Chapter One: Ending The Matter

Harry slid open the door to the unused classroom, left hand nervously pawing at a pocket to make sure he'd remembered a clean kerchief. Unused or otherwise, he'd feel guilty leaving a mess behind for someone else to identify later.

Draco looked up, eyes wide, then relaxed when he saw who it was. He pushed himself off the desk he'd been sitting on near the back of the room, standing to greet his classmate.

“Potter,” he said, his greeting holding less bite than usual.

“Malfoy. You're early.”

“So are you.”

Harry began to undo his robes, turning so he didn't have to look at Draco and thinking "After all this time, I'm still so nervous...". The other boy was already mostly undressed, down to his white oxford shirt. The robes that made up his school uniform were neatly folded and set along the wall, his neck tie sitting on top of them. The belt Draco barely needed for his fitted slacks was curled next to the robes, reminding Harry of a snake as he glanced at it before pulling his own shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons and piling the robes, shirt and tie unceremoniously on the floor not far from Draco's clothing. He was still in his undershirt and pants when he turned back to Draco.

Draco's arousal grew as he watched Harry undressing. The robes were cumbersome and difficult to remove while in the heat of lust, and they had mutually decided that removing clothes before they began each round of their game would be easier. A game was all it was to them, or that's all it felt like, anyway; they hadn't started this out of love for each other. They started it out of a desire to get off.

Harry cast Draco a challenging look as he turned to face him, the look that meant the game had begun, and it was only as he leaned in to kiss Harry that Draco dropped the mask of cool indifference. He wanted this.

*

This game had started by accident. Harry had been looking for somewhere other than the dormitory or the showers to wank, and had found Draco in the middle of doing as much in the back of an empty room. That meeting had been awkward, ending with both boys being too startled and embarrassed to say anything and simply leaving the room.

When they accidentally found each other again, then again, both were starting to get on edge.

The fourth time, Draco walked in on Harry. Harry was sitting on an unused desk, hurrying to tuck himself back into his boxers.

Draco slammed the door to the room, shutting himself and Harry inside, and let loose a string of foul language.

“Honestly, Potter!” he snapped, regaining control of himself only marginally, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Harry spat. “You've caught me twice. Can't you keep to the other side of the castle or something?”

“What about you? Every time I try to find a quiet space, either you walk in on me or you're already there! Can't you do that in the bathroom?”

“If I could, don't you think I'd be there already? You make this sound like I want to interrupt you!”

Draco sneered. “Maybe you do. Maybe you get off on that sort of thing.”

“Draco, you're sick. If I were getting off on anything we wouldn't be having this conversation. Besides, you're the one who goes out of his way to get on other people's nerves.”

“Shut up! Go find somewhere else to wank!”

Harry stood up and faced Draco. “Go to Hell, Malfoy, I was here first!”

Draco didn't back down. “Don't you dare tell me to go to Hell, Potter!”

With his last assertion of dominance, he lunged at Harry, knocking him to the floor and straddling him with an angry snarl. Harry gasped when he hit the cold stone, grappling with Malfoy for a grip that might give him some advantage. He grabbed Draco's throat, pushing upward, and Draco responded by raising one of his own hands to Harry's wrist to try and pull it away, other hand flailing to land a punch. Harry heaved himself into a sitting position, pushing Draco backward, then moved faster than he realized he could to knock the other boy backwards onto the floor. He pinned Draco into place with his right hand on Draco's throat and his left hand on Draco's wrist. His shins rested on and dug awkwardly into Draco's inner thighs, and he didn't doubt how much it must've hurt.

Draco could feel the uneven stones of the floor pressing into his back and grinding painfully into his pelvic bone, and the tendons along his inner thighs straining under the weight Harry was putting on them, and he wondered in frustration just how Harry had maneuvered that.

This was overshadowed, however, by the sensation of Harry's bulge pressing against his own.

Three days or more of sexual repression would not be silenced by fighting, and this hadn't escaped either of their notice.

The room was dark, dimly lit only by a lumos spell at the tips of both their wands; Harry's sat on a desk where he had left it upon entering the room, and Draco's had been simply dropped to the floor when the fight began. It was enough light for both of them to know the other was blushing. Neither of them moved, as if maybe holding still would end the problem; it didn't.

Draco slowly tried to sit up, but Harry cast him a threatening look.

“Get off, Potter, this is stupid.”

“You're the one who started it, you idiot!”

Draco snarled, snatching Harry's wrist with his free hand and yanking it away from his throat. He didn't have the leverage to knock Harry off of him, but he did have the reach to kiss him—which, for a reason he couldn't explain, was the next most logical thing he could think of to do.

Draco hadn't done much kissing in his life, but he'd never kissed someone out of anger. Kissing in rage, he decided, was one of the most intense things he'd ever done.

Harry made a startled noise, catching himself on the floor with the hand Draco had knocked aside, then kissed back with just as much fury.

The competition had them fighting to push the other back, and with his position, Harry was winning. Draco was still pinned to the floor by Harry's hand on his wrist, and Harry was still resting on top of Draco's thighs. As they shifted, their groins pressed and rubbed against each other.

Draco bit at Harry's lower lip, a desperate attempt at control over what was happening. His hips were bucking on their own, responding to the stimulation of Harry's groin against his. He wanted to get away, to make this stop because fighting wasn't supposed to go like this. Instead, when Harry nipped back, Draco changed tack and bit Harry's shoulder.

Harry groaned in spite of himself, moving forcefully against Draco. One knee, made slippery by sweat, slipped away from where it was pinning Draco down and hit the floor hard. If Harry was bothered by this, he didn't show it; the angle had shifted, and it had suddenly become much easier to grind himself against Draco.

It occurred to Draco that the leverage had shifted, that now he had an opportunity to fight back and break away, but the thought hit somewhere far in the back of his mind. His thoughts and his body had been overtaken by the feeling of Harry's crotch against his own. His skin sizzled, and all the effort he had been putting towards biting Harry's shoulder ceased in an effort to breathe. He took deep, heavy breaths, and as he came he thought distantly Well this is different.

Harry thrust against Draco a few more times and finished, then sense returned to his sex-fuzzed brain and he pushed himself several feet back and away.

Harry started with the most logical “What the Hell just happened?”

Draco had returned to an upright position to regain his composure and catch his breath. “A lot,” he said shortly, “and most of it completely irrational.”

Harry scooted to the nearest wall, leaned back against it, and sighed. “Then I suppose there's no sense in explaining it...” He smirked wryly. “At least both our problems are solved; I know I got off, and I know you got off...” Harry's facial expression looked momentarily startled, then he let his head sink to his hands and muttered once again “What the Hell just happened?”

Draco stared at the far wall. “We took our anger out on each other sexually. I have no bloody idea why that seemed like the right thing to do, but obviously it worked.”

The two of them sat in relative silence for the next few minutes, allowing themselves time to catch their breath and let the gravity of what happened sink in.

“You do realize there's no way we can just pretend this never happened,” Harry pointed out. “As surreal and beyond belief as this is, it happened.”

“I know,” Draco said, his agitation clear in his voice. “I just don't know what to do next.” He glared at Harry. "This is all your fault."

Harry didn't argue; he stared at a spot on the floor, trying to think of something reasonable to do. Finally, he sighed and said “Let's just go to bed; I'm too tired to think now. Maybe in the morning one of us will have thought of something to do.”

Draco nodded quietly, and both boys went their seperate ways back to their dormitories.

It took them both another two days to come up with a solution, and then it was because it had been over forty-eight hours since they had last gotten off. Jerking off alone proved to be less powerful than the emotionally charged episode the two of them had shared.

If you asked either one of them, neither would be able to tell you who suggested it first, only that they had mutually agreed to go with it; they began arranging to meet in the empty classrooms scattered about the castle for the sole purpose of taking out their sexual frustrations on each other.

That had been eight months ago.

*

Draco had his hands on Harry's back, digging in the tips of his fingers and letting his nails catch on the material of the other boy's undershirt, enjoying the feel of him pressing closer as Draco's hand passed over his skin. He pushed his hips forward, feeling his crotch and Harry's connect and move against each other. Draco turned his face away from Harry, unable to breathe with the stimulus and kissing. He reached down to readjust himself through his pants so his dick could point upward, towards Harry and the softer flesh bellow his belly button. Then he thrust forward, grinding, and smiled when Harry allowed a small noise to escape his throat.

That was an unspoken rule to the game; to elicit whatever response they could from the other.

Draco leaned his upper body forward, wrapping one arm around Harry's shoulder to pull him closer, and ran his tongue along the outermost part of Harry's right ear. Harry let out an audible gasp, and one hand flew up to grip the back of Draco's shirt, unsure if he wanted to pull him away or draw him closer. A moment later, as Draco began to nibble his earlobe, Harry's other hand raised itself to Draco's hip, holding him close as he let out a moan. Draco smiled in spite of himself, letting his other hand slide down the black haired boy's side and along the top of his trousers. He'd had a lot of practice, since that first fit of sexual release, in undoing the school-issue trousers one-handed, and he demonstrated as much once again and slipped his fingers in. He felt the skin of Harry's manhood where it had poked out of his boxers, and he wrapped his hand around it and began to rub the tip.

Harry was an experiment in multitasking to Draco, and he had learned one of the tricks to get him off the easiest. As he continued to rub against the other boy's genitalia with his hand and hips, he stopped nibbling his earlobe to bite at his neck. Harry was making noises more steadily now, and as Malfoy found the spot where shoulder met neck, Harry's legs gave out, forcing him back onto the desk closest to him. Draco stayed standing, releasing Harry's member so both hands were free enough to take off Harry's undershirt. When the offending item had been tossed to the top of Harry's clothes pile, Draco went back to massaging his counterpart's penis with one hand, pinching Harry's right nipple with the other and toying with the left nipple with his tongue.

Harry could feel his toes beginning to tingle as he fought to breathe normally. He leaned back on his elbows on the desk, the view of his least liked classmate pleasuring him falling in and out of focus. He gave up on trying to see what was happening, head falling back on his shoulders as Draco's teasing fingers and tongue slid from his chest to his stomach.

This was a manipulation Draco enjoyed. It was direct; There was no trying to toy with someone's thoughts to get them to think what he wanted them to, there was no beating around the bush. It was a flesh and blood machination; a certain combination of actions to get a desired effect, a sense of control that simple words never gave him. It wasn't about getting anyone in trouble or making them look bad. It was about sending shockwaves through Potter without detentions, house points, or politics. It was about making Harry feel like he needed this more than anything else, like he needed Draco to do this to him.

Like he needs me more than anything.

The thought came unbidden, and Draco brushed it aside before the words could settle in and effect his performance.

Right then, he was busy.

Draco nipped at the soft skin on Harry's stomach, resisting the urge to bite hard enough to leave a bruise. He'd done it before by accident, and Harry had made sure to return the favor. As much fun as playing rough could be, they were both on Quidditch teams, and they couldn't think of an explanation if the bruises were noticed in the locker rooms.

That was another rule: No questionable marks.

So he was careful, as he nipped and tongued his way downward, sliding his hand along Harry's thigh. Harry shuddered, shaking his whole body in the process. Draco smiled inwardly; Harry was getting closer to the edge.

Harry moaned as Draco ran his tongue in swirling patterns back and forth along Harry's inner thighs and up to where leg met lower abdomen. He knew what would happen next; for every time they had done this, he still hadn't developed any sort of ressistance to it, and he felt his body shivering in anticipation he couldn't control.

Draco exhaled over Harry's shaft, his breath warm compared to the air in the castle. Harry quaked in response, and Draco slid his hand lower on Harry's penis, leaving the head standing in wait. Draco licked from where his thumb's first knuckle pressed against Harry's manhood up to the tip, pulled his tongue back into his mouth, then wrapped his lips around the head, sucking it in.

Harry cried out, his body stiffened, and he cried again when he felt Draco shift his tongue and began to bob up and down. His resistance utterly lost, Harry came, alternately moaning and locking up every muscle in his body.

Draco swallowed, having nowhere to spit, and stood up, lips curling at the aftertaste. Harry had slipped from his elbows to laying back on the desk, breathing hard from exhertion. His limbs hung limply off the desk's sides. Once his breathing began to slow, he reached up to tuck himself back into his pants and refasten the button and zipper.

“You aren't done yet, Potter,” Draco reminded unnecessarily.

“I know,” Harry said faintly. “Just a few more minutes.”

Draco dusted off the surface of an abandoned desk and sat down; for that evening, he would be patient.

*

A week passed before Draco heard anything from Harry again, and when he did it was to catch him briefly in the library, asking to meet that night at midnight in the same classroom. Draco agreed; he'd planned to stay up late to review for a test in Transfiguration. “If I'm going to be up,” he thought, “I may as well take some time for that.”

Draco was pleased with himself that evening as he walked to the empty classroom; it was another one of the game's rules to see who could go the longest before making an offer to meet up. There was no official point system for their game, but Draco was almost certain he would be ahead if there had been one.

He tried not to acknowledge the expression on Harry's face, an expression he couldn't understand, when he walked into the room, choosing instead to assault him without a greeting; a week without this part of the game was still a week without getting off, and his own body had begun to feel it. Draco reached a hand around the back of Harry's head and pulled him forward for a kiss, placing the other hand at the small of his back and pulling him close. He felt Harry's hands rest on his shoulders, fingers tightening into the material of his shirt and drawing him against his own body, then stopping. Harry broke their kiss, murmured “Stop”, gave into another kiss and said “Stop!” again, more clearly this time. He pushed Draco back a couple inches, closing his eyes and turning his face downward. He took a deep breath, and Draco felt the world grinding to a halt.

“I can't do this,” began Harry. “This doesn't mean anything.”

“That was part of the point,” Draco sniped. “We could satisfy our baser needs with no strings attached.” He felt his stomach knotting up, not wanting to hear what the dark haired boy was saying.

Hary sighed. “I know. That was the whole point. But this stopped being a good thing.” He turned his face away from Draco, trying to find something off to his left to focus on. “I don't know how to explain it... This feels hollow. It's missing something important.”

Draco stared at Harry, not sure he wanted to accept what he was being told. “What could possibly be missing? If I'm not doing something right, just say it--”

“It's not that you're doing something wrong,” Harry cut in, now flicking his gaze to Draco, then the ceiling, then somewhere to the right, “It's just... something you can't do. It's not part of the way this works. For a while, this was just fine; it was letting out how pissed off I was at you, or just at anything. It was that release that made this worth while. But either I'm done being angry with you or it just doesn't bother me anymore, and now I just know how empty this is.”

Draco took a step back, then another, putting enough space between himself and Harry to keep him from wanting to hit the other boy for saying that. Later that night, he would look back and reflect that his self control had, for once, been admirable; he'd wanted to scream that it wasn't empty, that what they did was more than nothing, that it wasn't meaningless—all things that, really, didn't make sense.

They hadn't started this to have it mean something.

“I can't find it in you,” Harry continued quietly, “So I think we need to just stop this all together before it creates a bigger problem later.”

“What can't you find?” Draco asked incredulously. “What were you trying to find in the first place?”

Harry still refused to look Draco in the eye. “I don't know. If I find it, I'll tell you what it is, but it's not here.”

Draco couldn't do anything but stare in silence through Harry's hair at the scar etched on his forehead, Harry's green eyes still looking anywhere but Draco. Finally, Harry murmured “I need to go to bed,” and ran for the door.

Draco sat numbly on the edge of the nearest desk, trying to process what was going on and suffocate the sense of having lost something important.

There's no loss, he thought firmly. No reason for this to matter. We were both just in it for the physical feeling. He obviously wants to move on to someone more fulfilling.

But the words “someone more fulfilling” didn't sit well with Draco, and moments later he found himself thinking If that was all, why do I feel like crying?