The Scent Of Malice | drarry

twenty seven | do bad boys get nice things?

The boys didn't talk to each other for the next week, a torturous length of time to both of them in different ways, but as usual it was Harry who suffered the most.

He kept Draco's Christmas present under his bed, still in its brown paper with the little handwritten card attached, and now again he would pull it out to re read it and catalyse a fresh cycle of self-hatred. It wasn't particularly mushy - just 'D, Happy Christmas. H.' - but just the thought that Harry had wanted to give it to Malfoy embarrassed him now, made him feel weak and silly.

It had been mortifying enough when Malfoy found out Harry had been sleeping in his bed over the Christmas holidays - the telltale sign had obviously been that Malfoy's was the only unmade bed in the dorm, and besides, Harry had left more than one of his hoodies carelessly on the bedpost.

"It's perverted, Potter, honestly," Malfoy had glowered, making Harry wish the earth would swallow him up. "I mean, it's not like you didn't have your own bed! I don't see why you had to track grime and sweat into mine. I had to get the elves to put an early wash on."

"I said I'm sorry, alright?" Harry had replied, his cheeks raging red with embarrassment. "I felt lonely."

"Yeah? Next time you get lonely, why don't you contaminate someone else's bed?"

"I'll be sure to do that," Harry glared back. "I know where I'm not wanted."

"Do you, though?" Malfoy's gaze was impassive, spiteful. "I don't think you do."

Harry noticed the hunger underlying the menace in those grey eyes, and felt wretched to the pit of his stomach. It looked like even now Malfoy wanted him, and he was getting hard to resist.

His first mistake was agreeing to sit next to the blonde in that permanently-stuffy Astronomy classroom. Something about the atmosphere and the time of day always seemed to put Malfoy in the mood more than usual, so Harry really shouldn't have been surprised when a slender hand wandered onto his thigh under the desk.

Harry's breathing hitched in his throat, a reflex response to the touch, but he still mentally kicked himself for it. He's done this before, and he only gets worse, he reminded himself. Don't give him what he fucking wants.

But denying Draco Malfoy what he wanted was no small feat for anyone, especially when deep down it was everything Harry wanted too. He could feel himself responding uncontrollably quickly to the touch, and tried not to feel self-conscious about it.

"You are actually chronically horny," he hissed, and Malfoy sniggered.

"If you say so, Potter," he replied, aiming a sharp jab of his hand dangerously near to Harry's bollocks. Harry tensed immediately; he knew a threat when he felt one.

"Watch what you're bloody doing!" he said through gritted teeth, careful not to attract anyone else's attention with his tone. "Those are precious!"

"Oh, I'm watching," Malfoy assured him, sending a delicious shiver down Harry's spine.

***

"What the bloody hell was that for, you creep?" Harry snapped the second the boys were out of the classroom.

Malfoy shrugged, casual amusement evident on his face. "Fun?" he suggested.

"No, not fun, Malfoy," Harry glared. "A nuisance. You always wind me up, and use me for your own selfish gain, and embarrass me-"

"How am I using you?" Malfoy protested. "You make me sound like a fucking predator!"

Harry whistled out an angry sigh. Surely the boy couldn't be that blind? He wasn't stupid, that was certain, but maybe he was genuinely oblivious to the consequences of his actions.

He turned to the other boy, frustration furrowing his brow. "Do you have any idea why I don't want to hook up with you since you got back to school?" he demanded.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It could be literally anything, Potter, but let me see. Is it because you're a massive virgin who's scared it's going to hurt too much after a couple weeks without me? Or because I didn't write you a pretty little love letter over the holidays? Because your ex sexually assaulted me? Because I won't let you say you fucking love me?" He spat the word derisively, like it was dirty.

"Or maybe it's just because I hate you, you hate me, and you're trying to make me feel shit about all of the above?"

"You make it sound so simple, don't you, Malfoy?" Harry asked angrily. "Is that really how it is in your head? Is that how you see me and our situation?"

"How else could I see it? You haven't explained it any better than that, or given me reason to think anything else! I literally don't know what you want."

"I got you a fucking Christmas present," Harry blurted out, feeling shame rush to his cheeks at the admission. "And I wrote you a card, and that's where I was all day while you were in bed on your comedown. And I felt shit that day too, Malfoy, it wasn't just you."

He ran a hand through his hair. "But I got up and I went out in the cold and the rain, and I deliberated for ages but I bought you something, and you couldn't even be polite to me when I got back to find out you'd possibly shagged my ex."

"I didn't fucking touch her!" Malfoy yelped. "How many fucking times am I going to have to tell you this?"

"I know that now!" Harry snapped. "But that's exactly the point - you didn't tell me properly at the time, and you were laughing throughout, so what else was I meant to think? You hurt me, Malfoy, not over Ginny, but over your reaction. And you were so spiteful to me too, when we were outside. Don't you remember?"

Draco did remember, and he regretted it. "I should've been better to you," he admitted reluctantly. "I should probably always have been better to you. It's just that most of the time you wind me up to the point of no fucking return, and I can't find it in me to be good."

This is one of those inexplicable sad things, Harry thought, willing his eyes not to well up behind his glasses. But that was a hard task when the boy that he loved was stood in front of him, literally saying he didn't want to treat him with anything other than disdain, and it hurt unimaginably much.

Malfoy had seen every part of Harry's body, felt every inch of his bare skin, and yet the only time Harry felt truly naked was when he stood in front of the other boy crying for him to love him.

"Can't you try?" he asked quietly. Malfoy didn't meet his eyes. That was answer enough.

"Where's this present of mine?" he asked gruffly after a second, and part of Harry was relieved by the change of topic.

"Under my bed," he said quietly. "I don't know if I really want to give it to you, though."

"What, Santa doesn't come to bad boys?" Malfoy asked, gliding his tongue over his lower lip seductively.

"How do you know what Santa is?" Harry asked, momentarily thrown.

"God, Potter, I did have to do some work in Muggle Studies, you know," Malfoy sighed. "Now if you please, it's time for my presents. You can't blue-ball me by mentioning them and not giving them to me."

"Presents, plural?" Harry asked mockingly. Scorn was a good mask for the hurt that was still ricocheting through his veins, he realised.

"Fine, present singular," Malfoy acknowledged. He paused. "Look, Potter. I won't say anything vile for the rest of the night if you give it to me."

This was an offer too tempting for Harry to refuse.

"Fine then," he said reluctantly. "Up we go."

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a/n: thanks for reading and voting, hope you enjoyed this chapter! anyone have any idea what his present is going to be?

~ paradisedraco