Playing with Fire

Chapter 12: That's All

Song: Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You - Arctic Monkeys

Draco was at his desk, the fire behind him barely burning anymore. His firewhiskey was watered down at this point, and Granger had just left. After he made her. Commanded her. Merlin, it had only been one day, and he was using it.

But there was something that burned inside of him when he saw that fire in her eyes. That fire she had always had - from the day he met her. It was dim most days, but she had her moments still.

His body was warm from the firewhiskey. He leaned his head against his hand, toying with his hair. He found himself imagining it was her hair. The brunette curls flowing down her back. If only he could reach out and grab them with his fist, pulling it back so he could see those eyes. Those eyes that were haunted, and yet, still burned wildly.

Sweet Merlin he was drunk. It had been quite a while since he’d shagged anyone. But he hadn’t had any desire in quite a while either. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like...no. He shook his thoughts away once again.

He slouched in his chair, leaning his head back, knees spreading wide for the hardness growing between his legs. He imagined her face there, between his knees, her mouth on that same hardness...

His eyes shot open. He grabbed the glass and tossed it into the fire, glass shards flying every which way, the fire flaring from the alcohol it was attacked with. He ran his hands over the back of his neck. Merlin it’s hot in this fucking room. He pulled his shirt up over his head and paced the room frantically.

Get out of my head.

He couldn’t even close his eyes. His vision flickered between the mark on her arm, and Granger on top of him. The red dragon on her arm, and him on top of her, moaning his name. He could almost hear it - Draco, please - rolling off her tongue lustfully.

He was painfully hard now. The mark on her arm was all wrong...but...

Something about the Sanguis Stigma made him feel...possessive? Protective?

He gripped the desk, fingers digging into the wood so hard that he was sure he was bruising them, and it still didn’t distract his thoughts.

Was this because of the potion? It had to be. It created a connection between the two of them, tethering her to him, and him to her? It hadn’t clarified that, or even mentioned it at all.

It’s just the potion. The spell. Yaxley’s shite spell. That’s all.

He never noticed the curve of her hips before, her breasts, her arse...he wanted to run his fingers over them, feel her skin, possess it, mark her as his. She was marked as his. And he liked it. Loved it.

Just the spell. That’s all. That’s all. That’s all.

It was simply nice to have something to claim after all this. Something untainted by evil. By the Dark Lord.

The spell. That’s all.

She was his.

Spell. That’s all. Spell. That’s all.

Draco punched the wall as hard as he could, trying to rid himself of this tension - this frustration, leaving a hole the size of his fist. His knuckles were bloody and turning black. He punched another hole. And another. And another.

With shaking hands, he took his wand from his pocket and fixed the holes in the wall. He ignored his injured knuckles, freely bleeding, dripping onto the black floor, leaving so many red droplets that they began to puddle.

That’s all. That’s all. He chanted it over and over in his head.

Was he going mad? He hated her. Did he? Yes, he did. He hated Potter. And Weaselbee. And Granger too. She was a mudblood. He was a pureblood. He was superior.

His blood ran somewhere in her veins. Inside her.

Her hair looked like an untamed bush. She was scrawny and underfed, at no fault of his own. She was stubborn. She was intolerable. She was beautiful.

“FUCK!“, he screamed.

At least I don’t care for her. I’m just starved for attention. For touch. I haven’t slept with anyone in months - years? Merlin, he was wound so tight.And she was the only person in his life that wasn’t hounding him about his mother. Hadn’t even mentioned it.

Fuck it. One time. That’s all, he told himself. He’d be fine after that. He was only sexually attracted to her because it was convenient. That’s all.

Resigned to what he wanted, knowing he would only be in pain if he denied himself - just this once - he marched towards his room, locking the door behind him.

He undid his belt, and pulled it from the loops of his pants, making a loud ZIP as it unthreaded.

He quickly undid his pants button, tugged at the zipper, and yanked his pants down. His hardness tented against his boxers and he groaned. Fuck it, he said to himself again. One time, that’s all.

He shucked his boxers and marched towards the shower, turning it up to a scalding temperature.

That’s all.

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