skarlette00

The Canidaes

2007-08-02T21:12:32Z

The Canidaes

Chapter one: King of Kings

Summary: Things are not always as they seem; Draco quickly learns that what seems like a perfectly normal night on the streets, can easily turn into something surreal and unexpected. He’s lived many lifetimes before, but this one will commence his journey into transcendence and with it he will find the greatest love there is.

A.N: Read, Enjoy and try to ignore the typos, they will be fixed very soon.

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He was all big consuming green eyes behind the rectangular frames of his glasses. His hair, a nigrescent gloss of tousled waves fell around his head like a beaconing halo calling the wicked forth. Draco tentatively approached, but wisely kept a distance on the sidewalk and peered through the passenger window. Shadows created by the unforgiving glare of the street lamps, permitted him to vaguely make out the school boy blush exploding against the stranger’s cheeks. The guy’s hands gripped the steering wheel with such nervous strength that Draco believed he would peel off at any moment.

Upon closer look, he seemed to be garnering strength by the rise and fall of his shoulders and as if it was an all or nothing moment, he turned his head, looked up through a fan of sooty lashes and amazed Draco even more as his cheeks bloomed brightly red.

“Um—h—how much?” His voice, if not for the nervous scratch, would’ve sounded mildly pleasant, but at the moment it was rather grating and wholly unappealing, but his voice wasn’t exactly top priority on Draco’s mind.

“Seventy for a blow job, any added kink is an extra twenty. You want me for the entire night; it’ll cost you three hundred large. Up front.” Moss green eyes widened to the size of saucers behind clear lenses and Draco couldn’t help his smirk. Whoever the hell ever said a prostitute was cheap, had certainly never met him.

This guy was different; worlds away from all the other middle-aged, lecherous freaks who bought his tricks. This man, if he could even be called that, didn’t look a day over sixteen. He looked as though he should be home, discovering the everlasting joy that his hand and dick could bring if introduced the right way, instead of the curbside of one toughest neighborhoods in Slytherin city trying to buy the favors of a whore.

Draco wasn’t complaining, if the kid could pay for next month’s rent, then he’d hop into the ridiculously sleek sex machine ‘Mr. wide-eyed innocent’ was driving and blow his mind into next week.

“Umm—yeah—okay.” He was in the passenger seat before the last words could pass those ‘made for blowjobs lips’.

Like black satin gliding against flesh, the car glided away and effortlessly merged into traffic. Much was to be said for a boy who didn’t look old enough to drive and yet could seamlessly handle a vehicle with enough power to make them both wet their pants and Draco realized that he was mildly impressed.

Mildly.

“So,” Draco’s voice penetrated the silence, filled only by the satin purr of the engine. “DBS V12?”

He didn’t usually make a habit of speaking to his johns, not unless there was an absolute need for conversation, and only then it was when money was exchanged and services were doled out; otherwise it was all business with very little pleasantry in between, but the kid looked as though he was about to lose his dinner and Draco preferred not turn a trick on someone who could potentially reek of vomit.

“Uh—yes,” he said that with gush of air. “A present from my parents; they bought it for me for graduation.”

Ah, yes of course. “High school?” At that he turned his head and gave Draco the first direct look since pulling up to a few minutes ago. The gaze could’ve sufficiently passed for annoyance and Draco found himself amused for the first time that night.

“I’m in the second year of my residency.”

“As in studying to be a Doctor?” As attractive as the interior of the car was, with the elegance of its Alcantara upholstery and impressive six speed transmission Draco was much more interested in the boy—man, seated adjacent to him.

He really was quite something to look at, just a button of youthful open eyed wonder, anxious to discover the wicked little tricks his newly purchased toy could do. Well, Draco would certainly not disappoint, after all, there where worst things he could be doing at this evening. Entertaining this pretty little rich boy-doctor was definitely not one of them.

Again he turned his head, aimed those brilliant green eyes Draco’s way and did not bother to hide his annoyance this time.

“Why do you sound so shocked?”

Draco shook his head. “Not shocked, just surprised.”

His eyes remained on the road, but somehow Draco knew that he momentarily rolled them heavenward. “Like there’s a difference.” Indignation cleared the nervous scratch from his throat and Draco was cheered to know that his voice did sound pleasant when not infested with nerves. There was a transitory lapse of silence in which Draco believed his attempt in eradicating boy-doctor’s anxiety had backfired.

“I know I don’t exactly look the part,” There was a drawn out exasperation in that answer, before he turned his head and gave Draco a sideway glance. “Your not exactly the first person who’s reacted that way and I should be used to it by now, but,” he shrugged. “It still frustrates the hell out of me.”

“Well if my opinion matters at all, I think it’s pretty damn impressive.”

“To look like I’m still in high school?” For all that he was book smart, boy-doctor sure as hell sounded naively clueless.

This time, Draco was the one to roll his eyes skyward. “To make it through med-school with your sanity still intact.”

His laughter caused Draco’s lips to rise at the corner in semblance of a smile. “Who’s to say I haven’t lost my sanity already?” For mere seconds his eyes shifted from the road and focused on Draco. “I don’t think sane people venture out in the middle of the night to buy the favors of a—well you know.”

His bashfulness was oddly appealing; it wasn’t often that he met men who could be so easily embarrassed in his line of work and to finally meet one was refreshing to say the lest. “I think I’m pretty safe with you for the time being. So, do you have a name or do I just call you Dr. McBlush?”

“Harry. You?”

“Draco.”

Customarily he went by Dragon or Drake or whatever the hell the John wanted to call him, but never, did he give out his real name. To do so was just plain stupidity, Draco, was feeling particularly stupid this evening so of course he would spit out his name to proverbial stranger.

“Draco,” Those lips wrapped around his name. “Draco...it suits you.” And released it with a resounding ‘pop’; Keeping his imagination from racing, Draco shifted in his seat and uneasily cleared his throat.

“Thanks.”

The silence from before returned with its awkwardness and Draco found himself suddenly lost for words, so he turned his head and tried to lose himself in the passing scenery. They’d left the seamy underbelly of Slytherin city minutes earlier and were now entering the swank metropolis that was Gryffindor. Where Slytherin was perceived as the womb for all things depraved, moralless and corrupt, Gryffindor was the quintessential foil to its sister city. As appose to the shabby, unattended apartment buildings the people of Slytherin were given, Gryffindor’s populace inhabited magnificent glassy high rise condominiums and with the clear blue nimbus skies in the backdrop, they were given the fantasy of sleeping within the heavens…fitting really, for people who believed themselves Gods amongst mortals.

In Slytherin, nightfall incited the rise of whores, junkies, dealers, vagrants and thieves, all the little things mommy and daddy warned you against, came alive within the miasma of Slytherin’s street corners and alleys. But in Gryffindor, beneath the gleaming surfeit of streetlamps, the golden children of Hogwarts University emerged, high on their invincibility of money and power; they believed that they could do no wrong. They traipsed the cobbled streets in groups of dozens, chattering, laughing and hollering like primates on narcotics; nothing fazed them, nothing concerned them. They cared for no one but themselves, greedy, selfish, self-indulgent idiots—Draco despised them all.

Now he remembered why he’d refused to ever step foot in this city; the stench of hypocrisy was everywhere; every gilded facet of this mega-metropolis was imbued with hubristic narcissism, which had the people of Gryffindor believe that they were above the rest. Being here now Draco felt dirtier in that moment, then he’d ever felt in all the twelve years of prostituting himself for money.

Letting breathe escape through his flaring nostrils he hissed in pain as his wrist began to ache.

“A-are you alright?” Concern danced a fluid ballet in viridian eyes and Draco was momentarily ensnared by them. There was something very peculiar in the way those eyes shown so green. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” The flush returned beneath the frames of his glasses.

Shaking his head as if to clear cobwebs, Draco blinked twice before returning his gaze to his aching wrist, and too be sure, the odd little birthmark he’d been born with throbbed beneath the pale sheet of his flesh. Putting fingers to warm skin, he gently tried to alleviate the pain by messaging it away. “It’s nothing.” Maybe he’d been angrier then he realized.

The birthmark only ached when he was feeling particularly passionate about something; his abhorrence for the people of Gryffindor had no doubt triggered it. “Where in the hell are you taking me anyways?” Most of his johns preferred a quick trick behind alleys, in less than sanitary motel rooms or in the backseat of their car—this one, just had to bring him all the way to Gryffindor.

“We’re here.” His smile was a very dangerous weapon, one he wielded with ruthless dexterity, and through narrowed eyes Draco silently wondered if the pretense of innocence was a just mantle that hid something much more sinister. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d had Johns masquerading as something else just so they could take advantage of the situation, Draco of course always did managed to retaliate and get the money owed to him, but this guy was playing on a different field. Draco couldn’t sense anything from him, weird sex craving or otherwise; he looked genuine, but then again, appearances as they said could be deceiving.

“Where is here exactly?” He watched as Harry pulled the car up to a uniformed man waiting on the curb, hands adroitly placed behind his back. Behind the uniformed man, who Draco presumed to be the valet, stood a building just as opulent and beautiful as all the other edifices’ in Gryffindor. The Phoenix hotel, aptly named for its unique fiery red and blood orange brick stones, was the grandest hotel in all of Gryffindor. Only the crème de la crème of the worlds finest resided here and this was where Draco Malfoy would spend the night, because Harry had arranged it that way.

The passenger door opened seconds before Draco reached out his hand to do so, the expressionless valet from the curbside, held the door wide open for him, his gaze remained forward even as Draco frowned at him and exited the car.

“Thank you, William.” Draco turned his head to where his sable haired John stood, facing another zombie-like valet attendant.

“Please make sure that this gets parked safely.” Passing over the keys, Harry walked around the car and came to meet Draco.

To greatly understate things, the only words Draco could find to best describe the man standing in front of him ran along the lines of breathtaking. What he lacked in stature, he made up for in the way he carried himself, with enough self worth that he seemed taller than Draco’s own six feet two inches. It wasn’t to be mistaken for egoism, because the tint of rose in his cheeks quickly dispelled the idea. Simply dressed in black faded jeans, a pair of sneakers and stripped long sleeved jersey polo, he looked as casual as someone with his sort of money could look.

He smiled and again Draco was irked to realize just how detrimental that carefree, I’m as cute as a puppy, smile could be to his health.

What the hell is wrong with me? He silently wondered as he stared into those dancing green eyes. He’d never been put off guard by anyone before; he’d always remained the aggressor, the one in charge and no matter what was asked of him, he always made sure that he kept his mind on the goal…money and survival. But tonight, his mind seemed to be---

“Are you okay, Draco?” Years of practice, honed his reflexes to detect the tiniest movements and quicker than they could both blink, Draco had Harry’s wrist within the clasp of his clenched hand.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” Like gathering storm clouds, Draco eyes shown grey and menacing.

More than a little baffled, Harry shook his head and tried to avoid Draco’s scrutinizing gaze. “I-I’m not doing a-anything?” Fear prompted his voice to shake and his speech impediment to return. His face contorted in pain when Draco added pressure. “L-let g-go, y-you’re h-hurting Me.”

Standing inches behind Draco, William and his companion advanced on him, Draco felt their looming presence even before he saw their reflection in Harry’s lenses. “Come any closer and I’ll break his wrist.” His own wrist violently throbbed, the insignia threatening to rip through his flesh.

As if sensing his pain, Harry’s eyes hesitantly traveled and targeted his wrist. “You’re bleeding!” The alarm in his voice finally caused Draco’s hold to loosen and his own eyes to journey from those panicked green eyes to his wrist. Sure enough, petals of blood blossomed from where his insignia rested and slithered down his fingers.

“Fuck.” Draco brought his right hand to his left wrist in a futile attempt to staunch the blood.

With all the caution of someone approaching a wounded and very dangerous animal, Harry furtively advanced. “D-Draco?” Draco evenly met his gaze. “Come up to my suite with me and we’ll get that cleaned up, o-okay?”

Blood oozing like a cracked dam beneath his palm, Draco knew it was only a matter of time before he expired from blood loss; it wouldn’t be wise to refuse help, even if it was from someone he was beginning to suspect was a wolf in sheep’s clothes. He was in a strange city, with no way of getting home and was growing weaker every second that ticked by, he needed a bed fast---

Draco tumbled forward and just before freefalling into unconsciousness, he indistinctly heard Harry call him “my king,” but maybe it was due to the blood loss.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Five hundred years of fruitless searching. Five hundred years of disastrous incarnations. Five hundred years of living in unmitigated fear of their enemies. Five hundred years of mourning from a tribe who believed the lineage of Salvagers gone forever—lost in time as nothing more than a legend spoken from the mouths of Elders to entertain the children of the clan. Many have forgotten, only a few still hoped and the rest have betrayed the covenant set long ago by the King of Kings and his people—his kin---his Canidaes. Those who had once sworn allegiance to the clan and bound their very being to the mighty potentate of their tribe have deserted all that they have known for the dark lure of their enemies.

There were only a few who had remained and they were the very few who had remained true to the ancient covenant and kept hope that some day their beloved king would return and break the everlasting bonds of tyranny. For centuries, they’ve searched and finally, at long last, the search was over, for inches away from his trembling fingertips rested the heart and strength of the Canidae clan. He was as he had been centuries prior; this reincarnation was a perfect match, right down to the emblem that marked as Alpha. He was perfect and Harry had found him.

Silky strands of spun gold glided against Harry palm, as he tenderly brushed Draco’s fringe from his forehead. He wistfully smiled at the crease that swept between ginger brows. "Even in sleep, you remain forever pensive my king.”

“Where have you been?” With a quick swipe of his hand against Draco’s insignia, Harry slowly retracted his fingers and steadied his hammering heart before rising from his position on the gargantuan mattress on which Draco slept on.

“Hunting.” Descending the Dais on which the bed was built upon, Harry walked and fell to his knees before the regal man who had entered the room—the Alpha to his beta. He tilted his head and revealed the paleness of his throat, a display of submission from the weaker of the same breed.

“Why do you insist on hunting alone? You could get killed.” The pads of his fingers felt like a brush of ice beneath Harry’s chin as it was slowly lifted to stare into frighteningly dark eyes.

Turning his head away, Harry opened his mouth to speak. “I am not a pup, Ulrich; I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Now if you do not mind, I would like to begin---”

“Hold your tongue, Menoj (1).” It was a command that would be followed. “I do not mean t interrupt your dinner, only to see if my mate has returned safely.”

“Do not make the mistake of presuming us mated; the Elders have said nothing of a union between us.” Harry pulled away from the hand that made to strike him and quickly scooted away.

“You dare to speak to your Alpha this way?” Ulrich advanced with teeth bared; Harry found submission on his knees and exposed his neck.

“I apologize.”

“Do not be so bold as to challenge me again? Understood, Menoj?” Fingers laced through his hair and painfully tugged his head upwards.

“Yes.” Eyes downcast in feigned compliance, Harry chewed his lip to help him hold his tongue.

“Good,” the fingers slackened. “Enjoy your dinner.” With those parting words, Ulrich vacated Harry’s apartments, just as quietly as he had entered it.

Rising from his knees with a heaving sigh, he turned around and ambled back to the intricately designed four-poster bed, made exclusively from Gryffindor’s Onyx trees. It had had been a gift from his mother on his sixth birthday. She’d given it to him on the eve before his turning (2) as a reminder that their kind had descended from magic.

Every night, since his sixth birthday, when Harry put head to pillow and searched for slumber, the magic properties within the lacquered finish of the wood would spin dreams of Ancient Gryffindor, where the very soul of magic sang.

In those dreams, he saw everything, he was everything; the earth beneath his naked toes, the air within his lungs, running free and uninhibited, dancing to the call of the beast that resided within. Ancient Gryffindor was home, had been home until greed and selfishness penetrated her lands and everything fell within the hands of their enemies.

“We will return to our home,” Harry silently vowed as he cautiously found his seat once more on the mattress. He looked at the man—no--- not man, Canid, king and father to all Canidaes, nothing as pitiful as human and Harry knew that he would bring them to glory. “You will be our shepherd,” Fingers as soft as a butterfly’s wing caressed Draco’s face. “Your destiny parallels mine, Mia’diest. Do not worry; I will hold your hand through it all. (3)”

“Who the fuck, are you?” It all happened so fast that the moment Harry realized what was happening, he was flat on his back on the mattress, with a fuming Draco above him. “Speak fast or die.” Draco pressed the dagger he held against Harry’s throat further down until metal kissed flesh.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(1) Menoj= Pet or lover.

(2) Turning= Every Canid child, on their sixth birthday is turned by a relative. It’s a very arduous and painful thing that takes place on clear ground, where there is only the Elder Canid and the pup. Only the strongest and apt survive the turning.

(3) Mia’diest= A tender way of saying king or ruler.

A.N: Chapter two will be posted shortly.

Hello all

2007-05-27T17:24:55Z

To those of you who still read this journal and my fics on other hp sites, I would like to give you all my MSN Address so that you can contact me if you have any questions. It delloffaith@hotmail.com ask me anything, i dont bite unless prompted to. Thanks for your attention!!

Boy King

2007-04-23T06:57:37Z

Boy King

Chapter one

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters. They belong to the talented J.K Rowling and all those wonderful people who worked so hard to bring Harry Potter to life.

Summary: He has inherited a kingdom shrouded in strife. With the king and queen dead, the enemies of Gryffindor believe it vulnerable and easy to conquer from the hands of her only remaining heir, the young king Harry Potter . Harry refuses to meekly surrender his throne to avaricious hands of barbarians, especially to the king of Slytherin. A man feared for his ruthlessness in battle.

A.N: Again I begin another story without finish the other ones. I couldn’t help myself; I just had to do it. Forgive me and read, I’m hopping the prologue will distract you long enough so that I can write the other ones. Enjoy!

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Gryffindor kingdom…

Not an hour over seventeen and the crown of his inherited kingdom bore down on his slender shoulders. The weight of obligations endless and unfathomable took its misshapen shape in the form of the council of Triad. They flanked his throne like dark entities conjured by the minds of children; seemingly ageless, the Triad stood as his viziers; a tradition going back eons in Gryffindor’s history. Their task was to simply be the voice of his people; to give the unfortunate a chance to be heard. They had done so countless of times before and today was no different. At this very moment their words echoed in his aching mind with painful clarity and he wondered, not for the first time in the last hour, whether the sound would drive him mad.

It would not have far to go. His sanity, he feared was quickly slipping through his fingers. And how could it not? When the images of his king and queen, slain and drenched in vats of their own blood continued to haunt him? The grotesque image of death extolled across the faces of his parents tortured him every second he dared to blink. He had lain to rest both mother and father, inherited a kingdom shrouded in strife, besieged by the bordering empires who wished to take control of her walls and with it, control of her infamous knights of phoenix. There was only so much her ostensible walls could take before they crumbled. Almost like the boy who now ruled her.

The young king had far too much to fret over; the obligations of the crown were extensive, strenuous, far more work than he had anticipated. Wanting a reprieve from the drudgery his life had suddenly become would’ve been far, far too much to ask. Who was he to want a moment of solitary to grieve his king and queen? His time was never his own. His life had never been his own. He had been weaned on the decorum of royalty. He was a Gryffindor king. The blood of a thousand potter royals swam through his veins and not one, according to the lessons on the impressive lineage of the potter line, had tripped under the pressure of the crown. He would not be the first to do so.

Finding the strange sort of solace that had merciful kept his consuming thoughts at bay, he wrapped it around himself like a shroud, taking comfort in the numb state of his mind as he did so. Like a perfect little successor he would rule his kingdom as it was meant to be ruled. With dexterity and pride, for that was the Gryffindor way, that was the way his sire would’ve wanted it.

“Your majesty---“Mildly aware they waited upon him for an answer; he abandoned his thoughts and blankly observed the two men kneeling before him. Splotches of sweat and grim, no doubt from a laborious day in the pastures, coated their visages and matted the familiar glare of red hair. Made to kneel by the set of knights at their sides, they lowered their heads to the aureate floor of the throne room as protocol would have it and waited for judgment….his judgment. He had the power to sentence these men to their deaths for crimes he wasn’t even aware of yet; with just a flick of his wrist or a simple utterance of words and he could snuff out their existence; just as easily as the lives of his parents had been taken away.

Temptation was not a kind mistress.

“Why have you been brought before me?” his voice revealed nothing of his grief; it would not do at all to exhibit weakness, and giving into the impulsive need to empty his entrails before his court would most definitely not be exhibiting kingly behavior.

“They have---”

“Silence.” His gaze remained leveled on his subjects as he made the order to the second member of the Triad, standing to the left of his throne. “Why have you been brought before me?” he repeated the question to one of the men.

There was a muffled answer from the man on the right, who he barely managed to hear. “You may rise and speak.” His order was hesitantly carried out as one of the men slowly lifted his body from the ground, but kept his head cradled against his chest, eyes respectfully kept on the ground.

“My father has fallen gravely ill your majesty and our mother pleaded with my brother and me to make the arduous trek into the city and see if we could beseech you your help,” he stopped and took a moment to wisely choose his next words; fear and preservation impelled him to lie through his teeth and save his brother and himself from the noose, but he had been weaned from birth on justice and truth. Lying, even to a rumored coldhearted king, would be going against those teachings. “But the moment we stepped within the city walls, we were attacked by one of your knights. My brother would’ve been killed you majesty had I not ran to his aid.”

“And you manage to kill two royal knights!” The third member of the Triad fervently indicted.

“Only because they would’ve killed my brother!” the man rebutted, head rising in heat that matched the shock of redhead on his head.

“You insolent waste of flesh! You will hang for your insubordination!”

“Control yourself, Vernon.” Attesting to the lessons in silent power demonstrated by his mother, the young king never bothered to raise his voice, choosing instead to relay his ire in hushed monotonous cool temperance that at times, he was sure managed to infuriate the royal court.

The third member, Sir Vernon, from the house of Dursley was a foul tempered arrogant swine, who greatly displeased the young king. He sputtered now in disbelief, at being spoken to in such a way, the young king had no doubt. “Your father would not have abided this slight against the throne.”

“My father is dead,” he tonelessly responded, emerald eyes, inherited from the ‘jewel of the kingdom’ as his father had called his mother, were a dead sheen of hoarfrost as he glanced at Vernon. “I am not my father and I certainly do not have the sentimental attachments he has to all you three. I can easily strip you all of your power, status and title and choose my own Triad just as simply. Do not push my hand.” He turned his gaze back at the red-haired man, head bowed low, but broad shoulders evenly squared and held back.

“You have killed my men, that feat alone is quiet impressive,” it wasn’t anyone who could boast in having attacked, let alone killed a Gryffindor phoenix. Seasoned warriors from the kingdoms bordering their own perspired blood in the efforts it took to maim a knight of Gryffindor. The fact that this boy, scarcely a man had managed to kill two of his knights was something to be admired. “But in the light that you did so in defense to your brother’s life I will pardon you and allow you both to live. I am aware of how uncouth my knights can be at times.” It wasn’t lost on him that many a time, the arms that protected his small kingdom, harassed its own citizens, a practice that will surely come to a stop now that he sat on the throne.

His father had been far too lenient in his reign and the price had been his life; he would not be so foolish. “I will provide for you a healer, provisions, and a trusted member of my personal knights to accompany you home.” The wave of shocked gasps rippled through the room. The man standing before him snapped his head back and for a brief second their gazes locked, royal blue met emerald green.

Memories, vague and elusive, whispered of warm days running in open fields with a small group of red-haired children. The laughter of unbridled joy emitting from the mouths of youths rang loud and clear; the silly games played echoed in his mind.

…I’ve got you Harry!

…no fair you cheated Ron!

…come see Harry, Come and see this!

…what is it?

….a dragonfly,

…set it free.

…are you sure?

….yes, set it free.

His mother had always found milling about the common herd quiet fascinating; a simple joy his father had allowed her when they had taken trips down to the provincial homes of their subjects. The simplicity of how they lived their lives had endeared these people to her to the point where she befriended a portly old woman on one of their journeys to market. The woman had saved his mother, as the story went, from a small herd of rampant boars. The tale wasn’t quiet remembered anymore, but the Queen’s generosity towards this woman and her family had been infamous. She had brought him along with her after the months of Solstice and had watched as he gaily played with Molly’s horde of freckled faced children.

Those had been happier times…times where he hadn’t been coddled because of his status, or incited to attend lessons in etiquette, or made to learn the extensive history of his kingdom, which included the history of the many other civilizations that came before Gryffindor. He hadn’t needed to worry of pleasing his father with riding lessons, or his painfully inadequate skills in the physical combat his people excelled in. The flagrant responsibility heaved upon his title of crown prince, had been nonexistent among these people.

Protocol had been a thing of little interest to children who only cared of outrunning the wind with their little feet and worshiping the sun with their contented giggles. There, among the people who hadn’t worried of saying the right things in front of them, or try to use his mother to gain a higher stance in the political hierarchy of the kingdom, he had enjoyed the simple joys of being a child and his mother, serenely lovely Lillian, had seen that he took pleasure in every moment.

With a small smile on her lips, as if she had been privy to a secret only she knew of, she had silently watched him with her dazzling green eyes, as he made an instant friend in Ronald Weasley, the third to last son of the Weasley clan.

The small red haired boy, with whom he had shared adventures with now stood before him, having sprouted up to an almost gigantesque stature. His hair hung to his broad shoulders in filthy auburn waves, the explosion of freckles from childhood still stained his face, but the supple flesh of youth had disappeared beneath the pronounced bone structure of a man. Squared jaw line, wide forehead and toned flesh that the young king was sure rested beneath the sweat and dirt covered tunic. Those eyes, devastating blue eyes that had managed to grab his pubescent interest during the last summer of his fourteenth birthday pointedly stared back at him, protocol forgotten. Beneath the vast twinkling sky, concealed beneath the dropping willow tree they had called their own, they shared their first kiss. It had been awkward and yet it was exactly that awkwardness that had made the moment all so sweet.

That summer held a very fond place in the young king’s heart.

“But the hour grows late, you have traveled a great distance and I am aware of how trying the journey can be. So you will rest tonight, feast with my court and begin anew with the dawning rays of morning.”

Ron shook his head. “Your majesty, I apologize but I must decline your generosity, my brother and I must journey back this eve, my father’s condition demands that we do so.”

“Yes, but I prefer returning you to your home with two less people that your mother would need to attend to. If you set forth on this journey this eve, you will more than likely catch your death. Rebels, and vagrants are not kind once the shroud of darkness befalls my kingdom; I will not have your blood on my hands.” He did not allow Ron a word in edgewise, as he slowly rose from his throne. “Kit will see that you are well taken care of.” Turning to the first member of the Triad, he held out a small, well manicured hand and allowed the man to lead him away; notwithstanding the white and gold lace train that followed behind him, the young king was all effortless grace, and well learned decorum as he walked away.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Do you think he remembers you?” Broderick Weasley asked of his older brother as he tried not the openly gape at the opulence of the room they had been guided to; he didn’t want to seem gauche in front the pretty blond haired servant who was at this very moment graced him with a coquettish look from beneath her lashes that had his ears reddening.

She smiled and intentionally brushed up against him on her way out. Broderick emitted a great sigh as he unceremoniously crumpled on the raised bed behind him, not exactly sure how to take the blatant invitation. Back home, the girls were far more subtle in their advances…if their fathers even allowed them advances. The life of a country child did not permit room for promiscuity. A man tilled fields, took a wife, beget children and brought home ample amounts of victuals. A woman minded the hearth, nurtured her children, obeyed and loved her husband. It was simple, structured, and familiar.

This, this place, the people they had encountered so far--- it was all so different! They were all so different! So new and strange…so….so….so everything his country bumpkin mind was finding hard to grasp. And the king! Never had Broderick laid eyes on a boy so pretty! There really wasn’t any other way to describe him. He looked no older than Broderick’s fourteen years and yet he had such an unnerving control over his emotions that one could mistake him for a wise one. He seemed almost emotionless; reminding Broderick of the poppet his father had bought for Ginny.

Was he really as coldhearted as rumored? Broderick had heard of the death of the king and queen, the news had been widespread for the last months in all provinces. Some even whispered that the young king had murdered his family in order to gain the throne, because of the fact that he had remained dry-eyed throughout the final ceremony. Not once shedding a tear for his deceased parents. It just saddened Broderick to imagine someone going through life parentless. The thought of loosing his own parents----he gave an involuntary shudder---his father would be okay. They were going to travel home with a healer and everything would be okay—it had to be okay.

Ron shrugged. “I’m sure he does.” He calmly answered as he perused the room they stood in; hundred times bigger than the quaint home he and his brothers had been raised in. He briefly vacillated in where to drop his brown satchel, to do so, even if on the pristine veined floor of the bedroom, seemed wrong somehow. Just like their presence in this city, in this palace, felt wrong. Everything here was so different from the endless open fields of their province. Even the happy, easy to amuse little boy he had been acquainted with had seemed wrong. The smile that Ron had enjoyed seeing in those eyes had been sorely absent and he couldn’t help but wonder why?

“Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so generous.”

They hadn’t seen in each in almost four years and yet it seemed like decades had passed between them. The boy who now sat on Gryffindor’s throne was a far cry from the child he remembered; the ‘ice doll’ as the denizen of Gryffindor had come to call the king, was exactly that; a pretty little doll with as much emotions as a block of ice.

“Do you believe what they say about him true?”

“Of course not!” Broderick reeled at the vehemence in his brother’s voice. Ron took a moment to gain control of his temper before speaking. “He isn’t to be faulted for his behavior, losing a mother and father is bound to make anyone act out of character.” Ron answered evenly, wholeheartedly believing what he said to be true. Harry Potter was a good person, no matter what his outer veneer presented.

Broderick sighed and raked a hand through the signature auburn hair they had inherited from their parents, the act making him far younger than he sometimes acted. “I’m worried.” It wasn’t necessary for him to say of whom the sentiments were aimed for; Ron knew all too clearly, his father’s health never once leaving his mind since they had ridden from the burrow that morning.

The illness that had managed to come and go over the years left the Weasley patriarch weak and bedridden when it chose to strike. It had gotten significantly worst the evening before and had propelled their mother into a frenzy of fits that had taken three of her hulking sons to calm her down enough to make her listen to reason.

Knowing that her eldest son was expecting a child in any day from his petite, sickly wife, Molly had refused his offer of riding out to the palace to seek help. With Charlie, Percy, George and Fred in the kingdom of Hufflepuff with their respective wives, they were unaware of the predicament and trying to send them post would’ve only delayed the situation. Ron had stepped forward, the second to eldest son still remaining at the burrow and the only one familiar enough with the royal family to gain access to the palace; he had kissed him mother with a promise to return with help. Broderick had not been too far behind him.

They had garnered the help they said they would bring back and tomorrow as early as the sun rose, they would ride fast and hard to get back home. Their father’s life depended on it. But right now, he wanted to see Harry again. Actually talk and approach him without palace protocol beating him to stay at a proper distance. “Stay here,” He tossed Broderick the satchel once retrieving his sterling blade.

Broderick frowned and made to stand, but Ron’s glare kept him seated. “Do as I say for once in your life. Stay here until I come back for you. Don’t---“

“I’m not a child.”

“Then don’t behave like one by following me. I mean it Brodie, come after me and I will make you regret it.” With that said Ron spun on his heel and exited the room. His quest was to find the sable haired boy whose image refused to leave his mind.
~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~

A.N: this is a bunny that has been hoping around my head for a long time now; I’ve finally managed to get it down, hoped you guys like it.

Mortal sin II.

2007-03-28T15:52:34Z

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

A.N: Enjoy!

“Hey,” the soft timbre of his voice immediately caused my head to lift from my raised knees. The aromatic scent of eucalyptus and mint bathed the bedroom and flittered through my nostrils; this was Draco Malfoy’s signature scent, one that was as intoxicating as the man himself. He stood proud and tall against the outlined frame of the bathroom door, the light emitting from the florescent bulbs behind him cast an eerie aureate halo around his broad frame. His presence filled the room as he strode forward, his steps unhurried as he came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Hey back,” his presence spoils my intelligence; I can no more put a coherent thought together, than properly utter a word without sounding entirely stupid. As an unconscious gesture on my part, I rested my chin back on my raised knees in a futile attempt to try and hide the amateur flush sluicing across my cheeks and of course to temporarily escape the laser accuracy of his gaze. The gaze that seemed to burn my flesh raw—a good sort of rawness that I had my insides boiling!

“How are you feeling?” well, about as splendid as any man would feel after experiencing something as novel and intimate as what we just shared. I mildly mused to myself all the while keeping my gaze honed on the royal blue threading criss-crossing over the duvet. The pattern suddenly more fascinating then looking up and meeting those eyes.

“No regrets?” he was suddenly here, his face a mere inches from my own, his fingers tenderly poised beneath my jaw, his eyes seizing mine with their unrepentant intensity. Crimson kissed lips, rose in semblance of the grin I have come to both adore and dislike. “Cause, I sure as hell don’t have any.” And then in a move that was so characteristically Draco, he leaned over and captured the beds of my lips within the hot caverns of his mouth. Draco, I have come learn, kissed with his entire being, it wasn’t something that many people did and if they did it wasn’t something easily mastered, but this man accomplished the act with such facility that it always left me astounded.

His advancement found me on my back; his lips continued a siege along my jaw, down the column of my neck, stopping only once or twice to lick the racing pulse there. His warm breath, scented with spearmint and another scent that was distinctly Draco, brushed against my cheek, and fluttered the soft charcoal tendrils beside my ear. “Do you know you’re purring?”Wicked voice laced with wicked humor that had the blood in veins bubbling and the repercussion of I was sure stained my flesh.

“Well, look it here,” his gaze, as alluring as a cobra’s held my own, before they leeringly skimmed down the expanse of my body, and then came to focus once more on my ripped red face. “You do turn red all over. I hadn’t gotten a chance to test my theory earlier, much to busy seeing how many ways I can make you purr my name.” and that was Draco in a nutshell, or at least what very little I knew of him so far, blunt, unapologetic and a sexual fiend who lived for the sheer pleasure of seeing me blush. His words, not mine.

“I don’t purr.” I feebly denied as he settled himself above me, both arms, corded with lean muscles were set opposite of my head, propping himself in a manner that the entirely of his weight did not crush me to the bed. His legs, naked and well formed, were set between the apex of my thighs, almost breaching me there---almost. His stance slammed home the fact that I had a very handsome and extremely virile man above me who could very easily have his sordid way with me and I wouldn’t be in any sort of power to stop him—if I even wanted to.

Being this way, man as I was, I had to admit that there was nothing more vulnerable then lying on your back with another man above you who had the ability to make you throw sanity, morals and dignity out the window and not feel an ounce of remorse at doing so. I had done it only hours ago, panting my want, gripping my need, pleading my release from this man, and I didn’t even feel remotely wrong that I done so. Shouldn’t there have been a sort of catastrophic event that foretold my impending damnation? Shouldn’t there be something more pressing in me to want to flee and cower back into my bible, desperate to find a passage that would’ve eradicated this thing that has been taught to me as wrong?

I wanted to feel damned. I wanted to feel remorse. I wanted to cry. And yet I found that I could not do those things, because something devilish, something addictively wicked in those oddly beautiful eyes glowing down on me wouldn’t allow me to feel those things. Instead I was compelled to rejoice in my new found freedom. Rejoice to realize that I wasn’t merely a good little Christian boy, who abided by the rules of the church, my parents, or even God. There was a distinct elation in knowing that I had been thoroughly fucked by a venerable stranger, an ex-convict for Christ sake! And I had enjoyed every second of it. My body was craving more…my soul needed satiation from all the years of being bogged down by the good. And suddenly it felt like the very first time I met him, months ago in that room, were it had felt as if I was being seduced into things I didn’t quite understand…things I still don’t understand…things that didn’t seem as black and white as what I first believed, and every moment spent in this man’s company, seemed to blur those lines and form a grey area I was to frighten to wonder about, but curiosity was a vice and I wanted---something---something only being with Draco could answer.

“Have you come to a revelation poppet?” his voice was decadently strange against the shell of my ear, his tongue laving the pink shell as if it were a bonbon newly discovered by a very eager child with a sweet tooth. I was squirming, trapped beneath his weight I squirmed in gratuitous delight as his adroit fingers did things—touched and stroked in that way that had me ‘purring’ as he so caringly put.

“Draco…” it came out through labored breaths, a small plea for him to do to me the things he knew I wanted, but wasn’t ready to utter.

“Whisper to me your desire poppet and I shall splay them at your feet.” It was so strange—not the weird pet name he has come to call me. What was strange was the way it seemed as though he was in my head, in my pores, the very essence of him dancing a silly jig through my blood stream.

“You know what I want---“ I whispered, my tone slightly petulant to my own ears, something that must’ve amused him immensely because he chuckled; Draco didn’t laugh, he chuckled, smirked, or complacently lifted his lips in semblance of a smile, that was never exactly that.

“Yes,” he seemed fascinated by my pulse; his wet lips always seemed to find their way back to that spot. “But it excites me hearing you beg me to pleasure you.”

It was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate on forming lucid thoughts with him practically swallowing my lips, then leeching those dangerous lips against my throat, down my torso, showing me exactly how sensitive my nipples could be, and down further—down there---down where I knew he would--- “God!” I heard myself gush, my hips rising inches from the mattress, my head thrown back---

“Don’t insult me.” Gone was the amused tone of his slightly accented voice and its place was a growl that caused me to blink twice…realizing that his lips were no longer fastened around me-- his eyes when he came back up at me seemed to glow, the iridescent shine intensely scary as he brusquely widen my legs, one hand going down and pulling my hips upwards with impressive strength and then thrust forward with unremitting vigor that momentarily stole the breath from my lungs.

“I—“what was there to possible say? Please stop your hurting me? I could say that, but something inside me refused to allow me to even utter those words.

“Do not think…whisper…breath…or even pray that name. Your lips are far too pure to utter such a blasphemous name in my presence. Understood poppet?” His words were accented by the accurate thrust of his hips, hitting without fail the beautiful cluster of wonder deep inside me.

I nodded, the only thing I could muster to do as each jarring thrust sent me closer to the edge, just a few more and I would be hurled forward into the precipice. I clung to him, sweat stained, kissed into submission I could only nod my complacency and vaguely wonder what the hell I had gotten myself into.

~*~*~*~*~*~*
A.N: wow. This story has taken a rather drastic turn that I can no longer see exactly where I’m going to take it. It seems as though it wants to lead me somewhere I don’t know if I want to go. Oh well, we’ll just have to wait and see. Because I’m as clueless as you all are. Hope you enjoyed.

Mortal Sin

2007-03-20T05:27:25Z

Prologue

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

A.N: Enjoy.

I have just committed a sin; one that is---in the eyes of most---considered as bad as killing a person. I should be guilt ridden. I should be terribly grieved and remorseful. I should be running to the nearest chapel at this very moment and pray for the salvation of my soul, because surely lying with a man is cause for eternal damnation. But as I sit here on the bed belonging to the man who has just…. taken my virginity, I can do no more than wistfully smile and silently wonder how something as beautiful as what we had just shared be seen as wrong--impure and wholly immoral?

I was raised a Christian, being the only son to a small town priest, it was expected of me to keep and obey all that was said in the bible; my father led by example and I was always looked upon to follow just as diligently. And I did. It fell on me to do what was asked without question; teenagers my age where running a life of discord and sin so if I acted right then they too would eventually see the errors of their ways and return their faiths into the church and into god. So I acted with the utmost respect for my church, my parents, and everyone in our town. I was the quintessential poster child for Christianity; bible totting, God loving, commandment abiding child whose sole reason for living was to do God’s work and only allow myself the pleasure of God’s love. My father was proud and so was I. until I met him.

It was on one of those rare Indian summers that always managed to hit Hollow Creek just before winter’s first snow blanketed our small town. The sun had been extremely bright and hot perched high up in the November sky that day and I still remember the warm sun kissed breeze that had washed over my sweat drenched body as I made my way downtown for my weekly visits at the Center.

I remember waving to Luna Lovegood, the pretty blond haired receptionist at the front desk who according to rumor had gotten knocked up by Oliver Wood (our resident football king) and had had to take a little trip in the next town over to ‘take care’ of the problem. She wasn’t my mother’s favorite person. In fact, I don’t believe any of the women in town liked her overly much; maybe it was the fact that they believed it unfeasible for her to keep her legs close for an extended period of time without getting pregnant. Or maybe it had something to do with the rumor going about town of someone catching her performing unspeakable favors to a group of high school boys in our church confessional. Whatever the reasons, I didn’t find it necessary to pass judgment on simple hearsays; besides, she’d always been nice to me and today was no different as she flashed me one of her infamous coquettish smiles before allowing me to continue my journey.

The center was a place built for the teenage populace of Hallow Creek to gather and either receive help on homework, major school projects, or just to hang out and have fun. Equipped with a gymnasium, indoor pool, recreational room, computer lab, and miniature library, it was a perpetual nirvana for anyone seeking a place to escape. It wasn’t too clear on me exactly who had funded the work behind it all, my mother had vaguely let it slip that the money had come from an anonymous benefactor who had once resided in Hallow creek some time ago and had wished to remain nameless. Whoever it was, his charity was well appreciated by everyone, me included as it provided me a place to lend a helping hand to those who needed it most; Alexis Courtland was such a person.

Alexis or Lexi as she demanded to be called was a preteen going on fifty who I have been tutoring for the last five months in math. Upon our first meeting her candidness had been slightly off-putting, but then I quickly came to learn that she only used it as a defense mechanism. Beneath the rough exterior laid an extremely bright and shy girl who just wanted someone to see her for what she was, instead of the stigma slapped upon her by the unfortunate circumstances of a broken home. Fridays were the time she and I spent together, because Fridays were the only days afforded to me by a hectic college schedule. So as I rounded the corner, temporarily distracted by the cheerful greetings of random girls, I managed to quite literally crash into a wall that suspiciously felt like a chest.

The force of the impact had left me temporarily dazed and I would’ve stumbled backwards had it not been for the sturdy grip on my upper arm keeping me leveled. Opening my mouth with an apology ready, I looked up (at the time he had seemed like a venerable giant standing in front of me) and vaguely I remembered my heart stuttering against my ribcage and my mind washed clean of any intelligent thought. His eyes—even now the thought of his eyes and their brilliant shade brings a smile to my lips. His eyes were like a perfect hybrid color of grey and blue; almost like staring up at the sky just before a rainstorm…frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Those almond shaped eyes, rimmed with long ash blond lashes that any woman would’ve killed for, captivated me the very second I looked into them. His face had been simply breathtaking, almost as though sculpted from the deft hands of roman artisans. I have to admit that it had scared me to the point where I practically leapt away from him the moment I realized I had been checking him out. As fast as physically possible, I jumbled out my apologies and left his presence.

I didn’t see him again that Friday and the minute I arrived home I fell to my knees and prayed for forgiveness, trying to convince myself and God that it had only been admiration and nothing more. I prayed for strength to pull though the test I knew God had put upon my path. And almost it had helped…almost.

Draco Christopher Malfoy, ten years my senior, ex-con, was the only test in all my nineteen years of living that I would not overcome.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A.N: Yes? No? Tell me what you think. I’m not planning on making this really long. Maybe ten chapters.

300 = extremly hot scantily clad men!!!

2007-03-14T18:34:59Z

I cant wipe this silly smile from my face even if I wanted to. Just arrived home from seeing the movie 300 and i have to say ladies, this movie will have you exiting the theater feeling just the tiniest bit hot--i know i was!! I'm all for Spartan men and their chiseld physques, their bruttish strenght on the battle field and their delectable--spears! lol. I give that movie a freaking standing ovation!! I'm going to drag my friend to see it twice more and then i will axiously await for the DVD release!! I advise any women and men who have'nt gone to see the movie to go right ahead and see; you get history, battle scenes, scantily clad women and men (always a plus) and you'll get to see perfectly served justice on. Well anyways enjoy and if you do get a chance to see it, tell me how you liked it!

The bet 3&4

2007-03-09T15:12:27Z

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don’t own a thing.

A.N: Enjoy! And I apologize for any typos!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Seeking to escape from the arduous task of sitting through tedious classes for hours on end, Harry took a momentary escape to the boy’s lavatory. The minute he pushed opened the door; Harry heard the silent sniffles and non to subtle attempt of someone trying to keep their mournful cries at a minimum. Not being an inquisitive person by nature Harry figured he would’ve gladly gone on to do his business and leave the other boy to his own devices, but the incessant cries would not cease…so with a great big sigh Harry washed his hands and cautiously walked to the stall where the cries emitted from.

With short knock of his knuckles on the aqua green stall door Harry hesitantly spoke. “Hey in there, are you alright?” second day of school and already he was occupied with the welfare of others, Harry briefly shook his head in disbelief at his impulsive nature. He scrunched his brows seconds later as he heard the unpleasant sound of the boy blowing his nose---once…twice…and long one on the third.

Other than the quiet sniffles, the crying had stopped but no words were spoken.

“Hello?” Harry pressed his ear to the door. He was answered with silence.

How just like his luck, Harry dryly thought--here he is putting himself out there to try and do his good deed for the day and the other person wouldn’t even open his mouth to respond with a simple yes or a no. He sighed and stepped away from the door—at least now he’d be able to take a piss in peace.

Done and washing his hands at the sink minutes later Harry was slightly surprised as he heard the stall door creek open and through the mirror he was finally able to see exactly who had been bawling his eyes out as if it were the end of the world.

He stood no taller than Harry’s five foot six inch frame; his face was the most cherubic Harry had ever seen on a teenage boy and possibly the best feature on that face had to be the doe brown eyes that glistened with remnants of tears. He dressed in loose clothing that consisted of a pair of faded blue jeans and a grey hooded sweater with the words ‘Chocolate is friend’ boldly stitched across the chest. His hair, chopped in messy layers around his head showed a perfect gloss of auburn beneath the florescent lights.

“I’m surprise you didn’t drown us.” Harry smiled to show that he was joking as he turned around. He leaned against the sink and allowed the boy to finish his own perusal of his physique.

A blush stained puffy cheeks and to Harry it was refreshing in finding someone else who could easily be flustered as he was at times.

“Sorry about that…I-I’m not having the greatest day.” He walked to the sink adjacent to the one Harry leaned against, spun the taps on and splashed a handful of water onto his face.

Harry shrugged, though it couldn’t be seen. “It happens to the best of us. Are you better now?”

The boy walked over to the paper dispensing machine, flashed his hands beneath the censor and waited for the machine to dispense the sheets of paper. “I’m not better, but I will be---he was special to me.”

Harry seemed to understand too clearly he saw the misted look of lost love that came over the other boy’s face; He held up his hands and sympathetically smiled. “Say no more, I know exactly how you feel…but it does get better…I’m a testament of that.”

The other boy smiled a smile that was not quiet in reaching his eyes but was still warm and kind in its effect. “I’ll take your word for it,” Extending a hand he introduced himself. “I’m Neville by the way…Neville Longbottom.”

Harry accepted the hand, and not quite so bitter any longer-- he also gave his name. “I’m Harry potter.”

Maybe he had an inquisitive nature after all---or maybe raising Ayden had made him more perceptive to the emotions of others---whatever it was Harry knew that Neville Longbottom was a genuine as his smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

It wasn’t really a good day unless something ridiculously grievous happened to ruin it and Harry damned his luck—not for the first time in his life---as he heard the flapping of his rear left tire air out. With a disheartened grunt he put on his emergency lights and pulled off to the side of the road. Taking his keys out of the ignition, he pocketed them before exiting his car and popping the truck open—with any luck he’d have a spare and change it. But as luck would have it—he didn’t have a spare.

“Oh joy.” He rolled his eyes, pulled out his mobile phone and dialed Sirius’s number.

“Hey siri, it me; my tire blew out—no not yet---yeah I know---no, I stayed after school for track---I know I said I wouldn’t join any after school activities, but I was brainwashed into doing it…ha, no it’ll be good for college---anyways—yeah, I’ll call the AAA…yeah I’m fine…no don’t come pick me up, I’ll just wait for the towing truck. How’s Ayden? Did he eat? Has his fever gone down? Yeah…give him a kiss for me? Alright I’ll see you in a few…yeah love you.” Harry hung up the phone and smiled—as much as Sirius pretend to be the morose and uncaring guardian at times—Harry knew his godfather had a soft spot for him and his baby boy and it warmed him to think so.

With a heaving sigh Harry resigned himself to sit his butt on top of his hood and wait for the towing truck to arrive. He hunched over and closed his eyes, noticing for the first time in fifteen hours how excruciatingly tired he was. Having woken up at the ass crack of dawn for his opening shift at “Russo’s’ the bagel shop down the street from where they lived, he did his usual three hour shift before clocking out to go to school—where it had been nothing but droning teachers and conceited students and mountains of homework---the only bright side to the day had been meeting Neville and attending his guitar class with the cheerful Remus Lupin as a teacher. Then he had pulled aside during his lunch hour and was advised by his harridan of a councilor that it would be in his best interest if he took up some extra curricular activities. So seeing that track was by far the only thing he was good at, he had opted for that and had only recently gotten out of practice.

Tomorrow would be another cycle—but instead of waking up at dawn—he would go after school for track practice than to work a couple of hours at ‘Chez Rouge’ which was a small restaurant own by Sirius, that boasted an eclectic cuisine of French and Cambodian cultures.

It honestly wasn’t necessary for him to beat himself up so badly trying to work for scrapes and Sirius had on countless of occasions told him so—going on to tell Harry that he would gladly help him out with his college tuition when the time came---but Harry had refused. He had depended on Sirius for far to many things in his young life—but college was something he wanted to pay for himself—with scholarships and sweat driven work Harry was determined to succeed. He wanted to prove to himself and to his neglectful parents that though he had stumbled upon an obstacle when he had fallen pregnant with Ayden it was not under any circumstances an excuse to fail in life. He had goals and with Ayden by his side he had the strength and the drive to reach those goals and to carve out a better future for his son.

So, although it seemed like an impossibly hard road now---it would all be for the better in the end---for his baby boy he would endure the flames of hell and come out scorched and bruised but alive.

The revving sound of a motorcycle buzzed through his head, causing Harry to come away from his thoughts and lift his head up to look at the person responsible for all the noise.

Harry wasn’t too familiar with motorcycles, but from what he could see of the bike it was an object of sheer beauty-- from the lacquered black on black sleekness to the powerfully vibrating hum emitting from the chrome tinted engine.

But what really caught one’s attention was the man seated upon the bike; looking all the world like a rebel king upon his midnight throne--- his very magnetism demanded attention and Harry involuntarily sat up straighter. Lean legs encased in black leather straddled the powerful machine beneath him with such utter sensuality that it oozed. He wore naught else that could protect him incase of an accident except a flimsy jacket and the fingerless gloves that held on the handlebars with perfect ease.

His face--mercifully devoid of a helmet was anther tale of its own—he was breathtaking in his masculine beauty---arrogance was clearly instilled in the very line of his strong jaw, his nose was fine and straight, his lips set in an unsmiling line as he seemed to stare right through Harry with eyes of indiscernible hues. His crowning glory—the mass of flaxen blond hair framed his face and fell becomingly across his brows.

“Hey,” he subtly cocked his head at Harry.

“Um—Hello,”

“Need a ride?” Harry silently wondered if the guttural sound of his voice should be used outside of one’s bedroom, but then chided himself for thinking that way---about bedroom voices and such.

Harry shook his head. “No thanks.” He raised his voice slightly to be heard over the engine.

“Looks like rain.” Harry lifted his head up at the sky and sure enough the sky was the hazy white that predicted impeding rain.

“My ride should be here soon…and besides, I don’t even know you…you might very well be an ax murderer waiting to swipe my head clean. I’d rather take my chances with the rain.”

The ignition died off as the man twisted his key; he jumped off the bike and walked towards the car, giving a nervous Harry a full view of what he had seen at a slight angle just before and the effects where even more stunning. He walked with all the confidence of a man who knew his worth---who was far too aware of his sexuality and shamelessly flaunted it for any to admire. He came to a stop at where Harry sat and slyly he grinned.

“Allow me to introduce myself then,” His eyes were as grey as storm clouds and just as ominous. “I’m Draco Malfoy and I’m not particularly fond of axes but I can kill you with a few well placed touches.”

Harry bit his lower lip once the last line was delivered, desperately trying to keep the laughter from bubbling to the surface, but alas, he lost the fight and broke out in fits of stomach clenching laughter.

“D-d-d…h-ha-ha…d-does…ha-ha-ha…s-sorry…” he held on to his abdomen as he turned away from Draco’s glowering gaze to calm himself. It wasn’t for a good three minute laugh before Harry—with joyful tears in his eyes—could turn around to look at Draco with a straight and fairly serious face.

“Wow, thanks for that…I really needed it. Well, at least I can’t fault you for being original.”

Caught off guard Draco could only scowl and reassess the brunette grinning down at him. Fucking Blaise was right; this would certainly need his full artillery. He was about to say something else when the sudden crack of thunder and ensuing rain drops stopped him.

“Shit,” Harry cursed and Draco grinned as he stepped away and headed for his bike.

“Have fun with the rain.” Voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm, Draco hopped on his bike and turned on the engine.

“Hey, wait!”

“Hop on and hold tight.” Was Draco’s only response.

Very reluctantly Harry straddled the bike and wound his arms around Draco’s waist. With a stifled scream as the bike took off, he tightly held on and damned his luck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry shakily stood up from the bike, clothes sticking to his body and hair plastered to his face he doubted he looked half as good as the man who had dropped him off.
“T-thanks.” His teeth chattered and he drew his hands to his lips to breathe back life into them.

“Whatever…just get inside and dry off. I’ll see you around, snow white.”

Harry involuntarily smiled despite the chill. “You too Goldilocks.”

Draco’s bike zoomed down the quiet suburban streets and Harry wondered what Sirius’s reaction would be upon hearing it. Harry sighed and ambled his way up the pathway that led to his home.

“Who was the blond on the crotch rocket?”

Harry smiled as he accepted the towel from Sirius at the door, not the least bothered that he had been spied on.

“No one important.”

Sirius skeptically looked at his godson and shook his head. “Dinner’s in the microwave.” He hopped for Harry’s sake that the man was truly no one…having dealt with Harry after a certain ‘no one’ by the name of Thomas Riddle who had almost destroyed his life. Sirius did not want anymore ‘accidents’ to occur.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A.N: Hope you enjoyed.

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don’t own a thing.

A.N: Enjoy! And again I’m sorry about any missed typos!

Saturday came rolling around far quicker than anticipated, but not all together un-welcomed for Harry as he prepped for his late night shift at Chez Rouge. The last few days had been filled with the mundane and blissfully uneventful tasks of going to school, work and track practices. Sadly, his car hadn’t been fixed—but Harry wasn’t overly bothered by the fact, since he now had access to Sirius’s silver Honda Ridgeline—it was really a small price to pay. He smiled to himself as he swung the black tie around his neck; it had been more than a hassle to get Sirius to trust him enough with the large truck---Harry had been obligated to make a few promises and swear to God that he would return it in the same unblemished condition it had been given to him—that was probably one of the few things Harry had come to learn that Sirius was anal about—that and constantly having to scold Harry into steering clear of his love life—or lack thereof.

With one last look in the mirror Harry exited his bedroom and made his way into the living room. Ayden reached out his arms---chubby fingers flexing, obviously wanting to be lifted and so Harry happily obliged and scooped up him up. Once in his arms, Harry maneuvered Ayden until the little guy was horizontally held in the air and before he could utter a word Harry the jet plane was off. Around and around the room they went, Harry swinging Ayden about as high as he believed safe and then back down again all the while making jet like noises with his lips. Ayden’s giggles of joy echoed throughout the playroom making Harry smile as his antics slowly came to stop.

“More, papa…” Ayden’s rich obsidian eyes stared back at him and Harry was suddenly reminded of another set of clear back eyes belonging to the other man responsible for Ayden’s conception and not for the first time Harry was struck by the similarities between Tom and his son. The cute way their noses sloped, the slight almond shape of their eyes and the red tinge that always covered their lips. Tom had once given Harry the opportunity to see his baby pictures during the time they had been together and looking at Ayden now Harry remarked on the uncanny resemblance between father and son. The only thing Ayden had inherited from him was the mop of darker than sin curls that qualified as hair.

Ayden’s hand on his mouth snapped Harry from his musing and he reluctantly settled him down after a resounding kiss on the cheek. His son was not the least satisfied with that and began to cry. It broke Harry’s heart to see him that way, so he did the only thing he believed best and picked Ayden right back up.

“You spoil him.” Sirius came to stand before Harry and tried to take Ayden away—but Ayden would have none of it as he wisely attached his arms around Harry’s neck, held on with as enough strength as his little body would permit and began to earnestly bawl his eyes out.

“Stay home and take care of Ayden, Harry, I’ll call the restaurant and tell them to work around your absence.” Sirius walked away before Harry could protest.

As if knowing that his father was homebound for the evening Ayden’s cries immediately stopped, he looked up from where he had rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, sweetly smiled and dropped a sloppy kiss on Harry’s cheek. Harry for his part could only shake in head in amazement as he acknowledged the fact that he had been tricked by his two year old.

“You sneaky little monster.” Harry chided affectionately as he nuzzled Ayden’s neck.

An hour later found Harry, Sirius and perfectly content Ayden curled up between his father and godfather as they watched Disney’s Aladdin in the living room. Sirius took Ayden as Harry rose with the bowl of popcorn to go and pop some more.

Harry was in the kitchen listlessly starring at the revolving glass in the microwave and entertaining the idea of taking Ayden to the park tomorrow after his track practice, when the shrill of the house phone caused him to momentarily jump.

“I’ll get it.” he poked his dark head into the living room to relay the message before walking over the phone in the kitchen to answer it after the third ring.

“Hello?” silence greeted him, but he knew the person was still on the line by the shuddering breaths he heard.

“Hello…” he said more forcefully. Another bout of silence caused Harry to suck his teeth and hang up the phone…but not before thoroughly delivering a few choice words to the person on the other line.

The microwave beeped, signaling the end process of his popcorn and he walked across the kitchen to fetch it. He poured the contents of the buttery bag into the glass bowl and headed back to the living room.

He took a seat and immediately Ayden was on his lap. “Who was it?” Sirius asked as he dipped his hand into the bowl to grab a handful of popcorn.

“Some idiot with a breathing problem.” Sirius nodded and trained his eyes back on the TV---Harry did the same but with a slight frown marring his brow—something deep inside him told Harry that he already knew who it had been—but his mind refused to acknowledge it and so he chalked it up to exactly what he had told Sirius…just an idiot with a breathing problem.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He loved running…running to Harry was the closes thing to flying…the wind rushing across his face…the complete weightlessness of his body as his feet effortless pounded on the track…it was unexplainable and he loved every second of it. With his heart pounding at the healthy rate of a runner, Harry whizzed past his track coach and the few students on the track who weren’t on the field and came to steady stop a few yards away. He bent, hands on his knees as he tried to steadily breathe through his nostrils.

“Shake it off, potter.” Coach Wood, a young and fairly attractive man who happened to be pretty damn good at his job, walked to Harry and clapped him on the shoulder. “You did amazingly well.” He looked at the stop watch around his neck. “44.56…college level timing.” He seemed rather impressed. “Continue this like this and we might have a chance in beating Drumstrung in the 400 this year.” Harry could only nod and walked up to field once was asked to do so.

“Harry!” Harry turned his head and returned the beaming smile that adorned Neville’s face as he cheerfully approached.

“And how’s our best shot-putter doing?” Neville’s face bloomed pink.

“Oh jeez, Harry I’m not so great, but you---you were so awesome! I can’t believe how fast you run!”

“No, you are that great, because I’ve seen it for myself to tell you that you’re really good. Secondly if we’re going to be friends I would appreciate it if you didn’t put yourself down—I don’t associate with people who don’t see their own worth. And thirdly, thank you very much…I love running.” He carefully looked up at Neville to see if his words had seemed too harsh— he wasn’t trying to be mean or even bitchy but he honestly believed in what he said—otherwise he wouldn’t have said the words in the first place.

“B-but you still want to be friends right?”

“Only if you acknowledge how good you are and don’t constantly berate yourself.”

Neville grinned. “Okay then. I am the best shot-putter on this blasted team and I look really good doing too.”

Harry slung his arm around Neville’s shoulder as they walked across the field and made their way to the high jump area.

“And I’m really good in Stats.”

“Good.”

“And in Psych.”

“Um...”

“Oh and in Home Ec!”

Harry rolled his eyes heavenward, “I created a monster.” But he smiled nevertheless as Neville laughed and continued his list.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Thanks for the ride Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Neville reached for his sport’s bag behind Harry’s backseat and waved goodbye to his friend as he drove away in the massive truck.

Practice had run a lot later than he had anticipated and would’ve called a cab had it not been for Harry’s generous offer. He softly smiled to himself as his thoughts ran to his new friend. Harry was different…unlike everyone in Hogwarts who gravitated towards familiar cliques that matched their interest…Harry was a man of his own…he didn’t care what people said about him…he didn’t care how people treated him. He was confident, he was smart, he was nice and he spoke his mind with nothing but the truth and Neville found that he admired those qualities---qualities he himself lacked.

While everyone at Hogwarts either chose to ignore him, use him or abuse him—Harry had befriended him with no other motive in mind than to just be his friend. In the two short weeks that Neville had come to know Harry he knew that their friendship was a genuine one. His mind flashed back to the episode during one lunch hour last week;

-Flashback-

Neville waved Harry over to his solitary table in the courtyard and waited as the brunette made his way to him with a brown paper bag held in hand.

“It should be a crime to serve kids this crap.” Said Harry as he scrunched up his nose at Neville mess of a lunch.

Neville smiled as he took a mouthful of applesauce. “It’s not all bad.”

“That’s because they killed your taste buds. Here, try my lunch with me.”

“I couldn’t.” Although his eyes hungrily strayed to the sumptuous Italian sub that Harry pulled out.

“Of course you can,” Harry took the white plastic knife from Neville’s abandoned tray and cut the sandwich right down middle. “Sirius always makes me a big lunch and I never finish it so he’ll be happy when I tell him that it’s all gone today.” Harry settled Neville’s half of the sandwich before the salivating boy and knowingly smiled as he bit into his own.

“Who’s Sirius? Your boyfriend?” Neville finally asked after taking a bite. “Holy crap! This is really good!” his eyes lit up as expected of anyone who has sampled Sirius’s cuisine.

“Glad you like it, and no, Sirius is not my boyfriend…he’s my godfather.” Neville opened his mouth to respond, but his teeth immediately clicked shut as he saw the person approaching their table behind Harry’s left shoulder. The abrupt blanch ness of Neville’s face caused Harry to worriedly frown.

“Nev---” he didn’t have a chance to complete Neville’s name due to the familiar guttural drawl that interrupted him.

“Hey snow white.” Harry’s body turned slightly on the bench and looked up at that painfully sexy face and tried not to embarrass himself as he spoke.

“Goldilocks.” He greeted in turn as he subtly looked at the blond haired man and he couldn’t help but inwardly roll his eyes at the self assured way he carried himself---seemingly above everyone. “This is my friend Neville, Neville, Goldilocks.”

Draco’s stare momentarily moved to Neville and just as quickly dismissed him as if were an insignificant bug that had landed in his almighty proximity so he airily chose to focus his steel grey gaze on Harry once more.

Harry for his part did not miss Neville’s flinch and wondered about it.

“We’ve met.” Although his voice did not seem to indicate that they had. “I came to ask if you’d like to come have lunch with me and my friends. Being new here I figured you’d need people to show you around and make you feel welcomed.”

Harry sweetly smiled up at Draco. “Draco, was it?” of course he knew his name, but Harry so wanted to bring that nose down a few notches. After being assured that he had the name correct, Harry continued. “How positively sweet of you to descend from your high horse and want to do me, a lowly commoner, such a great service. But sadly, your majesty, I must decline, for you see, Neville here, has been the greatest of guides and has kindly helped me to find whatever it is I need. So I would gladly thank you to scuttle back to your friends and leave us alone to enjoy this wonderful lunch.” With his speech done, Harry turned his back to Draco and engaged Neville back in conversation, clearly ignoring the now seething blond glaring daggers at his skull.

Shell-shocked wouldn’t have best described how Neville felt in that moment as he stared at Draco’s retreating back—fist clenched at his side—and stared back at Harry.

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He asked, still in awe. He wasn’t the only one either—the very few students seated around who had heard the conversation were also starring disbelievingly at the brunette.

“I know a few tricks.”

---end Flashback—

Neville didn’t doubt that he did; Harry certainly wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met---except for maybe Draco. With a heavy sigh Neville opened the door to his house and stepped through…he really needed to stop thinking about him.

“Grams, I’m home.” He dropped his sport’s bag on the floor by the door, while lugging his school bag over his shoulder.

“In the kitchen, dear.” Neville’s made his way into the small kitchen and saw her rolling out dough…hopefully in the process of making some cinnamon buns. He kissed her offered cheek and told her he’d be upstairs for a shower and come back down to help her.

“No need, dear, keep your lovely friend company…he’s upstairs in your room.” Neville’s confusion must’ve showed on his face, because his grandmother elaborated. “You know…the one with the very nice manners…and such a sweet smile…”

Draco.

Not that he didn’t absolutely adore his grandmother, but her lack of caution—especially to a scoundrel as deviously charming as Draco—was bound to get her in trouble one day.

He sighed and kissed her cheek again. “Thanks grams.” As an afterthought he turned around before making his way to his room and said. “Don’t set out a plate for him, Draco won’t be staying long.”

Neville climbed the stairs up to his room as he pondered at what exactly the hell that blond haired devil wanted. He was trying to hardened his heart and be as firm and nonchalant as he knew Harry would be if put into such a situation and upon reaching his door he deeply inhaled, palmed the brass knob and entered.

Draco lay on his bed, shirt off, the top button of his faded blue jeans opened and he looked better than sin and Neville momentarily forgot how to breathe. Further stealing his breath away, Draco sat up and Neville almost fainted.

Draco fully clothed was gorgeous, but a Draco half nude was truly a sight to behold. Memories of passionate nights being beneath that sinewed body—holding onto those biceps-- adorned with the twisting tattoo of an oriental dragon looking all types of fierce had Neville weakening at the knees. He leaned against the door frame as not to embarrass himself further by unceremoniously ending up on the floor. Aside from the tattoo decorating his forearm and the head of the dragon ending towards his left ear, Draco’s skin was flawless both in physique and in complexion. He was a perfect specimen of a young Brad Pitt, muscles and evocative beauty all combined to cause the eyes to orgasm.

“W-What a-a-are you doing here?” he tried to ignore Draco…he truly did, but Neville feared he was failing miserably. He tried to think of the cookie episode at lunch two weeks ago and it worked for a moment, until Draco came to stand right behind him, the scent of his cologne playing with Neville’s senses.

“I wanted to see you.” Draco’s whispered words were Neville’s undoing and he helplessly leaned back against the broad chest behind him.

“I missed kissing you,” he kissed Neville’s neck. “Missed your sweet little moans.” Neville moaned, like a musician caressed his instrument, Draco calculatingly stroked Neville into a mewling mess. “Missed you…here.” Draco pulled Neville’s ass to his engorged length and wickedly grinned.

The stupid little fuck didn’t even know he was being used and Draco liked him to remain that way—oblivious and horny.

Neville allowed himself to be pulled to the bed, his face flushed, his body wanting for Draco to do all the wicked things they had done when they had been together—even if in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t going to last---he wanted to hope.

“Let’s play a game, hmm, Nevs?” Halfway naked and thoroughly aroused, Neville could only nod. Draco smirked and fisted Neville through his boxers. “I’ll ask you a question and you answer to the best of your abilities, ok Baby?” another nod. “Good boy,” with a few jerks of his hand Draco had Neville writhing and ready to cream himself.

Neville wouldn’t come, unless he told him to come. “First question, do you know Harry Potter’s favorite color?”

“Draco…” Neville’s eyes had the distinct glaze of a man teetering on the precipice of nirvana and not being allowed access. “Draco…please…”

“Red…blue…green…”

“Silver.” Draco raised an eyebrow at that but did not let on to his thoughts.

The ‘game’ continued until Draco had obtained the needed information and just cause he couldn’t leave a willing body without completion he screwed Neville right through his mattress and left an hour later—with a innocent smile for dear trusting grams—who had been oblivious that her beloved grandson had just been thoroughly fucked in more ways than one.

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Clearing the table for the last customers of the night, Harry grabbed his thirty dollar tip and happily smiled as he carted the dishes away. Tonight had been a good night filled with generous tippers, unbroken dishes, hardworking staff and happy customers—to Harry that mattered, because chez rouge had become dear to him as it was to Sirius and if nothing went according to plan he was more than a little aggravated—but tonight everything had been surprisingly good.

It was past midnight before he was able to go home. Waving goodbye to co-workers he made his way to Sirius’s unreturned Ridgeline and hoped in. He was dead ass tired and he just wanted to go home to a hot shower, warm food, his son and then to bed—exactly in that order. Hitting the highway Harry steadily cruised and was about to turn on the radio when his mobile rang. Reaching over to the cup holder where the silver and black mobile was set to charge, Harry picked it up and answered—figuring it was Sirius calling to see if he was on his way.

“Hello?”

“Hey babe,” Harry almost stepped on the breaks as he heard that voice—the voice of the man who he hadn’t spoken to in close to a year and a half. How the hell did Tom get his number?

“I thought I asked you not to call me anymore.”

The dry chuckle on the other line caused Harry to furrow his brow. “You asked me to do a lot of things,”

“This isn’t a fucking game, Tom.”

“I’m not playing…I miss you…I miss him…”

“Fine, you miss your son, get in touch with my lawyer and talk out visitation rights. Otherwise I want nothing to do with you…” he was about to hang up the phone when he was stopped by…

“I’m a year clean, Harry…my parents sent me to this high priced rehab center after you left and it’s been a fucked up road but I’m clean…” Harry had to pull over or otherwise he would’ve gotten himself killed.

“So what the hell do you want from me, a goddamn trophy?”

“No, just hearing your voice is enough of a reward for me.” Damn him! Harry pulled off to the side of the road.

“I’m not that damn naïve kid you knocked up two years ago, and I’m not falling for your bullshit lines anymore. Like I said earlier, if you want to see Ayden get in touch with my lawyer and talk it over with him…I don’t want anything to do with you…don’t call me again.” He hung up the phone before another word could be spoken and slammed his head against his steering wheel.

Damn him! Harry’s hands shook and he bit his lip to stop it from trembling.

Just like Tom--selfish, heroin addict, smooth talker--Riddle. Tom the man who had been Harry’s lover—his friend---and his dealer; Tom who had almost killed the child he now professed to miss by beating Harry black and blue because he had refused to whore himself out to johns for enough money to buy them another hit.

Tom who had comforted him with sex, drugs, and sweet loving words when his father called him filth; Tom had made him feel so cheap and yet so loved in the exact same moments wanted to be apart of their lives—his and Ayden’s—After Harry had worked so hard to get them that good life? He couldn’t allow that to happen…he would not allow that to happen!

With shaky hands, he steeled himself to try and safely get home where he would think further on the situation and get Sirius’s advice if he had to.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A.N: Another chapter done. Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter delves deeper into Harry’s past with Tom and Draco makes his move.

Crap...

2007-03-03T06:07:36Z

I must have been on some serious shit when i wrote this...whatever...read it...if you like it leave me a comment. if you dont, well leave me one anyways, i'm sure you telling me how much it sucks will brighten my day.

Thanks!

High and tie, my lyrical junkie
Sigh and by the by we fly, on the roller coaster of cloud and soot
Strip me, lay me, and nip me,
The liquid flick of your tongue, arches my supine spine

Bloody vows, on bloody lips
Devour,
Devour, the wicked witch’s tits!
To hop, a lover’s hop
And twirl a lover’s…Phallus?

Magic like pixie dust,
Away and away on the big brown broom
To lick sugared rainbows
And suck honey rain
Swallow kitty creams and smile dancing dreams

Twinkle, twinkle
Not quiet the little star
Dancing clowns on dew-drop clouds
Hop and swirl
Mary jingle pearls
This is the nonsensical twirl
Of franny May’s coil.

Need a Co-Author

2007-02-23T03:44:54Z

Hey to all of you who still read my page! I have this idea for a story, really different from all the other hp stories out their and i really want to write it. problem is, i would really like someone to write it with me, someone who is really serious and can dedicate a certain amount of time to this story. Please contact me if your interested...i would really like to get this story started. let me know guys, thanks.

The Bet 1&2

2007-01-06T07:39:29Z

The Bet

Disclaimer: I don’t own a thing…

A.N: Before you start reading, let me just tell you that this is an AU story no magic! Secondly this story alike all my other stories will contain Mpreg and lots of M/M loving if that bothers you please turn back now! Thank you to those of you still here, Enjoy!

Summary: The bet was simple. Get Harry Potter to sleep with him and Draco would get Blaise's coveted Porsche Boxster in return. It was simple. Too bad Harry was celibate. Mpreg Warning. Anal,Angst,AU/AR,H/C,Humil,MPreg
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He was extremely late and as Harry Potter closed the driver door of his blue Honda civic he spared a glance at this wristwatch and took off into a full on sprint down the schoolyard, his black messenger bag rhythmically bouncing of his hip. He made it through the front entrance of the school before the last warning bell sounded. With a heaving chest and a painful cough he took a second to catch his breath before heading towards what he remembered to be the guidance office. With more subtlety then he had entered the school, Harry entered the guidance office and immediately scribbled his name in the sign-in book that lay splayed out before him.

With the exception of the few students trudging about, the guidance office was blessedly empty, so Harry took a seat and waited. He was not made to wait long, soon after his arrival, one of the doors housing one of the ten councilors in the school opened and a boy—most likely a freshman from what Harry could guess, exited--- following closely behind was the dour faced woman who he been introduced to last Friday as Ms. McGonagall. She turned slightly and spared Harry a look behind square cut glasses that were set at the very tip of her aquiline nose; with a fleeting nod of acknowledgement his way she faced the other student once more and with a few clipped words she dismissed him to class.

“Follow me, Mr. Potter.” Years of knowing that students rarely if ever disobeyed the commanding nasal drawl of her voice, she spun on her booted heel and made her way to her office.

Harry closed the door behind him and took a seat opposite of the paper littered desk that separated them. Subtly he allowed his eyes to stray about and take in the décor. Pictures of what he surmised were of past students lined the walls, along with ribbons and accolades of something well achieved throughout the years. Her desk was a cesspool of cluttered papers, manila folders and writing utensils scattered about in such a way that had Harry wondering how exactly she managed to work in such a mess.

The cadenced click clack of fingers beating on keyboard temporarily halted. “Since your AP mathematics credits from your previous school counts more here, you are not required to take another year of it. Was there another class you wish to participate in?”

Harry nodded before reaching down the floor where he had left his bag. The sound of Velcro being pulled was all that was heard inside the small room aside from the subtle hum of the computer fan. Harry took out the course book he had been given upon his first day at Hogwarts Academy just last week and flipped it open. “Um—I saw that you had a guitar class here and wondered if--”

“That class is full.” Harry tried to squelch his disappointment.

“But I’m sure Mr. Lupin would not mind having another student who is so eager to learn.”

“Thank you.” maybe she wasn’t as nasty as he features portrayed.

She said nothing and continued her work on the computer; the pregnant silence stretched for a moment longer before the printer Harry had barely noticed began to thrum to life and soon after sheets of paper were being printed. Ms. McGonagall abruptly stood to fetch whatever it was that had just printed. She briefly allowed her gaze to examine what she held and Harry knew she found it to be satisfactory when she handed them to him one at a time, describing each sheet to him.

“This is a copy of the mission statement---which I’m sure you have read in the student handbook I have given to you---but nevertheless here it is. This sheet is map of Hogwarts---keep it close, for I have no doubt that you will find yourself in great need of it within these next weeks; this is your schedule---your next class is Humanities, you have just enough time to find it before the next bell rings.” Harry stood from his seat; slid the strap of his bag across his shoulder and with a ‘thank you’ for his councilor he walked out of the room.

Being the ‘new kid’ was certainly never a pleasant experience and Harry despised being put in that role, but like all things ultimately bad for you—one had to trudge through the situation---no matter how reluctant. He did so now, trepidation pooling in his stomach, he inhaled deeply and readied himself for the headache he knew would undoubtly come with trying to find his classes for the rest of the day.

Putting the map to use, he opened it up, while heading up the stairs—hopefully heading in the right direction. Hogwarts to Harry resembled more a mausoleum than that of a scholastic Academy with far too many stairs and rooms then was necessary. He came to the top of the stairway and above the door he stood in front was a large letter C boldly written there that indicated his luck in finding the English wing. Now to find room 212.

His gaze once more found his map as he began to move on, he rounded a corner and unintentionally wound up bumping into some unfortunate soul; Harry momentarily staggered backwards and opened his mouth to apologize but was at a sudden lost for words as he stared at the handsome boy standing before him.

It was as though he had just stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch pictorial Harry was so fond of looking at every chance he got---when he not looking after his son. Ginger blond hair trimmed stylishly to fit a clean cut face that was so typically reminiscent of Michelangelo's ‘David’ that it gave Harry momentary start. Clear and marvelous blue-grey eyes—more grey than blue danced with unhidden mirth that was for too contagious not to be shared. His patrician nose was a slight hint to his privileged upbringing and it led to raspberry tinted lips that were upturned in a slight mischievous grin that Harry new more than likely never left that mouth. Hidden behind a navy sweater and pair of black jeans was a body Harry could only imagine could be as perfect as those of the men in the AF magazines. Very handsome indeed.
“Are you okay?” The cultured British accent pulled Harry from his reverie.

Cheeks stained pink from embarrassment, Harry looked up. “Um---yeah—but it should be me asking whether your okay. Are you okay?”

“I’ve been tackled more times then I can count on the field, a little bump won’t have me falling apart.” He bent down to pick up the piece of paper Harry barely noticed had dropped.

“You’re new here.” It was said absentmindedly as he was handed back his schedule.

“Yeah---Harry Potter.” Harry held out his hand.

“Cedric Diggory.” Cedric took the offered hand and steadily shook it, his gaze assessing the diminutive brunet.

He was a small boy, both in weight and height---though standing next to his six foot two frame anyone would seem short next to Cedric but--- this boy was just short. His petite stature was fitted in a hooded black sweatshirt and pair of tight skinny blue jeans that hugged every curve a boy could poses and on his feet were a pair of black and white chucks that seemed to have seen better days. His slightly rounded face, full pink lips and pert little nose made him more then a little pretty—he was borderline adorable. His hair, as black as a raven’s wing fell in choppy layers around his face and into the greenest eyes Cedric had ever seen---eyes he could see himself reflected through they were so big and clear.

The bell sounded, causing Harry to subtly jump. Cedric grinned and suddenly swung his arm around Harry’s shoulder as students poured out of classrooms.

“You have humanities next,” Cedric informed as if relating something new to a perplexed Harry. “I do too—I’ll show you were the class is and if you want I’ll be your guide for the rest of the day.”

Harry furrowed his brow as he was being led around. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Why? When I can just tell my teachers’ the truth.” Harry realized no sooner had they began their steady trek down the hall that Cedric was quite popular and he found that he was more the a little uncomfortable with attention they were unintentionally receiving.

“Which is?”

Cedric chanced a look down at the down and he smiled. “I found something better to occupy my time.”

Warning bells rang loud and clear in Harry head and he abruptly stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Look,” he pulled Cedric’s arm from his shoulder and took a step back. “I really appreciate what you’re willing to do for me but I don’t need your help. Thanks but no thanks.” His voice hadn’t been particularly warming and he chided himself for being so cold but it was best if set the lines now so it wouldn’t be crossed later on—he had his reasons for doing so and no matter how handsome the guy was—he would not be tempted---not again.

It seemed the majority of his soon to be peers had overheard the conversation and were now jeering Cedric for being ‘told off’ and as Harry looked at Cedric’s face he knew he had done something irrevocably bad. Quickly, without a backward glance he turned and walked away…more determined then ever to find his class.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The rest of Harry’s day had remained blessedly uneventful and as soon as the last school bell tolled he was up from his seat and heading towards exit. He made a quick stop to his locker—pulled out books assigned for homework and brusquely shoved each one into his book bag then made his way out the stifling building. Students who were ever eager to be away from any school establishment hurriedly walked past him—while others hung around the school steps—chatting with friends while waiting for their rides. A particular group of students boisterously chatted just a few yards away from Harry and Cedric’s familiar face momentarily lifted from the small crowd to stare at him ---the eyes of several followed his. Harry frowned once they all turned back to their huddled circle—the niggling feeling that he was being talked about plagued him as he took off towards his parked car.

He was not particularly fond of being the center of attention… that being one of the reasons why he had rebuffed Cedric’s advances so quickly. Harry sighed as he slid into his car, set his bag on the passenger seat and turned his keys in the ignition. He had hoped to get a new start at Hogwarts Academy and focus on his academics, an opportunity he rarely had in his last school…even after the whole Thomas Riddle fiasco.

Coming to join his godfather in the small town of Godric Hollow had been the best and only option afforded to him, since his parents refused to have anything to do with him and the little boy who had become Harry’s entire world. Sirius Black was a benevolent recluse Harry had come to rely on since his pregnancy two years ago; his Godfather had not demanded answers… when his very pregnant fifteen year old godson had appeared at his door with naught else but a small duffle bag and tear tracks down his face. He had only asked that Harry respect him and his home and in return he had made Harry as comfortable as any impending father could be.

Throughout the last two years of raring his child and living with his godfather, Harry had been prompted to grow up far quicker than any seventeen year old was warranted to do so. Working two jobs and continuing what was now his last year of school took more than enough out of him---but he would not change anything for the world—because he was at a point in his life where he was content and he would be damned if some pretty boy with a freaking grudge screwed it up for him.

Harry parked his car in the one family garage and exited with book bag in hand. He palmed the knob to the door and entered through the back way of the house that led into the kitchen. The aromatic scent of chocolate chip cookies had Harry’s stomach rumbling and a smile on his lips. He closed the door behind him, walked further in the kitchen and settled his keys on the key hook, next to the subzero fridge.

“Sirius, I’m home!” he checked to see if the oven was still on, finding that it wasn’t he pilfered a cookie from the plate brimming with cooling treats on the counter and shoved it in his mouth.

He heard the distinctive giggles and the quiet chuckled that belonged to none other than his godfather and his son. “In the family room.” Harry followed the voices.

“Papa!” in one of the most adorable moves Harry has had the pleasure in witnessing---his little son set his hands on the carpeted floor and steadily anchored his weight up until he was standing on two perfectly chubby little legs, which he then used to run to his beaming papa. Harry caught him before he fell and enveloped his pleasantly plump little son in a big hug. He cradled his head in the crook of his son’s neck and deeply inhaled---he had missed him so much.

“Hey little guy,” Harry kissed downy curls as black as his own and flopped down on the nearest lazy boy chair.

Sirius Black watched the exchange between father and son, Harry hung to Ayden as though he had not seen him in years and the little boy seemed to enjoy each second his doting father lavished on him—his joy made clear by the contagious giggles that had Sirius grinning.

“How was school?” Harry looked at him as if finally made aware of his godfather’s presence.

“A pain.” Seeing that he was not going to further elaborate, Sirius sighed and stood. “I’m going out for a little bit, have to buy diapers and dinner.” He ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately. “It’ll get better.” he finished as he exited the cozy family room---that had never been of use to him until Harry and Ayden’s presence in his life.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry drew his slim fingers over his lips, infectively trying to cover the oncoming yawn that threatened to escape. He blinked twice, sat up straighter and tried to focus on what of his Physics teacher was trying to explain. Ayden had refused to go to sleep last night and so Harry had stayed up with him---reading, singing and rocking him—until had finally gone to sleep at about one in the morning. Had it not been for Sirius shaking him awake this morning—Harry doubted he would’ve had the strength to do of his own free will. Thankfully he had had the good sense in finishing his homework soon after he had eaten Sirius’s delicious dinner of Fettuccini and Alfredo.

Harry stifled another yawn—the pitch less drone of Mr. Snape’s voice was not helping him at all. He sighed and looked down at the five-star notebook in front of him and allowed his pencil to aimlessly wander across the blue lined sheet.

“Mr. Potter, state to me Ohm’s law.” Harry temperature rose a few degrees as the bodies of his peers simultaneously spun around in their seats to blankly stare at him. He looked up at Mr. Snape’s dismal visage and he vaguely wondered why the figureheads at this school had such mean looking faces—if it was to stimulate better test scores than he hoped the school ranked high in the district.

He swallowed the egg sized lump in his throat. “Um… the Ohm law states that, in an electrical circuit the current passing through a conductor is directly proportional to the potential difference applied across them provided all physical conditions are kept constant.” Sharp obsidian eyes narrowed to disdainful slits but Harry kept his gaze steady no matter how much he yearned to lower his eyes. It was another second eternal tense silence before Mr. Snape mutely whirled on his heel and continued his lessons.

Harry unclenched his hands---which he hadn’t known had formed into tight fists on his lap beneath his desk—and released his breath in a silent and drawn out sigh. Was it any wonder why he hated this class, when the teacher was a decrepit ass who seemed to despise him for no reason at all? Well, Harry silently thought, at least he was fully awake now.

Blaise Zabini took the entire display from his seat in the back row and knowingly grinned to himself, jotting something down in the small black book he was renowned to always carry around.
~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Well don’t you look like the cat that swallowed the cream, been on your knees again?”

“Very nice Mione—almost got me with that one. Does Ron know you’ve been teabaggin the chess club just so they can let you win—oh oops was that suppose to be a secret?”

Hermione Granger, head bitch of Hogwarts academy cheering squad (who had a certain affinity for guys in suspenders and pocket protectors) threw a carrot at a smirking Blaise and scowled.

“Faggot.”

“Whore.”

It wasn’t a normal lunch hour without Blaise and Hermione’s little barbs and everyone who sat around the red table categorized as being the stereotypical ‘popular’ group good-naturedly laughed at what was funny.

Draco Malfoy ignored the noise around him as he tried to catch up on much needed sleep, but the soft voice, barely audible had it not been for the sudden hush that came over the table—caused him to lift his head up.

The flushed and charmingly rotund, Neville Longbottom stood a few inches away from him--- offering what seemed to be tin can of something.

“Hi Draco…I-I made these for you in home Ec…” The distinct chortles of his friend’s caused Draco to sit up straighter and the characteristic ‘Malfoy’ smirk pulled at his lips.

“T-they’re sugar cookies…”

“How charming…” Hermione’s voice piped in from the grapevine.

The desperate attempt of his friends trying to stifle their laughter, but failing miserably as it came out in low snorts and grunts caused the flustered boy to redden even more-- reminding Draco of a ripened tomato.

“No thanks.”

“But I-I made them f-for you,” impossibly large chocolate brown eyes stared back at him and Draco looked away with a frown.

“Look, I don’t want your goddamn cookies, alright? Now fuck off.”

“B-but last night…y-you…”

Draco stood up and faced Neville. “I said a lot of things last night…but then again I would’ve said anything to get you to suck my cock.” Neville flinched away from him as if slapped; lips trembling-- the tin can full of cookies fell from his nerveless fingers and resounded throughout the lunchroom as it connected with the floor---he was gone before anyone could be the wiser.

“And another heart broken by the devastatingly handsome and not to mention heartless, Draco Malfoy.” Hermione flippantly commented as she took a swig from avian bottle. She sweetly smiled as Draco turned to glare at her before she stood and left.

“I’m sick and tired of seducing these simpering idiots. There’s no fucking challenge when they’re so willing to spread their legs.”

“But its easy money.” Cedric added.

“Okay, you want a challenge? I have just the one for you.” Blaise tossed Draco his black notebook. “Page 102”

Draco flipped through the pages until he saw the number he was looking for. Boldly written and underlined was the name. “Harry Potter? The new kid who shot Cedric down yesterday?” he lifted his head and raised a golden brow in question.

“The one and only; I bet you five hundred bucks that you won’t so much as get a kiss from him.”

Draco looked up once more from the notebook. “Didn’t I just take a thousand bucks from you?”

“Come on Draco, its just a simple kiss and it might be another five hundred in your wallet.”

“Hey if you’re going to bet on this, I want in on it.” Cedric tried to pull out his wallet, but Draco stopped him.

“No. this one is just me and Blaise. Okay, I’ll take your bet. But let’s raise the ante; if I win I get your Boxster.”

“And if I win?”

Draco stood and walked behind Blaise; he set his hands on his shoulders and leaned down. “I’ll fuck your brains out.” Blaise shivered from the whispered words and Draco knowingly grinned.

“You have a month!” he yelled after Draco’s retreating form.

“Two weeks.” Blaise only smiled and bit into his forgotten sandwich. He couldn’t wait—Draco’s prowess in the bedroom was legendary!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A.N: Hope you enjoyed it. Oh and by the way I got 'Ohm's law' of physics from wikipedia (Sp?) cool site!

Wicked Lazy

2007-01-03T19:22:18Z

Oi, I'm probably one of the most laziest people around! i promised myself to update this page as soon as possible and it took almost three months to get my ass back on here! i hate when that happenes...sorry to all of you guys who have waited for an update of those two stories and have'nt gotten crap for it!! anyways, its a new year and a new start...so i guess i'll just try harder this time around and have something new for you all.

Hedonistic Affair

2006-10-27T02:34:25Z

Hedonistic Affair

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters….

Warning!! Please beware of the graphical sexual content of this story! It’s M/m and will delve into the love affair of a married man and a jaded vampire! Please do not go any further if you may have a problem with this and the fact that Harry Potter will undoubtedly become pregnant.

A.N: please enjoy to those of you who are still here!!!

^*^**^*^*^^*^^*^*^

Golden Phallus…

^^*^*^*^*^*^*^**^
He touches you and so sharply you inhale, his fingers, cool and infinitely tender glide between your quivering thighs…gradually snaking upwards and upwards and all you can do is tightly close your eyes, your cornered against a wall and all you can do is wait. He’s right behind you; his magnetism cloaks you both in a world of unbridled eroticism and the thought of it releases a mewling whimper from your lips. Can you imagine? Can you see it? Feel the rampant lust swimming through the air like orgasmic pheromones fucking with your mind.

Your hair is swept aside as he exposes your neck for only his eyes to see…for the carnal pleasures only he will administer. The very length of him presses you to the wall…into the wall and you allow it…you relish it. The blessing of his lips upon your nape is unexpected and yet not unwanted—in fact—you’ve been craving it.

It’s a euphoric experience…inhumanly impossible to explain to any other just how sweet it feels when his fingers adroitly flex and caress the very point that makes you who you are---his ministrations are wonderfully thought out...smooth finger pads circling and circling…making you tremble…making you pant like a bitch in heat…making you through your head back against his shoulder….tears running down the sides of your sexually contorted face and you cant help the feeling of oceanic waves that sweep you away until your silently screaming for that orgasmic ‘little death’.

But—just when you believed yourself unimaginably sated—his tongue comes into play and at this very moment you’ve become nothing but pliable putty in his prison of flesh. His tongue…wet, warm and everything devilishly naughty is laving that spot just behind the lower part of the shell of your ear and again your at attention…the root between your legs immediately springs to life…needing to be touched.

He’s powerful, you mindlessly think as he, one swift move spins you around; and anchors your weight against the wall behind you; he wraps your legs around his naked waist and so freaking masterfully glides himself inside you and all you can do--- dearest Harry James Riddle--- is wrap your arms around your lover’s neck and enjoy the ride.

His eyes—your Draco’s eyes--- are cool pools of mercurial mysteries clouded over by masculine lust; starring…and starring…unnervingly focused on every expression sweeping across your face and within that unblinking gaze you shatter upon him and the wave of his release soon after floods you deep.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Lacquered Phallus

^*^^^*^*^*^**^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*

You keys clatter upon the oaken table as you enter your humble abode, the door creaks shut behind you.

“I’m home.” You say as you walk down the three steps leading into your (three bedrooms, one kitchen and bath) dining room. Picking up the stack of mail set on the dining room table, you instinctively rip them open and began to read.

“Daddy!” he’s a bundle of energy your seven year old son as he crashes into your legs and causes you to momentarily stumble.

Your down on your knees, bills temporarily forgotten on the floor next to you-- you have eyes only for the child that is your sole reason for breathing.

“Hey little guy…” fondly you ruffle chocolate brown curls and smile as he scrunches his button nose in displeasure.

“Dad…” he whines.

“Ayden…” you mimic and then he’s is your arms as you walk through the dining room and into your quaint little kitchen…newly upgraded kitchen…all thanks to the architect you call husband.

“Where’s your father?”

“In the office.”

“Ah,” is all you say and settle Ayden on the marbled island top in the kitchen.

Your head pokes inside the subzero fridge sensibly made to blend in with the cherry wood décor of the kitchen. “What does my little prince wish to eat tonight?”

“Macaroni and cheese!” your head peeks out from behind the refrigerator door.

“We had that yesterday---and the day before---and the day before that---“

“Yes I know and I like it even more each time you make It.” little charmer your son; his dimpled grin is and will always undoubtedly be your undoing.
With a resigned sigh, you close the fridge door and head over to the small island with a bowl of shredded cheddar cheese in your hands.

“Yes!” Ayden enthusiastically punches the air with his fist and smiles up at your un-amused face.

“Your not so cute, you know.” Never had there been a greater lie told. He was the epitome of cuteness in your infinite baby book of endearing ‘Ayden Riddle’ precious moments.

“BOO!”

Your surprised gasp caused Ayden to laugh up a storm as he joyfully clapped his hands and praised his father on a joke well played.

“You got him real good, father.”

Your husband’s rich chuckle caused you to spin around and bestow him with a glare.

“Go ahead, laugh the both of you; but if one day your mean tricks cause me to retaliate do not say you didn’t deserve it.”

“You mustn’t be sore, pet,” lips dropped a tender kiss on your head and rubbed your arms in comfort. “Its inst our fault that your such an easy target.” Ayden’s vigorous nod causes you to mildly grin.

After a kiss shared with your husband you turn to your son and wag a ladle his way. “Just you wait until its tuck in time, you’ll be sorry you ever laughed at you dad.”

“Come one little monster,” Ayden eagerly climbed onto his father’s back. “Time to wash up before we eat.” The moment is sweetly tender as you watch father and son stomp away, singing a happy tune.

^*^*^*^*^*^**^*^*
You know, don’t you? You’ve known for approximately two months now and each time you reflect upon it, the differences become staggering. Their touches…their kisses…are polar opposites from the other.

Thomas---in all his rugged ways loves to love you with the subdued caress of newly found lovers. Sweet, poignant and lovingly slow.

Draco---charismatically sensuous Draco Malfoy loved to love you the same way he drove his cars…the same way he lived his life…the same way he took his victims. Fast…hard…and always in control. Love was a joke to him; love--what was love to five hundred and thirty year old vampire?

“Tom---” he enters you and the moan is a required soundtrack to boast his ego…to demand of yourself to return to the man who makes you happy… the man you vowed to love ….the father of your precious child.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^^*^^^

Lolita

2006-10-25T00:07:53Z

Prologue

Rating: R-Nc-17

Summary: "...I close my eyes and all I see are those jeweled emeralds, shinning so brilliantly from a face too boyishly beautiful to be anything but the elusive nymph I believed him to be, sent here to tempt me to my doom..." Draco has an obsession and his name is Harry Potter.

A.N: Hope you like it...tell me what you think.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters in this story.

He is an obsession.

I am thoroughly infatuated with a fifteen year old boy; I have come to this startling realization only a short moment ago and I find it if not a bit disturbing. I am a man fully grown, at thirty five years of age, I thought myself very well capable of discerning right from wrong, but it seemed I was horribly wrong. My view of aging men and their perverse appetite towards children up until this very moment matched your own. I believed them sick and deranged individuals who needed to be lined up against a wall and shot one by one to their miserable deaths. But now, it seemed I too belonged against that wall, all because I have developed a rather unhealthy obsession with one Harry James Potter, only son to James and lily Potter and my son’s best friend.

My name is Draco Malfoy, CEO of Malfoy Inc, husband to a wife I no longer sleep with and father to a son who is more of a stranger to me than the people on my payroll. I was born in a privileged life, with parents who believed hard work was the key to infinite success; each lesson taught to me I have applied in life and in raising my son. As expected of any male heir, I married early, a prearranged ordeal contracted years before my birth, by my parents. I sired an heir of my own upon my socialite wife soon after, I completed my schooling and began running my father’s business, all before the age of thirsty; my parents were proud.

Pansy, London and I lived a semblance of a content life in our gilded world, passively going about the mundane routines of our everyday lives, presenting the masses a perfect charade of a happy life. Pansy hosted a number of galas, garden parties, and soirees; occupying her days with what was normal for someone of her ilk; spending limitless amounts of cash on the frivolities women deemed important. London had been carted off to Hogwarts boarding school at the age of ten,; a tradition going back decades in the Malfoy line, only returning home on holidays. While I spent my every waking hours locked in offices, running a multi-billion dollar corporation from the one of the many skyscraping buildings built in the middle of our booming metropolis.

My life was as normal as I believed possible. As limited as sex was with pansy I did not lack the choices in my bed partners, but I did not entirely enjoy the act of it. To me sex was a bothersome act solely meant to release pent up stress. I did not have the time, nor the energy to dedicate to such an onerous task; those few fortunate enough to find their own release while in my company commended me for a job well done and always seemed to run back when I was in need of them once more.

I am a good man, god-fearing man, who did not attend church as much as he should, but I was good and so I had not the slightest clue as to why I was being punished this way. I truly believed this was a punishment, because I believe that no man, who honestly believed himself sane and morally wealthy, could lust after a child barely old enough to drive.

This was lust, like a fine aged wine upon my tongue its potency clouded my judgment without pause, it deprived me of the will to properly function. I close my eyes and all I see are those jeweled emeralds, shinning so brilliantly from a face too boyishly beautiful to be anything but the elusive nymph I believed him to be, sent here to tempt me to my doom.

````````````
A.N: *shrug* tell me what you think…

To Harry, From Draco

2006-10-24T23:32:52Z

Every cell in your body hums for me,

Trembling and weak,

Your sweet, saccharine sex

Milky,

Eucalyptus cream,

Let me hear your godly prayer,

Pray my name,

Beg me to plunder,

Beads of sweat form,

Your skin glistens from it,

Feel my tongue,

Feel the pads of my calloused fingers,

Rubbing,

Enticing,

Evoking pleas,

Spread, wider

Bless me with your pink heaven,

Want me deep?

How deep?

Take you hard?

How hard?

Want it fast?

How fast?

You’re sighing now,

So melodious,

My love on you lips,

Animalistic glee

Grips me to fuck you

Begs me to claim,

Your beauty fascinates me,

In the troughs of this raw sex

An angel, gripping for heaven

Let me hear you moan ‘god’

Let me feel your body crumble upon the very root of me,

How so very gauche to call you mine,

I will not whisper ‘mine’,

I will not think it,

I will not breathe it,

You know the truth,

You know who you come to at night

The mask of enmity you wear, matches my own

But you know how true my feelings are, how deep they run

You know you belong to one person,

Only me.

skarlette00 @ 2006-10-24T19:20:00

2006-10-24T23:21:42Z

This isn't really going to be a journal of my thoughts and all that good stuff, maybe every once in a while I'll post something other than the stories I intend on putting here...but other than that look forward to lots and lots of Harry Potter stories mostly slash because I dont think I can write Het with any of these characters even if I tried. Oh and I'll also be posting a poem every now and then.