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January 2012

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Shared Bed Fest fic!

Title His Undisclosed Desires
Author nimrodel_13
RatingNC-17
Summary Pansy and Blaise are sick of Draco's whining about Potter. Which is why he is tied to Potter's bed, completely naked and spitting angry. Good thing Potter doesn't seem to mind. (actually done in Harry's POV)
Contains bondage, sex
Notes I wrote this for the Shared Bed Fest over on leo_draconis 's journal (go check it out! Awesome stuff!!) It was for the lovely dyson_rules , who sumbitted this prompt, which I just could not resist: Blaise and Pansy get tired of hearing (8th year?) Draco complaining about Harry, so they knock him out, undress him, and tie him to Harry's bed. As an added safeguard, the bed is spelled to bind Harry as soon as he gets near. Of course Harry can probably reach his wand and dispel the bonds... but what fun would that be? Thanks for the prompt and I hope you like it, love! Enjoy, everyone!!
Broken in half due to length. 

His Undisclosed Desires


The moon was bright on that frozen, November night, reflecting off the snow that had just recently fallen and illuminating the castle halls with eerie, silvery light. It was one of those nights that even the Professors stayed in their nice warms beds, unwilling to brave the chill on the assumption that the cold would keep the students in bed after curfew. And this was true for most, too.

Harry always had proved the exception to the rule.

Granted, it was bloody freezing outside the common room but after spending long, icy months camping out in the Forest of Dean in nothing more than a charmed tent, he had learned to ignore it. It was better than staring up at his shadowed canopy for the rest of the night, his most recent nightmare running painful circles in his head. Wandering the frozen corridors at night in nothing more than his pajamas and slippers was preferable to lying awake all night, remembering.

His soft, fuzzy slippers, an unfortunate color pink and orange, which had been a gift from Fred and George when he had come out as gay only a few months ago, did very little to keep out the cold that radiated from the stones underfoot. He supposed they were better than nothing and it wasn’t like there was anyone else wandering about who might see them. They really were hideous, though, and he laughed at the furry tops of them. They made little swishing sounds as he walked, echoing down the hall. Life would definitely be less colorful (literally) without the twins and all at once, his short lived humor was sucked away when he thought about how close they had come to losing Fred.

Everything always came full circle, reminding him of the horrors that lived in his memories. Memories that he could not escape no matter how long he walked the halls, no matter how far he flew over the Forbidden Forest, no matter how fast he sometimes sprinted around the castle. Short of a rather thorough Obliviate, he was stuck with them and most likely his nightmares for a long time to come.

The hallway ended in a spiraling staircase and he stopped short, realizing where his feet had taken him. If he chose to walk those steps and step out onto the tower, now covered in snow, he would see the place where Dumbledore had fallen, had been hit with a poisonous green curse and been thrown like a rag doll over the edge. If he chose to go up there, he would remember Draco Malfoy’s face as he warred with himself, twisted in fear and indecision. He would remember how he had lowered his wand, tears of defeat on his cheeks, only to have Snape finish the job for him. And while Harry now understood everything that had happened that night, the pain never got any better.

Harry turned away quickly, before he could actually let his legs take him up the staircase against his will and practically jogged away. His feet ached from the cold and he realized his teeth were beginning to chatter so it was with great reluctance he made his way back to Gryffindor tower.

It was much earlier than when he usually returned but it really was cold and he had no desire to be sick and sleepless. Besides, if he kept wandering, he would end up down in the dungeons again, sitting helplessly in front of the Slytherin common room as if that would make him appear.

Him.

Draco Malfoy, who had shown up at the beginning of the term with several of his Slytherin hangers on in tow, looking tired yet proud, refusing to meet the shocked and angry whispers his appearance at Hogwarts had stirred up with anything less than an arrogant sneer. Ron had been furious and Hermione uneasy but Harry…

Harry had been, for reasons he hadn’t wanted to explore at the time, relieved.

Many of the Slytherin students from all years didn’t return to Hogwarts. The table had been nearly half empty during the welcoming feast, but among the students that were there, Malfoy sat like a beacon of light, to which everyone else at the table had gravitated to, as if his confidence that he wore around his shoulders like a cloak was catching. Harry could see how the blonde’s presence was good for the other children of his House. Malfoy was the one with the darkest history in the school; his father was in Azkaban for life, his mother on house arrest and himself on probation. And that was only because he was not yet an adult when he took the Mark. He was the perfect example of someone who had fallen but refused to let the world know the dirt it kicked at him dirtied him. Watching him, Harry’s relief had turned into something more, something richer and the more time that passed, the less he was able to ignore it.

He could not ignore the fact that he thought Malfoy’s confidence attractive, his haughtiness and pride in the face of adversity beautiful, his cool grey eyes stunning. With one look, the blond could steal Harry’s breath and with a single, elegant gesture, no matter what he was doing, could make the dark haired boy’s heart race. In sixth year, Harry had genuinely thought Malfoy was up to no good; his obsession had been for that reason and that reason alone. But now, it had morphed into something else entirely and it was slowly driving Harry mad.

He hadn’t been able to tell anyone, of course. (He suspected Ginny knew but she hadn’t said anything to him yet, for which he was thankful) It was one thing to be gay and quite another to fall for Slytherin’s Ice Prince himself and daddy’s little Death Eater, no matter how unwilling Malfoy might have been. Harry didn’t think of him like that; he couldn’t and still like the other boy. The rest of the world did, though. The students and many of the teachers at Hogwarts did, the Ministry did and all those who followed the press coverage on the blonde’s trail most certainly did. But they hadn’t seen Malfoy bent double over a sink, sobbing because he had to kill someone or he and his family would die. They hadn’t seen him hesitating as he held Dumbledore at wand point, only to lower his wand when he realized he couldn’t kill. They hadn’t seen him that day at the Manor, when the Snatchers had brought Harry in. Hadn’t seen the look of recognition in the grey eyes only to have Malfoy refuse to identify him.

Harry had seen all that, though. Had seen it and had been drawn in by it. And whatever people might say about Malfoy being a coward, it had taken great courage to come back to the school he had helped destroy. The strength of will to keep that pointed chin lifted and eyes calm no matter what insults were thrown his way must have been incredible. Malfoy wasn’t particularly good looking. Not in a traditional sense, anyway. He was too thin for his height, which was a good inch or two more than even Ron. His nose and chin were indeed quite pointy and his pale skin made him look like a ghost in most lights. Even his lips, though actually a lovely, full shape, were usually pulled in some ugly expression.

Even so, Harry still thought he was gorgeous. The platinum blond hair now reached beyond the slender shoulders, usually pulled back with some kind of ribbon. Malfoy’s fingers were long and elegant and the way he walked, with long, confident strides, made Harry want to watch him all the time. It was maddening and there was nothing he could do about it.

Because, no matter how many times Harry tried, Malfoy refused to go anywhere near him.

He’d tried approaching the blond in class, the few that they shared, on multiple occasions. He had tried in the hallways during and after class hours, in the Great Hall during meals, and, recently, had take to sitting out in front of the Slytherin common room, all just for a moment to speak with him. Every time, Malfoy simply got up and moved away, face as smooth and as readable as glass. At first it was annoying. Now it was confusing and down right infuriating but short of catching the blond with an Incarserous spell and refusing to let him go until he listened, damn it, Harry didn’t know what else to do.

He supposed he was lucky that Ron and Hermione were so wrapped up in each other they didn’t notice Harry’s renewed obsession with Draco Malfoy. He didn’t want to deal with their questions on top of everything else.

The corridor where the portrait of the Fat Lady snoozed quietly in her frame was almost too dark for him to see. No windows adorned this hall and it was only with long familiarity that he knew where to go. It took several tries to wake her up, including knocking sharply on her frame, before he was able to duck into the darkened common room with a sigh and a hand pushed through his unruly hair. It was much warmer in here than out in the lonely corridors, thanks to the fire still blazing merrily in the fireplace and he took a moment to soak it in.

As his fingers and toes slowly thawed out, he stared into the jumping flames, thinking about how much he really didn’t want to go back to his dorm room. Because there were so few “8th years” (as the returning seventh years had been dubbed) who returned, they had been put into rooms of two instead of five. There had been extra rooms never used before this year that he hadn’t known about and they had been cleaned and furnished just for them. Harry shared with Ron and Neville roomed with Dean. It was easier that way too, because then they didn’t have to remember what had happened to Seamus.

The problem he had been running into recently, though, was that his room was usually empty. Ron had taken to staying with Hermione every night, since she had been given a private room, reserved for Head Girl. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed having another presence in the room, missed the security of not being completely by himself, even if it was just in a room. He had never had such insecurities before but during the hunt for the Horcruxes, there had always been at least one person always with him and he found he couldn’t go backwards. It made him even more prone to nightmares and, thus, sleeplessness.

Harry cast a quick Tempus charm and sighed when it read twenty after one. Seven hours of laying in the dark by himself, he supposed, finally turning away from the fire and making his way up the stairs to the dorms. His feet dragged and reluctance made his throat feel tight. He supposed he could work on his Potions essay that was due in two days, especially since he hadn’t even started it yet and he had no idea what was going on in the class. It was better than just laying like a useless lump on his bed in the dark, with no company but his own mind.

Only, when he walked into his room and lit the lamps with a whispered spell, he found that his room was not, in fact, empty.

Draco Malfoy was stretched out on Harry’s bed, naked as the day he was born and bound by his wrists to the headboard.

At first he was sure he was dreaming. The lack of sleep had gotten to him and he was either hallucinating or had simply fallen asleep while standing in the common room. He supposed it was possible but when he rubbed his eyes and shook his head, it didn’t go away. It was further proven real when the apparition whipped its head around as the door opened and started snarling like a trapped lion.

“Potter, if you do not get you arse over here and let me go right now, I will make you beg for death!” Harry pinched himself, just to be sure. But no, he was indeed awake and Malfoy was definitely twisting about on his bed, unclothed and furious. The blond made a snarling noise when he didn’t move right away, pulling sharply on the ropes binding his hands together, “Don’t just fucking stand there! Help me, Potter!!” but Harry couldn’t move. His feet were glued to the floor and his knees were locked, for fear they would give out all together and he was suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Merlin, he knew that Malfoy was beautiful but like this?

Like this, Harry didn’t even think there was a word for how stunning he was.

Or how hard he was just from watching the blond twisting against his bonds.

Everything about Malfoy was long and pale. His chest was slender, little pink nipples standing up from the cold. Every rib was visible, though they weren’t so prominent that the blond looked sickly and his flat stomach showed some muscle definition. Shadows hid the part of the other boy Harry wanted to see most, as did Malfoy’s thigh, that he kept raised even as he struggled, clearly trying to keep some semblance of modesty. Unfortunately, it only made Harry want him more. He wanted to suck on those hard nipples and lick at the sweet hollows of his hips. He wanted to stick his tongue in the dip of the blonde’s navel and follow the line of nearly invisible blond hair down to the base of his cock. Even the wings of his collarbones and the hard lines of his shins were sexy.

Harry wasn’t even aware of how long he was staring before Malfoy’s desperate shout of his given name jarred him out of his trance. Blinking, he dragged his eyes up to the blonde’s face, which was flushed with embarrassment and fury. The grey eyes were looking back expectantly, clearly waiting for him to let the other boy free. And for a scant moment, he nearly did. He nearly lifted his hand, nearly uttered the spell to set the blond free, nearly mumbled an apology for staring for so long. That moment, however, was fleeting and quickly squashed from existence.

Because he didn’t want to let Malfoy go. If the blond didn’t want to talk to him of his own free will, then Harry was going to make use of this opportunity and force him to listen. The naked bit, he reflected as he closed the door softly behind himself and threw up a Silencing spell, was just a bonus. Something other than anger and humiliation sprang into being on the other boy’s face when he realized that Harry seemed to have no intention of letting him free.

“Potter, let me go. Now,” his voice was as forceful as Harry had ever heard it but he gave the blond a flat, unimpressed look and perched on the edge of Ron’s bed.

“No, I don’t think so,” Malfoy gaped at him for a moment, looking positively comical with his eyes nearly wide enough for them to bug out of his head, and his mouth fell open, revealing the tips of perfect white teeth. Seeing it, Harry swallowed a laugh and tried to keep his eyes from straying back to tracing along all of that lovely, bare skin.

“What the bloody fuck do you mean, you don’t think so?!” Malfoy practically shrieked, thrashing enough to bang the frame of the four-poster bed against the stone wall, “You’re a sick fuck, Potter! Sick! You will let me go right now or as soon as I’m free, I will kill you in the most painful way I know!” Unimpressed, he just continued to watch the Slytherin thrash, adoring the way his rage was painted crimson on his cheeks. Harry caught a glimpse of the curve of the other boy’s cock, flaccid and as pale as the rest of him and thought that yes, there probably was something wrong with him. Maybe it was the struggling or maybe the bonds, added to the fact that the prettiest boy in school was naked in his bed, but Harry was harder than he had ever been in his life. So hard, his erection pressed painfully against the zipper of his trousers and his balls felt tight and hot. Yes, maybe he was sick because all he could think about was some other ways they could make the bed rattle against the wall. Thinking quickly in order to shut up the blonde’s continued shouting and his own acute discomfort, he blurted the first thing that came to his head.

“Hermione told me that you owe me a life debt,” that seemed to do the trick for the blond froze mid-thrash and jerked his head around so fast, Harry could hear his neck crack where from where he sat. The grey eyes, shadowed in the lamplight, narrowed in fury.

“So I am aware,” every word was bitten off at the end, like he was using his teeth to close on them before they were fully out of his mouth. The dark haired boy could practically feel the heat of his rage radiating from the other bed, “So, you what, spell me to your bed and…” he raised his eyebrows, leaving the rest of the question hanging so that Harry could practically see the horrible things the blond was imagining happening to him. He held the furious grey gaze shrugged his shoulders.

“I didn’t do this. I didn’t know my bed would be…occupied when I came up here,” the way he worded it made Malfoy snarl again, lip curling and Harry couldn’t help but smile a little. It only made the blond angrier.

“Of course not. You’re just not going to let me go,” the ugly sneer that he had not seen very much of this year was back, marring the unique beauty of Malfoy’s face. The pale head slammed back against the pillows, as if he really wanted to bang it on something significantly harder. Harry shifted uncomfortably and tried not to think about what else the word hard applied to right about then. Swallowing thickly, he looked at the darkened window beside his bed.

“Why do you keep avoiding me?” he asked quietly, the words dropping between them like glass stones, “I kept trying but you run away every time. Why?” now it was Malfoy who looked away, face closed off with reluctance. There was a long moment of silence as he waited for the reply he wasn’t sure he was going to receive, watching pale hands twisting at the ropes that held them. And then the blond took him by surprise.

“You want to know why I’ve been avoiding you?” The grey eyes rolled to look at the dark haired boy, who nodded firmly, relief quickly following his surprise. Malfoy sighed, making his stomach hollow a bit more than normal, “Because I hate that the only reason I’m not in Azkaban is because of you. I hate that I have to keep being saved by you and every time I turn around, I see your stupid, arrogant face. I came back to get my NEWTs and that’s it. I don’t want anything to do with you,” hurt swirled in Harry’s stomach like a storm and he forced it down with an airy shrug.

“Well, then why are you here?” he sighed, reaching up to pull off his glasses so he could rub his eyes with his fingers. Dull stars burst behind his eyelids and he had to blink them away when he opened his eyes again. His question made the blond squawk indignantly.

“I. Don’t. Know!” he snapped, “I was minding my own business, trying to study in my room, something I’m sure you know nothing about. The next thing I know, I was waking up here, surrounded by all this disgusting red, completely STARKERS!!” by the time he was done shouting, his face was red and his chest heaved with anger. Harry felt oddly defeated. He didn’t know what he was hoping for but it wasn’t this. Obviously, he didn’t think that Malfoy could have done this himself but something in him had hoped that his wild, ill-advised crush on the Slytherin wasn’t one sided. Apparently, that was not the case.

With a weary sigh, he stood and approached the bed the blond was tied to, only to pause when Malfoy tried to scramble away, eyes huge and wary. He clearly wanted to get as close to the other side of the bed as possible but with his hands tied, this merely resulted in his long legs flung towards the edge and his back twisted towards Harry so his prefect, round arse was on display. The sight of it made a spark of hunger shoot through him, despite his raging disappointment that he was having a difficult time hiding.

“What the fuck are you doing, Potter?” the blonde’s voice was high with fear, eyes nearly taking up half his face and Harry almost convinced himself he didn’t think it was cute. Almost.

“You want me to set you free?” he demanded, already reaching for his wand in his back pocket. The other boy nodded hesitantly, relief washing over his face and Harry felt a moment of resentment before taking the last step to the edge of the bed so he could have a better angle at where Malfoy’s wrists were roped to the headboard.

Only, instead of spelling the blond free, there was a shift of fabric near the end of the bed and the next thing he knew, Harry was being lifted clear off his feet and dumped onto his bed with a very shocked Malfoy.

Or, more accurately, on top of Malfoy.

Who was very, distressingly, beautifully naked.

“What the FUCK!” a knee caught him in the thigh. A very naked knee, attached to a very naked body that was struggling and rubbing all against Harry’s, who found it rather difficult to untangle himself because the git wouldn’t hold still.

“Wait, Malfoy…hold on…”

“Get off of me right now, Potter, or so help me…”

“If you would just wait…” Harry desperately tried to move away but the sheets that had been spelled to tangle around his ankle were too tight and the blonde’s flailing legs gave him nowhere else to go. He really needed to get away, now, before Malfoy realized just how turned on he was but in the next moment, he realized it was too late. The blond lifted his thigh that had somehow ended up between Harry’s legs and he gasped sharply, entire body freezing, when he felt the hard line of the other boy’s cock pressing into him. For a moment, their eyes met, Malfoy’s as wide as his own and he could see the blank shock in the grey depths.

Mortified and completely betrayed by his own body, he ducked his head and scrambled back so that he was sitting on his heels, cheeks feeling as if they were on fire. There was no way he could hide the tenting in the front of his trousers, though, not that it really mattered. Trying to think the unsexiest thoughts he could, impossible with the boy he had been crushing on since the beginning of the school year trussed up and naked in front of him, Harry wasn’t sure if he should apologize or just let the blond lace into him for being a “sick bastard”. It was only after a long silence with his eyes averted and face in fire did he realize Malfoy hadn’t said a word.

Slowly, he lifted his head enough so he could look at the other boy from under his fringe, afraid of the disgust and horror he was sure to see. Except, the flush on the blonde’s face was no longer furiously crimson with anger. A softer red has colored his pale skin now, touching upon his high cheekbones and slender neck and his eyes, though still wide, were darker than before. The sight of it made Harry’s breath catch. Malfoy must have realized this because his face closed off again and he lifted his chin so he was looking down his nose at the boy hovering above him, glowering nastily.

“I knew it,” he snarled, twisting again against his bindings, “you are sick. Sick, twisted poof with sick, twisted perversions,” Harry opened his mouth to protest, because he was pretty sure he wasn’t that twisted but Malfoy ploughed on, “What would people say if they knew the truth about their precious little Gryff-”

At that very moment, a letter popped into existence and fell square onto the blonde’s chest, shutting him up mid-insult.

It was made from innocent cream colored paper, a silver seal over the flap to hold it closed with no adornment in the circle of wax. For a moment they stared at it in surprise and a healthy dose of wariness, as if they both half expected it to burst into flames. When it did nothing but continue to sit there, riding the quick rise and fall of the blonde’s chest, Harry saw no better course of action than to reach out and open it. Otherwise they would be stuck in a stalemate all night and he was already starting to lose the battle with his self-control. (Because, Merlin on a stick, Malfoy was right there and he was fucking naked. Harry suspected he was a bit fixated on this fact).

“Is this another trick, Potter?” the blond asked, voice a little higher than usual as his grey eyes narrowed with suspicion. Harry rolled his eyes and pulled a small piece of parchment from the envelope.

“It wasn’t a trick to start with, Malfoy,” he sighed, already tired of this. And then nearly fell off the bed in shock when he read the neat, rolling script, written in green ink and making his eyes fairly bug from his head.

Potter,
This letter was spelled to only show up if Draco continued to deny the fact that he has wanted to shag you since the beginning of fifth year. Though it may not be necessary, knowing Draco it most likely will be. Don’t let him fool you; he’s been talking about you non stop for years and quite frankly, both me and Blaise are sick of listening to him whine. We practically gift-wrapped him for you and, according to the girl-Weasley, you won’t let this opportunity go to waste.
We love Draco but you’ve never been on the receiving end of one of his rants. Which are mostly about you.
Don’t muck this up, Potter.

Pansy.

Harry gaped at the paper for what felt like, ages, reading it twice and then a third time, just to make sure. He felt like he had been hit round the back of the head with a Bludgeoning curse because this was what he had been pining after for months and everything he needed, including approval from third parties, was right in front of him. The grey eyes of his one-time rival were fixed on his face and they were practically slits, they were so narrow.

“What is that?” the blond demanded in a hiss, unable to hide the nervous hitch in his voice. Silently, Harry held the letter out for him, forgetting the other boy was trussed up to the headboard. His fingers vibrated slightly where they held the paper, crinkled a bit from his grip and he looked off to the side because the affect the words Parkinson had written was practically permission for him to fuck the blond. He didn’t trust himself if he was looking at Malfoy. Who gave a low growl that went straight to Harry’s throbbing cock a moment later, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, you absolute buffoon,” the blond began, sounding so reasonable Harry found his gaze swinging back to find himself caught in a gale of fury before Malfoy practically bellowed, “but MY FUCKING HANDS ARE TIED!!”

Harry winced, “Sorry,” feeling like a complete moron and held the letter so that Malfoy could read it without having to lift his head. He could feel the other boys calves pressed against his own, the pale knees drawn up in a vain sense of modesty and did his best not to think about it, even though that was all he could think about at the moment. There was a breath or two of silence before Malfoy started to thrash again, managing to knock the letter from Harry’s hands.

“Those fucking traitors!” he screamed, nearly kicking the dark haired boy in the head, “I’ll kill them! They will wish they had never been born!!” Harry ducked another flying foot and caught the slender ankle when it came back around, pinning it to the bed. Malfoy continued to rage, so angry his face was nearly crimson and his teeth looked sharp enough to bite through metal, “Let me go, Potter, so I can eviscerate them, those fucking pieces of—” Harry snagged the blonde’s other ankle and leaned forward, heart beating painfully fast in his chest.

“Is it true?” he demanded, cutting the other boy off mid-rant as he pinned the slender legs to the bed. Malfoy’s grey eyes were huge with surprise, making him look a little bit like an owl caught in the sudden light of a Lumos. Then he turned his head away, face burning as he shifted uncomfortably.

“Of, of course it’s not bloody true,” the other boy snapped but it sounded a little weak even to Harry’s ears. Malfoy shifted again, his hips moving against the wrinkled sheets and the dark haired boy couldn’t help but drag his gaze down the length of the pale, lithe body, hot want surging like a tidal wave in his blood. Then his breath ran short because, there, between the shadowed hollows of Malfoy’s hips was his cock, almost completely hard and curving up towards the flat plane of his stomach.

Part 2

Comments

hehe i love the descriptions~ really well written~