Doubts (a.k.a. Who Doesn't Need A Good Fight?)
Rating: PG-13, just to be on the safe side.
Warning: This fic contains yaoi, slash, shounen ai, whatever you want to call it. Basically, its guy on guy, so if you don't like it, go find something else.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, Draco, or any of that stuff. *sigh* All owned by J.K. Rowling and her crew. Damn! I want a blonde little gay boy of my very own!
Harry Potter sighed. As he gazed out of the bay window of his cozy London flat, Harry couldn't help but wonder. What was he doing? Four years after graduation from Hogwart's and the final defeat of Lord Voldemort, The Boy Who Lived wasn't doing much living. At least not by his own standards. After graduation, everyone had such high expectations. Ron was ecstatic and hopeful as he auditioned for several professional Quidditch teams throughout England, including his always-favourite Cannons. Hermione was looking forward to continuing her schooling and becoming a teacher, perhaps someday at Hogwart's itself. Even other Gryffindors like Neville, Seamus, and Dean, had dreams of their own. Everyone was ready to make those lovely dreams become wonderful realities. Except Harry. He didn't know what he wanted. Honestly, he hadn't expected to live until graduation. Instead of moping about however, he threw himself into his friends' enthusiasm for the future and encouraged all of them to follow their dreams. In fact, he was so successful in his charade that no one realized that he had no plans of his own. So when the diplomas were finally handed out and everyone moved on, Harry was left alone, pondering his life. Now that Voldemort was gone, Harry simply didn't know what to do with himself.
He didn't need to work. His parents and their vault at Gringott's had seen to that. So when his friends left him on the platform to persue their futures, Harry stayed in London. He rented a small flat in a quiet suburb just on the outskirts of town and brooded. For four years. Of course, he rationalized the situation to himself by saying he was searching, trying to figure out what he wanted from his life. He, Ron, and Hermione tried to keep in touch, but as each of the others' dreams where realized, the once-fast friends drifted further and further apart.
Harry sighed again and brushed a lock of onyx hair from his eyes. Life was running further and further away from him. His friends were gone, and he hadn't bothered to make any new ones. He was civil and kind to everyone in his building, the landlady thought he was "just the sweetest boy," but there was no one he would label 'friend.' There was no laughter, no fun, no love, no anger, no fights, no passion. Harry could feel himself slowly dying inside, and while he tried to fight it, he didn't know how to start living again. He couldn't call on Ron or Hermione. They would try to help him, of course, but they were wrapped in their own lives. He didn't want to bother them needlessly. And to be honest, Harry didn't think there was much they could do. They were two of his closest friends and always would be, but Harry knew that they didn't really know him anymore, if they ever really did. They would try to cheer him up, make him laugh, have fun, but it would be hollow. He needed... fire. Something that would make his blood boil and his eyes flash. He needed a good fight. And there was only one person that knew him well enough to give it to him.
Harry jumped up from the plush chair by the bay window and strode purposefully, for the first time in a long time, into his study. He sat at the mahogany desk and pulled out a bottle of ink, a quill, and a lone piece of parchment. After scribbling a quick note, Harry folded the letter carefully, waxed it shut, and wrote a name on the front. Harry then called to Hedwig, who had been watch her master with unveiled curiosity from her perch on the other side of the room. Harry gingerly place the note in one of the owl's claws and whispered two words.
"Find him."
With that, Hedwig knew, and flew out the open window. Harry slumped down in his chair. What was he doing? Did he think this would actually work? That he would just come, beck and call? Harry sighed for the third and final time that evening, and slowly carried himself to his bedroom.
--
Harry was abruptly woken from a dream involved a vaguely man-shaped individual and a large vat of chocolate pudding by an obnoxious banging on his door. Harry groggily sat up, sheets bunched up around him. He snatched his glasses from the bedside table and glanced at his alarm clock. 6:13 a.m. Snatching the nearest pair of jeans from the floor, not bothering to search for a shirt, he stumbled into the foyer, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He slowly unlocked the door, muttering under his breath about the un-godly hour.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
Harry blinked. There was a blur of white talking to him. He blinked again. Finally his eyes focused onto the parchment being waved rapidly in his face. Harry turned his head slightly. The parchment that had 'Draco Malfoy' written on it. In his own handwriting.
"Well?" a suddenly recognizable voice demanded.
Harry moved his head to look around the letter still inches from his face. There on the doorstep stood Draco Malfoy, complete with angry silver eyes and annoyed sneer marring his flawless face. His right hand impatiently brushed a few wayward strands of platinum from his eyes as he continued to shove the note in Harry's direction.
"Damn it, Potter! Give me an answer! Stop standing there and staring like stupid git!" Harry could almost imagine the foot stomp that would have accompanied that sentence had they still been children. The corners of his lips turned slightly at the mental image.
"Hello, Malfoy. Won't you come in?" The paper that had been continually fluttered in his face came to an abrupt stop. Harry's slight smile became a full-blown grin at the dumbfounded look on Draco's face. However, that look was soon replaced with one of suspicion and anger as Draco brushed past Harry and into the sitting room. Harry closed the door quietly and followed the fuming blonde, his eyes raking along the man's body. Suddenly, the fight he'd been wanting when he wrote the letter was the furthest thing from his mind.
As soon as both men were in the room, Harry was about the invite the other to sit when Draco turned suddenly, startling Harry and causing him to step back a pace.
"Well?! Do I get an answer now?! I don't even know why I came here! The great Harry Potter calls! And what do I do? Come running! Like a bloody lap dog! Argh!"
Draco began pacing back and forth in front of Harry, who had a vaguely bemused expression on his face. Every word spoken as Draco passed him was punctuated by a sharp look and a flip of his jaw-length silver hair.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me, Potter?! What you've always done! No! Of course you don't! I don't see you for four years, always wondering what you were doing, if you were still with those... people." Draco stopped for a moment to sneer at the thought of Ron and Hermione. "Keeping me up late at night, wondering. Always wondering! And now, I get this bloody, god-forsaken letter!"
The parchment was once again shoved in Harry's face, causing him the fall back a few more steps, his back lightly hitting the wall. This time, however, the letter was opened, displaying the scribbled note inside.
Draco-
Please
-Harry
"Please what, you miserable bastard?! You bloody wanker! You've barely said a word to me since I arrived! What the hell do you want from me?!"
The steaming blonde quickly brought the note down and replaced it with his own face. Draco was out of breath, cheeks flushed, chest heaving slightly from his tirade, and glaring at Harry with questions in his gray eyes. Pinned against the wall, Harry did the first thing that came to mind. He grabbed Draco's shoulders and pulled him into a hard kiss.
Harry knew that he'd caught Draco by surprise, because the man was ridged against his lips for a moment. Then Harry grunted lowly as he was forcefully backed into the wall by an eager Draco, intwining his fingers in Harry's dark hair and returning his kiss with searing passion. Harry's hands moved from Draco's shoulders and snaked around the smaller man's waist, pulling him tightly to Harry's naked chest. Tongues entered opposite mouths at the same time, tasting, exploring, and dueling for control. Harry felt as though he'd been surrounded and invaded by scorching white flames, filling the emptiness that had been plaguing him for years. After that infinite moment, the two broke apart, breathless. Harry rested his forehead against Draco's and tenderly brought his hand up to once again move those stray hairs from the other's pale face.
"This." Harry whispered gently, "I want your fire. Your passion. Everything that you embody. I want you."
Draco's hands slid from the messy black hair to cup Harry's face. He smiled genuinely, causing his already handsome face to become breath-taking, then lightly drew his tongue across Harry's bottom lip, stopping to suck gently for a second. Harry shuddered against him, causing another true smile to grace Draco's lips.
"Ah, but love," Draco smirked, "Can you handle me?"
Harry didn't answer. He simply tighted his arms around Draco's waist, and suddenly the small blonde found himself pinned against the wall. Harry stared down at him through half-lidded eyes, alive with passion and lust. He finally spoke.
"I have no doubt."
--------------------------------
Finally! After much revision and obsessing, its done! Who knew that writing my first fic would take so long! Be gentle, please.
Rating: PG-13, just to be on the safe side.
Warning: This fic contains yaoi, slash, shounen ai, whatever you want to call it. Basically, its guy on guy, so if you don't like it, go find something else.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, Draco, or any of that stuff. *sigh* All owned by J.K. Rowling and her crew. Damn! I want a blonde little gay boy of my very own!
Harry Potter sighed. As he gazed out of the bay window of his cozy London flat, Harry couldn't help but wonder. What was he doing? Four years after graduation from Hogwart's and the final defeat of Lord Voldemort, The Boy Who Lived wasn't doing much living. At least not by his own standards. After graduation, everyone had such high expectations. Ron was ecstatic and hopeful as he auditioned for several professional Quidditch teams throughout England, including his always-favourite Cannons. Hermione was looking forward to continuing her schooling and becoming a teacher, perhaps someday at Hogwart's itself. Even other Gryffindors like Neville, Seamus, and Dean, had dreams of their own. Everyone was ready to make those lovely dreams become wonderful realities. Except Harry. He didn't know what he wanted. Honestly, he hadn't expected to live until graduation. Instead of moping about however, he threw himself into his friends' enthusiasm for the future and encouraged all of them to follow their dreams. In fact, he was so successful in his charade that no one realized that he had no plans of his own. So when the diplomas were finally handed out and everyone moved on, Harry was left alone, pondering his life. Now that Voldemort was gone, Harry simply didn't know what to do with himself.
He didn't need to work. His parents and their vault at Gringott's had seen to that. So when his friends left him on the platform to persue their futures, Harry stayed in London. He rented a small flat in a quiet suburb just on the outskirts of town and brooded. For four years. Of course, he rationalized the situation to himself by saying he was searching, trying to figure out what he wanted from his life. He, Ron, and Hermione tried to keep in touch, but as each of the others' dreams where realized, the once-fast friends drifted further and further apart.
Harry sighed again and brushed a lock of onyx hair from his eyes. Life was running further and further away from him. His friends were gone, and he hadn't bothered to make any new ones. He was civil and kind to everyone in his building, the landlady thought he was "just the sweetest boy," but there was no one he would label 'friend.' There was no laughter, no fun, no love, no anger, no fights, no passion. Harry could feel himself slowly dying inside, and while he tried to fight it, he didn't know how to start living again. He couldn't call on Ron or Hermione. They would try to help him, of course, but they were wrapped in their own lives. He didn't want to bother them needlessly. And to be honest, Harry didn't think there was much they could do. They were two of his closest friends and always would be, but Harry knew that they didn't really know him anymore, if they ever really did. They would try to cheer him up, make him laugh, have fun, but it would be hollow. He needed... fire. Something that would make his blood boil and his eyes flash. He needed a good fight. And there was only one person that knew him well enough to give it to him.
Harry jumped up from the plush chair by the bay window and strode purposefully, for the first time in a long time, into his study. He sat at the mahogany desk and pulled out a bottle of ink, a quill, and a lone piece of parchment. After scribbling a quick note, Harry folded the letter carefully, waxed it shut, and wrote a name on the front. Harry then called to Hedwig, who had been watch her master with unveiled curiosity from her perch on the other side of the room. Harry gingerly place the note in one of the owl's claws and whispered two words.
"Find him."
With that, Hedwig knew, and flew out the open window. Harry slumped down in his chair. What was he doing? Did he think this would actually work? That he would just come, beck and call? Harry sighed for the third and final time that evening, and slowly carried himself to his bedroom.
--
Harry was abruptly woken from a dream involved a vaguely man-shaped individual and a large vat of chocolate pudding by an obnoxious banging on his door. Harry groggily sat up, sheets bunched up around him. He snatched his glasses from the bedside table and glanced at his alarm clock. 6:13 a.m. Snatching the nearest pair of jeans from the floor, not bothering to search for a shirt, he stumbled into the foyer, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He slowly unlocked the door, muttering under his breath about the un-godly hour.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
Harry blinked. There was a blur of white talking to him. He blinked again. Finally his eyes focused onto the parchment being waved rapidly in his face. Harry turned his head slightly. The parchment that had 'Draco Malfoy' written on it. In his own handwriting.
"Well?" a suddenly recognizable voice demanded.
Harry moved his head to look around the letter still inches from his face. There on the doorstep stood Draco Malfoy, complete with angry silver eyes and annoyed sneer marring his flawless face. His right hand impatiently brushed a few wayward strands of platinum from his eyes as he continued to shove the note in Harry's direction.
"Damn it, Potter! Give me an answer! Stop standing there and staring like stupid git!" Harry could almost imagine the foot stomp that would have accompanied that sentence had they still been children. The corners of his lips turned slightly at the mental image.
"Hello, Malfoy. Won't you come in?" The paper that had been continually fluttered in his face came to an abrupt stop. Harry's slight smile became a full-blown grin at the dumbfounded look on Draco's face. However, that look was soon replaced with one of suspicion and anger as Draco brushed past Harry and into the sitting room. Harry closed the door quietly and followed the fuming blonde, his eyes raking along the man's body. Suddenly, the fight he'd been wanting when he wrote the letter was the furthest thing from his mind.
As soon as both men were in the room, Harry was about the invite the other to sit when Draco turned suddenly, startling Harry and causing him to step back a pace.
"Well?! Do I get an answer now?! I don't even know why I came here! The great Harry Potter calls! And what do I do? Come running! Like a bloody lap dog! Argh!"
Draco began pacing back and forth in front of Harry, who had a vaguely bemused expression on his face. Every word spoken as Draco passed him was punctuated by a sharp look and a flip of his jaw-length silver hair.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me, Potter?! What you've always done! No! Of course you don't! I don't see you for four years, always wondering what you were doing, if you were still with those... people." Draco stopped for a moment to sneer at the thought of Ron and Hermione. "Keeping me up late at night, wondering. Always wondering! And now, I get this bloody, god-forsaken letter!"
The parchment was once again shoved in Harry's face, causing him the fall back a few more steps, his back lightly hitting the wall. This time, however, the letter was opened, displaying the scribbled note inside.
Draco-
Please
-Harry
"Please what, you miserable bastard?! You bloody wanker! You've barely said a word to me since I arrived! What the hell do you want from me?!"
The steaming blonde quickly brought the note down and replaced it with his own face. Draco was out of breath, cheeks flushed, chest heaving slightly from his tirade, and glaring at Harry with questions in his gray eyes. Pinned against the wall, Harry did the first thing that came to mind. He grabbed Draco's shoulders and pulled him into a hard kiss.
Harry knew that he'd caught Draco by surprise, because the man was ridged against his lips for a moment. Then Harry grunted lowly as he was forcefully backed into the wall by an eager Draco, intwining his fingers in Harry's dark hair and returning his kiss with searing passion. Harry's hands moved from Draco's shoulders and snaked around the smaller man's waist, pulling him tightly to Harry's naked chest. Tongues entered opposite mouths at the same time, tasting, exploring, and dueling for control. Harry felt as though he'd been surrounded and invaded by scorching white flames, filling the emptiness that had been plaguing him for years. After that infinite moment, the two broke apart, breathless. Harry rested his forehead against Draco's and tenderly brought his hand up to once again move those stray hairs from the other's pale face.
"This." Harry whispered gently, "I want your fire. Your passion. Everything that you embody. I want you."
Draco's hands slid from the messy black hair to cup Harry's face. He smiled genuinely, causing his already handsome face to become breath-taking, then lightly drew his tongue across Harry's bottom lip, stopping to suck gently for a second. Harry shuddered against him, causing another true smile to grace Draco's lips.
"Ah, but love," Draco smirked, "Can you handle me?"
Harry didn't answer. He simply tighted his arms around Draco's waist, and suddenly the small blonde found himself pinned against the wall. Harry stared down at him through half-lidded eyes, alive with passion and lust. He finally spoke.
"I have no doubt."
--------------------------------
Finally! After much revision and obsessing, its done! Who knew that writing my first fic would take so long! Be gentle, please.