Author's notes: This story has a bit of a tale to it =) I wrote this over two months ago as an experiment, thought it was horrible and came *this* close to deleting the whole thing. I had completely abandoned it when Silver=) offered to try and save it plot wise. Since I'm completely inexperienced when it comes to writing Draco, and Silver is so fantastic at it, I welcomed her help with open arms. She made some great suggestions and went a long way to convincing me that this story wasn't as absolutely horrific as I had convinced myself it was. I'm still not exactly sure about it, but I love the plot, just hate my writing =) And now Draco wants to turn it into a series, but I think it most likely stands better alone ... Thanks once again to my fabulous Beta; Weasleytwin2, with whom I couldn't get by without *hugs*

Warning: There is a sex scene that could almost push this up to an NC-17, but as it is surrounded by plot I decided to keep it at R.

Note about the ages: We don't know officially the ages of Percy or Draco. As this takes place in Percy's seventh year, he could be aged anywhere between 17-19. I have him at 17. Draco could be anywhere between 13-15. I have him at 15. I'm basing this on the schooling experiences I've had in the past, where it is common for people to be one of three ages in any given year.

Desire. Such a simply concept, so oft misunderstood by the masses. People tended to complicate it, to attach unneeded and inappropriate emotions to it as window dressing in an attempt to deny it its true form. Draco had never had such qualms. He had always seen desire for what it was, a lustful need for control. To have someone submit to you completely, to consume them entirely. THAT was desire.

He had craved the control of only one other person. The scarlet haired sidekick to that Potter brat had begun invading his dreams almost immediately, taunting him not solely during his days but his nights as well. His fiery attitude screamed to be broken, his rebellious innocence just waiting to be dominated.

And Draco had been the one who had wanted to do it. He had lusted greedily over it, visualised the different methods and means in which to do it in. To control was erotic, to dominate - supreme. Yet, he had never been able to dominate the other boy - was lucky to a score an insipid one-up on him with a bitter comment or sarcastic comeback.

He had wanted more, *needed* more. Desired more. But Ron had always remained tantalisingly untouchable, and it had driven Draco to the brink of explosion.

That was until, he had found himself a more willing, albeit unlikely substitute. Percy Weasley. Who would have ever thought? Yet a simple look was all it had taken...

A pile of books tottering unsteadily in his arms, the older Weasley had still stopped momentarily to firmly remind him that loitering in the corridors was forbidden. Draco had rewarded his efforts with some idle remark, delight making itself present in the form of a casual smirk when a fiery red had stained the tips of the Prefect's ears. A brow borrowing lecture surely would have followed if it had not been for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

There were few things that Draco ever thanked a Gryffindor for, let alone their elite sports team. Yet circumstance had provided him with an opportunity that made such a thought justified.

All it had taken was a random elbow for Percy's books to go flying. Thoroughly predictable, really - and highly unlikely a mere accident. His smirk had grown with glee as the boy had scrambled to collect his books, gangly in his awkwardness. The flush had spilled across and then down his face while the laughter of his own house mates faded as they all disappeared down the corridor.

Or more aptly, all but one.

It had surprised Draco when the Quidditch Captain stopped to help pick up the books that one of his team mates had dispersed. Obviously embarrassed, it seemed to surprise Percy as well, who had only been able to respond with a clipped "Thank you". It had paled like a waning moon in comparison to the brilliant smile Oliver had offered in return, before he stalking off after his team mates, yelling at them to wait up.

And that was where the look made its unwanted appearance. Quiet eyes had involuntarily trailed after the powerful form, pain and loneliness battling for prominence. And underneath it all, an emotion it had taken Draco several moments to decipher.

The stuck up Weasley in love with one of the most sickeningly popular students in the school? Now *that* was something that Draco had never suspected of the puritan Percy. Oh, Oliver had his fair share of admirers, something Draco knew irked his own Quidditch Captain, Marcus, to no end. Draco had never seen the draw of the older boy, personally. All broad shoulders and gleaming teeth, he preferred his men more ... submissive.

Percy didn't glance back at him until Oliver had disappeared around the corner. Obviously about to continue his reprimand, words had fallen silently from his lips when Draco had greeted him with nothing more than a look of cool disinterest and a raised eyebrow.

The fleeting fear that had flickered through those expressive eyes still brought a smile to Draco's face.

"Shouldn't you be at class, Malfoy?" Percy had quickly spoken, the impatience in his voice a weak attempt to divert him. He had played the game, however, and headed off to Potions without even a parting comment.

Potions was yet again where his thoughts were dominated by a Weasley. Yet this time it wasn't the blunt Ron that sulked in his head, but the older Weasley instead, and how he could use this new found knowledge for his own gain. Opportunities like this rarely came along.

He had bided his time; these things should not be rushed, after all. Half the fun came from deciding on the game to play, what angle to attack from. Which web to catch your prey in.

Physically, Percy was much like Ron in looks. Slightly more slender, shoulders not quite as broad, perhaps a touch taller. It would have been a convoluted lie to say that Draco hadn't almost instantly seen the possibilities.

Same game, different player.

He had expected the older Weasley to be even more challenging than Ron, more distant and unapproachable. It was the taste of failure that had at first spurred him on.

That failure had never come.

It hadn't taken long for Draco to discern the obvious differences between the two brothers. Where as Ron's personality meant he was unreachable emotionally beyond anger, Percy was almost fragile. The red hot anger was missing. In its place was a facade of impatience and annoyance that poorly masked an aching need for understanding, acceptance. It was there, under the surface, almost begging for someone to notice.

Yet no-one had. Well, not before him, of course. It was amazing how unobservant some people could be. It would have been almost sinful for him *not* to have taken advantage of the situation.

And as everyone knew, he was nothing if not an angel.

It had been easy, almost too easy for Draco's tastes. A small handful of weeks spent tormenting the other boy over his loneliness and reputation had been all it had taken. There had been little need to break something that had obviously been broken a long time ago. He would have to applaud them for that, the Weasleys. They had certainly done a thorough job.

It had been during a taunting session at the library one evening that all had come to head. Exasperated, Percy had turned to him, stiffly demanding him to go annoy someone else. Not an unusual response in itself, but Draco's reply was certainly a variation of his usual all knowing smirk. Instead, he had kissed him. Experienced lips pressed firmly against ones of a far more innocent nature, it had taken the shocked Weasley several moments to realise what was happening. Pushing away, Percy had splutteringly demanded to know what the hell he had been thinking.

A curse word from those sweet lips. Certainly a surprise. Calmly, he had told the Weasley that he desired him. Wanted him. The confused look that had come across the other boys face had been almost cute. Obviously he had never thought of himself as desirable before. That hadn't bothered Draco - *he* had never considered him desirable either, not before noting his similarities to Ron. As a substitute, the Weasley would fill the role adequately.

And he had. Far more than he had ever expected him to.

Oh, at first the feather light kisses and sensually whispered words had been met with a disdained stupor and confused rejection, yet it really had been mere moments before Percy was moaning gently into his mouth, arms snaking hesitantly around the back of Draco's neck. It was amazing how open to seduction loneliness could make a person.

And so it had begun. He had taken Percy for the first time that night, in one of the many empty classrooms that so conveniently populated the school. Robes discarded, he had lavished in the taste of the exotic skin, ran his hands over the slender form. Like a dying flame being teased be a light breeze, every touch brought a response - a quickening of the breath as idle hands trailed over slim hips, a soft gasp as a caress became not quite so gentle. He had never imagined that the Weasley would be so responsive ...

Occasional moments of hesitation were not tolerated. Doubt was dispersed with hard, possessive kisses, shoulders held down powerfully when they threatened to rebel. He could still remember the exact moment Percy had surrendered completely to him, how the tension had seemed to simply evaporate.

It was the singular most erotic moment he had ever experienced.

But mental submission was not solely what he demanded, and it was certainly not what he would only settle for. Without waiting or asking for confirmation, he had flipped Percy over, ignoring the way the slim body had tensed beneath him. Inpatient fingers probed uninvited, stretching muscles roughly.

And then, he had entered him. Thrusting into the lithe body with no pretence of gentleness, he had buried himself deep inside, spurred on by the cry of pain that had ripped itself from the other boys throat. With each thrust, the sense of power and possession had grown, consuming him in its heat and rawness. A smirk had grown on his face as the sobs from beneath him began to mingle with involuntary moans of pleasure, as Percy had begun to move with him, as opposed to simply lying there, rigid.

Power was bliss, and he was completely and utterly in control. If he had pretended that the body beneath him was of a different Weasley yielding to him so submissively, well, he was to be forgiven. With a final thrust, he came, letting his orgasm take free reign, and mere moments later the other boy reach his own climax. Withdrawing slowly, they had stayed like that for an aeon. Draco had felt the small tremors that had taken over the body beneath him, the hitched breathing that seemed desperate to regain some normality, yet was failing miserably to do so.

The moment Draco had rolled away, however, Percy had been almost instantly on his feet. A cluster of apologies, threats and other such comments had tumbled from his lips as he had thrown on his robe, unable to meet Draco's eyes. In an instant, he was gone.

And stage two of the game had begun.

He let Percy avoid him for days, amused at the way no-one else seemed to notice the quieter demeanour of the usually blusterous Prefect. Tiring quickly of it, he had grabbed Percy late one evening while he was on the way back from some meeting, no doubt, and kissed him roughly, re-claiming those lips with his own. This time there had been no initial resistance, Percy had responded with desperate heat, his own arms sliding around Draco's waist, drawing him closer.

The relationship - and the term was one Draco used loosely, had been going on for several months now. Draco doubted even the foolish Percy thought the relationship was anything beyond sex, yet he had never once rejected Draco's advances, nor ever taken the lead or initiative. It was a partnership in which both needs were satisfied - Draco had his control and domination, Percy his desperately needed attention and false affection. The fact that they were both with the wrong person never came up.

Their routine had a sense of unpredictable familiarity to it. Warning was rarely given beyond a whispered demand - if that. More often it was unscripted, simply lustful need driving Draco to find the other boy and take him. Never gentle or tender, their moments still varied, depending on how agitated Draco had become over Ron. The want to control the younger brother was often taken out on the older one two fold, and at times he almost seemed to spin wildly out of control.

Percy, being the good little whore he was, never complained.

Draco was late for tonight's rendezvous, rather ironic considering it was in his own bedroom. While the rest of the Slytherins had already departed for Christmas break, Draco wasn't due to leave for a couple more days. It took him only minutes to slip into his common room, then onto the room he shared with the rest of his year. Percy was there, as he always was. Having guessed correctly which of the beds was his, he was sitting there, idly playing with chess pieces that adorned the board on his bedside table.

Draco found himself scowling at the set. He had brought the game only so he could train himself to better than Ron, to steal his own talent from him. Yet he had found that even there he had been unable to dominate Ron.

"Well?" he simply said, when it appeared Percy had failed to notice he had entered the room. Startled, the other boy looked up.

"Draco. You're late." It was said almost nervously. Draco shrugged, reaching up to unclasp his robe - talking had never been a foreplay of theirs. So when Percy spoke up again, it was with annoyance tinged with surprise that he stopped and turned to him.

"Don't," he simply said, rising to his feet, one of the chess pieces still in hand. "This .. this ..." Exasperated, Percy threw his arms out in a gesture of irritation. "I ... it's over, Draco." Draco looked at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean, it's over?" he growled, taking a menacing step towards Percy, who seemed to simply ignore the gesture.

"Us. This. The twisted game we've been playing. I can't .. I can't do this anymore."

"The game is not over until *I* say it is over," Draco replied, glaring. THIS had never happened before. "What brought you to the conclusion that *you* could end it?" He smirked harshly as the other boy dropped his head in distress. "Or is this just some pathetic attempt of resistance?"

"Don't you ever get tired of this?" Percy asked quietly in response, raising his eyes so they met Draco's. "Tired of all the masks, the layers we build up so thick that even we no longer know what lies beneath it all? And each layer we pretend hides the pain, yet all it really does is create more." He broke off with a sigh, seeing the obvious disdain lingering in Draco's eyes. "I'm not sure I know who I am anymore, Draco. But I do know that I'm not this."

"What do you think your brothers will think when they discover you have been sleeping with me, Hmm?" Draco threatened with a smirk, disliking this sudden and unexpected loss of control and desperate to regain it. At the same time, he refused to let what Percy had said sink in further than a superficial level.

"Most likely something similar to what your father would say, no doubt," Percy replied, brushing past Draco as he headed for the door. Just before reaching it, he paused, then turned around. "It's been ..." he broke off, searching for an adequate word. He smiled humourlessly when he couldn't find one. "Well, it's certainly been something."

"If you walk away from this, Percy - you lose everything. No-one will hold you, or touch you, or show emotion other than dislike towards you. You will go back to being nothing, empty."

"Being with you didn't stop me from being empty," Percy replied, before looking at the chess piece he still had in his hand. "Here," he added, throwing it back to Draco who easily caught it.

"He will never love you," Draco hissed as Percy turned once again for the door. Again Percy paused, yet this time he didn't turn to face Draco. "No, he won't," Percy agreed softly, pain laced into each word. "Just like Ron will never give you what you crave." In stunned silence, Draco watched the other boy leave. How had - how long?

The chess piece in his hand seemed to burn him. He glanced down at it, the irony of Percy's choice of piece not escape him.

A pawn. How cute.

With a viciousness that was often reserved for moments like these, he sent the piece spiralling with unrestrained force in the direction Percy had left, mindless to the way it skittled harshly across the polished floor. No one made a fool out of him, certainly not some socially challenged Weasley! This was *his* game. *He* chose the rules. *He* dictated what moves were made and when. He never lost. Never. And yet, a small voice seemed to whisper to him, taunting him in its certainty.

"Checkmate."