My name is Abi, I am 23 years old, and welcome to my blog :)
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summary: On the verge of failing Potions thanks to your idiotic lab partner and Quidditch rival Draco Malfoy, the two of you are forced to sneak into the greenhouse at night for a final ingredient, only to stumble into some strange plants along the way.
tags: 18+ MDNI, [sex pollen] [enemies to lovers] [quidditch rivals] [eighth-year at hogwarts] [mutual masturbation] [dubcon but only because it's sex pollen lol ] [oral sex] [malfoy whimpers] [hate sex] [switchy] [penetrative sex] [multiple orgasms]
author's note: It felt weird not writing Draco & Snitch from Lessons in Losing, but i hope you like Nineteen :) Title is inspired by the song Fatal Attraction by Reed Wonder. 9k words
âThis is a terrible idea,â you hiss, rounding the corner toward the side exit of the castle.
Draco scoffs. âLike you have a better one.â
While he draws his wand from his robes, you cast another wary glance over your shoulder. The hallway is empty behind you, lit with dim floating candles. The castle sleeps, blissfully unaware of the plans you and your Quidditch rival have in store tonight.
Sadly, you don't. Have a better plan, that is. That's why you're out after curfew, dodging prefects and paintings like it's your full-time job.
"There's just got to be another way," you say, checking behind you again.
"There's not. Unless you count failing an option. You want to fail tomorrow, Nineteen?â
Draco Malfoy has never called you by your real nameâonly your Quidditch number. Because thatâs all you are to him. Not a person. Just an obstacle on the pitch. But you know the truth: youâre the only Seeker in the entire school who gives him a run for his money.
âNoâbut I think itâs important for you to remember how itâs your fault weâre in this predicament in the first place!â
âI beg to differ,â Draco says, opening the door with a flick of his wand and stepping out into the night. âIâm quite good at potions.â
You rush to slip after him before the door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud.
Prick.
Youâre not sure why Draco really even gives a shit about this assignment. All he cares about is winning Quidditch matches and getting the hell out of this school.
And why should he care?
Itâs not like anything bad will happen to him if he gets one bad grade. You, on the other hand, have a bit more to lose. As a trainee healer, you need to score well on the NEWTs this year to secure your spot in the coveted apprentice slots. Needless to say, failing your Potions final just simply isnât an option.
The air outside is muggy and warmâan unusually humid night for early April. The sky is clear, though, boasting a bright full moon. A perfect night for harvesting a nocturnal plant. An owl hoots somewhere in the Forbidden Forest beyond, and the tall grass tickles your ankles as you make your way to the cluster of greenhouses on the grounds.
You yank on Draco's sleeve as he walks straight past the entrance to Greenhouse Three.
He shrugs off your hand and gestures impatiently to the latticed door. âHurry up and open it.â
âOne of us should stay on the lookout,â you huff. Your fingers brush your wand in your pocket. âIâll go and grab the sample, and you signal me if thereâs anyââ
âWait.â He stops you. âWhy do you get to go inside?â
You stare at him, jaw slack. âBecause Iâm the healer?â
âNot yet, youâre not.â
Sometimes, you take comfort in your fantasies about Draco Malfoy.
Youâre up to ten different ways you might be able to knock him off his broom. Make him suffer in a way he never saw coming. And thanks to that comment, youâre now trying to come up with the eleventh.
âWhy donât you be the lookout, and I retrieve the sample?â He asks pointedly.
You sigh, irritated. âBecause, Malfoy, I donât trust you to get an accurate sample, okay? You couldnât even keep our original sprig alive long enough for us to use it tomorrow!â
âYou know, thatâs a good point.â He crosses his arms over his chest. âPerhaps I donât trust you, either. You know, we never did specify which of us was supposed to give the plant the appropriate amount of moonlightâŚâ
You squint up at him. âOh? We didnât? Thatâs right. Maybe thatâs because when we got assigned this potion, I stole the Snitch from under your nose at finals, and you didnât speak to me for a week!â
Normally, you wouldn't complain about that. Being Quidditch rivals was one thing. Mouthing off to each other on the Pitch? That was a given. Outside of that, you didn't talk. It was a hard line.
That week just happened to be the one week you actually needed him to speak to you.
Because while he was busy trying to salvage his pride and keep his ego somewhat intact, you were actually doing all the heavy lifting for the assignment in Potions. The one Snape assigned to the both of you.
He huffs, irritated. Heâs obviously annoyed you keep bringing that loss of his up, but you wonât stop anytime soon.
âWe both go in, or Iâm out," he says, his jaw set in determination.
You weigh your options. You could probably get the sample on your own, but youâre not willing to risk getting caught by yourself. If you get caught with him, you can do the obvious.
Blame him.
Turns out, itâs not much of a decision after all.
âFine,â you mutter through grit teeth. âLetâs just get this over with.â
You unlock the door with a few precise spins of your wand and whisper the password low enough that Malfoy canât hear it. The door unlatches with a hiss, and a warm, earthy smell hits you in the face. Itâs familiar to you, and soothing in a way.
Malfoy shifts on his feet, eager to enter, but right before he pushes the door open, you bar his chest with your arm, wand at the ready.
You level his gaze. âWhatever you doâdonât touch anything.â
He scoffs, slipping past you and through the door with a flick of his robes. âScared of a few plants, Nineteen?â He looks over his shoulder. âBit concerning for a future healer and all. You might not make the cut.â
He shrugs with false sympathy before disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Nevermind. Gone are the thoughts of making his death a swift and easy one. Now, youâre envisioning something longer, slower, your hands around his neckâ
You wonder if he begs half as prettily as he flies.
Youâve never really understood it.
The strange utopia that is Greenhouse Three. Itâs always felt more like a portal to another dimension, rather than a plant nursery. But seeing it under the night sky is an otherworldly experience.
The tall domed ceiling stretches high above you, and dimmer disks fly from their assigned pots to line the narrow walkway upon your arrival.
Thereâs a silence about the place, but beneath it all, something living without breathing. As you walk among the taller plants lining the path, it feels like walking through a graveyard. But instead of the bones turning to dust under the earthâtheyâre watching.
The Nightbell Stalk lives all the way at the back of the greenhouse, in a secret locker called the Lumen Garden. Youâve never seen this garden, given the fact that it magically appears only when the moon is at its peak, and disappears again before the sun rises. Even despite the blatant breaking of curfew, youâve been warned never to enter, given the dangerous nature of the plants one might encounter.
But, as they say, dangerous times call for desperate measures. Or, desperate times call for dangerous measures. Something like that.
All you know is itâs as desperate as it is dangerous, or you would never be so reckless.
Soon enough, the Lumen Garden door looms over you. Itâs tall and black, and it sparkles in the light of the skimmer dimmers, like itâs made of crushed black diamond.
You turn to Malfoy. âDo you have it?â
He pulls an aged piece of parchment from his pocket. You reach for it but he snatches it back just in time.
âI didnât risk my life in the Restricted Section, so you could show off your poor Mermish,â he says.
ââRisking your life,ââ you roll your eyes, unimpressed. âAs if you donât practically live there. Get on with it, then.â
He clears his throat. You try not to watch the way his fingers carefully unfold the paper, holding it like itâs something valuable. Heâs always been like that when it comes to ancient scripts.
âVaelith mora selune,â he whispers.
By moonlight reveal.
Your pulse leaps as the scrape of stone on stone reverberates throughout the silent room, bouncing off the glass panes above you.
As the stone door rolls back, it reveals a room so beautiful it nearly takes your breath away.
Opal stones guide you forward, leading to a circular pool in the center. The water lies perfectly still, glassy and undisturbed, yet the plants rooted beneath its surface sway gently in some unseen current.
Overhead, moonlight spills through the curved glass dome, and the panes are cloudy on purpose, filtering and diffusing the moonlight into something stronger and more even.Â
You tiptoe onto the landing, barely noting the black mossy walls surrounding you before the stone rolls shut behind you. Malfoyâs polished shoes click decisively down the opal stones, not the least bit fased.
You swallow and follow after him. Mist rises up from the pond, and when you lean closer, curiosity pulling you in, you catch sight of movement. Thin, glowing threads streak by under the glassy surface. Jilly bugs. They help the plants thrive in the lowlight conditions.
âKeep up, will you?â Draco hisses, drawing your attention to him.
Heâs standing over a garden bed beyond the pond, half swallowed by the shadowed wall behind him.
These nocturnal plants only bloom at night, and they die without it. Because of this, these plants have different colors than normal ones. Most of them are varying shades of black, purple, or blue, evolved to camouflage with the night or their natural habitats.
As you step closer, the vines come into view. There are tons of them, growing along a nearly imperceptible trellis that spans the full length of the back wall, their long stems twirling and looping, spilling out across the floor and crawling up the dome above.
Youâre just reaching his side when something moves out of the corner of your eye. Your head whips towards the wall, eyes narrowing through the gray haze.
But thereâs nothing. Just vines, their leaves sitting so still they could almost pass as wax.
âWhereâs the bloody vialâŚ?â Draco mutters to himself, patting down the pockets of his robes.
His features catch the light as he looks down. Your eyes drift over the edge of his nose, the slope of his brow, that strong jaw. You look away when his chin tips up.
Reaching into your pocket, you retrieve the small glass bottle, holding it out for him to see.
Draco frowns. âThief.â
You shrug, glancing down at the Nightbell Stalk in front of you.
Itâs a deep violet, with small, downward-facing flowers. Inside each one, the stems glow a faint gold. You can smell the nectar from where you stand--sweet, like honey, but heavier. Thicker.
When Malfoy reaches for the vial, you snap it back in the last second.
âIâm doing it,â you say.
âLike hell you are.â He scoffs. âJust because youâre a healer doesnât give you the right to fuck this up. Itâs my project too, you know.â
Anger sparks in your gut and you turn on him. âYou havenât given a shit about this potion the entire semester, and Iâm supposed to believe you actually care now? Besides, you donât have the experience requiredââ
âOh, I have the experience. Stand aside.â He reaches for the sample vial. âI can handle something as simple asââ
You snatch it back again. âOh, so you know that the bells ring when disturbed, so you only touch the stem. Did you know that Malfoy?â
âIâyes! I know more thanââ
âSo, obviously, youâd be cautious around the petals, since theyâre so sticky they can leave a residue on your hands for a week.â Your lips set in a taunting line and narrow your eyes at him. âBut you knew that, huh?â
Draco glares down at you. âIâm well aware of the difficulties with this plant. And by the way, I suggested this plan. So, Iâll do it.â
Your argument continues, words overlapping, while your voices ring eerily loud in the silence of the greenhouse.
Push, pull, counter, strike.
You fight the same way you fly on the pitch, chasing the same goal. Competitive to a fault.
The exact fault being that while the two of you are too busy arguing over who gets to hold the stemâand where the vial goes exactlyâyou donât realize one vine unfurling from the wall behind you, growing curious in the moonlight.
âMy hands are steadier,â Draco says from his place over your shoulder.
You bite your lip, ignoring the way his breath ghosts across your ear, focusing your energy on getting the ingredient.
You accidentally graze the edge of the downward-turned petal with the rim of the glass and the flowers on the Nightbell Stalk ring softly.
âShit,â you mutter.
âYou know itâs true,â he continues, voice low. âHow many times have you lost the Snitch because of your poor grip, hmm? I havenât. Not once.â
With one sharp movement of your fingers, you scoop up the drop of nectar from the stems inside. It slides down the glass, glowing a deep orange. Satisfaction curls warm under your ribs like your feline familiar back in your dorm room.
You grin. âGot it.â
Reveling in your win, you turn, ready to shove your success in his face, but the movement only presses your back further into his chest.
âMove, would you?â You bite, trying to slide around him, but the tight space doesnât allow for much wiggle room.
He shifts to let you through, but the narrow corridor between the wall and the garden bed seems to get tighter with his body pressed against yours. Somewhere, your feet get tangled and he stumbles, sprawling back against the garden bed, which pushes you flat against the ivy wall, glaring up at him.
His head blocks the moonlight, his silhouette falling over you like a living shadow. His lips part like he might say something, and you find yourself leaning forward, waiting breathlessly, when something brushes your ankle.
You leap forward. Dracoâs arm wraps around you out of instinct. The two of you stare at each other before he seems to remember who you are and drop his arm like youâve burned him.
âThrowing yourself at me, are you?â He drawls, breaking the silent tension.
âNo!â You look down at the ground, but thereâs nothing there. Just mossy stone under your feet, the shadow of the vine wall at your heels. âSomething justâŚgrabbed me.â
Draco shakes his head and shoves past you. âItâs always drama with you, isnât it?â
âIâm serious!â you snap. âIt almost tripped me!â
âAh, yes. Do me a favor and twist that pretty little ankle would you? Just secure me a win next match, thanks.â
His words make you pause, forgetting all about the mysterious touch. A smile steals across your face before you can stop it. âSo, you admit I need to be taken out for you to have a shot at the Cup, then?â
He spins on the spot, a shadow etched between his brows as he scowls at you under the moonlight. âYouâre twisting my words.â
âI am not! Merlin, Malfoy, do you ever just shut upââ Something brushes your shoulder. You freeze. âWhat was that?â
To your surprise, Draco actually shuts his mouth to listen. Thereâs nothing. No frogs, no crickets, no owl, no water dripping, no jilly bugs splashing in the pond.
ItâsâŚsilent.
Suddenly, something moves above you. Both your gazes jerk up at the same time. A leafy vineâso green itâs almost blackâdrops down from the wall and brushes Dracoâs hair.
He flinches, and as the light catches on the small, glass-like beads growing between the leaves, your stomach drops.
You know exactly what that is.
The Veleroux Vine. Some call it Sirenlace. But itâs best known for another name.
Sex pollen.
You recognize it from your studies. The pollen pods contain a powerful aphrodisiac, said to heighten biological desire to mate in extreme ways. The more you resist, the worse the fever gets, making you wild with lust.
âDracoâdonât touchââ You throw a hand out to stop him.
But itâs too late.
Malfoy rears back and slaps the invading greenery away like heâs swatting a fly.
Shit.
âDammit, Malfoy, what did I say about not touching anything?â You shriek, surging forward and shoving at his chest. âGet away from thââ
The first bead snaps open in a plume of dust. Fear rushes through your limbs and you try to jerk the both of you away, but youâre not quick enough.
One after another, the pollen pods pop in sequence, traveling down the vine, dusting your hair, your robes, and filling the air.
You jerk back, furiously rubbing at your skin, but itâs no use. It settles on you like a thin glitter, small enough to even to slip into your pores.
âOh, shit. Fuckingâfuck. Fuck!â you holler, but you shouldnât have opened your mouth. Now the back of your throat feels like when you stuck your head in the sugar jar as a kid.
Draco sends you a withering look, brushing down his robes. âCalm down, will you? Bloody hellâjust a little plant dust.â
âJust a plantââ You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. âMerlin help me, you canât just fucking listen for one second. I know what Iâm talking about! Hurry! We have to get out of here before itââ
The vine slips around your shoulder at the very same moment Draco glances down to find another one winding around his ankle.
ââgrabs us,â you finish weakly.
You try to scramble away, but the leaves thread around your arm in a silky vice.
Draco curses loudly at the thing, hopping on one foot, losing his robes in the process of trying to extricate himself.
âYou have the wrongâŚpair,â you tell the inky leaves while you fumble for your wand. âWe arenâtâwe canâtâŚdo what you want.â
âIt wants something?â Draco casts a disbelieving look at the vine now wrapped around his dark slacks, settling around his knee. âMerlinâwhat?â
âIt wants us to have sex,â you say, matter-of-factly.
He looks at you like youâve grown two heads. Then his gaze darkens, snagging on the way your hard nipples strain against your shirt.
Already? This shit works fast. You finally free your wand and cross your arms over your chest.
âSex?â he sneers.
âYes. Itâs an aphrodisiac plant, native to rare jungles. Its job is to encourage mating between compatible species.â
âCompatible.â He scoffs. âYou and me? Farthest thing from it.â
âIt doesnât know that..." You gasp as your wand is whisked out of your hands by a particularly strong leaf.
âTalk to it again. Tell it!â Draco shouts. He looks down and shakes his leg violently. The vine doesnât budge. âShitâjust get it off me!â
Whispers of leaves dragging against stone make you turn to face the corner of the room behind you. A cluster of vines has begun to twist together, the husky hush of plants twining and looping filling the air. Vines slide across the floor, retracting into the dark corner, while more gather from the ceiling, shifting the beams of moonlight through the dusty air.
âItâs building its nest,â you reply, eyes on the plant.
âItâsâŚwhat?â
You turn to see Draco fighting tooth and nail. Heâs got his wand out now. Streaks of light bounce across the room, flames erupt in the air but they bounce off the leaves like theyâre nothing but a few stray sparks. Across the room, past the pool, some of the other plants wither and shrink away from the light.
Adrenaline surges through you as your mind scrambles for a solution. Youâre already beginning to feel it, a tugging deep in your core.
That familiar tight ache that blooms in the dark, alone, in your bed. But unlike then, right now, you canât give into it. You try not think about how the longer you resist, the worse it will get. From your brief research, sex pollen isnât fatal, but it certainly isnât pleasant.
Unless you give in.
Then, of course, itâs rumored to be the best sex of your entire life.
You donât have the luxury of finding that out.
There is an antidote, of course, but it is completely and totally, one-hundred percent, without a doubtâout of the question.
Sex with Malfoy? Not happening.
Thereâs only one answer. You have to escape.
Your gaze swings to the stone door, framed in elegant iron bars that allow climbers to reach moonlight.
Maybe if you could get out of the vineâs reach, it wouldnât be able to chase you.
It only takes a second to form a plan.
Tipping back, you let your weight fall backwards into the vine, hoping to catch it off guard and force it to loosen its hold. Instead, you trip over a stray pot and go tumbling to the ground.
But before you hit the stone, the Veleroux is there.
Your breath catches, heart pounding, suspended in the air. Then the vine pushes gently into your lower back, guiding you forward util your feet find solid ground again. You stare, openmouthed, as the leaves brush along your leg, almost as if checking for injury, before nudging you toward the corner of the room.
âOh, Merlin. Yes, I see your nest,â you say weakly, watching as the vine curls in on itself to form a sort of ballâmore of a fist, reallyâand uses it to push softly against the heels of your shoes, urging you forward. It uncurls when you take a step, leaves fluttering as if pleased. Then it spins in the air, gesturing as if to say, look, I made this for you. A cozy, safe place to mate. âVery nice. Lovely, really. But you see, we canâtââ
âBlimey! Get back!â Dracoâs voice interrupts your one-sided conversation.
You look over your shoulder, wobbling a bit as the plant continues to nudge you towards the silky hammock in the corner. Heâs covered in vines, now. His wand has fallen somewhere off to the side, out of both your reach. Heâs still flailing, hair mussed, trying andâfailingâ to break free.
You look down. The vineâs not even holding onto you anymore. Is it because youâre not fighting as hard?
You take a step towards the door. Nothing happens. You take another, and the vine edges closer. On the third, it finds your ankle again. But it doesnât squeeze you or cinch tight enough to sting. It just curls softly around your leg, firm enough to stop you from running, but gentle enough that you start to suspect it doesnât want you damaged.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looks almost black and blue.
âStop!â You call. âThe harder you fight, the tighter it tries to hold you. Justâwatch. Walk towards me.â
âYouâre insane. You know that?â he spits. But his eyes catch on your vineless body anyway.
âTrust me, Malfoy.â
Thatâs a phrase you never imagined yourself saying to him.
âIt doesnât want to hurt us,â you whisper. âI donât think.â
He shakes his head. âThatâs not good enough for me.â
Despite his words, Draco takes one step towards you. The vineâs hold loosens. Another step and it slips from his chest entirely.
âSee?â you say, encouraged. âItâs biological nature is to keep its prey alive and well. It canât force us to mate. It justâŚheavily suggests it.â
âOf course it doesnât force it,â Draco sneers. âA plant canât make me do anything I donât want to do.â But even as the words leave his lips, his eyes drop to the edge of your skirt. The hem suddenly feels six inches shorter, though you know it hasnât shrunk.
Draco moves closer and the vines start to retreat, but he keeps a wary eye on them until they disappear into the Nest.
He glares at it, then at you. âWhat is that?â
âItâs a hammock,â you answer, eyes darting around for another escape route. âThe vine thinks it will make us more comfortable. Since itâs not all over us anymore, I say we try to appease it. Just a little.â
âAppease it?â He gasps. âYou want toâI canât believe this. Thatââ he gestures towards the jumble of vines. âCould be a swan down comforter with silk sheets. I donât care, Iâm not going near it.â
You roll your eyes. âMerlin, you donât listen. Iâm not saying we go in the Nest. Iâm saying we justâŚpretend. Then we can make a run for it.â
He doesnât look convinced, so you turn to face him. âThis plant spreads pollen to encourage mating, right? But how does it know when itâs worked? Itâs not aware like we are.â
His eyes narrow. âYour point?â
âMy point isâŚitâs pheromones, right? With our heightened hormones right now, we might be able to trick it into thinking we're on board, and it will let it's guard down.â Your stomach swoops with the words about to leave your tongue. âSo maybe if youâif weââ
Dracoâs eyes snap to yours. âIf we what?â
His tongue swipes over his lower lip, leaving it glistening in the moonlight.
Stupid fucking pollen.
You swallow hard. âI think we should kiss.â
A beat of silence passes, the only sound your heartbeat kicking up, drumming in your ears.
âFine,â he agrees.
That surprises you. You thought heâd gag at the very idea.
It must be the pollen, overriding his blatant hate for you and digging into his more urgent needs.
A shiver rolls down your spine at what those needs of his might be. Youâre feeling it too, of course. The effect of being so close to him.
Itâs only biological. To be drawn to a specimen of the opposite sex.
And why not Draco? Heâs tall, healthy, miles of lean muscle. He smells good, and heâs not bad to look at. Especially when his eyes do thatâflashing over at you thing, while his mouth quirks into a crooked smirkâŚ
No other reason. Right?
You donât have time to debate this, however, because Dracoâs moving.
Youâre vaguely aware of the vine brushing your ankle, keeping you steady as he crowds your space, and thenâ
Your lips meet his.
Your breath catches at the warmth you werenât expecting. And that warmthâŚblooms. Your lashes fall shut as your whole body seems to sigh at the touch, like heâs the cure to the dull ache in your limbs, the antidote to the burning in your core. Just a gentle caress turns the sharp heat into a molten lava that invades your bloodstream.
He groans softly into your mouth, and the sound alone makes you gasp. Next thing you know, youâre pressed against his chest. Whether by his arms around you, or your own feet carrying you, or the stupid fucking vine playing matchmaker, all you know is he smells like green apples and teakwood. Cold luxury, but with a hint ofâŚhome.
At the first taste of his tongue, your stomach swoops dangerously. As he slants his mouth further, exploring, kissing you deeper, your heart feels like itâs beating as fast as a Snitchâs wings.
Your hands find his hair. Itâs soft as silk between your fingers. A whimper escapes him and he breaks the kiss, head dropping back instinctively.
You watch through half-lidded eyes, taking in the way his wet lips gleam in the moonlight, blond lashes fluttering.
Merlin, heâs gorgeous.
His throat bobs on a swallow, and before you know it, your mouth is on his neck. He lets out a choked sound, something between a gasp and a groan, before jerking suddenly in your hold.
You stumble away, already missing the heat of his hands, lips buzzing like youâve just downed a shot of fire-whiskey.
Itâs him, you realize. Heâs your drug. And when he lurches backward, breathing hard, you feel as if heâs just taken your last fix.
His eyes stay pinned on you as he retreats. The vine stops him with a gentle pressure at his back, but he doesnât even seem to notice. He lets it guide him toward the nest, stopping just beside it, his back hitting the wall.
You scramble back until your heels knock into the stone wall opposite him. The Nest sits between you, off to the right, tucked in the dark corner of the room.
âBrilliant plan,â he grits out. âBloody brilliant.â
And youâre back to square one.
âAh!â Draco shouts, pointing at his wand lying on the ground between you. âYou crossed the boundary.â
âI did not!â you snap at him, eyes flashing. âI was just adjusting. My foot kicked it accidentallyâshitâwould you just shut up? Your voice makes it worse.â
Over the last several minutes, you and Draco have tried everything under the sun to escape. The farthest you ever made it was all of ten feet. You did manage to retrieve Dracoâs wand, though. Which then started the slew of fire spells, sharp object summoning charms, and so on. An earthquake hex was threatened, but that couldâve brought the whole school down, so you couldnât risk that.
Although it was considered for one briefâand selfishâmoment.
But none of it did a thing.
Turns out, this plant has some sort of magical resistance. Itâs so bad that he couldnât even make a force field or proper line divider between you, so he placed his wand there instead.
Youâve slowly slid down into a heap on the floor, attempting to make yourself smaller, as if that might ease the ache building deep in your core. Itâs relentless, hot and gnawing, and you know itâs only going to get worse if you donât come up with another plan soon.
Dracoâs sitting now too, half draped in shadow. His arms crossed over his crisp white button-down, and heâs still glaring at you as if this is all your fault. The one knee strategically placed in front of his groan is the only sign youâve gotten that the pollen is effecting him at all.
Bastard.
His tie is loose though, and his hair is tousled. Like it always is after a match. Thereâs no wind in here though, just the whisper of leaves and the steady drip of water.
No. Your hands are the only thing to blame for that.
Shit.
Now all you can think about is how soft his hair felt, how easily your fingers sank into it, and all the ways you could drag him closer by it, yanking his hot, wet mouth to yourâ
âWhat did I tell you about thinking those things?â Draco says. You peek up to see his head hit the wall, eyes sliding shut.
âIâm not thinking anythingââ
âStop lying, Nineteen.â His nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open. Somehow, his pupils have grown even larger. âYou're so wet I can practically taste it from here.â
Merlin. Your thighs press together instinctively.
âIâm not thinking anything that has to do with you,â you snap. âExcept how much I hate you. How much I despise your face, how much I want to steal that Snitch from you every damn day, and how if I had to be here, I would rather it be anyone else other than you!â
Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. But the way he looks at you makes your pulse spike all over again.
âIs that right?â
His cheeks are flushed, the same way they are when heâs hot on the Snitchâs trail. Your slick walls flutter at the sight. Youâve always thought he looked good like that. All sweaty and warm, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes bright with a fire that matches yours.
Not that you would ever tell him, of course.
âWho would you want instead?â he rasps. âMontague? Flint? I see the way you look at them on the pitch.â He looks away for a second and drags his knuckles across his lips before his gaze snaps back to yours. âLucky for you, youâre trapped here with someone who can show a little restraint.â
You bark out a laugh. âYou think youâre the only one here with restraint? Take one step toward me, Malfoy, and I swear Iâll hex you.â
He grunts. âYou donât have a wand.â
Your head tips back with a quiet groan, your clit aching to be touched. You make another weak attempt to get away, but the vine catches you.
It doesnât snap, claw, or hold you against your will. Rather it settles around your shoulders, brushing a waxy leaf along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear before retreating again, as if to say, Stop fighting. Just look at him. Donât you want to?
And somehow, thatâs worse.
Because you do.
Badly.
You find yourself looking at his hands. Your gaze drifts over the curve of his palms, the long lines of his fingers, the tension there, the veins, the control heâs barely holding onto andâyouâre salivating.
Snap out of it.
âItâs so hot in here, f-fuck,â you whine, pawing at the collar of your shirt.
Draco eyes lock on you fingers. âTake that off and I swearâdonât.â
But your tie feels like itâs choking you, and your pulse booms in your ears. Your fingers keep loosening it. Draco curses.
You whimper. âThatâs not fair, you took yours off!â
âStop talking. Merlin, justââ he cuts himself off with a rough breath, his large palm grinding down into his erection beneath his slacks. âShut up.â
You try to stay quiet. You really do.
But every shift of your body sends heat spiraling lower, making it harder to think. Every brush of your thighs squeezes your swollen clit, and has you gasping into the wall behind you.
Dracoâs breathing is uneven now, too, echoing faintly off the stone. He hasnât been able to keep his hand off his dick, still hidden under his clothes.
Not that youâve been watching.
âI thinkââ you swallow. âI think I have a plan.â
Draco moans. âFine. Enlighten me.â
âRemember what I said about the pheromones?â You manage. âItâs clear kissing waâshitâwasnât enough. MaybeâŚâ Your eyes drop to his erection.
âNo.â
âDraco, weâre going to have to touch ourselves. Itâs the only way.â
You expect him to be glaring at you, but when you look up, his eyes are on your legsâthat bare skin between your shoe and your skirt.
âFine.â His throat bobs on a swallow. âYou first.â
You barely have time to debate the ramifications of your actions. Your body burns, thick pressure building low and sharp.
You slip your hand under your skirt, straight under your panties. You inhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, but when your fingers meet a slickness like nothing youâve ever felt before, the breath leaves your lungs.
The sound of of your wetness fills the silence between you and Draco makes a low, strained sound.
You glance over at him and immediately wish you hadnât.
Heâs taken his cock out, and heâs stroking it from base to tip. Itâs long. Thick enough to fill up his palm, and veiny. The tip is darker than the rest, and you just know, if you were to take him in your mouth and suckâyouâd feel his heartbeat against your tongue.
His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, like he tried to close them but his body wonât let him. When he sighs and bucks his hips into his own fist your mouth runs dry.
Whatever cavern of distance used to exist between you is crumbling now. Itâs being burned away. Thereâs no space for it in this heat, this constant pull towards each other. Your skirt rides higher up on your thighs, and the cool air brushes your wet inner thighs.
After a minute, the relief starts to fade. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus. But your body wonât cooperate. Your hips jerk back from your own touch, your clit bordering on overstimulation. You frown, plunging two fingers inside yourself to rub the ache away. But they feel like cold pencils in your pulsing channel.
The heat drags through your veins like hot cotton, begging for a deep release. But every brush of your arms against the cold stone behind you makes your elbows start to itch, and your very skin start to feel like a husk.
You need water. Noânot water.
You need him.
Itâs almost as if your body is punishing you for doing it to yourself.
âItâs not w-working,â you whimper, helpless.
Draco groans, his frustration evident in the bulging vein in his neck. His cock looks so angry in the dim light. He bites his lip in determination, and you watch his fist grip tighter. He only gets to three more strokes before heâs hissing with discomfort.
âThereâs got to be another way,â he rasps, his hand dropping away.
You huff, so needy youâre almost on the verge of tears. âIâm thinking!â
âWell, think harder.â
You glare at him, dimly aware of how on display you are right now. Legs open and spread towards him, skirt barely concealing the way your fingers move against yourself. âMaybe I could if you could just shut your mouth for one damn second!â
His voice is not helping. All low and deep, with a hint of a rasp curling around his accent, making your belly tighten.
In fact, none of this is helping. Silence fills the space between you, only broken by uneven breathing and the quiet rustle of the Nest.
When his eyes drop to your dripping cunt and you donât even have the decency to close your legs, itâs like the pollen has overridden your higher thinking. Your knees widen instinctively, begging for him to look. To touchâŚ
Your composure slips further. And when he licks his lips, your lips actually part in preparation to ask for him.
Merlin, if this keeps up much longer, youâre not above begging if that what it takes. And begging Draco Malfoy for anything is beyond the lowest youâd ever thought youâd go.
You work yourself harder, but your fingertips feel like sandpaper against your soft folds, even as your arousal continues to leak steadily from you, your pussy desperate to be filled.
But that feels impossible.
A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and youâre helpless to stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away from him, still chasing any kind of relief, begging for it to feel like something worth grabbing onto.
Somewhere, distantly, you think Draco might be saying something, but youâre not sure what. Your bodyâs honed in on the vibrations of his voice, the way he smellsâ
âNineteen.â
Hearing your nickname snaps you back to reality.
You open your mouth to answer him, but no words come out. Little gasps punch out of your parted lips, hips twisting and writhing, searching for friction. For heat. For him.
âTell me,â he says firmly.
You turn your head. You can barely see him, your eyes refusing to open more than a sliver. Heâs leaning forward now, one knee planted on the ground.
âW-what?â you rasp.
âYour planâthe pheromonesâshit.â Then, quieter, he adds. âTell me how to make it stop hurting you.â
Your eyes snap to his. Heâs watching you with that sharp focus youâve always admired about him. The look that says nothing is getting in the way of what he wants.
Youâre not sure exactly what makes him give in.
Maybe itâs the way your breaths come in soft pants that make the rise and fall of your breasts visible beneath your loosened tie. Maybe itâs the way your eyes drop to his lips, his neck, your tongue running over your teeth like youâre imagining how he tastes. It might be the ways your hips slant forward, knees falling open, your body begging even if you donât have the words to.
But he must see it.
Because, he just says, âFuck.â
His shoulders catch the moonlight as he shrugs out of his shirt in one smooth motion. Lines of lean muscle come into view, and you feel as if youâve been presented with a feast after almost starving to death.
Malfoyâs always had a very determined walk. A powerful stride, one that commands attention. Youâve seen in in the halls, backed by his loyal little following. Youâve watched him stride towards the Quidditch cup, shoulders back, chest high.
But right nowâheâs not walking.
Heâs crawling.
Towards you.
âClose your eyes. If it helps,â he says before his hand meets your ankle and heâs bowing in front of you.
Something deep in your mind catches on those words, but heâs yanking your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and the heat of his mouth against your core whisks your thoughts away.
The second his tongue finds your clit you canât help but cry out. Your head tips back against the stone, the relief so immediate itâs almost staggering. Draco attacks you with warm, lascivious licks that arenât meant to soothe, despite his words. Theyâre meant to claim.
Your hands dig into the mossy floor beneath you, arching your hips up for him. His strong, hot tongue parts your folds like itâs his lifeâs work. The view of his back muscles shifting and stretching in the moonlight as he makes out with your pussy is so seductive to you itâs nearly frightening.
In fact, it is.
Frightening.
âI hate you,â you grit out, not even entirely sure where it came from. Just a need to set things back in order, even as heâs unraveling you.
He groans against your clit, the vibration licking up your spine.
âSay it again.â
You gasp, caught between resisting and wanting more, even as your pelvis shoves forward and you grind into him like youâre in heat. His tongue dives lower and when his nose nudges your clit, you nearly scream. Your orgasm rises like something sharp. Itâs so powerful of a burn, of an ache, you find yourself scrambling backwards in an attempt to get away from the promise of such delirious pleasure.
Merlin, you need it. More than youâve ever needed anything in your entire fucking lifeâ
It scares you how much.
But Draco just hums against the pulls on his hair and follows you anyway, scuffling forward on the stone ground, gripping your hips and spearing his tongue deep inside you.
âMalfoy, Iâm gonnaâoh, fuckkkââ
âThatâs it,â he says, and the sound of him quietly speaking against your slick folds nearly does you in. âScream my name, Nineteen. N-needâfuckâwanna hear you say it like that.â
The soft rasp of his voice, and the two long fingers being pushed inside you send you straight over the edge.
The release pulls you under in waves. Dark, pulsing tidal waves that drive deep through your pelvis, erasing through your body until the pleasure nearly blinds you. You feel yourself going rigid in his hands, thighs trembling against his soft hair, but he just hauls you through it, like a lighthouse in a storm. Strong, steady, and never stopping until youâre jolting and gasping, crying out in relief.
But the second your orgasm fades, the heat rushes in again. The fever. Itâs back, and with vengeance this time.
Sweat beads your forehead and your vision swims, but you look up just in time to see Malfoy scramble backwards like you burned him.
You frown. âDraâwhat?â
He throws a hand out, pressing himself against the opposite wall. âDonât come closer.â
A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. The heat is different now. Instead of feeling like a thread about to snap, your body has narrowed down to one singular need.
Breed.
Your fingers fly to your shirt without you telling them to, unbuttoning your shirt with ease. You feel the way your breasts move with your harsh breaths, but your gaze is locked on him. And when you drop down to all fours and slink forward, Draco looks like heâs going to have a heart attack.
âMerlinâI canât.â he chokes out. âI canât even think about it.â
Your gut feels like itâs been punched. Is he so disgusted by the thought that he canât even look at you?
Does he truly not want you? Was that some sort ofâŚpityâ
You canât even finish that thought.
You slink backwards until youâre half in shadow. He must see the look on your face because his head falls back against the wall on a groan. You can smell his sweat in the air and itâs making you downright feral even though you can barely look at him from embarrasement.
âI canât think about it, because if I do, then Iâll do it,â he says. âAnd if I do itâŚI donât know if Iâll be able to stop.â
Control. Thatâs always been Malfoyâs vice, hasnât it?
This situation is probably his worst nightmare.
Not for the first time, something plucks on your heart strings deep under your ribs. Heâs scared of losing it? You can give it back to him.
Slowly, and with deliberate care, you cross the boundary. The wand clatters somewhere to the side. Draco watches as you crawl to him, his eyes raking over you, a mixture of pain and hunger in his eyes.
You can only imagine what you look like.
Hair mussed, left in just a lace bra and soaked panties, your skirt hanging loose on your hips.
âThen donât,â you murmur.
Your voice is so quiet in the stillness, but it spears through him all the same. Your gazes click together like magnets.
He shakes his head, chest heaving. âYou donât mean that. Itâs just the fucking plant dustââ
He stops short when your hands settle on his knees, gently forcing them apart to make room for yourself. Your breath catches when you drop your gaze to see his cock sitting heavy and hard against his lower stomach. It twitches under your watchful gaze and your mouth waters.
Carefully, you settle into his lap.
He exhales sharply, and his hands find your soft skin, undoing your bra before you can even blink. Testament to a lot of practice, youâre sure.Â
You donât have the strength to be self-conscious. You just need him. Now. Even so, somewhere through the lust-filled haze, you remember his words.
âThe plant just lowersââ your breath hitches as his teeth find the soft skin of your neck. ââyour inhibitions. It canât make you fuck someone you donâtâŚw-want.â
âHow do you know so much about this?â he groans into your hair. âWhy are you soââ
âWhat? So smart?â
âYou wish.â
The words barely brush your ear before you lean back to get a better look at him. Youâve barely straightened by the time his mouth is on your tits.
You cry out as he swirls his hot, greedy tongue around your nipples, sucking on the hard buds until youâre panting. Your clit swells and you bite your lip, threading your fingers through his hair. The first rock of your hips has you both groaning.Â
You grind down on him again and you nearly black out at the feeling of his bare length sliding through your slick folds. You reach between you to tug his slacks down further. His balls are heavy in your hand, and he grunts, shoving himself up into you.
âMerlinâI canâtââ he chokes out, mouth leaving your tits as his palms fly up and dig into his eye sockets.
Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss his fingers one by one. His bare chest stutters against yours at the softness of it, and when you slip his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it eagerly, he drops his hands.
You look down to find him staring up at you with a familiar expression. You make that face. When you're seconds away from catching the Snitch.
You swear you can feel every vein in his dick, so hot and hard against you as you grind your slick cunt against him. Itâs instinct to drop your head and search for his mouth with yours, but you pull back at the last second. That last thread of lucidity coming back to haunt you.
This is your rival.
For a second you just breathe each other in, mouths parted, groaning and writhing into the other, but when the blunt head of his cock catches on your entrance, your hips react on their ownâcircling, pelvis arching, body begging in a primal, secret language you donât fully understand.
And he moves with youâmeeting you there with the deep urges of his own.
His hips donât snap into you, brutal and deep. Instead, they slide. Back and forth. His hands clamp onto your hips, holding you still in his lap as he eases the tip in and out, letting your slick coat him until youâre ready to take the whole thing.Â
The way his body moves speaks to something primal and powerful in you. How his sweaty muscles bunch and tense, and his hands dig into your skin at your hips, your thighs, your waistâ itâs better than anything you couldâve imagined.
âThis doesnât mean anything,â he growls into your ear.
You nod frantically, clenching around him.
In one long thrust, Draco fills you up. The stretch is breathtaking. Literally. Heâs so long that his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, sending you mewing and clawing at his hair, his shoulders, just to stay afloat through the pleasure.
Heâs not fairing much better.
Heâs growling and moaning, his cock jerking desperately in your slick walls as he pulls back just far enough to yank your hips back down to meet his.
Sounds spill out of you. They might be words, youâre not sure. But the next thing you know, cold stone meets your back, and Dracoâs warm body is spread out over you. His thrusts grow heavier and deeper. You can feel the way your body tries to hold onto him, clenching and fluttering desperately, even as your arousal makes it easy for him to slide so deep.
Youâve never been this wet in your life. And now, youâre wondering, if itâs from the pollen, or if itâs just from him. Because youâve never had sex this good, and thatâs saying something.
Your bodies justâŚmove together. Like theyâre one of a kind puzzle pieces meant to fit. The give and take is so instinctual itâs almost unbearable how good it is.
âFuck, you take me so well,â Draco pants, a lock of hair falling over his sweaty brow. âKnew you would.â
You throw your head back, your ankle finding solace in his lower back, sealing him to you and begging for more. Your body gives into the heat, the pleasure cresting and pulling you into something dangerously strong. So strong youâre worried your body might not survive it.
âSo pretty on the pitch,â he groans, seemingly unable to stop from talking. âMerlin, I justâI lose the bloody Snitch every time you look at me.â
That does it.
Your orgasm rushes through your body like lightning. Your spine snaps straight, muscles clenching down with a pulse you feel everywhere. A moan leaves your chest, so loud youâve probably woken the whole damn castle, but youâre too gone to care.
Draco makes a rough sound against the skin of your neck. âHolyâfuck, Iâm gonnaâwhere should Iââ
âInside,â you gasp. âPlease. Please, Draco. I need it. P-pleaseââ
âAh, fuckââ His mouth seals against your throat, nose brushing the pulse point below your ear. âNeed you.â
He jerks hard, once, twice, and then heâs spilling inside you. Your body seems to understand, back arching, pulling him deeper with your ankle as he stills and lets out a groan that curls low in your belly, and will certainly live on in every wet dream you have from here on out.
The fever fades like a receding tide. You blink, slowly coming back to yourself. Your clit is throbbing, and your pulse is still hammering, but strangely you feel...lighter somehow.
Like maybe the last few years of tension between you and your rival finally needed to snap.
You turn to him. Heâs on his knees, breathing hard, buttoning up his pants. He looks up at you, and something in his eyes softens.
âWhat did you mean?â You find yourself asking. âWhen you told me to close my eyes earlier?â
He shrugs, reaching for his shirt.
âWell, you said youâd rather be here with anyone else. I justââ he looks away, suddenly seeming very interested in the way the Nest is unraveling like it did its job, and the stray vine thatâs currently retrieving his wand for him.
You donât let him finish.
You lurch forward and grab his face, pulling his lips to yours.
This time, he doesnât hesitate a second before meeting your mouth. He kisses you back, long and hard, digging his fingers through your hair to pull you closer. You exhale into it, something long unsaid passing between you. But itâs not enough. You still need to say the words.
So, you break the kiss first. He blinks down at you, eyes dark, hair mussed.
âI only think about you, Malfoy,â you whisper in the shared air between you. âOn or off the pitch, itâs only you.â
He leans down and brushes his lips across yours. âI still hate you, Nineteen.â
You reward him by deepening the kiss. He answers it, slower this time, but no less intense. When he finally pulls back, youâre already smiling.
summary: On the verge of failing Potions thanks to your idiotic lab partner and Quidditch rival Draco Malfoy, the two of you are forced to sneak into the greenhouse at night for a final ingredient, only to stumble into some strange plants along the way.
tags: 18+ MDNI, [sex pollen] [enemies to lovers] [quidditch rivals] [eighth-year at hogwarts] [mutual masturbation] [dubcon but only because it's sex pollen lol ] [oral sex] [malfoy whimpers] [hate sex] [switchy] [penetrative sex] [multiple orgasms]
author's note: It felt weird not writing Draco & Snitch from Lessons in Losing, but i hope you like Nineteen :) Title is inspired by the song Fatal Attraction by Reed Wonder. 9k words
âThis is a terrible idea,â you hiss, rounding the corner toward the side exit of the castle.
Draco scoffs. âLike you have a better one.â
While he draws his wand from his robes, you cast another wary glance over your shoulder. The hallway is empty behind you, lit with dim floating candles. The castle sleeps, blissfully unaware of the plans you and your Quidditch rival have in store tonight.
Sadly, you don't. Have a better plan, that is. So that's why you're out after curfew, dodging prefects and paintings like it's your full-time job.
"There's just got to be another way," you sigh, checking behind you again.
"There's not. Unless you count failing an option. You want to fail tomorrow, Nineteen?â
Draco Malfoy has never called you by your real nameâonly your Quidditch number. Because thatâs all you are to him. Not a person. Just an obstacle on the pitch. But you know the truth: youâre the only Seeker in the entire school who gives him a run for his money.
âNoâbut I think itâs important for you to remember how itâs your fault weâre in this predicament in the first place!â
âI beg to differ,â Draco says, opening the door with a flick of his wand and stepping out into the night. âIâm quite good at potions.â
You rush to slip after him before the door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud.
Prick.
Youâre not sure why Draco really even gives a shit about this assignment. All he cares about is winning Quidditch matches and getting the hell out of this school.
And why should he care?
Itâs not like anything bad will happen to him if he gets one bad grade. You, on the other hand, have a bit more to lose. As a trainee healer, you need to score well on the NEWTs this year to secure your spot in the coveted apprentice slots. Needless to say, failing your Potions final just simply isnât an option.
The air outside is muggy and warmâan unusually humid night for early April. The sky is clear, though, boasting a bright full moon. A perfect night for harvesting a nocturnal plant. An owl hoots somewhere in the Forbidden Forest beyond, and the tall grass tickles your ankles as you make your way to the cluster of greenhouses on the grounds.
You yank on Draco's sleeve as he walks straight past the entrance to Greenhouse Three.
He shrugs off your hand and gestures impatiently to the latticed door. âHurry up and open it.â
âOne of us should stay on the lookout,â you huff. Your fingers brush your wand in your pocket. âIâll go and grab the sample, and you signal me if thereâs anyââ
âWait.â He stops you. âWhy do you get to go inside?â
You stare at him, jaw slack. âBecause Iâm the healer?â
âNot yet, youâre not.â
Sometimes, you take comfort in your fantasies about Draco Malfoy.
Youâre up to ten different ways you might be able to knock him off his broom. Make him suffer in a way he never saw coming. And thanks to that comment, youâre now trying to come up with the eleventh.
âWhy donât you be the lookout, and I retrieve the sample?â He asks pointedly.
You sigh, irritated. âBecause, Malfoy, I donât trust you to get an accurate sample, okay? You couldnât even keep our original sprig alive long enough for us to use it tomorrow!â
âYou know, thatâs a good point.â He crosses his arms over his chest. âPerhaps I donât trust you, either. You know, we never did specify which of us was supposed to give the plant the appropriate amount of moonlightâŚâ
You squint up at him. âOh? We didnât? Thatâs right. Maybe thatâs because when we got assigned this potion, I stole the Snitch from under your nose at finals, and you didnât speak to me for a week!â
Normally, you wouldn't complain about that. Being Quidditch rivals was one thing. Mouthing off to each other on the Pitch? That was a given. Outside of that, you didn't talk. It was a hard line.
That week just happened to be the one week you actually needed him to speak to you.
Because while he was busy trying to salvage his pride and keep his ego somewhat intact, you were actually doing all the heavy lifting for the assignment in Potions. The one Snape assigned to the both of you.
He huffs, irritated. Heâs obviously annoyed you keep bringing that loss of his up, but you wonât stop anytime soon.
âWe both go in, or Iâm out," he says, his jaw set in determination.
You weigh your options. You could probably get the sample on your own, but youâre not willing to risk getting caught by yourself. If you get caught with him, you can do the obvious.
Blame him.
Turns out, itâs not much of a decision after all.
âFine,â you mutter through grit teeth. âLetâs just get this over with.â
You unlock the door with a few precise spins of your wand and whisper the password low enough that Malfoy canât hear it. The door unlatches with a hiss, and a warm, earthy smell hits you in the face. Itâs familiar to you, and soothing in a way.
Malfoy shifts on his feet, eager to enter, but right before he pushes the door open, you bar his chest with your arm, wand at the ready.
You level his gaze. âWhatever you doâdonât touch anything.â
He scoffs, slipping past you and through the door with a flick of his robes. âScared of a few plants, Nineteen?â He looks over his shoulder. âBit concerning for a future healer and all. You might not make the cut.â
He shrugs with false sympathy before disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Nevermind. Gone are the thoughts of making his death a swift and easy one. Now, youâre envisioning something longer, slower, your hands around his neckâ
You wonder if he begs half as prettily as he flies.
Youâve never really understood it.
The strange utopia that is Greenhouse Three. Itâs always felt more like a portal to another dimension, rather than a plant nursery. But seeing it under the night sky is an otherworldly experience.
The tall domed ceiling stretches high above you, and dimmer disks fly from their assigned pots to line the narrow walkway upon your arrival.
Thereâs a silence about the place, but beneath it all, something living without breathing. As you walk among the taller plants lining the path, it feels like walking through a graveyard. But instead of the bones turning to dust under the earthâtheyâre watching.
The Nightbell Stalk lives all the way at the back of the greenhouse, in a secret locker called the Lumen Garden. Youâve never seen this garden, given the fact that it magically appears only when the moon is at its peak, and disappears again before the sun rises. Even despite the blatant breaking of curfew, youâve been warned never to enter, given the dangerous nature of the plants one might encounter.
But, as they say, dangerous times call for desperate measures. Or, desperate times call for dangerous measures. Something like that.
All you know is itâs as desperate as it is dangerous, or you would never be so reckless.
Soon enough, the Lumen Garden door looms over you. Itâs tall and black, and it sparkles in the light of the skimmer dimmers, like itâs made of crushed black diamond.
You turn to Malfoy. âDo you have it?â
He pulls an aged piece of parchment from his pocket. You reach for it but he snatches it back just in time.
âI didnât risk my life in the Restricted Section, so you could show off your poor Mermish,â he says.
ââRisking your life,ââ you roll your eyes, unimpressed. âAs if you donât practically live there. Get on with it, then.â
He clears his throat. You try not to watch the way his fingers carefully unfold the paper, holding it like itâs something valuable. Heâs always been like that when it comes to ancient scripts.
âVaelith mora selune,â he whispers.
By moonlight reveal.
Your pulse leaps as the scrape of stone on stone reverberates throughout the silent room, bouncing off the glass panes above you.
As the stone door rolls back, it reveals a room so beautiful it nearly takes your breath away.
Opal stones guide you forward, leading to a circular pool in the center. The water lies perfectly still, glassy and undisturbed, yet the plants rooted beneath its surface sway gently in some unseen current.
Overhead, moonlight spills through the curved glass dome, and the panes are cloudy on purpose, filtering and diffusing the moonlight into something stronger and more even.Â
You tiptoe onto the landing, barely noting the black mossy walls surrounding you before the stone rolls shut behind you. Malfoyâs polished shoes click decisively down the opal stones, not the least bit fased.
You swallow and follow after him. Mist rises up from the pond, and when you lean closer, curiosity pulling you in, you catch sight of movement. Thin, glowing threads streak by under the glassy surface. Jilly bugs. They help the plants thrive in the lowlight conditions.
âKeep up, will you?â Draco hisses, drawing your attention to him.
Heâs standing over a garden bed beyond the pond, half swallowed by the shadowed wall behind him.
These nocturnal plants only bloom at night, and they die without it. Because of this, these plants have different colors than normal ones. Most of them are varying shades of black, purple, or blue, evolved to camouflage with the night or their natural habitats.
As you step closer, the vines come into view. There are tons of them, growing along a nearly imperceptible trellis that spans the full length of the back wall, their long stems twirling and looping, spilling out across the floor and crawling up the dome above.
Youâre just reaching his side when something moves out of the corner of your eye. Your head whips towards the wall, eyes narrowing through the gray haze.
But thereâs nothing. Just vines, their leaves sitting so still they could almost pass as wax.
âWhereâs the bloody vialâŚ?â Draco mutters to himself, patting down the pockets of his robes.
His features catch the light as he looks down. Your eyes drift over the edge of his nose, the slope of his brow, that strong jaw. You look away when his chin tips up.
Reaching into your pocket, you retrieve the small glass bottle, holding it out for him to see.
Draco frowns. âThief.â
You shrug, glancing down at the Nightbell Stalk in front of you.
Itâs a deep violet, with small, downward-facing flowers. Inside each one, the stems glow a faint gold. You can smell the nectar from where you stand--sweet, like honey, but heavier. Thicker.
When Malfoy reaches for the vial, you snap it back in the last second.
âIâm doing it,â you say.
âLike hell you are.â He scoffs. âJust because youâre a healer doesnât give you the right to fuck this up. Itâs my project too, you know.â
Anger sparks in your gut and you turn on him. âYou havenât given a shit about this potion the entire semester, and Iâm supposed to believe you actually care now? Besides, you donât have the experience requiredââ
âOh, I have the experience. Stand aside.â He reaches for the sample vial. âI can handle something as simple asââ
You snatch it back again. âOh, so you know that the bells ring when disturbed, so you only touch the stem. Did you know that Malfoy?â
âIâyes! I know more thanââ
âSo, obviously, youâd be cautious around the petals, since theyâre so sticky they can leave a residue on your hands for a week.â Your lips set in a taunting line and narrow your eyes at him. âBut you knew that, huh?â
Draco glares down at you. âIâm well aware of the difficulties with this plant. And by the way, I suggested this plan. So, Iâll do it.â
Your argument continues, words overlapping, while your voices ring eerily loud in the silence of the greenhouse.
Push, pull, counter, strike.
You fight the same way you fly on the pitch, chasing the same goal. Competitive to a fault.
The exact fault being that while the two of you are too busy arguing over who gets to hold the stemâand where the vial goes exactlyâyou donât realize one vine unfurling from the wall behind you, growing curious in the moonlight.
âMy hands are steadier,â Draco says from his place over your shoulder.
You bite your lip, ignoring the way his breath ghosts across your ear, focusing your energy on getting the ingredient.
You accidentally graze the edge of the downward-turned petal with the rim of the glass and the flowers on the Nightbell Stalk ring softly.
âShit,â you mutter.
âYou know itâs true,â he continues, voice low. âHow many times have you lost the Snitch because of your poor grip, hmm? I havenât. Not once.â
With one sharp movement of your fingers, you scoop up the drop of nectar from the stems inside. It slides down the glass, glowing a deep orange. Satisfaction curls warm under your ribs like your feline familiar back in your dorm room.
You grin. âGot it.â
Reveling in your win, you turn, ready to shove your success in his face, but the movement only presses your back further into his chest.
âMove, would you?â You bite, trying to slide around him, but the tight space doesnât allow for much wiggle room.
He shifts to let you through, but the narrow corridor between the wall and the garden bed seems to get tighter with his body pressed against yours. Somewhere, your feet get tangled and he stumbles, sprawling back against the garden bed, which pushes you flat against the ivy wall, glaring up at him.
His head blocks the moonlight, his silhouette falling over you like a living shadow. His lips part like he might say something, and you find yourself leaning forward, waiting breathlessly, when something brushes your ankle.
You leap forward. Dracoâs arm wraps around you out of instinct. The two of you stare at each other before he seems to remember who you are and drop his arm like youâve burned him.
âThrowing yourself at me, are you?â He drawls, breaking the silent tension.
âNo!â You look down at the ground, but thereâs nothing there. Just mossy stone under your feet, the shadow of the vine wall at your heels. âSomething justâŚgrabbed me.â
Draco shakes his head and shoves past you. âItâs always drama with you, isnât it?â
âIâm serious!â you snap. âIt almost tripped me!â
âAh, yes. Do me a favor and twist that pretty little ankle would you? Just secure me a win next match, thanks.â
His words make you pause, forgetting all about the mysterious touch. A smile steals across your face before you can stop it. âSo, you admit I need to be taken out for you to have a shot at the Cup, then?â
He spins on the spot, a shadow etched between his brows as he scowls at you under the moonlight. âYouâre twisting my words.â
âI am not! Merlin, Malfoy, do you ever just shut upââ Something brushes your shoulder. You freeze. âWhat was that?â
To your surprise, Draco actually shuts his mouth to listen. Thereâs nothing. No frogs, no crickets, no owl, no water dripping, no jilly bugs splashing in the pond.
ItâsâŚsilent.
Suddenly, something moves above you. Both your gazes jerk up at the same time. A leafy vineâso green itâs almost blackâdrops down from the wall and brushes Dracoâs hair.
He flinches, and as the light catches on the small, glass-like beads growing between the leaves, your stomach drops.
You know exactly what that is.
The Veleroux Vine. Some call it Sirenlace. But itâs best known for another name.
Sex pollen.
You recognize it from your studies. The pollen pods contain a powerful aphrodisiac, said to heighten biological desire to mate in extreme ways. The more you resist, the worse the fever gets, making you wild with lust.
âDracoâdonât touchââ You throw a hand out to stop him.
But itâs too late.
Malfoy rears back and slaps the invading greenery away like heâs swatting a fly.
Shit.
âDammit, Malfoy, what did I say about not touching anything?â You shriek, surging forward and shoving at his chest. âGet away from thââ
The first bead snaps open in a plume of dust. Fear rushes through your limbs and you try to jerk the both of you away, but youâre not quick enough.
One after another, the pollen pods pop in sequence, traveling down the vine, dusting your hair, your robes, and filling the air.
You jerk back, furiously rubbing at your skin, but itâs no use. It settles on you like a thin glitter, small enough to even to slip into your pores.
âOh, shit. Fuckingâfuck. Fuck!â you holler, but you shouldnât have opened your mouth. Now the back of your throat feels like when you stuck your head in the sugar jar as a kid.
Draco sends you a withering look, brushing down his robes. âCalm down, will you? Bloody hellâjust a little plant dust.â
âJust a plantââ You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. âMerlin help me, you canât just fucking listen for one second. I know what Iâm talking about! Hurry! We have to get out of here before itââ
The vine slips around your shoulder at the very same moment Draco glances down to find another one winding around his ankle.
ââgrabs us,â you finish weakly.
You try to scramble away, but the leaves thread around your arm in a silky vice.
Draco curses loudly at the thing, hopping on one foot, losing his robes in the process of trying to extricate himself.
âYou have the wrongâŚpair,â you tell the inky leaves while you fumble for your wand. âWe arenâtâwe canâtâŚdo what you want.â
âIt wants something?â Draco casts a disbelieving look at the vine now wrapped around his dark slacks, settling around his knee. âMerlinâwhat?â
âIt wants us to have sex,â you say, matter-of-factly.
He looks at you like youâve grown two heads. Then his gaze darkens, snagging on the way your hard nipples strain against your shirt.
Already? This shit works fast. You finally free your wand and cross your arms over your chest.
âSex?â he sneers.
âYes. Itâs an aphrodisiac plant, native to rare jungles. Its job is to encourage mating between compatible species.â
âCompatible.â He scoffs. âYou and me? Farthest thing from it.â
âIt doesnât know that..." You gasp as your wand is whisked out of your hands by a particularly strong leaf.
âTalk to it again. Tell it!â Draco shouts. He looks down and shakes his leg violently. The vine doesnât budge. âShitâjust get it off me!â
Whispers of leaves dragging against stone make you turn to face the corner of the room behind you. A cluster of vines has begun to twist together, the husky hush of plants twining and looping filling the air. Vines slide across the floor, retracting into the dark corner, while more gather from the ceiling, shifting the beams of moonlight through the dusty air.
âItâs building its nest,â you reply, eyes on the plant.
âItâsâŚwhat?â
You turn to see Draco fighting tooth and nail. Heâs got his wand out now. Streaks of light bounce across the room, flames erupt in the air but they bounce off the leaves like theyâre nothing but a few stray sparks. Across the room, past the pool, some of the other plants wither and shrink away from the light.
Adrenaline surges through you as your mind scrambles for a solution. Youâre already beginning to feel it, a tugging deep in your core.
That familiar tight ache that blooms in the dark, alone, in your bed. But unlike then, right now, you canât give into it. You try not think about how the longer you resist, the worse it will get. From your brief research, sex pollen isnât fatal, but it certainly isnât pleasant.
Unless you give in.
Then, of course, itâs rumored to be the best sex of your entire life.
You donât have the luxury of finding that out.
There is an antidote, of course, but it is completely and totally, one-hundred percent, without a doubtâout of the question.
Sex with Malfoy? Not happening.
Thereâs only one answer. You have to escape.
Your gaze swings to the stone door, framed in elegant iron bars that allow climbers to reach moonlight.
Maybe if you could get out of the vineâs reach, it wouldnât be able to chase you.
It only takes a second to form a plan.
Tipping back, you let your weight fall backwards into the vine, hoping to catch it off guard and force it to loosen its hold. Instead, you trip over a stray pot and go tumbling to the ground.
But before you hit the stone, the Veleroux is there.
Your breath catches, heart pounding, suspended in the air. Then the vine pushes gently into your lower back, guiding you forward util your feet find solid ground again. You stare, openmouthed, as the leaves brush along your leg, almost as if checking for injury, before nudging you toward the corner of the room.
âOh, Merlin. Yes, I see your nest,â you say weakly, watching as the vine curls in on itself to form a sort of ballâmore of a fist, reallyâand uses it to push softly against the heels of your shoes, urging you forward. It uncurls when you take a step, leaves fluttering as if pleased. Then it spins in the air, gesturing as if to say, look, I made this for you. A cozy, safe place to mate. âVery nice. Lovely, really. But you see, we canâtââ
âBlimey! Get back!â Dracoâs voice interrupts your one-sided conversation.
You look over your shoulder, wobbling a bit as the plant continues to nudge you towards the silky hammock in the corner. Heâs covered in vines, now. His wand has fallen somewhere off to the side, out of both your reach. Heâs still flailing, hair mussed, trying andâfailingâ to break free.
You look down. The vineâs not even holding onto you anymore. Is it because youâre not fighting as hard?
You take a step towards the door. Nothing happens. You take another, and the vine edges closer. On the third, it finds your ankle again. But it doesnât squeeze you or cinch tight enough to sting. It just curls softly around your leg, firm enough to stop you from running, but gentle enough that you start to suspect it doesnât want you damaged.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looks almost black and blue.
âStop!â You call. âThe harder you fight, the tighter it tries to hold you. Justâwatch. Walk towards me.â
âYouâre insane. You know that?â he spits. But his eyes catch on your vineless body anyway.
âTrust me, Malfoy.â
Thatâs a phrase you never imagined yourself saying to him.
âIt doesnât want to hurt us,â you whisper. âI donât think.â
He shakes his head. âThatâs not good enough for me.â
Despite his words, Draco takes one step towards you. The vineâs hold loosens. Another step and it slips from his chest entirely.
âSee?â you say, encouraged. âItâs biological nature is to keep its prey alive and well. It canât force us to mate. It justâŚheavily suggests it.â
âOf course it doesnât force it,â Draco sneers. âA plant canât make me do anything I donât want to do.â But even as the words leave his lips, his eyes drop to the edge of your skirt. The hem suddenly feels six inches shorter, though you know it hasnât shrunk.
Draco moves closer and the vines start to retreat, but he keeps a wary eye on them until they disappear into the Nest.
He glares at it, then at you. âWhat is that?â
âItâs a hammock,â you answer, eyes darting around for another escape route. âThe vine thinks it will make us more comfortable. Since itâs not all over us anymore, I say we try to appease it. Just a little.â
âAppease it?â He gasps. âYou want toâI canât believe this. Thatââ he gestures towards the jumble of vines. âCould be a swan down comforter with silk sheets. I donât care, Iâm not going near it.â
You roll your eyes. âMerlin, you donât listen. Iâm not saying we go in the Nest. Iâm saying we justâŚpretend. Then we can make a run for it.â
He doesnât look convinced, so you turn to face him. âThis plant spreads pollen to encourage mating, right? But how does it know when itâs worked? Itâs not aware like we are.â
His eyes narrow. âYour point?â
âMy point isâŚitâs pheromones, right? With our heightened hormones right now, we might be able to trick it into thinking we're on board, and it will let it's guard down.â Your stomach swoops with the words about to leave your tongue. âSo maybe if youâif weââ
Dracoâs eyes snap to yours. âIf we what?â
His tongue swipes over his lower lip, leaving it glistening in the moonlight.
Stupid fucking pollen.
You swallow hard. âI think we should kiss.â
A beat of silence passes, the only sound your heartbeat kicking up, drumming in your ears.
âFine,â he agrees.
That surprises you. You thought heâd gag at the very idea.
It must be the pollen, overriding his blatant hate for you and digging into his more urgent needs.
A shiver rolls down your spine at what those needs of his might be. Youâre feeling it too, of course. The effect of being so close to him.
Itâs only biological. To be drawn to a specimen of the opposite sex.
And why not Draco? Heâs tall, healthy, miles of lean muscle. He smells good, and heâs not bad to look at. Especially when his eyes do thatâflashing over at you thing, while his mouth quirks into a crooked smirkâŚ
No other reason. Right?
You donât have time to debate this, however, because Dracoâs moving.
Youâre vaguely aware of the vine brushing your ankle, keeping you steady as he crowds your space, and thenâ
Your lips meet his.
Your breath catches at the warmth you werenât expecting. And that warmthâŚblooms. Your lashes fall shut as your whole body seems to sigh at the touch, like heâs the cure to the dull ache in your limbs, the antidote to the burning in your core. Just a gentle caress turns the sharp heat into a molten lava that invades your bloodstream.
He groans softly into your mouth, and the sound alone makes you gasp. Next thing you know, youâre pressed against his chest. Whether by his arms around you, or your own feet carrying you, or the stupid fucking vine playing matchmaker, all you know is he smells like green apples and teakwood. Cold luxury, but with a hint ofâŚhome.
At the first taste of his tongue, your stomach swoops dangerously. As he slants his mouth further, exploring, kissing you deeper, your heart feels like itâs beating as fast as a Snitchâs wings.
Your hands find his hair. Itâs soft as silk between your fingers. A whimper escapes him and he breaks the kiss, head dropping back instinctively.
You watch through half-lidded eyes, taking in the way his wet lips gleam in the moonlight, blond lashes fluttering.
Merlin, heâs gorgeous.
His throat bobs on a swallow, and before you know it, your mouth is on his neck. He lets out a choked sound, something between a gasp and a groan, before jerking suddenly in your hold.
You stumble away, already missing the heat of his hands, lips buzzing like youâve just downed a shot of fire-whiskey.
Itâs him, you realize. Heâs your drug. And when he lurches backward, breathing hard, you feel as if heâs just taken your last fix.
His eyes stay pinned on you as he retreats. The vine stops him with a gentle pressure at his back, but he doesnât even seem to notice. He lets it guide him toward the nest, stopping just beside it, his back hitting the wall.
You scramble back until your heels knock into the stone wall opposite him. The Nest sits between you, off to the right, tucked in the dark corner of the room.
âBrilliant plan,â he grits out. âBloody brilliant.â
And youâre back to square one.
âAh!â Draco shouts, pointing at his wand lying on the ground between you. âYou crossed the boundary.â
âI did not!â you snap at him, eyes flashing. âI was just adjusting. My foot kicked it accidentallyâshitâwould you just shut up? Your voice makes it worse.â
Over the last several minutes, you and Draco have tried everything under the sun to escape. The farthest you ever made it was all of ten feet. You did manage to retrieve Dracoâs wand, though. Which then started the slew of fire spells, sharp object summoning charms, and so on. An earthquake hex was threatened, but that couldâve brought the whole school down, so you couldnât risk that.
Although it was considered for one briefâand selfishâmoment.
But none of it did a thing.
Turns out, this plant has some sort of magical resistance. Itâs so bad that he couldnât even make a force field or proper line divider between you, so he placed his wand there instead.
Youâve slowly slid down into a heap on the floor, attempting to make yourself smaller, as if that might ease the ache building deep in your core. Itâs relentless, hot and gnawing, and you know itâs only going to get worse if you donât come up with another plan soon.
Dracoâs sitting now too, half draped in shadow. His arms crossed over his crisp white button-down, and heâs still glaring at you as if this is all your fault. The one knee strategically placed in front of his groan is the only sign youâve gotten that the pollen is effecting him at all.
Bastard.
His tie is loose though, and his hair is tousled. Like it always is after a match. Thereâs no wind in here though, just the whisper of leaves and the steady drip of water.
No. Your hands are the only thing to blame for that.
Shit.
Now all you can think about is how soft his hair felt, how easily your fingers sank into it, and all the ways you could drag him closer by it, yanking his hot, wet mouth to yourâ
âWhat did I tell you about thinking those things?â Draco says. You peek up to see his head hit the wall, eyes sliding shut.
âIâm not thinking anythingââ
âStop lying, Nineteen.â His nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open. Somehow, his pupils have grown even larger. âYou're so wet I can practically taste it from here.â
Merlin. Your thighs press together instinctively.
âIâm not thinking anything that has to do with you,â you snap. âExcept how much I hate you. How much I despise your face, how much I want to steal that Snitch from you every damn day, and how if I had to be here, I would rather it be anyone else other than you!â
Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. But the way he looks at you makes your pulse spike all over again.
âIs that right?â
His cheeks are flushed, the same way they are when heâs hot on the Snitchâs trail. Your slick walls flutter at the sight. Youâve always thought he looked good like that. All sweaty and warm, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes bright with a fire that matches yours.
Not that you would ever tell him, of course.
âWho would you want instead?â he rasps. âMontague? Flint? I see the way you look at them on the pitch.â He looks away for a second and drags his knuckles across his lips before his gaze snaps back to yours. âLucky for you, youâre trapped here with someone who can show a little restraint.â
You bark out a laugh. âYou think youâre the only one here with restraint? Take one step toward me, Malfoy, and I swear Iâll hex you.â
He grunts. âYou donât have a wand.â
Your head tips back with a quiet groan, your clit aching to be touched. You make another weak attempt to get away, but the vine catches you.
It doesnât snap, claw, or hold you against your will. Rather it settles around your shoulders, brushing a waxy leaf along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear before retreating again, as if to say, Stop fighting. Just look at him. Donât you want to?
And somehow, thatâs worse.
Because you do.
Badly.
You find yourself looking at his hands. Your gaze drifts over the curve of his palms, the long lines of his fingers, the tension there, the veins, the control heâs barely holding onto andâyouâre salivating.
Snap out of it.
âItâs so hot in here, f-fuck,â you whine, pawing at the collar of your shirt.
Draco eyes lock on you fingers. âTake that off and I swearâdonât.â
But your tie feels like itâs choking you, and your pulse booms in your ears. Your fingers keep loosening it. Draco curses.
You whimper. âThatâs not fair, you took yours off!â
âStop talking. Merlin, justââ he cuts himself off with a rough breath, his large palm grinding down into his erection beneath his slacks. âShut up.â
You try to stay quiet. You really do.
But every shift of your body sends heat spiraling lower, making it harder to think. Every brush of your thighs squeezes your swollen clit, and has you gasping into the wall behind you.
Dracoâs breathing is uneven now, too, echoing faintly off the stone. He hasnât been able to keep his hand off his dick, still hidden under his clothes.
Not that youâve been watching.
âI thinkââ you swallow. âI think I have a plan.â
Draco moans. âFine. Enlighten me.â
âRemember what I said about the pheromones?â You manage. âItâs clear kissing waâshitâwasnât enough. MaybeâŚâ Your eyes drop to his erection.
âNo.â
âDraco, weâre going to have to touch ourselves. Itâs the only way.â
You expect him to be glaring at you, but when you look up, his eyes are on your legsâthat bare skin between your shoe and your skirt.
âFine.â His throat bobs on a swallow. âYou first.â
You barely have time to debate the ramifications of your actions. Your body burns, thick pressure building low and sharp.
You slip your hand under your skirt, straight under your panties. You inhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, but when your fingers meet a slickness like nothing youâve ever felt before, the breath leaves your lungs.
The sound of of your wetness fills the silence between you and Draco makes a low, strained sound.
You glance over at him and immediately wish you hadnât.
Heâs taken his cock out, and heâs stroking it from base to tip. Itâs long. Thick enough to fill up his palm, and veiny. The tip is darker than the rest, and you just know, if you were to take him in your mouth and suckâyouâd feel his heartbeat against your tongue.
His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, like he tried to close them but his body wonât let him. When he sighs and bucks his hips into his own fist your mouth runs dry.
Whatever cavern of distance used to exist between you is crumbling now. Itâs being burned away. Thereâs no space for it in this heat, this constant pull towards each other. Your skirt rides higher up on your thighs, and the cool air brushes your wet inner thighs.
After a minute, the relief starts to fade. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus. But your body wonât cooperate. Your hips jerk back from your own touch, your clit bordering on overstimulation. You frown, plunging two fingers inside yourself to rub the ache away. But they feel like cold pencils in your pulsing channel.
The heat drags through your veins like hot cotton, begging for a deep release. But every brush of your arms against the cold stone behind you makes your elbows start to itch, and your very skin start to feel like a husk.
You need water. Noânot water.
You need him.
Itâs almost as if your body is punishing you for doing it to yourself.
âItâs not w-working,â you whimper, helpless.
Draco groans, his frustration evident in the bulging vein in his neck. His cock looks so angry in the dim light. He bites his lip in determination, and you watch his fist grip tighter. He only gets to three more strokes before heâs hissing with discomfort.
âThereâs got to be another way,â he rasps, his hand dropping away.
You huff, so needy youâre almost on the verge of tears. âIâm thinking!â
âWell, think harder.â
You glare at him, dimly aware of how on display you are right now. Legs open and spread towards him, skirt barely concealing the way your fingers move against yourself. âMaybe I could if you could just shut your mouth for one damn second!â
His voice is not helping. All low and deep, with a hint of a rasp curling around his accent, making your belly tighten.
In fact, none of this is helping. Silence fills the space between you, only broken by uneven breathing and the quiet rustle of the Nest.
When his eyes drop to your dripping cunt and you donât even have the decency to close your legs, itâs like the pollen has overridden your higher thinking. Your knees widen instinctively, begging for him to look. To touchâŚ
Your composure slips further. And when he licks his lips, your lips actually part in preparation to ask for him.
Merlin, if this keeps up much longer, youâre not above begging if that what it takes. And begging Draco Malfoy for anything is beyond the lowest youâd ever thought youâd go.
You work yourself harder, but your fingertips feel like sandpaper against your soft folds, even as your arousal continues to leak steadily from you, your pussy desperate to be filled.
But that feels impossible.
A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and youâre helpless to stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away from him, still chasing any kind of relief, begging for it to feel like something worth grabbing onto.
Somewhere, distantly, you think Draco might be saying something, but youâre not sure what. Your bodyâs honed in on the vibrations of his voice, the way he smellsâ
âNineteen.â
Hearing your nickname snaps you back to reality.
You open your mouth to answer him, but no words come out. Little gasps punch out of your parted lips, hips twisting and writhing, searching for friction. For heat. For him.
âTell me,â he says firmly.
You turn your head. You can barely see him, your eyes refusing to open more than a sliver. Heâs leaning forward now, one knee planted on the ground.
âW-what?â you rasp.
âYour planâthe pheromonesâshit.â Then, quieter, he adds. âTell me how to make it stop hurting you.â
Your eyes snap to his. Heâs watching you with that sharp focus youâve always admired about him. The look that says nothing is getting in the way of what he wants.
Youâre not sure exactly what makes him give in.
Maybe itâs the way your breaths come in soft pants that make the rise and fall of your breasts visible beneath your loosened tie. Maybe itâs the way your eyes drop to his lips, his neck, your tongue running over your teeth like youâre imagining how he tastes. It might be the ways your hips slant forward, knees falling open, your body begging even if you donât have the words to.
But he must see it.
Because, he just says, âFuck.â
His shoulders catch the moonlight as he shrugs out of his shirt in one smooth motion. Lines of lean muscle come into view, and you feel as if youâve been presented with a feast after almost starving to death.
Malfoyâs always had a very determined walk. A powerful stride, one that commands attention. Youâve seen in in the halls, backed by his loyal little following. Youâve watched him stride towards the Quidditch cup, shoulders back, chest high.
But right nowâheâs not walking.
Heâs crawling.
Towards you.
âClose your eyes. If it helps,â he says before his hand meets your ankle and heâs bowing in front of you.
Something deep in your mind catches on those words, but heâs yanking your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and the heat of his mouth against your core whisks your thoughts away.
The second his tongue finds your clit you canât help but cry out. Your head tips back against the stone, the relief so immediate itâs almost staggering. Draco attacks you with warm, lascivious licks that arenât meant to soothe, despite his words. Theyâre meant to claim.
Your hands dig into the mossy floor beneath you, arching your hips up for him. His strong, hot tongue parts your folds like itâs his lifeâs work. The view of his back muscles shifting and stretching in the moonlight as he makes out with your pussy is so seductive to you itâs nearly frightening.
In fact, it is.
Frightening.
âI hate you,â you grit out, not even entirely sure where it came from. Just a need to set things back in order, even as heâs unraveling you.
He groans against your clit, the vibration licking up your spine.
âSay it again.â
You gasp, caught between resisting and wanting more, even as your pelvis shoves forward and you grind into him like youâre in heat. His tongue dives lower and when his nose nudges your clit, you nearly scream. Your orgasm rises like something sharp. Itâs so powerful of a burn, of an ache, you find yourself scrambling backwards in an attempt to get away from the promise of such delirious pleasure.
Merlin, you need it. More than youâve ever needed anything in your entire fucking lifeâ
It scares you how much.
But Draco just hums against the pulls on his hair and follows you anyway, scuffling forward on the stone ground, gripping your hips and spearing his tongue deep inside you.
âMalfoy, Iâm gonnaâoh, fuckkkââ
âThatâs it,â he says, and the sound of him quietly speaking against your slick folds nearly does you in. âScream my name, Nineteen. N-needâfuckâwanna hear you say it like that.â
The soft rasp of his voice, and the two long fingers being pushed inside you send you straight over the edge.
The release pulls you under in waves. Dark, pulsing tidal waves that drive deep through your pelvis, erasing through your body until the pleasure nearly blinds you. You feel yourself going rigid in his hands, thighs trembling against his soft hair, but he just hauls you through it, like a lighthouse in a storm. Strong, steady, and never stopping until youâre jolting and gasping, crying out in relief.
But the second your orgasm fades, the heat rushes in again. The fever. Itâs back, and with vengeance this time.
Sweat beads your forehead and your vision swims, but you look up just in time to see Malfoy scramble backwards like you burned him.
You frown. âDraâwhat?â
He throws a hand out, pressing himself against the opposite wall. âDonât come closer.â
A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. The heat is different now. Instead of feeling like a thread about to snap, your body has narrowed down to one singular need.
Breed.
Your fingers fly to your shirt without you telling them to, unbuttoning your shirt with ease. You feel the way your breasts move with your harsh breaths, but your gaze is locked on him. And when you drop down to all fours and slink forward, Draco looks like heâs going to have a heart attack.
âMerlinâI canât.â he chokes out. âI canât even think about it.â
Your gut feels like itâs been punched. Is he so disgusted by the thought that he canât even look at you?
Does he truly not want you? Was that some sort ofâŚpityâ
You canât even finish that thought.
You slink backwards until youâre half in shadow. He must see the look on your face because his head falls back against the wall on a groan. You can smell his sweat in the air and itâs making you downright feral even though you can barely look at him from embarrasement.
âI canât think about it, because if I do, then Iâll do it,â he says. âAnd if I do itâŚI donât know if Iâll be able to stop.â
Control. Thatâs always been Malfoyâs vice, hasnât it?
This situation is probably his worst nightmare.
Not for the first time, something plucks on your heart strings deep under your ribs. Heâs scared of losing it? You can give it back to him.
Slowly, and with deliberate care, you cross the boundary. The wand clatters somewhere to the side. Draco watches as you crawl to him, his eyes raking over you, a mixture of pain and hunger in his eyes.
You can only imagine what you look like.
Hair mussed, left in just a lace bra and soaked panties, your skirt hanging loose on your hips.
âThen donât,â you murmur.
Your voice is so quiet in the stillness, but it spears through him all the same. Your gazes click together like magnets.
He shakes his head, chest heaving. âYou donât mean that. Itâs just the fucking plant dustââ
He stops short when your hands settle on his knees, gently forcing them apart to make room for yourself. Your breath catches when you drop your gaze to see his cock sitting heavy and hard against his lower stomach. It twitches under your watchful gaze and your mouth waters.
Carefully, you settle into his lap.
He exhales sharply, and his hands find your soft skin, undoing your bra before you can even blink. Testament to a lot of practice, youâre sure.Â
You donât have the strength to be self-conscious. You just need him. Now. Even so, somewhere through the lust-filled haze, you remember his words.
âThe plant just lowersââ your breath hitches as his teeth find the soft skin of your neck. ââyour inhibitions. It canât make you fuck someone you donâtâŚw-want.â
âHow do you know so much about this?â he groans into your hair. âWhy are you soââ
âWhat? So smart?â
âYou wish.â
The words barely brush your ear before you lean back to get a better look at him. Youâve barely straightened by the time his mouth is on your tits.
You cry out as he swirls his hot, greedy tongue around your nipples, sucking on the hard buds until youâre panting. Your clit swells and you bite your lip, threading your fingers through his hair. The first rock of your hips has you both groaning.Â
You grind down on him again and you nearly black out at the feeling of his bare length sliding through your slick folds. You reach between you to tug his slacks down further. His balls are heavy in your hand, and he grunts, shoving himself up into you.
âMerlinâI canâtââ he chokes out, mouth leaving your tits as his palms fly up and dig into his eye sockets.
Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss his fingers one by one. His bare chest stutters against yours at the softness of it, and when you slip his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it eagerly, he drops his hands.
You look down to find him staring up at you with a familiar expression. You make that face. When you're seconds away from catching the Snitch.
You swear you can feel every vein in his dick, so hot and hard against you as you grind your slick cunt against him. Itâs instinct to drop your head and search for his mouth with yours, but you pull back at the last second. That last thread of lucidity coming back to haunt you.
This is your rival.
For a second you just breathe each other in, mouths parted, groaning and writhing into the other, but when the blunt head of his cock catches on your entrance, your hips react on their ownâcircling, pelvis arching, body begging in a primal, secret language you donât fully understand.
And he moves with youâmeeting you there with the deep urges of his own.
His hips donât snap into you, brutal and deep. Instead, they slide. Back and forth. His hands clamp onto your hips, holding you still in his lap as he eases the tip in and out, letting your slick coat him until youâre ready to take the whole thing.Â
The way his body moves speaks to something primal and powerful in you. How his sweaty muscles bunch and tense, and his hands dig into your skin at your hips, your thighs, your waistâ itâs better than anything you couldâve imagined.
âThis doesnât mean anything,â he growls into your ear.
You nod frantically, clenching around him.
In one long thrust, Draco fills you up. The stretch is breathtaking. Literally. Heâs so long that his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, sending you mewing and clawing at his hair, his shoulders, just to stay afloat through the pleasure.
Heâs not fairing much better.
Heâs growling and moaning, his cock jerking desperately in your slick walls as he pulls back just far enough to yank your hips back down to meet his.
Sounds spill out of you. They might be words, youâre not sure. But the next thing you know, cold stone meets your back, and Dracoâs warm body is spread out over you. His thrusts grow heavier and deeper. You can feel the way your body tries to hold onto him, clenching and fluttering desperately, even as your arousal makes it easy for him to slide so deep.
Youâve never been this wet in your life. And now, youâre wondering, if itâs from the pollen, or if itâs just from him. Because youâve never had sex this good, and thatâs saying something.
Your bodies justâŚmove together. Like theyâre one of a kind puzzle pieces meant to fit. The give and take is so instinctual itâs almost unbearable how good it is.
âFuck, you take me so well,â Draco pants, a lock of hair falling over his sweaty brow. âKnew you would.â
You throw your head back, your ankle finding solace in his lower back, sealing him to you and begging for more. Your body gives into the heat, the pleasure cresting and pulling you into something dangerously strong. So strong youâre worried your body might not survive it.
âSo pretty on the pitch,â he groans, seemingly unable to stop from talking. âMerlin, I justâI lose the bloody Snitch every time you look at me.â
That does it.
Your orgasm rushes through your body like lightning. Your spine snaps straight, muscles clenching down with a pulse you feel everywhere. A moan leaves your chest, so loud youâve probably woken the whole damn castle, but youâre too gone to care.
Draco makes a rough sound against the skin of your neck. âHolyâfuck, Iâm gonnaâwhere should Iââ
âInside,â you gasp. âPlease. Please, Draco. I need it. P-pleaseââ
âAh, fuckââ His mouth seals against your throat, nose brushing the pulse point below your ear. âNeed you.â
He jerks hard, once, twice, and then heâs spilling inside you. Your body seems to understand, back arching, pulling him deeper with your ankle as he stills and lets out a groan that curls low in your belly, and will certainly live on in every wet dream you have from here on out.
The fever fades like a receding tide. You blink, slowly coming back to yourself. Your clit is throbbing, and your pulse is still hammering, but strangely you feel...lighter somehow.
Like maybe the last few years of tension between you and your rival finally needed to snap.
You turn to him. Heâs on his knees, breathing hard, buttoning up his pants. He looks up at you, and something in his eyes softens.
âWhat did you mean?â You find yourself asking. âWhen you told me to close my eyes earlier?â
He shrugs, reaching for his shirt.
âWell, you said youâd rather be here with anyone else. I justââ he looks away, suddenly seeming very interested in the way the Nest is unraveling like it did its job, and the stray vine thatâs currently retrieving his wand for him.
You donât let him finish.
You lurch forward and grab his face, pulling his lips to yours.
This time, he doesnât hesitate a second before meeting your mouth. He kisses you back, long and hard, digging his fingers through your hair to pull you closer. You exhale into it, something long unsaid passing between you. But itâs not enough. You still need to say the words.
So, you break the kiss first. He blinks down at you, eyes dark, hair mussed.
âI only think about you, Malfoy,â you whisper in the shared air between you. âOn or off the pitch, itâs only you.â
He leans down and brushes his lips across yours. âI still hate you, Nineteen.â
You reward him by deepening the kiss. He answers it, slower this time, but no less intense. When he finally pulls back, youâre already smiling.