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The world beat red and everything trembled. His heart took no pauses, and Harry could feel it throughout his entire body, out through the tips of his hair.
He was salivating. And he had never hungered in quite the way he hungered now.
"Get him on the table. Sedate him."
"We already did."
"Well, give him more!"
The voices collided, sharp and dissonant. Every muscle in his body tensed. The saliva gurgled out of his mouth and dripped down his neck.
"Strap him down," someone said, and Harry felt the rage thicken inside him -- the viscous fear.
Magical bindings pulled taut around his wrists, his biceps, his legs, ankles, chest, and shoulders. He felt a wand touch his arm and then a sharp bite as something punctured the skin, and a sweet, cool tonic rushed his veins.
His breathing slowed. His eyelids drooped. The ceiling went grey and dark. And then he heard a woman's voice sigh, "Someone, get Healer Malfoy."
~
When Draco had dressed for work that day, the last thing on his mind had been Harry Potter.
Well, perhaps not the last. But he'd hardly been in the forefront of Draco's thoughts. His thoughts had mostly been on his promotion and how nice it was not to have to wear the lime green robes anymore, to be able to dress in his own preferred black. He'd also been ruminating about the conference on unregistered Animagi at which he'd be speaking later in the month. Draco would rather be Crucio'd than speak publicly, but that was the price of being an expert in something, he supposed.
At least there would be an open bar at the dinner after.
When Draco walked into St. Mungo's that morning, he suspected the most exciting thing to occur might be the reparation of a severed toe; that was the big story last Friday at any rate, and Mondays tended to be slow.
He could not have been more wrong.
Candace Chilcott converged on him just inside the department store window.
"Mr. Malfoy. Come quick. You need to see this."
"Can it wait until after the cappuccino? You know how I do love the new cappuccino machine, Chilcott." Draco could feel his veins shriveling up from lack of caffeine already. He never should have taken to such a pedestrian Muggle vice -- an American pedestrian Muggle vice at that. He'd blame Parkinson, but she'd moved out of the flat two months prior to hand-fast with Zabini, and Draco had had plenty of time to kick the coffee habit she'd enabled in him. He just hadn't bothered yet.
So now here was Chilcott with whatever animal bite/sting/burn emergency she had waiting for his attention, and Draco was shriveling.
"I'm afraid this can't wait," she told him.
Draco rolled his eyes, Spelled his coat and gloves away to his office, and followed Chilcott at a clip through the halls and up to the first floor. She took him to the Acute Wing, and Draco heard it before she could even push the door open.
The growling...
And though maybe some remote part of his brain recognized the voice on a purely instinctual level, he would not have believed his ears. He could only trust his eyes, and as he walked into the dark ward -- dark because often its inhabitants couldn't stand light -- he saw and recognized the body secured to the bed, recognized the wild hair, and finally, as he walked closer, the bright green eyes as Potter's head turned and his gaze, hot and angry, landed on Draco.
Draco quelled the desire to gasp.
"How long has he been like this?" he asked Chilcott softly.
"A group of Aurors brought him in early this morning."
Draco blinked. "He's in pain. When was the last time he was given something?"
Chilcott checked the chart. "Two and a half hours ago."
"Go ahead and give him another."
Potter blinked at him.
Chilcott touched her wand to Potter's arm, the tip lit green, and in moments, Potter relaxed against his bindings.
Draco almost didn't want to ask, but he knew he had to. "Bite?"
Chilcott shook her head. She lifted Potter's shirt and then magicked the bandaging see-through. Draco stifled the wince. It was the worst werewolf scratch -- one could easily call it a gouge -- that he'd ever seen. And after fifteen years as a Healer with a specialty in creature injuries, he'd seen plenty.
Draco leaned down and peered at the red edges, the newly mended flesh. The slash cut diagonally across Potter's gut, from bottom rib, jaggedly dipping down under his navel, and then cutting all the way to his opposite hip. Clearly, it had been deep.
"It's healing well," Draco said.
"Th-thanks...so much...M-Malfoy..." Potter got out, the pain medication taking effect enough for speech.
"Can you leave us, Healer Chilcott?" Draco said, turning to her.
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy." She turned and strode briskly toward the door.
Draco waited until she was gone and then turned back to his patient.
"Who did this to you?"
"Don't...you mean...what?" Potter snarled, his bright eyes darkening.
Draco found it difficult to look at him squarely. Something in Potter's steady gaze felt like it could sear through his skin -- like Legilimency.
"I think we both know what," Draco said, making a show of going over Potter's chart.
Draco hadn't seen Potter in months -- since the last time he'd had meetings at the Ministry to lobby for a larger budget for his unit of the hospital. Potter had been so normal then. So annoying and superior. They'd shaken hands after the meeting, not quite meeting one another's eyes even though Potter worked as an Auror in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and there were times, like the budget meeting, that they met on one or the other's turf and had to be civil. They still avoided looking at one another if at all possible.
Or they had. Now Potter was staring at Draco like he was a rare kidney pie.
"Did they catch him?" Draco asked.
"Haven't gotten any memos on that, Malfoy. Was too busy being nearly eviscerated," Potter gritted out.
Having gone through every page of the chart -- twice -- Draco set it aside and crossed his arms. "I'll contact them when I'm done here and get back to you."
"You're a prince," Potter told him. "Could you...go stand over there?"
"Why?"
"Your scent," Potter said. "'s distracting."
Draco gulped. "I need to examine you, Potter," he explained. "I can't do it from over there."
Potter turned his face away. "Get it over with then."
Draco took a deep breath and detached the bandaging. Potter's stomach pulled in tight on his gasp. Draco revealed the wound and prodded at its edges. "That hurt?"
Potter's answer came through clenched teeth. "Not as much as before the potions."
Draco pressed into his belly on one side and then the other, palpitating Potter's abdomen. "What about this?"
"No..."
"Good. It says in your chart that you had extensive intestinal damage but that they were able to repair all of it. You're lucky to be alive."
Potter just growled a little in answer.
Draco drew his wand and secured the bandages again. "I need you to look at me."
Potter turned his head back again, and his eyes were almost fully dilated. Draco hesitated, then he leaned over him and looked into his eyes, holding his face in his hands. A shiver worked its way over Potter's body, and he inhaled long and hard through flared nostrils.
"Jesus, Malfoy," Potter breathed. "You smell bloody fantastic."
Draco hesitated, almost pulled back, but then swallowed and continued his examination, feeling down Potter's throat to his lymph nodes. "Heightened sense of smell is common."
"Oh, I'm aware of that," Potter sneered, laughing mirthlessly. "If only you knew what I could smell on you."
Draco stiffened, embarrassed despite himself. He'd bathed before he'd come in. He felt foolish, but he wanted to ask if Potter was insinuating he should wash more thoroughly or if it was his socks or...something else entirely.
Potter laughed again. "Don't look so worried, Draco. Fantastic doesn't always equal lunch."
Draco scoffed and amplified Potter's heartbeat with his wand. "What do I care if you like how I smell, Potter?" he said. His own pulse sped up.
Potter went silent then and they both listened to his pounding heart.
"The speed is probably permanent," Draco told him. "It might fluctuate with the moon's cycles, and we'll want to observe it in case it becomes dangerously fast and maybe put you on a heart-slowing potion--"
"You smell like you're ready for a good hard fuck," Potter said to him. Well, he more growled it at him.
Draco's lips parted, and he couldn't help but hold his breath.
"What's it been? Six months, I'm guessing."
Draco picked up Potter's chart and wrote in it, leaving instructions for the next shift's Healers. He kept his eyes on his writing. It had, in fact, been just under seven months since he'd shagged anybody. Potter's accuracy as well as his disinhibition was more disconcerting than Draco had been prepared for.
He'd seen bitten people make lewd remarks to other Healers, of course. The animal nature wasn't one to mince words when given a voice. But this was Draco's first time being directly on the receiving end, and this was far more graphic than he'd ever experienced.
Not that Draco was a prude or anything. Or, well, he didn't used to be.
It's just that this was Potter for Merlin's sake.
And as awkward as it was, it also irked Draco to no end when Potter was right about something, about anything, as he was now.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter lick his lips and shift his pelvis under the restraints.
"Why don't the other ones smell as good as you, Malfoy? Do you rub bacon grease on your bollocks or something?"
Draco couldn't help the smile that quirked at his lips then. "Yes, Potter," he said. He put down the chart and looked him in the eye. "I smear bacon grease on my bollocks. I find it lends me an air of confidence."
Potter actually smiled through his snarl. Then he licked his lips again, and he practically whined.
To Draco's horror, his own body responded. Potter's eyes dropped to his crotch and flared dangerously. He started making convulsive fists.
"I'm going to order a potion to help you sleep and then--"
"Loosen the straps, Malfoy."
Draco almost -- almost -- wanted to laugh. "Er, no."
"Please, Draco," Potter went on.
"So it's 'Draco' now," he mused, crossing his arms.
"Please." Potter gritted his teeth. "Look at me." He nodded down the bed, and Draco let his eyes be drawn there.
Draco's breath left him in a rush.
Potter's cock was pushing at the material of the pajama bottoms they'd given him. It put so much strain on the cotton that the flap stretched open, and Draco could see Potter's erection plainly through it. It was glistening and dark with blood.
It was huge.
Potter snarled again, "Loosen the straps."
"You know I can't do that," Draco told him. Instead he pulled the sheet from the foot of the bed and covered Potter up.
Potter turned his face away, growling low and continually under his breath.
Draco turned around and very quickly left the room.
~
Healer Chilcott smelled like lilacs and body odor; Healer Smith owned a Malamute and two Siamese cats and liked crushed garlic; Healer Davis showered every three days and used unscented deodorant.
And Draco Malfoy smelled like a great fuck waiting to happen.
It was maddening. And when Harry was on potions enough to be lucid, it only made him more likely to make ridiculous passes at the man rather than keep them to himself and snarl mindlessly.
Harry wasn't sure which state he liked least.
Well, that wasn't quite true. Wanting to screw Malfoy into next week was a far cry more pleasant than wanting to chew through his own arm to escape.
The human part of him didn't want to escape. It knew he was where he belonged, receiving the kind of care he desperately needed. And Harry knew Malfoy was a talented Healer. He'd begrudgingly known that for some time.
But this new part of him, this half-rabid animal, wanted nothing more than freedom. Freedom was like a sixth sense, a wordless longing that beat at every pulse point and gnawed at his soul.
Freedom tasted like Malfoy's scent, like bittersweet, unattainable perfection.
Harry wanted the wind and the moonlight on his face.
He wanted rare meat, the juices running down his chin.
And he wanted to push his cock so far up Draco Malfoy's arse he'd feel him for days after Harry was done with him.
All this from one bad move out in the field. From looking right instead of left. From going for his wand a half-second too late.
The werewolf had slashed him halfway through the full moon. Harry had hours more to feel like this. And then who knew? Who knew what his life would be reduced to? He made a mental note to meet with Bill Weasley and pick his brain. If only he made it that far. Harry knew Draco was right and he was lucky to be alive at this point. He knew there might still be complications. His "scratch" was much worse than Bill Weasley's.
But oh God, there he was. Not in the room, but he was on the floor. He was in the hall. Malfoy and his salty-ripe skin, that warm-tight place Harry wanted to lick before he fucked it. The uncanny fragrance of the man's neck...
Of all the bloody people in the world to go wolfish about, why Malfoy? Really anyone would have been more preferable. He and Malfoy could hardly stand one another. It wasn't fair.
Harry could feel his jaw tightening as the potions began to wear off. He growled low in his throat, testing the strength of the bonds again.
That's how Malfoy walked in on him.
Harry turned his face away so he wouldn't have to watch the ponce walk, to see as well as scent the movement of cotton against skin.
"How's the Wolfsblight working?" Draco set right in with the questions.
"Wearing off. And I think you need to go back to the drawing board on that one, Draco. I still feel like I want to rip my clothes off and run over hill and dale."
"How lucid are you?" He'd neared. He was almost right beside the bed. Harry could smell the slight sweat of his armpits and wanted to bury his face there and lick.
"Lucid enough."
"And the pain?"
"Better."
"Your appetite?"
"Unending."
"Craving rare meat?" Malfoy asked, and Harry could tell by his tone and the shape of his voice that he was charting like a good, professional Healer, head down, all business.
"Yes," Harry said. And your ass, and your cock (which obviously ejaculated about an hour ago), and the smooth skin up your back, and that spicy place behind your left ear...
"Just beef broth for another twenty-four hours yet. Everything else should ease up after the moon, of course," Draco informed him needlessly.
"Everything?" That thing inside him was escalating, spiraling up his body from the base of his spine toward the top of his head. He felt dizzy. The room started to go red again. "Draco?"
"What is it, Potter?"
"Heart's...racing..." he got out.
Draco reached for Harry's wrist to take his pulse, and when Draco's long, warm fingers curled around it, Harry didn't even think. He couldn't control it. He just turned his head, teeth bared, and clawed at what he could reach of Malfoy's skin as hard as he could.
Malfoy jerked his hand back, gasping and holding it to his chest. "Fuck," he hissed.
Harry panted, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He could smell the blood. He wanted to lick the wound. He wanted to bite down on Malfoy's pale neck. He wanted to mark him with his scent. Harry's skin was hot, and he wanted to crawl out of it.
He wanted to run.
He wanted them to run together.
To Harry's surprise, Draco didn't call for help. He walked quickly over to the potions cabinet and pulled down several items. Harry heard water come on at a faucet, heard Draco's hiss of pain. Harry's heart pounded in his ears. His eyes rolled. Tears came up in his eyes, clogging his throat, even as he longed for Draco to return so he could scent him better.
Draco came back, clutching his bandaged hand. His eyes were round and unblinking, shocked. "I came here to tell you that they caught the werewolf who attacked you. They say there's something anomalous about his claws -- that they're secreting something." He blinked now several times. "They've sent a sample to us for analysis. I'll have Davis bring your potions right away." He said all this quickly, robotically. And then he turned and strode out the door.
Harry rammed his head back into his pillow repeatedly, the tendons in his neck standing out. Draco's scent got farther and farther away, and Harry had just enough presence of mind to try some wandless spells to try to get free. Nothing worked, and he made hard, shaking fists until his fingernails cut into his palms.
He had scratched Draco Malfoy.
One tear streaked down Harry's temple.
He wanted to bay at the moon.
~
Draco shot through his floo, still cradling his hand to his chest. It throbbed and stung, even with the potions he'd slathered on.
Potter had broken the skin.
He'd drawn blood.
Draco had left work early, schooling his voice calm when he said goodnight to the ground floor nurses, his hand shoved into his coat pocket and covered by the black leather glove no less.
But he could feel it there, throbbing. He could feel the slash of Potter's dull nails, the bruise they'd left on the fine bones, the liquid heat of blood...
Draco went right to the bathroom and ran a shower, stripping free of all his clothes and then carefully unwinding the bandage. His hands shook.
Potter had drawn blood.
And Draco had just left. He'd said nothing. He'd met other Healers' eyes, co-workers who trusted him, and he'd said nothing.
Nothing.
Draco peered into his own eyes in the mirror. He could still hear Potter panting, as though close behind.
Hot and soft, right behind his ear.
Draco woke to the sound of his own echoing scream and wet sheets.
Wet from sweat.
Wet from the fact that he'd come in his sleep.
"Oh God..." Draco breathed, flopping back down into his pillows and covering his eyes.
His heart was thundering in his chest. Draco swallowed, threw the sheet off his body, and slowly sat up.
He showered again and dressed for work. He bandaged the wound but left his gloves off. He would go to the administration first thing and tell them what had happened. He'd face whatever music there was. Maybe it wouldn't get that bad. It wasn't a deep scratch. It wasn't like what happened to Potter. Maybe he could just take a couple of potions to calm his heart and ease his mind and they'd let him keep his job.
Maybe they could work out a schedule where he just wouldn't work during the full moon. That was reasonable, wasn't it?
Draco realized he was gritting his teeth and his blood was pounding through his body, like some sort of dam had come down and now he was flooded with urgency, with anxiety -- with a desire he really didn't want to think about.
He'd come so hard he'd woken himself up moaning.
Except that it hadn't been moaning -- it had been a whimpering growl.
Draco shook himself and Apparated into the alley adjacent to St. Mungo's. He straightened his coat and his collar. He firmed his jaw and strode toward the department store window.
And he smelled him before he even walked in the building.
Draco had to put his hand against the glass and just breathe for a moment. It wasn't a strong smell, but it was distinct. Draco would have known it was Potter even if there were ten more partial-werewolves in that ward. He didn't know why he knew it. But he knew it.
Blood and skin and cock.
Draco's heart began beating even harder until it was all he could hear. Until Potter was all he could think of.
And suddenly, every plan he'd made, every good intention he'd had, just evaporated from his pores. There was only one thing he knew he had to do, and that was get to Harry Potter.
~
Harry's potions took effect, and he was feeling a little better -- until he smelled Malfoy's arrival. Harry really hadn't expected him to come back. Not after what happened. Not after what Harry had done.
Harry had spent a very restless night. He dreamed in vivid fragments -- the trees blurring past, Draco's scent up ahead, then tackling him to the ground...
Draco's sweat on his tongue.
The hatred and blame burning in Draco's eyes.
Harry felt Draco near now. And he was nearing quite quickly. No coffee cart stop-offs, no going to the office to send return owls... No, he was coming straight up to the ward.
And bloody hell...
Harry's eyes rolled back as he inhaled deeply, as his ears pricked to the sound of Draco's determined walk. His scent had changed, sharpened, alchemized to become animal. Harry salivated and strained once more against his bonds, turning his face to the door and watching it.
He tried to determine Draco's intentions from his scent: crushed pine needles, sweat salt... Harry sniffed the air quickly, in short hard bursts. Underneath all that was wanting, like sunlight breaking over rocks. Like freedom.
Draco was just outside the door, and as hard as Harry tried to slow his breathing, he couldn't. He began to pant, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His cock was hard and peeking through the slit in his trousers.
The door swung open, and Malfoy bore down on him. Harry pulled so hard at the bindings, he trembled. Malfoy walked straight to the bed. He stood over Harry, and Harry blinked up at him.
Draco blinked back, his eyes softening. Harry's gaze dropped to Malfoy's mouth; his lips were parted and dry, his breath coming fast. Harry watched his chest as the air moved through it. His pulse beat at his throat, quick as a deer's.
Malfoy pulled his wand, and Harry flinched. Malfoy flicked his wrist and locked the ward door. He flicked it again, and Harry felt the privacy charms go up, absorbing noise, muting everything.
Oh God...
Harry's cock pulled up hard.
Draco tilted his head and peered down at him.
Harry lifted his hips once.
Draco's tongue licked out and ran over his bottom lip. He whisked Harry's blanket away. He held Harry's gaze as he planted a hand on either side of Harry's hips and began to lean down. Harry lifted his head to watch him. His cock throbbed with heat.
Draco closed his eyes and inhaled, long and decadent. He looked back up at Harry. Then he smiled. A sharp, tight sensation shot through Harry's chest.
Draco nuzzled down into Harry's crotch, breathing against him, mouthing at his clothed cock, and Harry slammed his head down, his hips bucking up into Draco's mouth desperately.
Harry cried out to the empty room. Draco's mouth was moving over the whole length of him, down to nudge his nose at Harry's bollocks. Draco moved the opening of Harry's trousers with his mouth so that his cock slipped through. Harry could feel the roughness of Draco's jaw, the softness of his cheek, the heat of his breath...
Harry growled, lifting his head. "Loosen the straps."
Draco blinked at him, then he slowly shook his head. He inhaled again, closing his eyes, and he licked slow and long up Harry's cock.
"Oh my God," Harry groaned. He lay his head back down as Draco kept doing it, his soft, gentle tongue lapping up Harry's cock. "Malfoy... Jesus..." The bonds cut into Harry's wrists and legs as he rocked his hips, trying to get more friction, more of Draco's wet, teasing mouth. Harry needed to get his hands into that hair and bury his fingers in it. He just needed more, more, more, bloody more.
"Potter..." Draco sighed, licking just under the crown. Fast little licks that drove Harry to whine and fuck his hips. Harry started shivering, whimpering uncontrollably.
And then Draco looked at him, blinked wide, silver eyes at him, and enclosed Harry's cockhead in his mouth and sucked.
Harry came hard, shooting it off into the hot, wet suction. His hands itched to close in Draco's hair. He pumped his hips up, fucking between those come-smeared lips as best he could. And all the while he growled and snarled as this desperate thing inside him got a taste of what it wanted.
Draco lifted his head, licking his lips and panting. His eyes held a dangerous glint that made Harry's heart leap in his chest. Harry growled, long and low.
Draco tucked Harry's prick back inside the flap of his trousers and then thumbed a drop of semen from his bottom lip before sucking it off.
"We've got eleven more hours before the moon wanes," Draco said to him. Harry blinked. Draco drew his wand, waved it at the locked cabinet with Harry's wand in it, and loosened the lock.
"What are you doing?" Harry gasped.
"Giving myself a head start," Draco replied. "You won't be stopped on the way out."
Harry couldn't help how his eyebrows rose practically into his hairline.
"Just try not to act like the arse-sniffing, half-wolf you are, all right, Potter?"
With that, Draco Malfoy turned and swept out of the room.
Harry focused all of his attention on the cabinet and tried a wandless spell on the lock. It moved but didn't click open.
He could hear Malfoy's footsteps echoing down the hall.
He could feel the distance increasing between them.
Harry focused everything he had -- and heard the thing click open.
"Accio wand!" he called triumphantly, and his wand flew into the palm of his waiting hand.
Harry smiled.
~
Draco wanded down the wards, threw open the door, and then leaned back against it once he was safely inside.
Potter would be tracking him to his flat this very moment, sniffing the air for him, for the scent of his body, his arousal, his readiness.
He could feel the elation emanating off of Potter -- the soaring sense of freedom -- and knew he was but minutes behind.
Draco could still taste Potter's spunk.
He shoved away from the door, leaving the wards down, the locks unlocked. He felt overheated and stripped his shirt off, tossing it to the side. Draco got himself a tall glass of water and downed it quickly. Rivulets ran down his chin, his throat, his chest, and he came away panting.
He began to pace.
Draco was fairly certain he was going to lose his job. He was just as uncertain about his own ability to control this thing that he was now, that they both were. But as soon as those thoughts took shape, Draco cast them aside. The moon pulled at him, warming his blood almost beyond tolerance. His breath had changed. The way his skin fit over his muscles had changed. The air felt brighter in his lungs.
And he was primed to fuck.
Draco had never felt anything like it, not on his randiest days. Not when he was fifteen and he hated Harry Potter more than anyone and still couldn't help wanking himself raw every night thinking about what was under those robes.
Those hot green eyes flashing something more than hate in his direction.
Draco had that now. He had Potter wanting him. It was loads worse. And it was loads better.
He'd never been a slave to his own body like this.
He'd never yearned for someone before.
Draco stopped, standing stock still in the middle of his living room and listening. He inhaled, drawing the air deep into his new lungs. Potter’s scent was strong, almost overwhelming. He was two blocks away, maybe closer.
Draco shivered.
Then he stowed his wand and waited, palming his hard cock through his trousers and giving it a slow, reassuring squeeze.
~
Harry made the turn off Finchley Road onto the small lane. It was dark and cramped, with small historic renovations, and Harry would have laughed at how bloody charming and cosy Draco's neighbourhood was, but he was too consumed with the need to get to him.
To get at him.
To mate.
Draco had been right. No one stopped him on his way out of the hospital. Harry wasn't sure if it was a glamour, a simple release order, or some combination of things. Whatever it was, Harry walked out a free man, apparently with no one the wiser.
He'd gotten his Auror garb out of the cupboard, dressed, and then booted up as quickly as possible, his hands shaking with excitement and adrenaline.
The moment he'd hit the pavement and smelled the air, he'd found Draco's scent. Past the exhaust, the cooling asphalt, the hole-in-the-wall Chinese place on the corner... Harry had lifted his face to the night, closed his eyes, and breathed it all in. And then he'd taken off at a trot heading north.
Like the arse-sniffing half-wolf he was.
Harry amazed at how he never tired. He certainly had more lung capacity, but it went deeper than that. There was a single-mindedness to his pursuit. His whole body breathed Draco Malfoy, and he was sustained by the depth of his own wanting.
When he was only a block away, his nostrils flared, and the fine hairs on the backs of his arms and neck stood up.
Harry stopped in the road. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the scent, shuddering with pleasure. Lights shone over his closed lids, and a horn honked.
"Get out of the road, you bloody idiot!" the driver yelled.
Harry held out a hand. The car stopped in the road, its wheels still squealing as they fought the magic. It was three...no, four houses down on the left. Harry walked across the road. His arm lowered of its own accord, and the car continued down the lane.
"Fucking freak," the voice quavered, and Harry narrowed his eyes on the little green cottage with the porch light on. He could sense the heat of Draco's body and the unique scent it put off. He walked determinedly down the pavement toward the house, the thrill of what drew him getting stronger all the while.
He turned up the narrow path to the front door, his heart beating three beats for every step he took. When he walked onto the porch, Harry pressed his palms flat to the door and felt, both magically and otherwise. No wards. No locks. Draco had left it open for him.
Draco was open for him. He was just inside. Waiting.
Harry touched his hand to the doorknob.
~
When Potter threw the door open, Draco was ready. Draco faced him as Harry closed the door behind himself and drew his wand. Though Draco's hand itched to draw his own, to prepare for a duel, he didn't touch it. He stood waiting, full of potential energy, as Potter warded the flat. Potter put up every privacy charm Draco knew and then some, all wordless. And the whole while, he just stared at Draco. And Draco stared back.
Harry stalked forward. Draco began to salivate. His cock was so hard it hurt. And there was something else. Something he hadn't anticipated.
Something by which he normally would have been more than a little mortified.
Draco felt abnormally empty. He felt empty, and he wanted rather desperately to be filled.
The look in Potter's eyes as he came to stand in front of Draco promised filthy things, and maybe it was Draco's own particular dislike for Potter or their history, or maybe it was part of the process, part of this strange seduction, but Draco, even desperate as he felt, wasn't about to give it up so easily.
They moved at the same time, Potter's hands going for Draco's hips and Draco slapping them away.
Potter smiled.
Draco stared him down.
Potter reached again, and this time Draco grabbed his wrists and wrestled them to Potter's sides, stepping in close and bringing their bodies almost flush against one another. Potter smirked, his breath hitting Draco's face, and he wrenched his wrists free again, backing up.
They began to circle each other.
Draco kicked his coffee table out of the way. Potter shoved an armchair back against the wall, and a framed picture of Draco's father fell awkwardly to the floor with a clatter. Draco really could not have cared less. He sniffed the air, catching the salty-hot scent of Potter's erection, and licked his lips.
Potter lunged for him again, and this time he caught Draco off balance, shoving him backward into the wall. Draco's breath left him in a woosh. Things fell off his mantle, crashing to the floor. Potter pressed Draco to the wall, seething. He pushed his cock up against Draco's, and Draco let out the barest hint of a moan. The desire spilled through him like tonic. Potter's cock shoved up against him, and every rocking of his hips made Draco pre-come a little bit. Draco let Potter move on him for six amazing seconds -- their breath in one another's faces, hearts beating hard together -- then he took Potter by the hips, as though to pull him in, to caress. Draco smiled, and instead he shoved as hard as he could, sending Potter stumbling backward.
Potter righted himself with a little smirking laugh.
Draco's lust overflowed from his body and he attacked, coming away from the wall and grabbing for Potter's Auror coat, ripping the buttons free and sending them skittering across the floor in divergent directions. Potter shrugged it off the rest of the way even as Draco ripped his shirt, leaving it hanging in tatters on Potter's body. Draco let his eyes travel down -- Potter's tight dark nipples, the sweat starting to pool in the recess at the base of his throat, the movement of breath through him -- and back up. Draco swallowed back the drool, and his cock throbbed in time with his fast heartbeat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so bloody good, so strong and energized and right.
This time, when Potter lunged, Draco was ready, and as Potter wrestled him to the ground, Draco managed to strip the offending shirt free of Potter's body entirely. Potter landed on top of him, triumphant, but significantly less dressed. Draco shot him a triumphant look in return, which earned him a stupefied blink. The look on Potter's face in that moment was priceless, the sudden realization that he, Potter, was exactly where Draco wanted him. And because of that gloriously dumbfounded expression on Potter's face, Draco found himself laughing. He couldn't help it. There was an ache in his chest from wanting this, wanting Harry Potter on top of him. The low laugh died in his throat. Draco reached, took Potter by the back of the head, angled up, and gently bit the git's bottom lip.
It wasn't a kiss.
It couldn't be called a kiss.
Not with that much biting. Not when they were so busy getting one another's trousers off, too. Not while Draco's pants ripped in Potter's hungry hands and Draco's cock bounced free.
Not when Potter was growling into Draco's mouth half the time and Draco was whimpering in response.
Potter broke free and shoved his own trousers and pants the rest of the way down his legs and off. He looked down Draco's body, at Draco's stiff and drooling cock, and then back into Draco's eyes.
Draco blinked. All remaining fight left him. He exhaled long and hard, blinking up at Potter's flushed face. Suddenly it felt impossible that they could be here like this. It stopped being a fight, even a play one.
It had begun to feel like a union.
Draco swallowed, and then with Potter watching his every move, Draco rolled over under him. He could barely breathe from the excitement, the fear. He got up on spread knees, pressing his face to the floor. Draco waited, those two or three breaths little agonies of eternity. The emptiness ached in him, and his blood rushed through his veins like a storm-swollen river. Potter gave a low whining snarl. Draco jumped at the sound. The pleasure rode the fine hairs along his skin, and he arched. Open, waiting, and ready.
~
Harry stared for a moment, Draco's arse upthrust and completely fuckable before him. The saliva gathered under his tongue. He'd wanted this since before he'd walked in the door. Since before Draco had set him free.
If he was honest with himself, since before he'd gotten scratched at all.
Well, not precisely this and not in the same way -- not with the circling and the growling and the biting and such -- but some version of this to be sure.
He'd always wondered what it might be like to fuck Draco Malfoy -- and then hated himself for the wondering. Just not enough not to do it again.
Now he could know. Now he already did. He knew what that mouth felt like licking and sucking his cock. He knew the feel of Draco's body under his hands, just enough violence left in them to make it feel right and real. He touched that lithe body now again, running his palms up the trembling thighs, over Draco's pale, smooth buttocks.
As badly as Harry's cock wanted what Draco was offering -- and he and it wanted so very badly -- a dual instinct took hold of him. He inhaled, massaging the flesh in his hands. Soft, buoyant... Fucking perfect. Then Harry parted Draco's arse with his thumbs and buried his face there, licking the pert little hole greedily.
Harry snarled into the warm recess.
Draco Malfoy tasted goddamned bloody brilliant.
Draco made a sweet sound of anguish and arched his back. Harry ate him out slow and deep, pushing in with his tongue and groaning at the soft feel of him, the snug grasp of him, and to Harry's changed and heightened senses, the almost honeyed sweetness of him. God, how could he taste sweet?
Harry grunted and hummed and licked and sucked and kissed and kissed and kissed Draco's arse until he was dripping with saliva, his hole hot and relaxing open for Harry. And still Harry would not have stopped had his own cock not demanded it.
Harry was so enamoured of the taste of Draco's arse he half considered a good wank while he did it instead.
But there was something else in him -- deeper and more dangerous than his libido, his aching cock and bollocks, deeper even than desire or words.
Harry was possessed of a soul-deep need to fuck. Now.
Harry lifted his face. Draco whimpered, rocking his hips back for contact. Harry soothed a palm over his arse and said the first words either of them had uttered all evening. "I'll take care of you," he said softly. Soft, when everything else about him felt rough and raw and ungiving.
Draco made a half-human noise and arched, shaking with the effort to hold himself still for it. He was beautiful.
Beyond beautiful, he was necessary.
Harry lined up his cock and nudged at the hole. He put a hand on Draco's lower back as he pushed inside, watching his flushed cock disappear as Draco's hole stretched open around it.
Harry choked out a lubricating charm and felt the tight way give, his cock sliding all the way in, slow and sure. Draco moaned piteously. Harry closed his eyes, his head falling back on his shoulders, and he started a deep, short fuck.
"God!" Draco cried. Harry gritted his teeth and lengthened the stroke, his hands going around Draco's hips for leverage.
They started moving together.
Harry began pulling out farther, opening his eyes to watch his cock plunge back inside. He fucked harder. Draco met him. Something started building inside him. Something like orgasm but...more. Harry realised he was emitting a growling whine on every exhale and that Draco had begun to pant. He bent over Draco, wrapping an arm around his waist and fucking faster. He huffed in Draco's ear, licked and bit at his skin. Harry found the sweet spot between Draco's neck and shoulder -- it fit perfectly in his mouth. Holding Draco's flesh in his teeth, he felt it -- the impossible growth, the way slicked even further...
"Christ, what's happening?" Draco gasped.
"Fuck..." Harry grunted, stilling. "Oh fuck..."
"Are you...knotting?" Draco sounded as incredulous as Harry felt.
"Oh my God," Harry sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so." His whole world funneled downward and centered in his huge, thick, slippery cock. He moved it inside Draco's arse experimentally.
Draco groaned.
"Hurt?"
"No!"
"No?"
"No, dammit," Draco growled. Then, "Fuck me, Potter." He shoved himself back into Harry. "Fuck me with it. God, fuck me with it."
Harry started rutting -- short, hard fucks. The distended head of his cock was so far in. Harry's eyes rolled shut on the nearly unbearable pleasure. He bit down on Draco's shoulder once more to keep from screaming.
Draco's head flung back, the muscle going taut in Harry's mouth. "Oh my God," Draco cried. "Oh my God, oh my God..."
Harry whipped his hips. His orgasm hit hard and fast. He started coming up Draco's arse -- and there was so much of it. So, so much of it. "Oh fuck," he cursed again, mouth gasping away from Draco's sweaty skin. He flooded Draco's arse with his semen until he was thrusting through it and it was running out -- and then it just kept going. Harry's muscles contracted spasmodically, and the sensation in his cock bordered on pain. But it wasn't. It was beyond anything he'd ever even imagined. Just when he thought it was over, it wasn't, and another shockwave rode him; another rope of semen jetted from his cock.
If he could have done anything beyond pant and growl, Harry would have laughed with the delirious joy of it. This was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy! And Harry had never felt better, closer, higher, more.
He rested his face between Draco's shoulder blades, the slow tears of his own ecstatic experience mixing with Draco's sweat. He reached down and felt for Draco's waiting cock. When he grasped it, he found it nearly as slick as his own. He began stroking it, his hips slowing to the same rhythm. Harry still dribbled come as Draco's cock slid along his palm, through his fingers, as they moved against one another.
Only seconds went by before Draco gasped, held his breath for a moment, and then began rocking hard against Harry as he came. He moaned and coated Harry's fist, spilling on the floor beneath him, his arse massaging Harry's cock just right.
But even as Draco's moans turned to whining, and his body began to go limp with satisfaction and fatigue, Harry was still hard. He remained knotted deep inside.
He unwrapped his arms from around Draco and rose back up onto his knees. Harry took hold of Draco's hips as Draco began to wilt. "You okay?"
Draco simply nodded into the rug beneath his face.
"I can't stop," Harry gritted out. His cock was throbbing. The need to keep fucking screamed through him.
Draco reached back with both weak hands and pulled open his own arse cheeks for Harry. "Do it," he breathed. "Keep going."
And it wasn't as though Harry had any choice in the matter -- his enlarged cock was stuck inside -- but Christ, the sight of his exposed hole wet with spit and come, the way it changed shape around Harry's cock, from Draco's fingers' grasping...
Harry reared back and began taking long, rough strokes, jostling Draco's body and inching them across the floor. Draco put his hands back down to steady himself.
They grunted and growled and fucked into the night. Harry couldn't go soft. He kept orgasming, too, ejaculating a little -- and then a little more. He went at it for another fifteen minutes like that, the sustained orgasm almost enough to make him black out. And still, when he tried, he couldn't withdraw. It hurt him -- and it hurt Draco if the shocked gasp was any indication.
"Lie down," Harry told him. "Easy." They went down slowly together, until Draco was prone on the rug and a shudder of relief went through him. Harry laid himself out along Draco's back. "All right?"
"Yeah."
Harry ran his hands down under Draco's shoulders and grasped on for leverage. He fucked slow and deep, now not moving more than an inch with every thrust. He was exhausted. His body ached from the sex and stung from their play fighting. Draco whimpered beneath him. "Almost there," Harry crooned. "Almost there..."
His cock began spasming dry. Harry buried his face against Draco's neck to stifle his cries of almost-pain. He couldn't fuck anymore. He simply couldn't.
Harry stopped thrusting. He panted against Draco's back, the salt of it drying on his lips. "I can't..." he whispered. "I can't..." He let his breathing slow -- felt Draco's calm even as small shudders still wracked his body and squeezed down on Harry's engorged cock. Harry gave up. He pulled tiredly at Draco's hip, and Draco rolled with him onto their sides.
Draco's arse nestled back into the crook of Harry's pelvis, and then it was either hold him or be severely uncomfortable. Harry found he didn't dislike the idea. He curled around Draco's body, his arm snuggling the other man back into him. His cock throbbed hard with his pulse.
"Accio wand," Draco called weakly. It flew into his hand, and he then proceeded to transfigure the rug into a mattress, complete with sheets. The top one floated down around them, and Draco Summoned two pillows from his bedroom, too.
Harry wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck in his throat. He rested his head against Draco's cooling back and felt exhaustion and new comfort drag him down, and down, and down -- until he fell asleep, lodged warm and tight inside.
~
Morning broke through the windows, harsh and bright. Draco frowned, squinting his eyes open. The view across his living room floor was disconcerting, if only because he knew he should not have fallen asleep in his living room, but also because of the overturned furniture, the broken candlesticks, the detritus of...
Oh Christ...
There was still a warm, damp hand resting on his hip, wand calluses rough. And Draco's body woke suddenly to the aches and pains, the sharp stinging and the dull throb. To having been used.
At least there wasn't still an enormous, slippery cock stuck up his arse. Potter must have softened and slid out some time after they'd fallen asleep together.
The entirety of what happened slammed down into Draco's previously sluggish mind. He blinked...and swallowed. And then he slowly moved out from under Potter's relaxed grip. Draco winced and stifled the hisses of stinging pain as he sat and moved to the edge of the mattress. He peered back at Potter, who smacked dry lips and then winced, too. Potter groaned, his hand going to the gouge wound as he cracked open his eyes, looked around for a moment in confusion, and then saw Draco sitting there, as naked and replete as he himself was.
"Hey," Potter said.
"Hey," Draco answered.
To his surprise, Potter's gaze drifted down his body appreciatively once before he found Draco's eyes again and asked, "What time is it?"
Draco licked his lips. "I'm not sure." He looked at the mantle. There was a clean spot where his clock had previously sat.
Potter sat up gingerly. "Loo?"
"Down the hall on the right."
Potter scooted to the end of the makeshift bed and then stood. Draco watched him amble out of the room and then down the hall, the shift of his muscular buttocks, his flaccid cock, his strong narrow back sending an unwanted pang of desire through Draco's chest.
Draco waited as the bathroom door shut and then made his way to his bedroom to clean himself up and dress.
It took three Scourgify charms to get himself even half-respectably clean. There were some things only a good shower could really accomplish properly. But by the sound of it, Harry Potter was in his shower at the moment and Draco was loathe to assume the kind of intimacy that meant they could share.
Even though Potter's tongue had thrust in and out of his arse last night.
Even though Draco had licked Potter's bollocks like they were candy.
Even though they'd fucked for hours -- until they couldn't -- until they had no choice but to fall asleep in one another's arms.
Even though, despite the waning now of the moon, Draco could feel him. Draco could still feel him. And it was maddening.
He dressed and made his way to his trusted coffee machine. He started the regular stuff, extra strong. Then he planted his hands on the countertop and sighed.
He had worse problems than a humiliatingly fantastic night with Harry Potter. Bigger even than that he'd likely be sacked when the hospital learned of his machinations, his release of a potentially dangerous patient and disregard for hospital policy, hierarchy, or rules of any kind really.
Draco looked at the back of his hand. He was someone else now, some thing else. That was the real problem. And he wasn't sure he regretted it.
He listened to the gurgle of the coffeemaker, the shutting off of the shower, and Draco closed his eyes.
He didn't open them again until he heard Potter pad barefoot back down the hall and into the living room behind him. Draco didn't want to turn. He didn't want to see the look of revulsion that surely would be contorting Potter's lips and darkening his eyes.
But when Potter spoke, Draco heard no revulsion. "Sorry about your clock."
Draco turned his head and looked at Potter, hands on his hips in the middle of the mess. He'd apparently Transfigured something of Draco's into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, because that's how he was dressed.
Draco frowned at him. "Are those...? Are those my bath towels, Potter?"
Potter looked down at himself, saw the Harrods tag still protruding from a bit of one thousand thread count Egyptian bath sheet, snapped it away with a bit of magic, and then glanced up at Draco with a soft smirk.
Draco blinked. He couldn't actually summon the will to complain. The git looked bloody edible. Draco licked his lips. "I should..." he started. He cleared his throat. "I should take a look at the wound."
Potter said nothing. He simply strode into the kitchen, right up to Draco, and then lifted the bottom of his t-shirt, baring his stomach.
At first Draco couldn't drop his gaze from Potter's. But Potter was patient, just standing there waiting, so Draco finally looked at the healing wound. He reached out and touched his fingers to its boundaries. He pushed a little, prodded, and then smoothed his palms over the expanse of it, the coarse hair arrowing down Potter's stomach springy against his fingers.
It could not be said that his examination was entirely professional.
Draco felt Potter's breath, the warmth of his damp skin. He cleared his throat again. "Any pain?"
"Not too much," Potter answered.
Draco withdrew his hands and turned away. "Do you drink coffee?" He pulled down two mugs without waiting for an answer.
"Coffee would be brilliant," Potter answered, coming to lean a hip against a counter. "Black."
When they each had a mug, they faced one another and sipped. The brew was just this side of bitter. It was utterly reassuring.
"Did I hurt you?" Potter asked.
Draco's eyes went large and round. He felt himself gulp before he could stop it. He frowned at the floor. "No," he said, going for haughty, but it was really more of a croak.
"Not at all?" Potter persisted, and Draco didn't fail to hear the bit of affronted humour in it.
"You wish, Potter," Draco answered, looking back up and meeting his eyes. Truth was, Draco ached -- and in the one place he most didn't want to admit to. They stared at each other, years of malice temporarily evaporated between them.
"I guess it's just me then," Potter said, blinking at Draco over his steaming mug.
"I hurt you?" Draco blurted.
"I feel like I was hit by a truck. A very sexy truck," Potter amended, sipping his coffee. Draco felt the flush creeping up his cheeks. Potter shrugged. "Mind if I sit?"
Draco shook his head.
Potter sat at Draco's kitchen table like it was nothing. Like they did this every full bloody moon. For the first time Draco let himself wonder if that might not be an impossibility.
"I don't imagine St. Mungo's is going to be too happy today," Potter said, interrupting Draco's musings.
Draco gritted his teeth. "No."
"Think you'll be able to explain it to them?" Potter sipped.
Draco laughed. "Are you mad?"
Potter smiled a little.
"I'd sack me," Draco admitted, running a hand through his hair. If he was lucky, he'd be back in the lime green robes. He'd be filing potions recipes. He'd be fetching bandaging. He most certainly would not be the keynote speaker at the conference on unregistered Animagi after this. That was almost laughable.
Draco stared at Harry Potter in his kitchen -- the man who had wrestled him to the floor only hours ago, who'd licked his arse like Draco was sweet wine for his thirst.
Who had transformed him with his cock and held him afterward.
Draco knew he should feel loads worse than he did. He should be owling the hospital right this very moment and begging for his livelihood.
But he had no intention of doing that. The very idea left his blood cool and unmoved. Something else moved inside of him now. Draco blinked and watched as Potter silently dropped his gaze to Draco's throat when he swallowed. Here was the Bloody Boy Who Lived, sipping his coffee and staring at him. Here was the saviour of the magical world himself. The golden boy. The very person who exemplified goodness and everything right. And he was the one jeopardising everything Draco had made of his own life: his integrity, his hard work, his newly unblemished name.
Here he was threatening to undo all the things that, right now, this moment, felt like nothing more than lies.
And all Draco wanted now was to be ruined by him. Not like Voldemort had nearly ruined him. Not ruined with shame and darkness. But Merlin's bollocks, he'd played the good boy for so long now, Draco had all but forgotten what really living felt like.
The back of his hand ached, and Draco looked down at it.
"If they do sack you..." Potter broke the silence.
When he didn't seem inclined to continue, Draco glanced up and prodded, "What, Potter?"
"Would you consider the Ministry?"
"What are you talking about?"
Potter leaned back in the chair, all relaxed confidence. It made Draco want to hex him just a little bit. "I'm talking about the fact that if we'd had a good Healer out in the field -- particularly one with impeccable Defence training -- maybe this wouldn't have gotten so bad." He gestured to his wound.
"Impeccable?" Draco scoffed.
"I misspoke. I meant passable, Malfoy." Potter smirked at him.
Draco took a deep breath, unable to meet those twinkling eyes. "You said yourself my Wolfsblight needs work."
"Is there some reason you couldn't work on it there? We do have potions labs for that kind of thing, you know."
"Are you...offering me a job?"
Potter leaned forward. "Would you say yes? Assuming you are getting your arse sacked that is."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Would I be working for you?"
Potter leaned back again and blinked at him over his mug, completely unreadable. "Yeah."
"Seriously?"
"With. For. Does it matter?"
Draco set his mug down so he didn't spill his coffee laughing. He turned, ran both hands through his hair, and stalked off into the living room. He turned back again and Potter was studying him sedately. Draco felt Potter's cock with every movement of his body, the way it had lodged deeper as he'd knotted. The back of Draco's neck went hot remembering how he'd begged Potter to fuck him with it. And how he had.
Potter stood. "Will you just think about it?"
Think about it. Think about overturning his life, all he'd worked to contain within himself and without. Think about turning over all that careful control, that construction of a satisfactory existence.
To work with him. To be beside him. To be back in the field. To wield a wand in battle again maybe.
To see Potter's face across a conference room table and know what it was like to have that cock in his mouth and coming.
Draco's lips parted, but nothing came out. Potter was clearly mad. Maybe the scratch had made him that way. Maybe he'd been that way for a long while. It made little difference. Draco had a mad wizard in his house – and mad wolfish wizard who he'd love to still hate but couldn't. Draco had Harry Potter here, and he hated that he didn't want him to go.
Perhaps Potter had contaminated Draco with his madness, too. Draco searched himself for the feeling of regret. And still he couldn't locate it.
Only excitement. Only hot, delirious wonder. Only the ecstatic movement of blood through his body and the breathless sense of vertigo. Vertigo of the soul.
"Accio wand," Potter called, catching it when it flew at him from across the room. He tucked it into the back of his waistband. Then he found his boots and began to pull them on, and Draco simply watched him – the easy, graceful motions of his fingers and the way his veins stood out under the skin on his pale wrists.
When he was fully dressed and ready to go, Potter walked over to where Draco stood, barely breathing.
"What are you doing in twenty-eight days?"
"Excuse me?" Draco's throat had gone suddenly dry.
Potter's eyes shone. "You heard me, Draco."
Draco.
I'll take care of you...
Draco cleared his throat and tried to sound normal. "I hadn't yet made any firm plans." And wasn't that a laugh. Have Parkinson and Zabini over for cocktails and canapé, pretend he had never been a Death Eater and that they all hadn't, at one point, been utterly, horrifically wrong – or fuck his lupine brains out with Harry Potter.
Mate with him.
Draco's heart hammered, and he knew Potter could hear it. His cock was beginning to lengthen and ache.
Potter stepped in close. He placed his palm against Draco's cheek. Draco felt sure Potter meant to kiss him (and Draco was going to let him), but instead he leaned down and murmured hotly in Draco's ear. "I've been wondering what it would be like in the Forbidden Forest." His breath sent a shiver through Draco. Potter's body was close, warm. Draco felt himself swaying toward it. "I want to run with you," Potter whispered, his lips grazing the shell of Draco's ear.
Draco caught himself before he whimpered, but just barely.
Potter pulled back slowly, and Draco held his breath. Potter's fingers drifted over Draco's jaw, lingering, pausing, and then dropped to his side.
Suddenly, Potter pulled his wand, and Draco flinched. But then he just turned and waved it at the broken mantle clock. Draco watched as it reassembled itself, the pendulum once again swinging, restarting time.
Potter stowed his wand again and began making his way to the front door. "If you don't want the Ministry job, I'll be happy to put in a good word for you at the hospital -- say I overpowered you or something." He turned back to Draco with a wink and a smirk.
"I'm sure that story suits you just fine, Potter."
"That it does, Malfoy."
They stared at each other, and Draco's body thrummed with remembered pleasure – with present pleasure.
"Your coffee's excellent, by the way," Potter told him then. He smiled brilliantly. Draco sipped in his breath. Then Potter opened his door, stepped through it, and left.
Draco let out all of his breath and ran both hands over his face, into his hair again. He breathed in through his nose, catching just the faintest scent of Potter walking away.
He listened to the rhythm of the pendulum's swing, and he wondered which he might choose:
To run away.
Or run with.
END