Disclaimer: All characters you recognize here belong to JK Rowling.
AN: I hope everyone likes this fic. Personally, I never read slave/master fics, because it really bothers me when Harry is a slave. But the beginning scene just stuck with me, and I just had to write a short one on it. I apologize for any mistakes. As usual, feedback would be greatly appreciated.
People have been asking me, and I belatedly realized, that I didn't mention this was AU, also the time period would be in the early 1800's, since I doubt wizards kept human slaves after that.
Warning: mature slash, slavery, angst
Lips descended down his jaw line, careful not to come anywhere near his lips, tracing the arch of his neck, and lingering over his Adam's apple; he willed himself not to gulp, and show weakness. They moved down; gentle kisses were bestowed, not wet or long, but quick, feather light ones. But nevertheless, they ignited a slow fire in him that made him both hot and cold simultaneously, his skin erupting in gooseflesh.
Almost imperceptible shivers coursed though his spine, as those lips puckered over his nipples, turning them painfully hard. He shouldn't have been so responsive to his slave's touches, neither should they have caused an ache in his chest. But he was responsive, and they did evoke unwanted feelings. He couldn't stop himself, ever.
Harry kneeled down; those sinful, yet innocent lips were at his navel, following the snail trail of hair, and giving particular attention to his jutting hipbones, ignoring the erect flesh in between the parted thighs.
He knew that Harry liked his hips. He shouldn't have known that, but he did. Neither should a slave ever—even slightly—tease his master, but Harry always did. These were the rules, and Draco was never one to follow them. But he wished he did for this, he wished he could.
Harry kissed the underside of his cock, inhaling the scent of arousal. He shouldn't have done that either. His tongue joined, licking the sides, and circling the head. It flicked into the slit, tasting the pre-come there.
Draco didn't make a sound all the while, just labored breaths that joined Harry's own heavy breathing. Neither did he touch. He resolutely kept his hands to his sides, trying hard to ignore the fact that his fists were balled up, nails digging painfully into his palms, straining to touch the kneeling figure.
Touching was practically forbidden in this kind of relationship, unless it held no value. But Draco knew that any kind of touch shared by them would be inadvertently intimate, full of promise. Sounds were allowed though, but Draco chose not to vocalize. That was too risky, words could be spoken—words of love, declaration.
The warm mouth swallowed his head, engulfing the throbbing appendage in wet, hot pleasure. Draco always tried to keep a steady thought throughout everything, but he always failed at times like these. And he always broke his 'No Sounds' rule, as almost indiscernible whimpers escaped his parted lips. Those always seemed to encourage Harry on.
He squeezed his eyes shut, lest he embarrass himself by coming too soon, because the sight of Harry's shaggy thatch of hair in between his legs, his mouth on one of Draco's most intimate and private parts always threatened to drive Draco over the edge. The fact that Harry seemed to be enjoying it never helped matters either.
The wet mouth left him, leaving his saliva-covered cock open to air, which elicited a shudder from him. Instead, the mouth laved his heavy balls. It mouthed them both, and moved lower to lick his perineum, forcing Draco to summon all his self-control to prevent himself from thrusting.
Harry returned to his rigid cock, and sucked in earnest. The obscene noises that this caused burning Draco's ears.
Thoughts were all muted at this point, and he shallowly bucked into the willing mouth, wanting nothing more than to bury his cock in another kind of heat, a heat of clenched muscles. But he knew that that was a reckless step, which would forever make him unable to hold anyone else but Harry.
He could feel pleasure building up in him like staccatos, ready to shoot through him like lightning. Harry had successfully managed to take almost all of him in, and as he felt the throat constrict and massage him, he couldn't help but cry out in warning. He shoved his hands into the downy soft hair, and shuddered through his release.
They weren't supposed to touch, but he always did in the end, always wishing at these times that Harry's hands weren't bound behind him. But this was dangerous thinking, especially for an aristocrat due for marriage, and he knew it all too well.
He tugged at Harry's hair, telling him to cease his ministrations, and not do something so lewd as he was doing now. But Harry refused, as he often did, and swallowed all of Draco's come, letting the flaccid cock go with a final lick.
Draco just stared at Harry, and couldn't move his gaze away when Harry lifted his head cautiously. He didn't know what Harry saw in his eyes, perhaps fondness, or wonder, but the raven haired boy gave him a cheeky grin and sagged down to sit right in front of Draco.
Draco noticed that the nude boy had already reached his orgasm, all from sucking Draco off. He had come without much stimulation yet again, or else Draco would have cast a spell that pleasured the boy. He was glad that he was unable to get aroused again so quickly, as he felt heat pool in his stomach just at the very thought of it. He tried not to think about how much he meant to the boy, or vice-versa, those thoughts were too detrimental to consider.
He spelled the pearly liquid clean from the marble floor of his room and from Harry's abdomen, and conjured robes for them both. He released Harry from his bonds, and waited until he stood and donned on the robe.
"Harry," Draco murmured, and was horrified to notice it's warm tenor. He immediately coughed, and addressed him in his customary, indifferent voice.
"I know that you worked really hard today, and then you had to...help me for the sole reason that I had a dreadful day. You must be tired, and I order you to sleep. You will be of no use to me when you're tired," he said, hoping that Harry wouldn't hear the silent apology there, or the fact that he came close to admitting he cared for the slave.
Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, but Draco guessed that he did; Harry often did make startlingly intelligent observations.
He escorted him to his bedroom—that seemed too lavish for a mere slave—and waited until he fell asleep, which didn't take too long. Harry must have been really tired, he thought.
He watched the sleeping boy, and absently moved a few locks of unruly hair away from the milky face, and stroked the sharp cheekbones, straying too near the partly open lips. He snatched his hand away quickly when he realized that, valiantly trying to squash the craving to kiss Harry, taste him.
He brought the silky sheets to cover the oblivious slave, and quietly slipped out of the room. He never saw the pair of brilliant, green eyes watch him leave, or the sad smile that graced the pink lips.
Perhaps one day Draco will touch me while I'm awake.