as blood dripped down his chin from the curve of his mouth.

He could smell Malfoy’s smell, distinct and sharp and undoubtedly of a man’s. He could take in the faint traces of soap and sweat that reminds him how Malfoy could be touchable, a fact which Harry seemed to have overlooked when all the other boy had been was a petty, misguided rival. He sniffed ever so obviously, engraving the other boy’s scent into his memory, without any pretense of embarrassment. He reckoned they were pass the stage of awkwardness now with their tongues shoved inside each other’s throat. Malfoy’s scent reminded him of snow and morning dews. It made him realize of the growing ache somewhere near his navel he didn’t notice before when they were engaged in senseless snogging. Somehow, getting finally aware of it, of the painful coil pooling at his groin made him ache even more.  Malfoy shifted on top of him and Harry recognized the telltale signs of a hard member poking back, a body that clearly responds back. And if Malfoy didn’t notice before, Harry made sure the blond gets aware of it now by lifting his hips up and biting the inside of his cheeks in the process to keep hold of his own moans elicited as their erections slid against each other, the friction not a bit dampened by their trousers.

Malfoy’s breath hitched and he languidly swiped his tongue along Harry’s neck before reaching an ear and whispering, “I thought you’d never notice, Potter.” His lips ghosting over the Gryffindor’s lobes.

Malfoy was warm, deliciously so.  And damp enough with sweat and Harry liked it.

The Slytherin gave an animalistic thrust and Harry sung. Malfoy grinded their groins together and Harry reckoned his insides danced. He met the other boy’s body in the middle of a shove and their actions became a heady flurry of pushes and rough contacts  just as everything between them had been, never was there a pulling back or shying away. Harry grabbed at the Skytherin’s arse and brought them down, needing more of that forbidden friction. Malfoy grunted and complied just as his hands found their way beneath Harry’s shirt, palms and fingers gliding along the warm, flushed flesh until they reached the hard throbbing nub that was Harry’s nipple. Malfoy never played nicely. What he gave were all pinches and scratches and pushes. All merciless nails and hot finger tips. Harry could’ve moaned even more throatily then had Malfoy not muffled his cry by claiming his already beaten but still willing lips.

Their kiss this time was slower and less brutal but just as needy, where every sweep of tongue was an emphasis to every thrust and grind of their lower regions. And so it came to be that they danced a different dance and took pleasure by means completely opposite of how they were doing before. And it was perfect in its own way, if not completely so.

‘Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.’

Harry was a music instrument and Malfoy played him with sweat slicked, warm, steady and nimble fingers. Harry’s eyes glazed momentarily when the other boy had ruthlessly played with his nipples and when he came to right again, through lust lidded eyes, he met Malfoy’s grey orbs looking back at him, pupils full blown with desire, amidst their frantic, rhythmic symphony. Their thrusts became harder now, slower maybe, but deeper and rougher. They were pounding and gliding and rubbing all over with intent for release; Their kisses only  interrupted at times by hitches in breath but otherwise not allowing a pause however minutely. Harry closed his eyes just as he saw Malfoy do the same. He was extremely near now, with the familiar presence of that searing coil of heat in his lower abdomen.

“Come for me.’ Malfoy demanded huskily over Harry’s lips, his voice dripping with strain and so low that Harry almost didn’t catch the words among his own moans.

“Yes.” Was all that Harry managed as his nails dug on the Slytherin’s waist and his body arched, molding against the body on top of him as it slammed down brutally and swiftly.

Harry heard himself cry, his own voice he didn’t even recognize just as Malfoy grunted in return and spasmed, his teeth clamping down on the Gryffindor’s shoulder once again.  They stayed sprawled over each other, panting and shaking for a while as they waited for the world to right itself and as they waited for their brains to catch up to what the hell just happened.

Harry wanted to remain where he was forever--with Malfoy buried somewhere at his neck so he couldn’t see the expression on Harry’s face. It was Harry after all who has had the epiphany so he couldn’t expect the other boy to be as reluctantly peaceful and compliant as Harry was about their unexpected rendezvous.  If he would look closer into his self, Harry couldn’t even put a finger to what he was feeling about all this. Having a revelation is one thing but actually acting up on them, especially if they were a bit crazy or irrational is another. He supposed Malfoy could put all blame on him. It was Harry who snogged the other boy after all while they were in the middle of their daily dose of squabble. He couldn’t even remember what they were fighting about but he was sure it was just about some petty insult resulting to major body brawls as they’ve been having quite a numerous times since their 8^th year started. Was it about calling Hermione a mudblood? Calling Ginny a slut? Ron a freckled carrot top? Or maybe Harry himself had unknowingly insulted Malfoy or his family or his pedigree?  Harry just couldn’t bring himself to care. He reckoned he was supposed to be having a fitful of panic attack but that was just impossible when he was so clearly still feeling the exulting aftershock of a much desired release. The best dry fucking of his life and it was with Draco Sodding Malfoy.  A grand one. Something he couldn’t have predicted even if he was a Seer. His bones felt like jellos and his insides all squeamish. He could bet he hasn’t even recovered control over his limbs yet.

The war has taken so much from him. Yes it has given him some too. War has given him a momentary purpose, a deeper circle of friendship, and even a brief fascination and attraction to Ginny Weasley. Still though, the war has taken so much more. It changed Harry in more ways than one and made him aching and wanting and craving impossibly more. It made him hollow and greedy and his so called epiphany made him know. He now knew. He knew now he wanted this pointy ex-Death Eater on top of him and knew deep down by his gut that he could work this out, make it work even by force. This burning, irrational desire to possess and be possessed, to violate and be violated was intoxicating.

He wanted to take something from the war, of the war. Take something for himself. And he thought he shouldn’t have been surprised that Draco Malfoy was the forbidden price he wanted, he fucking earned. All the seven years of juvenile rivalry and hatred and antagonism. Every single day of barbaric fighting in their 8^th year. Harry reckons he’s already given enough to the Wizarding World, reckons he gave so much more already, reckons he gave even a little to himself but all these things couldn’t hold a candle to ALL that he has given Malfoy and all the attention the latter demanded back from him. It was a sick, twisted irony but it was real and Harry cannot believe he’s only just seeing things now. The thin line of passion game they were playing he at least hoped and though it was.

No. he wasn’t in love with Draco Malfoy. He certainly didn’t love the git. But Malfoy was someone Harry would probably think about once in a while should they go their separate ways after Hogwarts. Someone he’d be keen to hear news about. Someone who would come to his mind every time he visits the memory of his own childhood, of Hogwarts, of the war, of Voldemort, of the whole bloody Wizarding World. So Harry reckons he could.

He came back from his own musings when he felt the weight lifted from his chest. Malfoy was slowly disengaging from their entangled limbs now, rising to his feet. Mutely, Harry followed, raising his trunk by leaning on his elbows, his eyes avoiding the Slytherin’s and resolutely looking only at the hollow of Malfoy’s throat, watching the beads of sweat that pooled there.

Harry could feel the dampness on his groin as he finally stood in front of the Slytherin. Silence lingered for a second and forced Harry to look at the other boy’s face. Malfoy’s pupils were dark and dilated but searching. His face, a black canvass of detachment.

Suggested edit: Harry could feel his heart skip a beat. This was something he didn’t have a clue how  would progress and Harr felt himself getting anxious and excited and embarrassed and scared the way he hasn’t felt anymore after the fight with Voldemort. It was yet one of the things the war had taken away from him. With so much adrenaline and emotions exhausted during the battle, the life after was just an aftermath of what little remained of the things spent over.

It was when Malfoy cocked his head a little sideways, arched a brow and briefly sneered that the time ticked again. Harry stood hypnotized at the flush that lingered on Malfoy’s cheeks and neck and the little that was exposed of his collar bone—at the rugged silken robe which was otherwise has always remained prim and orderly—at the muzzled golden air, at the bruised, beaten and thoroughly snogged lips. Harry could feel his nerves decrementing then, being replaced by ache and want.

Harry flicked up at the steely grey orbs watching him and recognized amusement on Malfoy’s eyes.

“You kiss like a girl, Potter.” Malfoy drawled before huffing and cocking his chin up. He stood poised without looking at Harry, dusting off at his rumpled robes and attempted to sort it out. He raked one hand through his hairs before allowing his eyes to flick over Harry’s. “Well, it’s been fun.” Draco allowed a mild sneer, his eyes still lit with amusement. “At least you managed to cry my name.” With that  Malfoy swept out the room, his robes billowing like water after him.

Did Harry really…? He dimly heard the echoes of Malfoy’s steps against the cobbled floors before his mind could make up about what it was about.