I had originally planned to skip the warnings and get right into the story, but just in case for those who forgot what the dangers of M entitles.

In this story holds:

Fellatio. No-no words. Nudity.

x

This is a Harry x Draco story. You've been warned.

I claim nothing but the plot, writing, title and summary.

A heavy thud sounded as Draco slammed Harry against the wall; his fists bunched up within the flannel designs of Harry's shirt. The platinum-haired blonde dove within the nape of his neck, kissing and marking.

"Draco, you wa--" His words were cut short by the fluttered gasp that escaped his pink lips.

"Shut up, you twat," he said between kisses. Draco's hands began to slide down the cool fabric, before slipping underneath the black haired man's shirt. The sleek body underneath his hands as he roamed sent shivers down his spine. "Oh God, Harry…" Draco gave a particularly deep hicky on Harry's, no, on his Harry's neck.

A ghost of a smirk fell before his face before his own hands fisted Draco's hair, harshly tugging at the strands, forcing Draco's head up. "I know my neck's tantalizing, love, but please," Harry muttered, harshly nipping at Draco's lips, "my lips need your affection too." As his green orbs watched Draco's lids flutter close in bliss, he himself began to feel that his own pants were much too restrained.

"No scars from war? How do you do it." Draco ghosted his fingers over Harry's unnaturally smooth back, while seeking entrance into his lover's mouth.

"Glamour," was the only word he could grunt out. Harry, too lost in the crevasses of Draco's mouth, did not consider his response. His hands no longer fondled with the silver hair; they began to work with the button's of his – God yes, his – partner's shirt.

Heavy breaths filled the air, as each undid their lover's clothing. "My," Draco smirked. "Someone's gotten quite the turn on." His lithe pale fingers ghosted over Harry's package, covered by – unfortunately – slacks. "Time to free the little bird, eh?"

Harry moaned. Those fingers just loved to taunt and tease. He couldn't even work a word in. If he could've, the emerald eye boy would've said, 'Hey. It's a big bird.' Ah, but only an illicit hiss escaped his lips.

The sound of metal working against leather filled the air as Draco began to undo Harry's belt. Breaking away from the game of tonsil hockey (however crude the term may be), the graceful man began to slide down to his knees, planting light, wet kisses on Harry's exposed chest on his way down. Pale hands clutched onto Harry's buttocks, before Draco so lovingly began to pull down his love's zipper – with his teeth.

What he saw, though, was not so much a shock as it would've been. "Commando, love?"

A gentle laugh touched Draco's ears from above. "I expected this to happen as much," whispered Harry. His entire lower half bucked as his member was taken in lovingly by Draco. "Oh God." The heated breath surrounding his stick, the wet tongue… especially when it ran over the vein-- Oh!" Harry moaned, his heart pounding and thudding heavily. 'I never knew it felt this good. No wonder why I--' Harry's eyes broke out of the haze of passion they were in. 'No, I won't think about that. This is Draco.' He quickly slid his eyes shut, losing himself quickly to the heavy head bobbing by Draco once more.

Draco alternated from shallow licking of the head to deep-throating. One hand remained clamped on his tanned lover's arse, while the other pumped what Draco couldn't get in his mouth. As the blonde listened, he could hear Harry's breaths growing even more erratic and shallow. 'So soon?' Draco quickly pulled out.

Harry moaned, his hips bucking in an attempt to feel the warmth around his member once more. He grunted in discontent, eyes boring down at the white-blond for a reason as to why he stopped.

"Bedroom. And take off your glamour. I'd like to see," Draco paused. "No… feel you. The real you." The blonde began tugging at his lover's hand, pulling him wayward to the bedroom.

Harry quickly broke out of his stupor then. His hard cock begging to be released was no longer on the forefront of his mind. How did he know about the gla—Oh, right. Harry had slipped up. The emerald-eye boy quickly made corrections to his actions. "Oh love, can we not? I just want to be in you…"

The bedroom door swung open, and Draco quickly pushed Harry to the bed. Still in his own fiery, passionate haze, Draco merely smirked and muttered, "One, I'll be the one in you, and two, yes, take it off. You've never not worn your glamour."

As his back landed on the plush blanket, the intense fear in Harry grew. The topic of the glamour allowed the locked chest in the deep parts of his mind to be released. Memory after memory began to cloud his vision, and slowly but surely, Draco began to seemingly morph into someone crueler. Fatter. Vicious. His eyes grew cloudy with fear, but said nothing.

Draco mistook the hazed look of his partner as passion. Without further words, Draco once again dove in for a chaste kiss, waiting for Harry to remove his glamour. Well, he planned for it to be chaste, but Draco was easily weakened by the thin, wet lips of Harry. He began to attack furiously with his tongue, licking and nipping as his fingers gently tugged at the nipples. The oblivious boy did not realize that his love was barely moving.

The 19 year old began to return the cold child of seven. Harry began to return to old tactics; he distanced himself from the real world and began to cower in the broken fragments of his mind. Harry distantly realized that perhaps, avoiding it did not heal anything at all. But he couldn't do anything now.

There were just too many memories…

Everything that surrounded him morphed into his past. The heated kissing became vicious bites. The moaning from his love became the screams. The groping and the feeling became the clawing and the torture. Harry began to whimper. His love wouldn't do this right? What was Draco doing? Where was he?

"God, I love you…" moaned Draco, becoming even harder than he was in the hallway not so long ago as Harry's whimper further aroused him. As he kissed Harry's stomach, Draco huffed in between a kisses. "If you don't remove it, I will."

Malfoys had always been powerful in the Dark Arts- that included wandless magic. So with ease, he grunted the incantation without his wand.

Harry could feel his glamour slowly chipping off. It was a horrible feeling, but he had already grown numb to all of the assault – however gentle and loving – and only faintly realized that all the lies and walls he had carefully built to protect himself and only him were, at this moment, being shot to Hell.

Harry also distantly realized, that this was most likely the end of their relationship.

The screams that rang throughout his ears no longer seemed just as important. His neglected cock was neither the priority. The glamour was.

'I won't lose him. I won't!' He'd come to believe that Draco was his guardian angel, even if Draco didn't even know it himself. Even if Draco had never picked up the pieces, or even realize that there were even pieces to pick up.

Harry bitterly knew that Draco would leave anyways. Shallowly, he would put up a poor attempt to keep Draco from leaving, but deep down, he knew that the blonde angel would leave him.

They always did.

Harry had come to believe, long ago, that God had forsaken him.

His dress shirt was still on- albeit unbuttoned and exposing his front. His penis was out and hanging; his slacks crumpled and at his ankles, but Harry did not realize this. He could only feel the glamour already disappearing at the neck, soon, the flesh on his torso would show what he truly was.

Despite his situation, the fear and the sense of desolation licking at his heart and waiting to envelope him whole (as he knew Draco would leave him at the end of this if he didn't avoid this properly), Harry shoved Draco off of him.

He would try and prevent Draco from seeing. From leaving.

His mind grew sober from the taunting. No longer did childhood – if one could even call his younger years a 'childhood' – memories tease him, though the screams still rang clearly in his mind. All he could think of was a way to not expose himself.

Draco had lost balance as he was pushed off his lover. The sudden shock attributed to the fumbling; the pain from the corner of a sharp table, and then the wall, quickly sobered him up. "H-Harry…?" His hands pressed against the cold hardwood floor, heaving himself up to a standing position. Finally, he heard the soft, muted sobbing on the bed.

Harry heard the footsteps, and that was all it took for the memories to return. His sobs were no longer even muffled; he merely quieted down. Although all he could see, hear and feel were memories, Harry knew what had to be done. He located where the top button of his shirt was and began to quickly button his shirt (Those grubby fingers…), hastily working his way down (The touching… And the hand…), before quickly sliding his penis back in his slacks (The bastard pulled on it the first time…) and zipping them up. (The laughter…)

Draco was only the slightest breath away from Harry, but was left speechless the entire time Harry was re-dressing himself. He had seen the front already, just before Harry had finished buttoning himself up.

'Were those… burn marks?'

He didn't move.

But Harry did. He shakily got himself upright, although his bones and flesh screamed as if they were in the torture of his memories again. His mind lost in the hazy fog, Harry barely managed to mutter out, "I gotta go. Gotta go… home." The last word was enunciated with such venom, Harry was almost surprised of himself. 'Home is where the heart is…' He had no heart, then, because he never had a home.

Draco quickly snapped out of his thoughts and grabbed a hold of Harry's waist. "Get back here." He mentally cursed as he felt Harry tense. The cold Malfoy personality slipped out sometimes; this was not one of the better moments for it to come out.

Harry flinched. So strong… So strict. So like him. He didn't dare disobey. He knew what would result if he did. A voice like that asserted dominance. Quickly relying on gut instincts and previous experiences, Harry distantly and subconsciously became the submissive he once was, back in the house (not home). "Yes sir."

Draco let go of Harry, reeling back in shock and hurt. His silver eyes flickered on the sitting figure adjacent of him. Stray black strands covered the once glowing emerald eyes, hands clasped together and firmly in his lap, feet flat on the floor… This screamed grace and posture, but Draco knew otherwise from what he'd heard tonight. This was submission.

"Harry," began Draco, noting the flinch from Harry before continuing, "what's wrong?"

This was never before entered territory. Draco had never done this; it was as dangerous and as shaky as cutting a wire from a time bomb.

It was dangerous, and he could screw it all up.

"Memories," replied Harry, in a poor attempt to keep everything vague. He had to answer, even if he didn't want to. Would get hurt if he didn't…

Draco burned holes into Harry's side as he watched him. No, this was not just submission. This was heavily trained submission. He had seen multiple cases from miscreant children-turned-Death-Eaters during the war. The Cruciatus was used in those training sessions, doled out by his father or some high rank member, to train children (they were much needed as Voldemort's numbers began to dwindle near the end) into heavy submission to Lord Voldemort. Two weeks of pure torture and mind games and they would come out as the perfect Death Eaters.

However, Draco was sure that the Cruciatus Torture was never inflicted upon Harry; he had been to all the Death Eater meetings- his father made sure of that. 'Perhaps... muggle torture?' His eyes widened at the thought.

If it was, it had to equal the pain of the Cruciatus. Only such insanity could break a soul into the amount of submission the children, or Harry portrayed.

Draco shuddered. He remembered being under it a few times by his father, when he disobeyed. It was mind-shattering, bone-fracturing, and horribly, horribly painful beyond words.

As Draco figured out his thoughts, the atmosphere grew thick with tension for Harry. He decided to chance it. The charcoal-haired boy tensed and prepared for a beating, but he had to ask. Painfully quiet, Harry voiced, "May I go, sir?" He clenched his fists, prepared to take a blow for asking. Never speak unless spoken to- that was rule number one.

Draco's heart broke at the quiet words that came from the shattered boy that lay before him.

But he would not let him leave.

He raised both hands—

Harry quickly cowered to the end of the bed, slamming his back into the tall bedpost, hissing in pain and then whimpering…

—and hugged Harry like the little lost boy he was. And Draco, forgetting the Malfoy reputation and the cold ice that touched his personality, began to… sniffle.

He couldn't cry, after all. He had to be the one to protect him, not cry alongside.

He wrapped his arms around the shuddering boy, who was whimpering and lashing out, punching Draco, fist after fist.

The silver blonde took it all. After all, if he didn't take it, who else would? Harry had to learn that it was okay to fight back. His body was too wracked with heartbreak to fully comprehend the pain anyways. "Oh Harry… Oh Harry…"

Harry tried not to cry, but they burned at the corners of his eyes. His punches became half-hearted, and finally, the crystal droplets gave way to the force of gravity, and began to stain his tanned cheeks. They were not quiet sobs that he usually cried with, since any form of loud noise when he was younger was quickly beaten out of him… But this was not Vernon.

This was Draco, the love his life.

So, he cried out 11 years of pure, unadulterated torture... and all the summers where he was forced to return back to the house. He cried out all the pain. He cried out his loneliness. He cried out all the demons that had always lingered on his shoulders for all the moments of his life that he suffered under him, and most importantly, he cried out his heart: his shattered, fragmented, broken heart.

He clung tightly to the back of Draco's shirt, crying into his chest.

Draco felt helpless and frightened. He was alone in this path of healing Harry, but he would heal him to the best of his abilities and with all his love. He would try, damn it. He would try what no one else had done: save him. Not just pick up the pieces and tell him to fix himself.

Moments passed, pierced with only the loud, guttural sobs and heavy sniffling. But they were moments well treasured, because one day, Harry would look at this as a stepping stone. The beginning of a real life.

For now, though, this could only be seen as temporary comfort. Harry knew Draco was doing this out of pity. Draco would walk out, now realizing how weak and pathetic Harry was. He knew he had to leave; he wouldn't be able to face heartbreak. Especially if his silver-haired love knew of his scars- both the inner and outer ones; Draco would be disgusted.

Draco ran his fingers through the black strands, soothing and muttering sweet words of nothing.

As the sobs grew to quiet whimpers and sniffles, he gently cupped the sides of Harry's face, his thumbs running up and down his cheeks. "Look at me, Harry."

Emerald clashed with diamond.

Draco gently pressed his forehead against Harry's, despite the slight height difference. He closed his eyes and whispered, "I love you, Harry. I love you, and let me help you."

He sniffed once, trying to regain his composure. He grew cold at those words. He remembered those exact words in the obese man that terrorized him. Lies. Coldly and nonchalantly, he quipped, "You'll give up."

Every word that was being spewed from Draco was a lie.

It seem that pity brought out the liars in everyone.

Draco grew tense, but he did not move an inch. If this was the true Harry, he would take it. "Never."

Harry smiled then. A cold, grave, ever-knowing smile. "You will."

Harry would not work himself up. Sure, if Draco had just stayed away from the whole glamour issue, they would've made love, had a great relationship and maybe get married. No one would ever have known about his terrible past, and he would forget it. Right? He would've known for sure that Draco would not leave then.

But here he sat, all exposed and vulnerable. Harry knew Draco would give up.

"I won't ever," replied Draco, almost gravely. 'How many people have tried to break his concrete walls? …And failed?' He pondered about this as silence ensued. 'Perhaps not many at all, but even one failed attempt would've shattered his last shreds of hope.' With a sad heart, he realized, 'He barely had any hope to begin with.'

His hands shifted from Harry's hair to his back. He rubbed circles, soothing him.

Harry was growing tired of this. He would not build himself up; the real him didn't deserve love. All he deserved was a good fuck now and then.

God damn it. If only Draco didn't discover the real him. Because, surely, the fake him – the one he had built for protection and for a chance at a life – did deserve love. The fake him was perfect: Fame, popularity, love, no horrible past…

But Draco now knew the truth. And this would end by either his own hand or Draco's.

It would hurt less if it was from his own hand.

"Then," he blurted, trying to quicken and prepare himself for heartbreak, "you'll leave me because of this!" Harry quickly stood up, and yanked off all the buttons before allowing the flannel fabric to slide off his shoulders.

Draco gasped.

"OR THIS!" screamed Harry. He undid his pants and quickly got out of them, hurling them across the room.

The platinum blonde stared in horror.

The wounded lover felt nothing but anger. "Disgusted with what you see? I told you! No one deserves a worthless freak like me! See! See! It even says so!"

He began to claw at all his scars, digging at the scar on his left thigh that clearly read: slut. "He liked to fuck me. I'm not even clean! Just a worthless-" Harry clawed at the almost faded word on his right hip. "Stupid-" This word was written on his shoulder, and he began to swipe at that too. "Whore!" This last word, however, was not written in the front. It was carved in his back.

In such a mocking manner, Harry turned around, showing his back. "See it, love?" he asked with a sneer. "See all these words! I'm everything!"

There really was every derogatory term engraved in sloppy letters on Harry. Slut, whore, worthless, stupid, freak, cunt…

There were burn marks, and even a few bumps on him that appeared to be improperly healed bones.

Draco felt nauseous; bile rose up in his throat, wanting to be let out. But he kept it down.

The broken green-eyed boy shifted his head, making eye contact with his lover. "How do you like me now?" He sneered. "Still want to fuck this used man? Your dick won't be the first thing to go up my ass." Harry was taking the crude path. No longer was there the mask. This was him, all exposed. And he would not be left alone with a torn-up heart without a few hits at his lover's – no, ex-lover's – self-esteem before Draco left.

Harry had no protection left.

Harry was waiting for some response, some "I'm leaving you, you sick sick man!" or something. Anything! However, this silence… was unnerving. And oh so unexpected.

He hated the silence. He had lived in the silence and was beaten in the silence. It was cruel.

Draco stared. The silence drained Harry of all his anger and courage. His eyelids flutter closed and he turned his head back, but remained facing Draco with his back. "Just leave me."

Harry could hear the bed creak, a sign that Draco was standing now. He felt the hardwood floorboards creak; Draco was walking now. 'Probably out the door. Don't worry, you're used to it now,' he thought. Yes, he was, wasn't he? Used to the loneliness.

But while he had expected a door to open and close, the arms that slid around his waist for the second time today surprised him. The strawberry scent of Draco took hold of his nose, and he took a deep breath. Perhaps Draco was all for romantic goodbyes?

He wouldn't be able to take it. Harry wasn't prepared for a romantic goodbye.

This would surely be the death of him.

"Harry…"

Here it comes. He took a deep breath and waited.

"I'll never leave."

Harry spluttered, and attempted to turn around.

Draco held so tightly that Harry had no ability to turn around whatsoever; Draco's cheek gently pressing against the soft, black hair. "I told you I love you. I mean it."

Harry could feel his entire chest collapsing inward. He buried his face in his hands and said nothing.

Draco, however, took no notice of his response and began to plant gentle kisses on Harry's backside - every letter and word he saw.

There were many kisses to give.

"Looking at all or nothing,
Babe, it's you and I.
With you I know that,
I am good for something;
So let's go give it a try.
We got our backs against the ocean,
It's just us against the world."

All Or Nothing - Theory of a Deadman

A/N: Epilogue has been written & will come, as long as the reviews do. (:

A/N: The ending falls short, but I felt the feelings conveyed went beyond a string of words.