Author's Note: To all my faithful Harry/Draco readers who are pissed off at me for my major slacking on Pretty When You Cry, this is for you. Pretty When You Cry will indeed continue. I have a few more chapters written... but Chapter 4 is the hold up. There will be a showdown involving Harry, Ron, and Draco and quite a twist at the end of it... but Im having a hell of a time actually writing it, because there's alot of action to it and I suck at that. Please don't hate me. Read and review, and tell me if you have any ideas as to where PWYC should go next. Oh yeah - and don't forget, Oh Faithful Flamers-Of-Mine - take your best shots. You guys are the only good laugh in my day sometimes, I don't know what I'd do without you :)

DISCLAIMER: If I owned Harry and Draco, they would not appear in children's books.

'Want To': The Claiming of a Soul

By Mizery

       

I want to own him. I want to claim him with whispered words and with silver, butterfly kisses to his neck. I want to seduce him, strip him, admire his slim Seeker’s build and watch his eyes slip away from mine. I want to lift his chin with two fingers and look deep into his eyes... part his lips gently with my tongue and taste his mouth. I want to mold the artwork of his bones and sinews with my hands, trail my fingertips across the petal soft skin of his abdomen and feel him shiver, trace the angles of his hipbones with my tongue and press my lips to the vital artery, the tender place just above his hip flexers. I want him on his back, his breathing shallow, and feel his little fingers tangled in my hair as I work my way down his body with kisses and bites.

I want to make him cry. I want to make him cry and scream and beg, and claw at the sheets beneath him with white knuckles. I want to make him struggle for breath and choke on my name... sink his teeth into my pillow to stifle his screams. I want to make him bleed, and I want to make him love it. I want to make him last for hours... drawing it out until he's shuddering and gasping and thrashing against the pillows _ bring him to the brink of climax and keep him there as long as I can, and then back off juuuuust enough so that he can't finish... but he can't escape me, either. I want to torture him with pleasure that should be pain, and pain that should be pleasure... drive him to the brink of madness with my hands and lips and tongue, and hear my name whispered like a prayer upon his lips, begging for release.

I want him to scream for release; to fight me so hard that I have to tie him to the bedframe, and leave him to dig his nails into his own palms so hard that I have to lick the blood away later. I want him to hate it, but love it ten times more. I want to be inside him body and soul, and smell the heat and sweat and passion, taste the salt of his skin and the bittersweet, metallic flavor of his blood. I want to feel him writhe beneath me, the strain and shivering of his body, and hear the outpouring of his soul in each scream and gasp and whimper that passes his lips.

And when he cannot stand it a single second longer, I want to blow his mind completely... leave him spent and shaking, too exhausted to move. I want to kiss the tears of pain and pleasure from his cheeks, and clean the blood from his wounds with my own tongue. I want him to look up at me with those pure, green eyes as I untie him; I want him to melt into my arms afterwards and feel his breath against the hollow of my collarbone as I soothe him to sleep slowly but surely, ease the tremors from his body with gentle caresses and the tension from his mind with soft, whispered words and kisses. I want to tell him that I love him and feel the last of his apprehension slip away like shadows at dawn, feel his muscles uncoil and his lips curl into a little smile against my neck. I want to hold him until dawn breaks and know that he is mine because he wants to be.

Yes, I want to own him.

And perhaps I do.

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