Drarry Fanfiction

This Monstrous Need

Drarry, Smut, 2,473 words
By: birdsofshore

The potions cupboard is really much too small for two people, let alone two people who can't stand each other.

I wrinkle my nose. “Potter, you've put Billywig stings next to the porcupine quills. Do you not understand the concept of ordering things so people can find them, or is it the whole alphabet that's proving too much of a challenge for you?”

He glares as always, turning to face me with his forehead creasing around his stupid scar. “Shut up, Malfoy, or I'll have to punch you in the face again, and we both know that's how we got into this mess in the first place.”

I sigh, drawing it out, putting all my frustration into it. Two hours doing tasks for Slughorn, as a detention for fighting in class. So bloody unfair; I didn't even get a decent go at Potter, though my cheek still aches from his blow. Slughorn said we should be ashamed of ourselves, that we should be capable of behaving like adults now, rather than first years. Merlin, but this idiot I'm stuck in here with brings out the child in me.

I reach past him, jostling him just a little more than I need to, grabbing a vial of oily, mustard-yellow liquid. The label has got wet at some point and I turn it in my fingers, trying to make out the crabbed script. “Yeah, you probably engineered the whole thing to get to be alone with me, Potter. I've seen you staring at me and following me about. Pathetic.”

His eyes narrow – he really is so temptingly easy to wind up – and his arm jerks, utterly on purpose, I'm sure, his shoulder bashing my arm with a painful jolt. My fingers fly open and it takes about three seconds for the contents of the vial to lie spreading around my feet in a spray of broken glass.

His face is infuriatingly smug as he laughs at the mess on the floor. There are unpleasant-looking vapours rising from the spillage, sickly and strange. We both speak at once.

“Bad luck, Malfoy, Slughorn won't be very happy about that...”

“For fuck's sake, Potter, look what you—”

Then it hits me, and it's about as subtle as a Bludger to the head. The instant it curls into my nostrils, it's like I've been plunged into a hot bath. Or maybe a bed of nettles. The most noticeable thing, though, is the urgent, unmistakable need. There's a tug in my stomach, trying to pull me forwards. Pulling me towards Potter – or, more specifically, towards Potter's warm body, which suddenly looks like the finest thing I've ever seen.

I swallow heavily and look down at the potion spilled on the floor. I try to run through possibilities in my mind, but my head is swimming and I have no idea what it could be. Whatever it is, it works bloody fast. Every nerve ending is prickling with outrageous desire. I dig my nails into my palms, just to stop myself from lunging forwards and grinding my body against Potter's.

Potter's face is stricken now, gazing at the hazy yellow fumes coiling themselves lovingly around my legs. My skin is on fire, but more than that, there's the need to touch, to rub, to get some friction to my cock, which has swollen almost instantaneously to a ridiculous hardness and is doing its utmost to burst the seams of my trousers. I pull my collar away from my throat, trying to give myself some air. It's suddenly turned humid in the cupboard – I'm getting a compulsion to just rip my robes right off, to be honest, but I bat the thought away. Potter's expression is turning from worried to horrified. He's definitely got a whiff of whatever it is.

“What is that stuff – fuck!”

He stops and closes his eyes, reaching out a hand to clutch at the shelves, as if he's dizzy and going to fall. I'm standing right over the spillage – in fact, some of it splashed on my robes – so he's probably getting a lesser dose than me, but he still looks pretty affected. His face is flushed, twisted. I can see sweat beading on his top lip, and I want nothing more than to lick it off. A little moan catches in his throat, and apparently, that's enough. Much more than enough. I'm on him, slamming him up against the shelves with my hands in his robes before he has time to catch his breath.