InsaneJournal

Current mood:

aggravated

FIC: "Figured You Out" Song-fic
Um. Whoa.

Apparently this is what happens when I get angry, lol. My love for HATE!sex returns with a fiery vengeance.
(This is nearly as frightening as the Remus/Harry!)

Title: I Love Hate Fuck You
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: very NC-17
Word Count: ~ 4,800
Summary: Vaguely a song-fic to Figured You Out. Harry hates Draco. Draco hates him back. They know each other too well, and they know that sex doesn't have to be romantic to be fucking amazing.
Highlight for Warnings: *Dub-con, ROUGH sex, breathplay, biting, bit of cross-dressing, mentions of domestic abuse, drug use, lanugage *
Author's Notes: I'm sure this song has been done for them about 50,000 times, but I was exceptionally angry tonight, and this is the result. You can thank my fucking professor – I'm sure she'd appreciate the fact that this was my cathartic alternative to blowing up her office. =)
Also, it's unbetaed – shouldn't be painful to read, but if you catch any mistakes, let me know! This is also fraught with Americanisms (like 'ass' instead of 'arse') but I wanted it that way, so you might not want to read it if that sort of thing bugs you.



I like your pants around your feet
And I like the dirt that's on your knees
And I like the way you still say 'please'
While you're lookin' up at me
You're like my favorite damn disease


"Suck me."

The blond stops humming the Funeral Waltz and his body stiffens. "Excuse me?"

"I said 'suck me', you fucking tease."

Draco looks up at him from the ground, his small spade neglected now in the grass. Harry has been watching him from the kitchen window, and the little slut had been putting his tight ass on display for at least fifteen minutes before Harry had had enough. This business of being on his knees to tend his small vegetable garden is a ridiculous waste of a Saturday afternoon, and Harry is putting a stop to it.

"I don't see why I should drop what I'm doing and tend to your every whim, you arrogant bastard."

Harry snarls and takes a step closer, his body's nerves anxious with anticipation upon noticing how close his groin is to Draco's sweet mouth. "Because you love sucking cock, and mine is here and I want it." His Seeker's reflexes let his hand shoot down to grab a clump of Draco's hair and tug roughly. "Do I have to force you?"

Draco lets out a soft little whimper, and though he winces at having his hair pulled, Harry knows he's getting harder by the second. "No."

"Was that a 'no, I won't' or 'no, you don't have to force me'?"

Draco twists his head to the side in an attempt to get free of Harry's grip. "I'll do it. Now, let go of me."

Harry untangles his hand from Draco's hair and pats the side of his head. "Good boy." No need for him to be unreasonable.

Draco wipes the dirt off his hands and reaches for Harry's button fly, his eyes growing hungrier as each one pops out of its hole. Harry wasn't lying – Draco loves sucking cock, and he does it like that's his sole purpose in life. You'd have a hard time convincing some that it isn't, but Harry isn't one of them; he knows Draco has other uses too. Admittedly, all of those other uses also lead to orgasm, but at least Harry gives credit where credit is due.

Harry's cock is aching by the time Draco pulls it out and licks his lips in preparation. His little pink tongue darts out and licks the tip slowly, like he's lapping up something sticky and has to get it all. Draco sucks barely an inch into his mouth and Harry groans with relief at finally feeling that warm suction around him. He works with the breeze to ruffle Draco's hair, being uncharacteristically gentle as Draco sucks him deeper and deeper. Harry loves seeing Draco like this, pink lips stretched around his cock, eyes closed in bliss, trousers tenting with growing arousal – it's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

Draco's so good with his mouth, now using his tongue more than anything else, that Harry doesn't even notice him sneak a hand down to undo his own trousers and push them down to his knees. He doesn't touch himself yet, and Harry knows Draco won't be able to come without the taste of Harry's own spunk in his mouth, so he's in no rush. Now that there's no going back, maybe he should make Draco work for it a little more, to let him know who's in control. Harry pulls back and has to restrain his grin at the look of absolute loathing on the blond's face.

"I haven't decided whether I want to come down your throat or on your face."

Draco shudders and licks his lips again. "My face. Now do you want me to suck you or not?"

"Did I ask your opinion, you little cocksucker?" Harry snaps, even as he admits to himself that he preferred Draco's choice as well. "Just for that I think you have to beg for it."

Draco's face contorts in rage, but the tent in his trousers is now too much for him to ignore if he tells Harry to fuck off. "You're the one who wanted this in the first place, you wanker!"

"Not the words I'm looking for, Malfoy." Harry grins, certain now that this is about to get just that much sweeter.

"Please." Draco spits the word like a nasty curse, and Harry shakes his head.

"Oh no. You'll have to be sweeter about it than that."

It really is remarkable how fast Draco's expression changes from one of hatred to one of innocent need. "Please, Harry. Please let me make you come with my mouth."

No man can be expected to resist a plea as sweet as that, and Harry spares only a fleeting thought for the proverbial lion's mouth before stepping back towards Draco and nudging his cock towards those perfect lips. "You do beg nicely, Draco."

Draco sucks him back in with such fervor that Harry almost collapses on the ground with the blond, but he lets his pride take control of his muscles and keep him upright. Draco's throat is perfectly hot and tight, and when he swallows, Harry almost feels like kissing him. A few more bobs of his head and Harry has to pull out so he and Draco can both enjoy what he promised. Draco's arms come to wrap around his waist, but he keeps his face turned up as he ruts against Harry's leg, his tongue unable to relinquish the taste of Harry's flesh.

One jerk of his hand and white streaks jet across Draco's pale cheeks, sticking in his eyelashes, and dripping slowly down his lips. Harry doesn't know how to describe what he feels as he watches Draco lick the come off his face, but he still has brains enough to run a finger through some of what Draco's tongue can't reach and he feeds it to him, little by little, listening to the breaths below him grow more ragged and desperate. A small squeeze of his waist is the only warning he gets before Draco gasps and buries his face in Harry's thigh. Harry only lets him linger in that sated position for a moment before pulling himself away, mumbling a quick thanks and walking back to the kitchen. Draco walks past him a minute later on his way upstairs and doesn't say a word. He doesn't even think to be concerned – Draco will go out there next Saturday in those same tight jeans. He always does. Harry wonders if that's why the vegetables are always dead.

*******************************************

And I love the places that we go
And I love the people that you know
And I love the way you can't say no,
Too many long lines in your room,
I love the powder on your nose


The club isn't fancy, nothing like the places Draco normally drags him to, which is why Harry loves it. Here everybody is dirty, sweaty, covered in things that would scandalize most decent people, and Draco walks like an icicle through it all – nothing fazes him. They go to their usual corner in the back immediately, sitting down at the grime covered table, waiting for Draco's dealer to pay them a visit. In less than two minutes, they have what they need to make a night of it. Draco handed over a quarter of a paycheck and a blowjob IOU, and he and Harry are higher than kites.

They take things to the dance floor, where Harry has the pleasure of slapping men's hands away from Draco's sweet body, and Draco has the pleasure of seducing everyone there except the man he came in with. He does this all the time, and it drives Harry crazy, but Draco knows him better than anyone, and Draco knows that Harry is most alive with pure jealousy racing through his veins. There's also nothing that turns Draco on more than being the root of that jealousy – Harry knows that. They know so much about each other that they really make the perfect couple. Aside from the hatred, of course.

Harry has had enough of the other men now, and he wants to show Draco exactly how much he hates him for throwing himself at everyone else like he does. He drags the protesting man out of the club, and as soon as he has him outside, he attacks Draco's face with his teeth. Not kisses. Draco's teeth are bared as well, and he gives just as good as he gets, like a dog in a nasty fight. The sickening lurch of Apparition throws them off for a second, but only for a second. Harry hates it when Draco 'Side-Along's him like that, which is, of course, why he did it, Harry is sure. He fumbles for his wand and unlocks their door, and they stumble inside.

Harry doesn't wait to get to their bedroom. He grabs Draco around the waist and throws him over the back of the couch like he was nothing more than a rag doll. The blond turns to give him a scathing glare as he attempts to move from where he's landed, but Harry's there in an instant, pinning him roughly against the hard frame.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter?!" Draco screams, twisting and turning, wrenching his body from side to side trying to escape.

Harry shoves his hips against Draco's leather-clad ass, feeling the sweetest satisfaction as he hears Draco's gasp of pain. "Fucking you. What else would I want with a junkie slut?" He says the words so softly that they might have been a lover's sweet promise of nothing, but they aren't, and they make Draco struggle even harder. Too bad he's making Harry harder than steel with his whimpers and his helpless jerks, too thrown off by the coke running through his system to even consider drawing his wand. That's good – it means Harry will get what he wants.

Ripping Draco's trousers off is the easy part; there's a zipper right up the side, and it's fragile as bone. Once they’re in a pool at the blond's feet, Harry undoes his own fly in seconds and spits onto Draco's back. The wriggling man shrieks at this, knowing that's all the care he's going to get; Harry would have made Draco suck his fingers, but he's pretty sure they would be bitten off at this point, and frankly he's beyond caring whether he hurts Draco or not. Harry scoops the saliva up with his hand and works it into Draco's spasming entrance, using his hand one last time to position his cock before it's back up holding Draco's wrist.

He plunges in one deep thrust and god Draco is so tight when he doesn't want to be taken. The blond screams and arches his back, his head almost smashing Harry in the face, but Harry just pulls out and slams back in again, knowing he can't be hurting Draco as much as the little drama queen is making it out to be. The little slut's had more up his ass than this before, and he'd been moaning in rapture those times. His hands are starting to ache from holding Draco down so tightly, but he can't let go, not when the most likely alternative is a set of nail marks down his cheek like the last time.

Draco is thrashing his head now, and Harry's sure his neck will snap if he keeps it up. Not that that would bother him; Harry's too high to care whether the body he's using is twitching in pleasure, agony, or death, as long as the sweet hole he's pounding into stays tight and warm until he's done with it. Which will be in the next minute, if he knows anything about his orgasm signals. His skin is already flushed and on fire, and he makes the next thrust harder still. The little bastard underneath him apparently opposes this change and stops thrashing his head long enough to sink his teeth deep into Harry's wand hand.

Harry cries out in pain, dislodging the teeth as he raises his hand and slams it against the back of Draco's head. "You WHORE!" he growls, aware now that the blond is going limp from exhaustion and the recent blow to his head. He sees the bright red streak of his own blood running across the back of his hand and he clenches his fist in Draco's fine hair. "You are going to pay for that." He slams into Draco hard, pistoning his hips back and forth with abandon, gasping deeply as he feels himself tense up and spill into the blond.

He staggers backwards as he pulls out, legs almost giving out on him. Draco tries to push himself up off the couch, but his weak arms won't hold him up, and Harry mercifully catches him as he starts to fall to the floor. Wrapping his hand around Draco's cock, which is still hard and hot, he strokes a few times before plunging the fingers of his other hand into Draco's asshole. He wouldn't do this, not normally, but he doesn't trust the blond not to slit his throat in his sleep if Harry takes his pleasure without giving Draco his own. It won't take long at least; a few touches to the prostate and Draco is practically putty in his arms, moaning like he hadn't just had the life fucked out of him.

Harry's heard his fair share of Draco's screams tonight, but the sweetest one is the hoarse almost-sobbing one he lets go as he finally comes over the back of the sofa.

"See?" Harry whispers. "I knew you loved it."


And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard just to figure you out
And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard just to figure you out

************************************************

I like the freckles on your chest
And I like the way you like me best
And I like the way you're not impressed
While you put me to the test
I like the white stains on your dress


Harry doesn't know where in the hell Draco got what he's wearing, and holy fuck, he doesn't care. It's black and it's tight and it's short, and he looks fucking gorgeous in that dress. Draco finishes lining his eyes with the pencil in his hand, and catches Harry staring at him from their bedroom door. He looks over his shoulder and smirks.

"Think this is tarty enough for Granger's party, Potter?"

Harry can't speak – the knot in his throat is too big. He watches Draco slip into the black vinyl pumps at his feet and arrange some of his hair to make it look longer than it is. All of a sudden, nothing is more important than getting his cock into Draco's ass as fast as humanly possible, even though he'd come up here to rip the blond a new one for taking so fucking long getting ready.

"If I'm not inside you in less than five minutes, I'm going to make you harder than you've ever been in your life, slap a cock-ring on you, tie you up, and not touch you until the end of the weekend."

Draco's eyes widen and his mouth parts the slightest bit, as though he's having more trouble getting air into his lungs now than he was a minute ago. He strides over to Harry in a few quick steps and allows himself to be kissed thoroughly. Harry doesn't kiss him very often, so he hopes Draco is taking his fill, taking it as a sign that Harry very much likes what he sees. Draco pulls his head away, his now-debauched mouth smeared with bright lipstick, and he looks into Harry's eyes deeply – intimately, but not romantically – until he apparently finds what he's looking for and jerks his head towards their bed.

In less than two minutes, Draco is riding him, nails digging into the skin around Harry's nipples, black silky fabric hitched up around his waist contrasting exquisitely with his pale white skin. Harry has let his hands be spelled to the headboard, making Draco do all the work, even though he'd love to sink his fingers into the material bunched around the blond's hips. There's only one problem, of course, with Draco doing all the work, and that is that Draco is in control. This wouldn't bother Harry so much, except that just as he feels that rush of heat that tells him he's about to come, Draco stops moving.

"What the FUCK, Draco!" he groans loudly, trying in vain to thrust his hips up against gravity and a man only a little less than his own weight.

Draco merely chuckles and rocks back and forth ineffectively. "Look at you, Potter. Completely pathetic." He squeezes the muscles surrounding Harry's cock and laughs when Harry's eyes roll back in his head. "You're so desperate to come, barely five minutes after you kissed me. Your stamina leaves something to be desired."

Harry glares and thrashes underneath him. Draco's right, he is desperate, but whether he's desperate to come or desperate to strangle the blond he isn't sure. Probably a combination of the two.

Draco takes his own cock in hand, raises up and drops down on Harry's cock only once. "Just think - you were threatening me, and now you're completely at my mercy." He rises and falls again. "Shall I tie you up and leave you once I've had my fill, hmm?" Draco strokes himself a few times and pinches one of his nipples before scratching his nails across Harry's chest. "What would the world think of their hero if they saw him bound and hard and whimpering for two days straight, so desperate for a piece of Death Eater ass that he let himself be bound by one?" Draco chuckles again, a sound that is cut off by a moan as he begins moving again, apparently too desperate himself now to torture Harry any more.

Harry keeps quiet for now, knowing that any snide remarks might make Draco stop again, though he is thinking about prettying up Draco's face with a black eye once they're done. Those clenching muscles squeeze him again, and his pride in his stamina can't hold out any longer – he crumbles just like Draco knew he would.

The blond cries out on top of him, apparently feeling Harry's release and not feeling happy about it. "If you don't stay hard, Potter, I swear…" he trails off as he bounces up and down frantically, trying to get as much as he can before Harry starts to soften in post-orgasmic satiation. Sweat is breaking out all over his face and chest, and Harry notices little imperfections that he'd never taken the time to notice before, like that the tips of Draco's ears get bright red when he's about to come, and that he has four freckles that make up a small diamond just underneath his collarbone. Interesting.

Draco's close now, Harry can feel it. With a soft 'oh', almost like he's taken by surprise, his cock starts to spurt and paint messy streaks of white all over the front of the black dress, which is now wrinkled beyond repair and probably stained with sweat. Draco slumps forward, trying to hold himself up with his hands, but he can't, and he falls on Harry's chest with a grunt. The bonds around Harry's wrists disappear and he moves his arms to circle around Draco's back, not really understanding why he doesn't give him that punch in the eye that he'd been fantasizing about earlier. He feels himself slip out of Draco and shifts his legs to a more comfortable position as they lay there panting and soaking up the bliss of another amazing shag.

"So," Draco drawls in his ear, "shall I keep the dress?"

Harry chuckles deep in his throat and squeezes Draco tighter to his chest.

************************************************

And I love the way you pass the check
And I love the good times that you wreck
I love your lack of self-respect
While you're passed out on the deck
I love my hands around your neck


Harry loves going out with his friends. He really does. He especially loves taking Draco with him when he goes out with his friends. He loves the way Draco insults Ron and Hermione without a thought, and loves the way he gets just wasted enough to become completely obnoxious and waits to get totally wasted until they're home and Harry's kicked him out of bed. He loves the way Draco laughs maliciously every time Ron offers to pay for a night out, and he loves the following suggestion that Harry pay since he's so used to using his gigantic Potter vaults to give to charity that he could certainly spare some for the Weasley Survival League. Harry loves all of that.

He loves it so much that the first time it happens he can't even bring himself to grace Draco with any of the usual violence. Instead, he shoves the blond against the wall in the kitchen and shoves a thigh between his legs. Harry tells him all the things he despises about him, rubbing himself against Draco's hip all the while until both of them are aching and Draco is practically begging Harry to fuck him. Harry tells him he doesn't deserve it.

In lieu of fucking Draco, but wanting to spice things up to be more than them coming against each other like teenagers, he does something they've never done before. He wraps his hands around Draco's neck and squeezes, just hard enough to hurt. Draco's eyes shoot open from the half-lidded position they'd been in, and his hands immediately come up to try and pry Harry's away.

"I don't think it's enough to threaten you not to insult my friends again, Draco," Harry whispers against his ear. "I think I should squeeze your pretty little neck until I can feel that nasty throat crush underneath my hands. Then I know you'll never be able to say anything again."

Draco shakes his head in panic. Harry doesn't understand why he's panicking – he's still letting Draco breathe. He notices that the hardness pressing into his thigh does nothing in the way of shriveling from fear, so he tightens his grip just a little and looks into Draco's eyes.

"Harry…" Draco wheezes, barely able to get the word out. "No, please…"

"Do you like this, Draco? Like knowing I have your life in my hands?"

Draco thrusts particularly hard against him, and Harry pushes back just as hard, so high on this rush of power that he feels drunk with it. A few more grinding movements and Harry notices Draco weakening, so he pulls his hands away from the blond's neck and watches Draco try to catch his breath. It's more awe-inspiring than he would have guessed – the deep gasps for air, the tightening of his fingers on Harry's shoulders, the way his legs can't hold him up when he comes, the heaves of his chest that bring him so close to Harry on every hasty inhalation.

Harry comes after him, and their trousers are both soaked like they're back in a broom closet between Potions and Charms, but damn, that was fun. Harry tells Draco he will not be welcome in bed until tomorrow night and that if he's going to drink and snort himself into a stupor, he'd better do it outside, because Harry will kill him if he throws up all over the rug. He leaves Draco collapsed against the wall.

When Harry wakes the next morning, he finds Draco has been very obedient, and is lying on the patio furniture with a bottle in his hand. Harry knows he'll be on the wrong side of incessant complaining all day if Draco wakes up with a crick in his back, so he carries the blond in the house and dumps him on their bed. He takes satisfaction at seeing the necklace of bruises Draco wears this morning, knowing that he put them there and that means Draco is his.

Later, when Draco wakes up, he looks at those same bruises in the mirror, prodding them with his fingers to judge their tenderness. He's so pleased that he forgets to complain about the crick in his back.


And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard just to figure you out
And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard just to figure you out

************************************************

And I hate the places that we go
And I hate the people that you know
And I hate the way you can't say 'no'
Too many long lines in your room,
I hate the powder on your nose


If there's one thing Harry hates more than taking Draco out with his friends, it's going out with Draco and his friends. They always end up in some posh, uncomfortable restaurant where Harry always feels like people are sniggering at him behind his back for eating something the wrong way, or ordering the wrong sort of drink with his meal.

All of Draco's friends are living the high life of the wealthy spoiled aristocrat, and when Draco's with them, he's not the angrily submissive slut he is when he's only with Harry; he plays the part they all do, fake laughter, fake smiles, real self-importance, real apathy towards anything that doesn't directly affect their well-being. It almost makes Harry sick. Almost.

He wouldn't be able to stand it if it weren't for the little mirrors they all pull out before dessert. They set up lines so expertly it seems like a daily routine, and Harry knows that for most of them it is. It humanizes them, and he loves it. It makes them seem so desperate and pathetic that he wishes he could really make them see how they look in his eyes, but he can't.

What he doesn't love is what it does to Draco. It's fine when they're at the clubs, when they're alone, when it makes him more of himself. Whatever. But here, with these people, Draco doesn't become a mewling pile of sex that Harry can have as many times as he wants; he becomes a raging bastard, mocking everything and everyone with a simpering little voice that makes Harry's skin crawl in agitation. It makes Harry want to hit him as hard as he can, and there have been times that Harry has put his fist in Draco's face as soon as they shut their door.

Other times, Draco is exactly what Harry wants him to be. Occasionally, Draco is stubborn and is only what he wants to be, and that doesn't bother Harry very much, because the blond will eventually need him again. But these times, Draco becomes what the drug wants him to be, what his friends want him to be, and Harry loses him. Harry doesn't like that. He may hate Draco, but he hates the thought of not owning Draco even more, and Draco is his goddamnit.

What Draco doesn't tell him, and what Harry will probably never know, is that Draco hates it just as much as Harry does. But if he doesn't see his friends, they'll think something is wrong and check up on him. If they do that, they'll see the bruises and the bite-marks and the bills from the Healers, and they'll force him to leave Harry. And that's just not an option anymore.

************************************************

And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard just to figure you out
And now I know who you are
It wasn't that hard just to figure you out


They live together because they can't stand to live with anyone else.

They know each other, better perhaps than they both believe.

They don't love each other, and they probably never will. It's a good thing neither of them want or believe they deserve love.

They both know their relationship is far from healthy. They also know that they have to keep what really goes on a secret, because some sane person might make them stop. They don't know if they could live without each other anymore.

That's why Draco doesn't pack his things and leave when Harry hits him. That's why Harry doesn't throw Draco out on his ass when he flaunts his tight ass to every stranger in the club, or rearranges everything in the house, or does any of the various things he does that serve only to aggravate Harry beyond rational thought. That's why Harry can't feel much besides pity when he sees the white dust scattered across Draco's dresser, whatever's left over from yesterday's hit. That's why Draco tries to quit when he sees the look of disappointment in Harry's eyes, and that's why he cries quietly, secretly when he fails.

It works, what they have.

Draco knows that one day he'll stop with the drugs, and Harry knows that one day he'll stop hating himself enough to quit hitting Draco just to hurt him. But that day isn't today. Harry smiles despite everything as he watches the sun rise over the man sleeping next to him, and thinks that this day will be good regardless. He shakes Draco awake and demands a kiss, relishing in the sleepy taste of Draco's mouth, and thinks that maybe this is just as good as love.