Pins & Needles.
I'm not tied down, I don't have to be. By now I know not to move
when he's pushing it in. Took me two nights, just like this one,
to realise this and then a further six to control the urge to
shift away. I don't know why I used to flinch as it never hurt
until I did. I guess it was just the thought of it.
I stare at the ceiling as I feel him lift up my arm. Slight
pressure in the joint of my elbow, then the strange feeling of
sucking it out. Still not quite used to that. Can't see his face
very well, but I know he's watching it. Don't know how he can see
it, it's fairly dark in the Great Hall. It's clouded outside in
the real world so the ceiling only shows that too.
The syringe is full now, and the thin metal slides out. It's only
afterwards that it starts to hurt, more of an ache actually. Not
surprising really, has to hurt sometime after all. His hand
starts to rub my chest, making sure that he didn't hurt me too
badly, that I'm not angry. He knows when I am, it's when I bat
his hand away. Tonight, I let him rub. This part always feels
good. I like this part.
I sometimes wonder why I can't just have this part. I wonder why
he always wants the needle.
I guess the war ... I guess it finally got to him in the end, in
its own way. I guess that's good, shows that he truly is human. I
was starting to wonder as the fighting grew to its climax. To
face it all and still survive. After all that, how could I not
allow his slight ... quirks?
He doesn't say much about his time, but I'm sure he had it as bad
as everyone else. Maybe more so, given who he is. The needle
slides into my thigh as he goes to return the blood he
'borrowed'. No real pain, just that odd feeling of something
foreign in my body. It'll only hurt later, bruised muscle,
pricked skin. Needles out now, he's become very good at this. In
the beginning he was awkward, a little unsure of how to do it.
But now all his movements are smooth, well known.
The needle slides into the soft flesh behind my knee, I hadn't
even noticed him lift it. Have to stop staring at the ceiling and
drifting, don't want to be taken by surprise and jerk away. I'm
going to be very sore tomorrow, and the next day, and the day
after. But I'm okay with that. I know I shouldn't be, but I am.
The clouds must have parted briefly outside, because they did on
the ceiling. I can see him a little better now, he's watching the
syringe. It always fascinated him how the blood just seems to
pour out, following the directions of the vacuum.
Putting my leg back down now, his left hand slides up the leg, to
my nipple and he squeezes it. I know why, and internally I whine.
I was already half hard with the anticipation of later but now my
body responds to his gentle touch. He shifts slightly and leans
over, replacing his hand with his mouth and my breathing speeds
up slightly. His hand moves back down my chest sliding his
fingers through the hair until he reaches his goal. A small
squeeze and I breathe out louder than normal, even though I'm
dreading what's to come.
He straightens back up and I want to flinch away. This always
hurts the longest afterwards. That's why he has to let me wait at
least a week for the next round. I see his other hand move
towards my erection and this time, for once, I can't help it.
"No." A breathe out, wondering if he'll hear me ... or if he'll
even bother to listen. "Not tonight. Please."
Neither of his hands move. He's looking at me, I know it. I look
at the ceiling panicking about what will happen now. I've never
told him no before, not once. I've wanted to, thought it, even
opened my mouth to say it, but never followed through. And then I
hear the unthinkable. He's put the syringe down on the table,
above my head, I just make out his empty hand moving back down. I
close my eyes, dreading what might come next than any ache and
discomfort the injection would have caused me.
"Harry." His voice is slow as it usually was lately. He wants me
to open my eyes but I won't, cant, too afraid. "Harry." A little
firmer this time. I hear him move slightly, sliding up the table
to lie next to me. "Why do you let me do this to you?" I'm really
worried now. He's never asked me this before. He rarely asks me
anything. "Why do you let me do this?"
"You seem to need it." I whisper back. And that was why I first
started this. Detention, first day back from the summer holidays,
for casting at each other during the feast. I can't even remember
why it started, just that I was very angry at him, boiling and
seething.
We'd had to sort all the library books that had 'mysteriously'
returned, well after their due dates. First day back was always
an amnesty day where that was concerned. Pince had been
supervising like a hawk after she'd explained to us what had to
be done. There were two piles, the ones returned that day and the
ones the house elves had found left behind in dormitories and
classrooms over the holidays. A few had even been found on the
roof this year. So we'd sat there, noting down the titles,
authors or compilers, and library codes, hissing insults at each
other, careful to not let Pince hear us. Write down details, sort
on trolley, walk around returning them to their shelves when the
trolley was full. All the while sniping at each other and
thinking up more and more elaborate threats.
One point I'd lost it and grabbed his arm, pushing at his sleeve
a little. He pulled away but I saw the cuts that were still
healing. I'd said something about 'angering Daddy' and he
laughed. A real laugh. Said his father would never hurt him, and
I couldn't really picture him lying about that. Not after that
laugh. But he wouldn't say what the cuts were from. So I said he
made them himself and he just smiled at me, shaking his head.
I believed him. He's not the type to damage himself. Too proud,
too vain. I never asked about them again.
Next time we were returning books that night, I asked him, just
said it as honestly as I could. Wanted to know what he really
would do to me if he had the chance. He smiled, leaning in and I
shivered.
'Strip you naked and draw your blood.' I saw his pupils dilate.
'I'd give it back, don't worry. Wouldn't be any fun if you
died.'
Told him he was crazy. He only smiled. 'And then I'd get to fuck
you.' He placed the last book in the shelf and walked away,
leaving me, my mouth open, to push the trolley back to our
desk.
It only took me two weeks of thinking about it, picturing it,
wondering if he would, for me to turn up in his room one night,
asking him if he'd go through with it. A soft laugh and gentle
words telling me to take my clothes off and find out.
"Because I need this?"
I open my eyes and look to him. "Yeah."
"And what if I didn't? What if I just wanted it?"
I shrugged.
"Are you trying to save me, Harry?"
"No." Nothing to save him from, everyone's safe now. Safe, safer,
whatever.
"Do you like this?" He never seems to yell anymore. He used to,
just before the end, no more stress, I guess.
"Sometimes."
His hand back on my chest now, finger tips sliding up, down, up,
down. "But not always?"
"I always like some of the things." I want the questions over,
they make me uncomfortable. Back to the needle, back to the
touching, that's where I want to be.
"These things?" Then he kisses me, starts out soft, always
becomes harder. I like it like that, he knows it. He pulls away.
"Are you just here for the sex, now?"
"Yes." Didn't used to be, used to like the needle, still do but
not as much. Now I just wait it out, knowing what always follows.
Waiting for that part.
Hear him pick up the needle and I smile because we're finally
getting back to the program. But the smile fades as I hear the
click of its container. I don't want him to go, we're not
finished yet. And he doesn't and I'm confused. He slides back to
standing on the floor, my knees are starting to ache, because the
edge of the table it pressing in behind them. Can feel the wood
pressing into the tiny prick mark on my left leg.
Then his hands, gently rubbing my thighs, I feel a kiss to the
one with the mark, right over where the needle had been. I raise
myself up on my elbows, meaning to ask why the rules had changed
but decided against saying anything as I feel his fingers drift
up my erection. Can see him better now, clouds are going, watch
as he leans forwards and then I sigh. Warm, wet, wonderful.
Always feels good, even when I didn't stop him with the
syringe.
I smile as one of his hand moves around to my lower back, helping
him keep his balance. I shiver when his tongue slides across the
tip, and then it's back down, sliding, sucking, making me smile.
I don't make a noise as I cum, but I think I can hear my heart
pounding. He stands up and I move to lie back down.
Instead he hands me my robe. "You're shivering."
"I'm not cold."
"We have to go." Sometimes I get really sick of his constantly
low tone. But I don't push the subject now. He helps me to my
feet and drapes the garment over my shoulders. "I really should
go and pack."
I should too, last day of Hogwarts. Have to catch
the train home tomorrow, then have to sort out what to do with
the rest of my life. But I'm still confused about his behaviour.
And not just tonight. Ever since I got back from the hospital
he's been different. I know I was injured pretty badly, but I'd
made a full recovery. So there's nothing there to explain why he
rarely accepts my offer of having me. "I guess I'll see you on
the train."
"Yeah." I offer back weakly.
As Draco walks away, I can feel the part of me that doesn't want
him to.
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