TEMPTATION IS THE BEAST

Written by Playgirl Eugene

Author's Note : This is inspired by Narazaki Souta's Katsuai Monster. Oh, this would a half-hearted comedy that mainly revolves around romance and perhaps a load of angst or something later. But there will be a plot, as always. Oh, and for them who read Longbottom's Solution 069, I will try to update it soon. Forgive me if there's any typo or grammar errors (which will be there, I assure you) since I did the beta-reading myself. Please just tell me if you notice any mistake.

Standard Disclaimer : The Harry Potter series and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, is created and owned by JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing of it and I do not earn profit of any kind from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer stands firm for the whole of the story. Furthermore, if I use any material that needs to be disclaimed, there will be individual credit where due.

Summary : Draco Malfoy had always known he was unnaturally captivating, which had people speculating him of veela descendant. He was not. The Malfoys had always been, and would always be, man-eaters.

Rating : M/NC - R/18

Warning(s) : Slash/yaoi/male x male, cussing. If any of the aforementioned warnings offends you, I suggest you turn back now. I will not appreciate anyone flaming me just because they didn't read this.

Setting and Timeline : Set in the seventh year while ignoring Half-Blood Prince and the Deadly Hollow.

Character Setting : Draco/Harry, Ron/Hermione, others undecided

Chapter Details : None in particular.

-- Prologue --

"Relax, Potter. I don't bite."

Sex to me is… food.

- - - - -

In his half-awakened state, Draco Malfoy was made keenly aware of an unfamiliar presence in his room. He could never sleep that well whenever there was someone else nearby; courtesy of his father's ardent discipline. Pressed against his body was another's; pliant, warm, with decidedly feminine curves.

Slowly, he opened his bleary eyes and was presented with the sight of a sleeping brunette. He recognized that she was a sixth year Ravenclaw, Payne something. She was quite pretty actually with thick wavy hair, small face, and rather voluptuous body, although Draco remembered her being considerably more attractive last night than now.

Draco's frown echoed between his groomed eyebrows as he appraised her; the girl was sleeping with her mouth hanging open unattractively and was that a pool of drool at the corner of her mouth?

Draco was mentally aghast. He was exceptionally neat, meticulous for a boy his age after all. Her sleeping habit turned him off completely, cancelling any charm the girl might otherwise have.

Silently, Draco detangled himself and slid from the bed. Pulling on his dark blue sleeping robe and tying the sash loosely around his waist, he rounded the bed and forcefully yanked the covers from Payne's body.

Payne immediately jerked awake with a start and reached out to grab for the blanket that Draco held just an inch out of her reach. "W-wha… what was that for?" With a sleepy scowl, she furiously rubbed her eyes.

"I don't remember saying that you could stay." Draco responded rather coldly as he dropped the duvet to the floor. "You overstayed your welcome. Now get up and get out."

Her brown eyes widened with visible hurt and confusion as she stared at him. Draco snorted; obviously, Payne was under the impression that she was good enough for something more than a quick shag. Not only that she had unattractive sleeping habits, she was delusional too.

"B-but why, Draco? I thought l-last night you… I… you said—"

Draco twitched as the girl dared to address him so intimately but paid more attention to the tearful edge of her unintelligent stuttering and promptly interrupted her before she had the chance to burst into a sobbing wreck. He was never good handling – or tolerating – females, especially females with emotional hormones.

"What? Are you bloody daft?" he said in a condescending tone worthy of a Malfoy, "Did you seriously think that I fucked you because I like you?" Here, Draco snorted. "You weren't that good anyway. Besides, you snore."

Like a flipped switch, Payne's expression shifted to that of highly offended one. Face burning bright red, she snarled at him as she stood from the bed and moved around the room to pick up her scattered underwear from where it was strewn carelessly near the foot of the bed in the flurry of passion the previous night.

Draco eyed her choice of lingerie – small and nearly transparent piece of indecent show of fake chastity – with distaste as he dispassionately watched Payne slide it on her legs.

'Red. With lace. And covers nothing really. How… modest. I thought she's supposed to be a Ravenclaw?'

"I should've known!" She tossed her blouse on, flattening it against her stomach before pulling on her skirt. "They were bloody right when they told me to stay away from you; you're a complete arsehole!"

"You're blaming me now?" Draco scoffed, wrapping his left arm around his stomach while using pushing his blond hair away from his face with his other hand. "From what I remember, you seemed to be enjoying it quite thoroughly last night. So shut up or I'll show you the real reason why you should stay away from me."

He had gone through this enough time – to garner his libertine status, hated reputation, and improvise to the situation for that matter – and was all too used to the old scenario. His conquests, females especially, always seemed to get the wrong idea.

Payne looked incensed beyond words, but didn't say anything else. It was never a smart move to provoke the Malfoy's heir; he was a right bastard, but one who always did what he said he would and would always get away with it simply because he was an accomplished Slytherin like that. Another thing that was obvious about Malfoy was the fact that he had a volatile temper and was capable of any dirty, underhanded tactics just to make a point.

"Now, I'm sure you know the way out." With an overly dramatic and patronizing pose, he shooed her away. "And do hurry; I'm in desperate need to breathe air free of your morning breath."

Draco stuffed his pinky inside his right ear when the enraged girl screamed him a hundred kind of arse before she quickly gathered her shoes and robe and furiously stomped out of the Head Boy's room, never relenting in her equally furious tirade of bloodied incentives. With a mocking wave to her back, Draco settled back again on his bed as the painting closed with a loud slam.

He closed his eyes and sighed. This routine was amusing, repetitive, and bordering on annoying really.

Draco Malfoy was well known as a notorious scoundrel and an insatiable bastard, though admittedly a very good-looking bastard. Clearly, he was gorgeous enough to have people so willingly crawl and eat off his hands despite the popular knowledge of his impious reputation of debauchery and immorality. People that came to him should've known the consequences of getting involved with him beforehand.

Even when they accused him of several nasty condemnations later, he never felt compelled to cater their delusions. He had made it a lucid point to people that sex was just that – sex, a basic need and virtually nothing more. They just couldn't seem to wrap their little minds around that fact and always flattered themselves by thinking that they were special.

After that, Draco was simply an overly frivolous prat as far as they were concerned, but they didn't realize that when Draco Malfoy said that sex was a basic need, he did mean it quite literally. Much as he enjoyed participating in sexual engagements, but foremostly, it was something he had to do in order to survive, just like a human did when they eat.

Draco Malfoy had always known he was unnaturally captivating, which had people speculating him of veela descendant. He was not. The Malfoys had always been, and would always be, man-eaters.

Draco, like the rest of his long Malfoy ancestry anywhere – his father included – had always prided the purity of their old blood and that much was true. Being a man-eater was not a matter of the blood, it was a matter of magical tradition and equal trade.

Supposedly long ago, one of his ancestors made a contract with the devil – a close cousin to the incubi – as it was not exactly an unusual thing that conventional pureblood families do in the past. In exchange for wealth and power, the Malfoys were made unable to eat like normal people. Their ability to eat normally was taken away; meaning that they wouldn't even feel it when they consumed ordinary food though they could still pretend so that they could imagine themselves as humans. Not a single Malfoy had ever tasted any delicacies their money could afford since, no matter how they craved. The only thing that would satisfy their hunger would be to devour another human.

Not that they ate human as literally as the name suggested, but they did depend on the energy in the human's bodily fluid; blood, saliva, tears, sweat, cum. Sex was one of the fastest, easiest way of spicing the flavour because when the human felt good, they tasted better.

However, there were always humans that didn't suit his taste bud even if he had sex with them. Payne last night had been one of the aforementioned humans. She had tasted like ash; there was once before her that tasted like overly matured apple – so sweet that it was rotten.

Normally, Draco would be more careful – picky, if you would – about what he put in his mouth. But last night, he had been so hungry and nearly collapsed on his way back from the Great Hall. He was desperate enough to settle for anything that he wouldn't usually touch otherwise. A bypassing Matilda Payne happened to be the nearest thing willing and available. It didn't matter even if it had been someone else, so long as Draco could eat.

Draco regretted that he hadn't taken his father's words to heart. His father had always reprimanded him to mind what he ate, because food of inadequate quality would simply left a bad taste and hunger for more. He was still hungry now, and worse still, he wanted something to wash away the aftertaste Payne left. Even when it concerned to their diet, Malfoys would never settle for anything but the best in the class.

Besides, his mother was going to scold him if she ever found out that he had been consuming junk foods outside. But it had been difficult to feed lately; everything tasted so bland, bordering on revolting. It wasn't so bad in the past, but it was gradually getting more and more prominent – Draco started to lose his appetite since everything he ate slowly lost its appeal and could only feed when he was so delirious from hunger that he could not afford of being picky.

This was bad, he decided, and even now he wanted to throw up.

With a groan, Draco pulled himself standing and headed for the bathroom to get ready. He wondered if he should just skip class today; most of the professors were aware of his condition and would pardon him if he said he was not feeling so good – which was, for once, the plain truth.

Let's see, today's first lesson is Potion. Professor Snape would—wait, Potion.

With Gryffindors.

Not even his hunger and exhaustion could make him ditch a lesson with Gryffindors. Well, one particular Gryffindor anyway.

Ever since six years ago, the moment they stepped into this castle, he had since lived to ruffle Potter's perfect feathers; it was his only entertainment all year long. He was addicted in seeing how Potter's calm, expressive green eyes blazed with furious intensity, how his adorable face heated up with suppressed anger – it was worth all the detention, the unexpectedly strong punches, and strayed hexes.

It was refreshing, relaxing, infuriating, and thrilling.

Draco realized that he sounded obsessed, as if he had made it his life goal to make Potter's life more miserable with a single-minded dedication. It was his silly indulgence; his very own privilege. Better than even sex any day.

Suddenly, the prospect of going through another boring day with unsettled hunger did not seem so bad after all.

He got to see Potter today—

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

—and be his Potion partner too.

He nearly moaned with delight when he saw the look on Potter's face when Professor Snape – bless the man – mentioned their names respectively in the context of partnering up, but he refrained himself.

Sometimes, he wondered if his favourite professor got off on the guilty pleasure of tormenting Potter like he did. He didn't miss the sneer twisting Snape's thin, sarcastic lips when Potter threw him a glare as potent as any decent Cruciatus.

After a sympathetic look from the mudblood and a comforting pat on the back from the weasel; Potter begrudgingly trudged to his side, all the while wearing a look of near childish petulance on his small face.

Draco sneered at the supposed saviour, relishing the scowl settling on Potter's delicately boned face. Apparently, Potter was in not in the mood to cater his whims. Not that Draco would give him a choice for that matter.

"What?" Potter snapped after noticing the suspicious leer his blond haired nemesis threw his way. For someone so small, Potter sure knew how to sound otherwise.

"Nothing, Potter." Draco said with a smirk, flipping his Potion book to indicated page before turning back to the dark haired teen. Potter narrowed his eyes but got into position, putting his book on the table and searched for the same page.

"It's a little complex." Draco said, gesturing the instruction on how to make a banshee repellent potion. He turned to Potter, "Of course I don't believe that, with your superior ineptness, you can handle something like this and I'm not risking a Troll for you, Potter. I'll handle the rest; just stand there and look pretty."

Though he looked offended, Potter didn't say anything in reply even if he did find Draco's words to be strange. Draco knew he was right; between them both, he was always the better in potion. "Or you can start by chopping the belladonna." Draco said with a smirk befitting of his surname. "Now do make yourself useful and try not to blow anything up this time."

Potter glared at him indignantly. "I never blow anything up, Malfoy. Won't mind landing you one though," he hissed; sounding too much like a vindictive snake for someone who was supposed to be the epitome of all Gryffindor goodness.

Although Draco was painfully aware that Potter – who might still be a virgin by the way – was far too innocent and virtuous to mean it sexually, he decided to mess with the naive, young hero anyway.

"Aww, is that an offer, Potter?" Draco cooed, "How bold. I wasn't expecting that from a goody-goody like you."

Potter frowned in confusion as he tried to process what Draco had said. The blond haired Malfoy nearly rolled his eyes; for someone with his intelligence, Potter could be so naive. It took Potter exactly ten seconds to catch what it meant and the said Slytherin watched with unhealthy interest as Potter's face turned white, to bright red, and finally green with amusing speed.

Potter glared at him as he pressed his lips together in embarrassment. With his messy black hair, too big robes, and scowl, Potter looked decidedly like an offended cat. How adorable, Draco thought, pathetic but adorable.

"I won't mind taking you up that offer, Potter. How's after lunch sound? Down the corridor heading to the Gryffindor Tower?"

Draco leaned forward slightly and laughed as Potter took a step back while eyeing him suspiciously through his glasses, looking indignant, offended, and embarrassed simultaneously. "Relax, Potter. I don't bite." Too hard. Draco informed him blithely, "Half-blooded peasants are not my taste anyway."

Potter's glare could've made any self-respecting wizard folded their tails between their legs neatly before crawling under a ditch. But Draco was not just any wizard. Since the moment Potter rejected his hand six years ago, he had claimed the position of Potter's worst enemy after the Dark Lord himself – something he assumed with much pride.

But, while it was Potter's born duty to defeat the Dark Lord, Malfoy was in its own class. He was a constant in Potter's life. Potter's commonsense of normality revolved around him and he intended to keep it that way.

Snape, who had been snapping away at a shaking Longbottom, paused when he caught the sight of his favourite student and least favourite student at one corner of his classroom.

Potter was half-heartedly glaring at the smug looking young Malfoy, although he had this suspicious look on his face too. He wondered what had Draco done this time. Oh, Snape knew of course. He was every inch a prejudiced, bitter bastard, but he was anything but an idiot. He hated Potter's typical arrogance and guts – both father and son – but was painfully aware that Potter was never at fault when it concerned Draco, even if he did pretended not to notice the sabotage that the Slytherins often played on.

Practically the whole school knew about Draco's not so discreet obsession over Potter like he couldn't get enough air without him; one had to be blind, deaf, and retarded to not notice. It was hard to speak about the Malfoy heir in a sentence without inadvertently mentioning his integral counterpart, the Potter brat. Being the self-centred, spoiled brat that he was raised to be, Draco was willing to do virtually anything to keep Potter's attention on him. If it meant that he had to make Potter hate him, so be it. Apparently, Potter's denying of his hand six years ago hadn't sat well with Draco's groomed ego.

He watched with mild interest as Potter inched to the end of the table; leaning as far away from the Slytherin as physically possible, like his sanity depended on it. He started to work; dicing the crocodile heart – awkward and clumsy as always though he had suspiciously able hands – while every now and then throwing wary glances at Draco who was skilfully extracting the belladonna essence.

Well, as long as they didn't end up killing each other – because he refused to be involved in anything that had barmy lunatics like Albus Dumbledore and sadistic lunatics like Lucius Malfoy in the same room – he didn't really care. He was simply content with terrorizing blubbering first years, taking points, and messing up Potter; but that was as far as it get. He had enough in his hands.

Draco, on the other hand, was not as calm in the inside as he had successfully projected on the outside – a mask constructed naturally from living with Lucius Malfoy for too long – and couldn't help himself from stealing glances at the Gryffindor standing beside him, butchering the heart with silent though inelegant dedication and refrained himself from making a nasty comment about Potter's lack of refinement in favour of assessing the boy from this proximity to his heart's content.

He had noticed before of course – from their several direct encounters in the past, physically or otherwise – that Potter had an awfully nice smell. He had always smelled like sweet morning dew and warm magic, a gentle combination – but also of raw power that created a lovely contrast.

But as of late, he had been giving off this… heavenly scent like nothing Draco had ever known before. It was a delicate mix of everything he liked; the grass of Quidditch pitch, sex, power, and pure magic. From this close, with Potter sweating slightly because of the warm temperature of the classroom as a few pairings had already phased to the boiling stage of the potion, Draco swallowed a mouthful of venom that pooled like malicious, sweet honey in the pit of his stomach – never mind that he didn't know how honey tasted like. The smell was making his stomach tightened even more.

Just to be sure, Draco sniffed the air again and did not know whether he should be groan or moan when the seductive scent assaulted his nostrils. Yes, no doubt that smell came from Potter. "Potter, have you been using some kind of perfume?"

Potter's head snapped up and looked at Draco shrewdly. "What? Why would I—I'm not a bloody girl, you git! Why are you asking me that?"

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Because you smell, scarhead."

"I do not!" Potter spat, but raised his sleeve to his nose anyway. He then sniffed his collar and robe, but frowned again with confusion when he smelled nothing wrong. Draco could guess what he was thinking; Malfoy was just being a prat again.

Potter distracted, Draco looked away and tried to restrain himself from reaching out and inhaling that delicious scent and licked the sweat off Potter's baby soft skin. He smelled so good; like pure temptation. Draco balled his fists and gripped the edge of the table hard enough to crack it and tried to get a semblance of control.

Bloody Potter.

For the first time in their long standing history of competitive disputes, Draco Malfoy did not try to provoke Harry Potter into a fight and instead opted to look away from him in hope of blocking the divine smell but found himself inadvertently failing. Potter looked pretty much content leaving Draco to his thoughts – although he did look apprehensive and dubious at the lack of spiteful, malicious provocations – but simply assumed that Draco had either grew bored or something as shallow.

Potter never did think much of the young Malfoy's intelligence, as did his courage. But if anything, he gave credits to Draco's perfected art of cunning. Draco Malfoy was the schemer, and more often than not, up to something not good. He simply had to prepare himself it this was just calm before the storm.

Not once did Potter ever notice Draco's irregular breathings and the strained pained look on his face.

Potion was, for once, oddly peaceful – even with Longbottom successfully melting another cauldron.

-

-

Later that day, Malfoy dragged a petite seventh year Hafflepuff to an empty classroom and ravaged her senseless, as if to vent his irrational frustration; wanting to chase away the onslaught of near unbearable hunger and desperately trying to forget Potter's scent – and stop visualizing the blue eyed, red haired girl writhing and moaning wantonly, crying out his name with reverence beneath him from changing into a familiar green eyed, black haired delicate boy with a telling lightning scar across his forehead.

He was still left unsatisfied. The girl had tasted no better than Snape's foulest potion to him. Draco was getting distressed with his condition; feeling like he was trapped between the rock and a very hard place. Vaguely, he knew what he wanted; he knew what could save him – he simply refused to admit it.

In his mind's eye, Potter was so erotic, so adorable, so delectable in his arms and it fuelled his lust, his hunger. Potter would taste heavenly, if his smell was anything to go by with.

He was sure now; he was in denial and more importantly, he was in a huge trouble.

- - - - -

Sex to me is food; a mean of making them taste better.

End's Note : Did you enjoy it? I did when I was writing it. The next chapter will be longer and hopefully posted soon. I hope it turned out good anyway. This may have a slightly different pace than my other stories, but enjoy it anyway. I am very open to constructive criticism and feel free to speak if there's something you think I should add or change. If it's not too much to ask, please review.