lokifan_import | The Language of Power

*groans* I am having definite sleep issues at the moment; not screwed-up-sleep-schedule stuff, which happens quite often, but insomnia and waking up and all that bad stuff.

But

nursedarry has helped me fix the resulting stupidities, and there is smut!

Title: The Language of Power
Beta:

nursedarry
Word count: ~2400
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry loves talking in Parseltongue to Draco during sex: his response is just delicious.
Warnings: D/s, Parselsmut, dark!Harry, dub-con (not too heavy though), forced orgasm
Disclaimer: The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.
Author’s Notes: This is a belated gift for

gypsyflame’s birthday, because I fangirl her like crazy yet flaked on her, so I wanted to make it up. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, you gorgeous creature, I hope you had fun.

There was something extremely satisfying about fucking Draco at Malfoy Manor.

Harry had Draco on hands and knees on the bed of the master suite; his legs were spread on the wide bed, his moans ringing off the ancestral walls. Harry slid in slow, feeling the thrill of it, and heard Draco’s indrawn breath stutter at the sensation.

He smirked at the snakes of the Malfoy crest carved into the headboard. He belongs to me now.

Draco had belonged to the Ministry before this – and the faded mark of Voldemort’s ownership still lingered on his skin. Draco had been sent to Azkaban after the war for all the terrible things he’d done. Then Harry, touring the prison to try and control his desire for revenge, had seen him there. Draco had been staring from his cell, his eyes ringed with the dark smudges of sleeplessness, and entirely aware of his helplessness.

Harry had been quite determined to take Malfoy home with him.

The Ministry hadn’t been happy, but there was a rehabilitation system for convicts, as long as they had a chaperone. And Harry had been quite happy to move into the Manor to keep an eye on the heir.

Besides, Kingsley’s voice had gone slow and pleased when he heard about Harry’s request. Harry still wasn’t sure if Kingsley had been glad to see the reins of Malfoy Manor turned over to one of the good guys, or if he’d just been happy that Harry was seeking rehabilitation instead of revenge. Harry had got into trouble a few times at work for getting overzealous with suspects, or intimidating informants with the dark curses he’d picked up.

Draco’s head was hanging down limply, his back gleaming with sweat, his hands fisted in the sheets – at last he’d learnt not to touch himself. Harry had rimmed him tonight, taking his time, nibbling and licking and teasing until Draco was about to shake himself apart. And even now Harry was taunting him: fucking him with slow, shallow thrusts that teased at Draco’s rim.

Draco was making soft, breathy sounds that were a request in themselves. Harry happily ignored it in favour of watching Draco’s back shift and bow as he gripped Draco’s hips. He leant over enough to taste the salt of desperation on the pale back, dragging his teeth over the bumps of Draco’s spine.

“Please,” Draco breathed at last, his voice rising into desperation as he spoke. “Please, I – come on, fuck me properly!”

Harry pulled out. Draco’s groan at the loss sounded honestly pained; Harry smirked down at his bunched shoulders.

“Potter! You already made me beg, would you just bloody fuck me – ”

Harry scowled, his grip on Draco’s hips tightening until it became bruising; Draco gasped out a pained sound. Getting stroppy, was he?

Bloody entitled sod. You’d think he’d have learnt by now.

Luckily, Harry had an instant way of melting Draco into submission. He could always keep teasing Draco, or fuck him steadily until he was yowling and mindless and sweetly compliant. There was a satisfaction in manhandling Draco into different positions and feeling him slump into Harry’s hands, exhausted and obedient. But it wasn’t the right sort of thrill.

Harry fisted a hand in Draco’s sweaty hair, just at the nape of his neck, and slid inside him fully. He couldn’t hold back a groan at the tightness of Draco’s hot, grasping hole; but he could’ve found a hole to fuck anywhere. That wasn’t what Harry wanted; it wasn’t why he’d chosen Draco. No picked-at-random boy could’ve been marked with their history.

Draco mumbled something, sounding relieved, but Harry wasn’t paying attention. He looked at the Malfoy crest on the headboard, focussing on the snake coiled at the base.

Then he opened his mouth.

“Draco.”

At the sound of Harry speaking Parseltongue, Draco tried to turn his head to look at him. Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s hair in unmistakable warning. Draco went still under his hand, the muscles of his back going tense.

“There you go. Nice and quiet for me.”

Draco went rigid. Harry moaned softly as Draco tightened around his cock. Unable to resist, Harry started moving again, fucking Draco steadily.

“You’re so good when you’re like this. All tight, every muscle tense, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For what I’ll do to you.”

Harry let go of Draco’s hair, slowly, sliding the hand down Draco’s back to feel the smooth, overheated skin. Draco passed the test: he didn’t try to turn and see Harry’s face.

“If your father only knew what I’m using that vaunted family crest for. I bet he wished you could speak Parseltongue, didn’t he? It must’ve killed him that I could, and you couldn’t, even with all your pureblood pedigree. All that history, and it meant nothing.”

Harry slammed in hard on that last word, unable to help himself. Draco groaned, but stayed still. Nice to have him so obedient, but it was far too late: he should’ve remembered what his time serving under Voldemort had taught him. If you were the prey, you should be quiet and still and hope you never drew the predator’s attention.

“You understand what matters about the language, don’t you? The language of dark wizards, the language of power… none of that pile of rumour means anything.”

Draco was trembling again. Not from frustrated lust, this time, and for a moment Harry’s mind was whited out by lust to feel Draco trembling underneath him.

“If I speak Parseltongue to a snake – any snake – it obeys me. Parseltongue doesn’t just mean understanding; it means obedience.”

Harry’s hisses changed as he spoke; he could hear his own voice turn slow and dark. He heard Draco swallow; he was shaking harder now.

Harry groped for Draco’s cock, and found it almost entirely wilted from fear. But a few firm strokes and Draco was already hardening again. Harry grinned against Draco’s shoulder, possessiveness welling up in him as he cradled Draco’s cock in his hand. It was an unmistakable gesture; he was sure Draco understood this time, when he whispered “you’re mine.”

Harry kept stroking, forcing the pleasure onto Draco as he muttered praise in Parseltongue. Harry wanted to see Draco’s face; this wasn’t enough, he wanted the frightened eyes and trembling mouth and the pulse fluttering at the base of his throat.

He pulled out. It took only a light touch to Draco’s waist to make him turn; he fell onto his back easily, and spread his legs without being told. He’d come so far since Harry first brought him home.

Thoughts of Draco’s cock were lost in the lust that swamped Harry on seeing Draco’s face. He was so pale Harry could see the blue veins at his temples – his blue blood wasn’t saving him now, Harry thought with a smirk. He cupped Draco’s cheek, rubbing a thumb down one sharp cheekbone. Draco couldn’t hold back a wince.

Harry drew back enough to slide in, and Draco was looser now. “There’s something about fucking you open, you know? I like you tight, like no one else’s ever had you, but it’s even better when you’re all loose. As though this is what you’re meant for.” Harry’s eyes flickered between the snakes on the headboard and Draco’s face as he drank in Draco’s reactions.

His lips were parted, his lower lip a little swollen: he’d been biting it, Harry thought. Harry watched his eyes – so pale, and enormous in his face, and staying so focussed on Harry like Harry was the lord of his world. Draco’s arms were limp by his head, as he’d learnt Harry liked, but his thighs were drawn up around Harry, holding him close.

Harry kissed him. Copper bloomed instantly on his tongue: Draco had drawn blood with biting his lower lip. Harry kissed him still more fervently with the knowledge, forcing his tongue into Draco’s hot, slick mouth. Draco kissed him back, his tongue dancing with Harry’s, noises too panicked to be moans forcing their way past the seal of their kiss. While they were kissing Harry couldn’t speak, and so Draco would do all that was necessary to keep it going. Harry fucked him slow and steady all through it, sliding his hands along up Draco’s sides, but that wasn’t really the point.

It was among the best kisses Harry had ever had, for that: for Draco’s high emotion and his desperation to keep Harry interested. A sadistic impulse sparked in Harry’s mind, and he bit down on Draco’s lower lip, forcing the small cut open wider, pushing him. Draco made a hurt sound, and his thighs clenched around Harry; but the pain must be better than the fear.

Harry was of the opposite opinion, and so soon enough he pulled back.

Panic flickered over Draco’s face: the end of his reprieve seemed to push him over the edge, and his voice burst out of him like he couldn’t stop.

“Please, Harry, don’t. Please, you know I hate Parseltongue – ”

“Why?”

Draco blinked. His hair was sticking to his face, he was sweating and dishevelled and there was blood on his parted lips and Harry just wanted to fuck him up.

“Why do you hate Parseltongue? Surely you should love the sound of it, little Slytherin. Certainly it makes me more qualified to have authority in this house.”

Draco winced at the reminder, and shook his head. The movement was frantic.

“It’s… It reminds me of him.”

“Him? Oh… you mean Voldemort.” Harry said the name with relish, feeling Draco’s flinch from his cock outwards. “You mean the wizard who owned your pathetic little self because you let him. Like me.”

“No!” Draco said. “You’re not like him! You haven’t, um, used the Cruciatus or threatened my parents or, er – ”

“How typical of you to only see Voldemort in terms of what he did to you.” Every word was a stone, dropped from high up. Draco went quiet.

Harry kept fucking him steadily. One hand caressed his inner thigh, teased over his hipbone, deliberately invasive: whatever else I don’t do, Malfoy, I fuck you.

“I own you, you know. Even the Ministry agrees… And Voldemort chose me for his enemy because he thought we were alike.” Harry kept his voice deliberately casual; only a slight breathlessness betrayed him, as he thrust all the way in.

“No!” Draco was on the edge of panic again, his eyes wide. “No, you’re nothing like him, please – ”

Harry hissed one word and Draco was over the edge. The hands he’d kept so obediently by his head flailed into action as he started to struggle. He was suddenly twisting under Harry, kicking at his thighs, trying to shove him off. He caught Harry a glancing blow on the jaw before Harry caught his wrists.

Harry restrained him easily: he was a trained Auror, after all, against a frightened man still recovering from Azkaban. And kept speaking Parseltongue.

“You think I’m nothing like him? But that’s why you hate this, isn’t it? Because it reminds you.” Draco was swearing, his voice catching as he cried out, still fighting. There were tears in his eyes. “This sound means you’re helpless. It means you’re afraid, because I own you and I like to hurt you and you don’t know what I’ll do.”

Draco was crying. The tears slid down over his temples, and Harry wanted to taste them.

Draco whimpered and clenched his eyes shut as Harry leant down to do so; he licked once, then pulled back, keeping a firm grip on Draco’s wrists, and closed his mouth around Draco’s left nipple. Then he bit.

Draco’s eyes opened again; there it was – all that fear drowning the grey eyes until it seemed to wash out everything else. Their bodies pushed together as Draco wriggled and Harry fucked, and that was glorious. Whatever else happened, Harry was inside him, and he wasn’t letting go of the power that gave him.

Harry managed to hold down both Draco’s wrists with one hand; Draco might be able to get them free if he really tried, but Harry thought he wouldn’t. Draco had come to him already trained for possession.

Harry wrapped his right hand around Draco’s cock and started wanking him. Draco’s mouth dropped open and he groaned, hoarse and pained, as Harry fucked him and stroked him in easy counterpoint. Draco’s mouth twitched into uncertain shapes as Harry rubbed the soft skin of his cock and fucked his tight arse and kept that bruising grip on the narrow wrists and had him.

“There we go,” Harry muttered breathlessly as Draco’s cock filled. “Come on, Malfoy...”

Draco’s hips twitched then caught the rhythm. He was blushing, and Harry felt like he’d been punched in the chest, gone suddenly breathless with lust as Draco rocked between his cock and hand and his body rolled and followed Harry’s rhythm. Draco’s eyes were still open – he didn’t dare shut them, now – and following Harry’s every movement, pale and intense. Harry knew he frightened Draco, and he wasn’t sure what Harry might do.

Really, Draco was predictable: Harry kept stroking and teasing and winding Draco up, until all his earlier frustrated lust visibly returned. Until he was groaning and crying out, the sound almost covering Harry’s own moans, and Harry’s hand was slick with pre-come. Until Draco arched off the bed, and made a sound like he was crying as Harry forced his orgasm from him.

“It’s too late for you to stop me, Draco. You’re already mine.”

Orgasm was old magic; Draco must know what it meant when Harry took his pleasure for his own.

Harry’s hand slid down from his wrists to Draco’s left arm. He wrapped it over the Mark: Draco was his now, Draco had opened himself up to be owned and this was the result, and he wasn’t going to look at Voldemort’s claim any more.

The eyes of the Malfoy snakes seemed to glint in the candlelight as Harry came.