Light My Fire (Draco's Fight with the Sleeping Bag)
Whoever invented sleeping bags should be mercilessly tortured, Draco thinks, tossing and turning in his sleeping bag. The night is crisp and cool; having caused him to instantly freeze the moment he tried to shed the bloody bag fifteen minutes earlier. Only fools camp outside in the wilderness during the chilly spring months and Draco's one of them. But not by his own merit. Having fulfilled the base requirements of his reparations to society, he was offered the choice of either spending a year on probation or volunteering at a resident camp for troubled youths. Had he known camp began in mid-May, not mid-June, Draco might have considered the year of probation.
His shoulder is growing numb from lying in one place too long. Carefully wriggling over to his left side, Draco tries to avoid mussing his bag any further. No such luck. The fabric sticks to Draco's fleece pajamas and turns with his body, wrinkling the bag beneath him. Barely avoiding a temper tantrum involving slashing and burning the innocent sleeping bag, Draco carefully fixes it again and lays back down. Taking deep breaths, he attempts to calm his mind and enter zen mode so he can finally sleep. Everyone else has already passed out long ago, which causes Draco immense jealousy. He won't have any energy for a full day of training tomorrow if sleep continues to elude him.
The wave of dizziness that always signals the first onslaught of sleep washes over him. He sighs, snuggling deeper into the sleeping bag. Maybe it's really not so bad. After all, the lining is warm and cozy, protecting Draco from the harsh wind blowing in through the cabin doors. But there's an itch on top of his head, so he delicately extracts his hand and takes care of it, exposing his arm to the elements for the extra second it takes to smooth back his hair. As he nestles back into his pillow nook, Draco feels a cold breeze on the back of his neck. The zipper must have come undone. It doesn't matter, he tells himself while closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. An even colder gust of wind comes through the window, and he's had it. Draco sits up and viciously pulls the bag towards him, snatching the zipper and furiously zipping it up with a deafening squeeeeee in the silent cabin. Someone beneath his bunk suddenly stops snoring, but he isn't buggered enough to care.
Insides burning with anger, Draco slips out of the bag and sits back onto his pillow, arranging the menacing camping gear so that the zipper faces the other side. He wriggles back into the depths of the bag, grateful to get out of the cold, when suddenly another urge strikes him. Groaning, Draco tries to ignore the call of nature to no avail. Throwing back the sleeping bag after – gently – undoing the zipper, he maneuvers himself into a position where he can descend the ladder feet-first. Stumbling into shoes, he snags his flashlight and darkly curses the no-magic camp rule. Surely there should be exceptions for counselors?
The door is stuck again, so Draco's forced to pull on the handle with a steadily increasing pressure until it gives, rocketing out of the jamb and feverishly rattling back and forth from the built-up strain. At least two of his seven co-workers stir from the racket, and he tries not to let the door slam behind him as he makes his way down the steps to the rocky path leading to the bathhouse. Draco relieves his bladder and takes another huge gulp of water while he's down there, hopefully doing something to quench his never-ending thirst before heading back into the oppressively quiet and claustrophobic cabin.
Of course the door has already re-stuck itself by the time he gets back, so Draco is forced to give another huge yank and listen to it rattle even louder this time. A couple of his bunkmates yawn loudly and one even mumbles something about wrackspurts before sticking his head back under the covers. Stealthily climbing the ladder back up to his bunk, Draco returns to his sleeping bag and gratefully climbs back inside it. He's shivering and the warm fleece does much to warm up his cool extremities. It's already pulled up his pajama pants to leave his calves exposed, but Draco ignores the slight and snuggles in again. Instantly feeling the wonderful dizzy feeling that comes before sleep, Draco allows his mind to succumb to his usual fantasies of Potter. He normally fights and even denies his attraction to the dark haired man, but tonight calls for drastic measures. In the middle of his visualization about Potter plowing him, something flickering from behind Draco's closed eyelids distracts him. Unable to resist opening his eyes, he sees that he's left the bathroom light on. That simply will not do.
Ripping back the sleeping bag with the now-familiar squeee, Draco stomps down the ladder but misses a step, landing on his ankle with a loud boom.
"Go the fuck to sleep, Malfoy," groans the bloke under his bunk.
"Shh!" Draco hisses at him, limping quietly toward the door. On second thought, he reaches back up to his bed and grabs the offending sleeping bag, dragging it out the door and hurling it over the railing. He ends up sitting down on the steps to the cabin, pushing on his temples before dragging his fingers through his already-mussed hair. Malfoys were simply not made for camping.
To stay in that cabin any longer would be the death of him, so Draco recovers his flashlight and walks down a different path, the one that led to the fire pit where other counselors sang songs after dinner. He'd only listened, not sang, and yet several of the tunes were permanently embedded in his head. Humming one about a great big moose, Draco hops over a fallen tree branch and wandlessly Summons a bag of marshmallows. What the camp directors don't know will never hurt them. He pops one into his mouth, chewing pronouncedly. Rounding the bend still with a mouthful of squishy goodness, Draco heads pell-mell for the fire pit only to see Potter already sitting on the very stump he was planning to occupy.
"Potter," he growls, because it's one in the morning and at some point he has to go to sleep, "Get off my stump already."
"I was here first," says Potter predictably, swinging his legs around to meet Draco's gaze. "Couldn't sleep either?"
"Not a wink," Draco reluctantly admits, shoving another marshmallow into his mouth. There is literally no such thing as too much sugar.
"Pass those over here," orders Potter, sticking his hand out.
Draco chucks them over before walking over to the pile of sticks and extracting two that would be especially suited for roasting marshmallows. "Are you going to light my fire, Potter, or just sit there staring at the embers?"
Potter directs his own magic to resurrecting the bonfire they'd had earlier while Draco Summons a bar of chocolate and graham crackers from the kitchen, not caring how many dishes are knocked over in the process. He passes a stick to Potter, who in turn hands him the bag, and the two comfortably sit together in silence roasting marshmallows and eating s'mores.
After they've stuffed themselves silly, Draco sighs. "Why are you here voluntarily, Potter? Didn't you get enough of camping during seventh year when you were hunting the Dark Lord?"
"Most definitely," agrees Potter, rotating around on his stump to make eye contact with Draco.
"Go home," says Draco moodily. "At least one of us has a chance at happiness then."
A low smile crosses Potter's face, and Draco wonders at it until Potter says, "I'm more interested in having something at camp than I am a good night's sleep."
"What would be worth missing out on a good night's sleep?" asks Draco doubtfully.
"You," Potter says simply, green eyes burning into what Draco thought was his soul. Unable to form a thought, let alone a coherent sentence, Draco leans forward and catches Potter's lips with his own, tenderly nibbling at the source of his many fantasies. Real Potter tasted infinitely better than Dream Potter.
Threading his fingers through Potter's thick, unruly hair, Draco breathes deeply as Potter breaks their kiss and ravishes his neck, lapping and sucking along at his most sensitive places. He'd always thought Potter would be a passionate and insatiable lover, but even as Potter meets those expectations, he forms new ones in Draco's mind by returning to their kiss with a gentle tenderness instead of teeth-clashing ferocity.
Potter strokes Draco's back and ghosts his way down over the swell of his bottom, making Draco gasp out in surprise.
"Like that?" whispers Potter.
"Yes," Draco breathes back. "More, Potter."
Potter smiles deviously and kneels down before teasingly drawing out Draco's cock and licking a firm stripe up the shaft. He laps at the frenulum, stroking Draco's balls in time with his tongue's movements. Trying not to cry out has become the focus of Draco's experience. He whimpers, but Potter just gently laughs before swallowing him down whole. The wind wafts over Draco's exposed cock, but every time the cold air hits, Potter's hot tongue swirls and flicks over spots that make hot tears come to Draco's eyes. As Potter combines sucking with a head twist that exerts pressure on Draco's frenulum, he cries out, "No, Potter, stop – stop." Potter looks up questioningly, and Draco blurts "I'm close."
Another grin settles over Potter's face, and he quickly stands, sitting on Draco's legs and kissing him again before asking, "How do you want to do this?"
"You in me," Draco says, blushing furiously. He's never done this before, but there's no way possible he can pass up the opportunity to have Potter inside him.
"Are you sure, Malfoy?" Potter queries. "I don't mind either way."
"Yes," replies Draco, embracing Potter. It's almost too easy to lose all inhibition with Potter in a way Draco could never have done before tonight.
They're kissing again and Draco takes a split second to imagine what's to come. The hard ground will present a bit of a problem, and as Potter's squishy lips nibble his ear, Draco knows he has to pursue maximum comfort.
"Be right back," he murmurs against Potter's neck, heaving the other man off as he tucks his cock in and runs off into the night, back towards the cabin. Within seconds he's streaking back to the fire pit, green sleeping bag flaring behind him like a banner of pride. Potter smiles at Draco's solution and helps him to lay it out flat on the ground. Gracefully, Draco lowers himself to the sleeping bag, slipping off his shirt on the way down.
"Now," Potter whispers sultrily, "Where did we leave off?" He lays his full weight on top of Draco, but far from being disgruntled, Draco actually finds himself more turned on. Potter's hands trace over the outlines of his hips, and he shakily exhales as Potter pushes down his pajama pants.
Potter's still completely dressed, so Draco worms Potter's shirt over his head and rubs at his nipples, paying attention to how his lover sharply inhales and mewls at his ministrations.
"Ready, Potter?" Draco finally says, too full of nervous anticipation to wait any longer.
By means of response, Potter mutters a spell, using one hand to spread Draco's legs and the other to gently slick Draco's hole in preparation. ""Lift up for me," he whispers, pulling Draco into a strange position where his feet are in the air and his arse is off the ground.
Potter takes the strain off of Draco's legs by arranging them around his back and neck as he leans in close. "Draco," he breathes two inches from Draco's mouth, meeting Draco's eyes with his emerald green gaze. "You could top if you want; I really don't mind."
"Just please don't hurt me," Draco manages, gripping the hand of Potter's that wasn't covered in lube.
"I'll do one better," Potter promises. "I'll make it good for you." He slides off his own pants, rubbing his cock lightly over Draco's pucker. "Have you ever touched yourself there before?"
Draco hadn't imagined sex with Potter involving so much talking. The man never seemed to be able to form a coherent sentence any other time. "Yes," he mumbles, blushing again.
"Good," Potter declares, lining up his chest over Draco's amidst the barrier of Draco's legs. He kisses Draco deeply, fully, taking their joined hands and positioning them over Draco's head to use as leverage. Lost in Potter's kiss, Draco initially panics as he feels Potter's cock trying to nudge its way inside of him. Instinctively, he tenses up.
Potter caresses Draco's face before trailing his way down to finger Draco's nipple. "Relax," he says in-between kisses. Try as he might, Draco can't get his breathing to slow, and of course Potter notices. "Breath in," Potter whispers, barely drawing his lips away from Draco's. As he does, feeling the cool air ricochet off of Potter's mouth, Draco also notices Potter's cock start to penetrate him. "Now out," Potter directs, grasping Draco's hip. "That's it." As Draco breathes out, Potter pulls all the way out of him.
They continue this rhythm, Potter inserting himself a little more each time, and Draco begins to enjoy the feeling of Potter filling him up. It's still uncomfortable and frankly a little intrusive, but Draco likes doing this with Potter. When he's finally sheathed, Potter lets Draco adjust to the penetration, kissing him lovingly all the while.
"Does that feel good, Draco?" asks Potter intently even as he squirms with pleasure.
"Yes," Draco answers honestly, squeezing Potter with his thighs. "More, Harry."
Smiling, Potter begins moving and Draco closes his eyes after Potter starts kissing him yet again. He pulls Potter close with one hand and threads his fingers through Potter's hair with the other, desperate to feel joined as one with this man. Somewhere along the way, Draco's feelings of attraction for Potter turned into something else and this becomes devastatingly clear to him as they continue making love.
"Harry," says Draco softly, pulling away from Potter's lips, "What is this?"
"What do you mean?" replies Potter, never slowing his movements.
Draco carefully continues. "I mean, is this just a one and done for you?" He works hard to keep his anxiety and fear over Potter's answer out of his voice.
Potter grips Draco's hand, the one that's still intertwined with his own above Draco's head. "I've wanted to be with you forever, Draco," he whispers.
"Good," Draco whispers back. This time he initiates the kiss with Potter, trying to convey everything that he's feeling but isn't yet ready to say. Potter responds eagerly as if using the same strategy.
Eventually Draco feels so good beneath Potter that he wants to be filled faster, harder; he thrusts up as Potter's cock comes down, changing the angle of penetration. All of a sudden, Potter's cock brushes up against something that intensifies Draco's pleasure.
"Oh," he moans, "Yes, Potter. Right there." Draco can't stop himself from wantonly twisting under Potter, trying to get him to hit that spot again.
Potter smiles. "Like this?" he asks, directing his cock right where Draco wants it.
"Damnit, Potter, harder," Draco begs, slapping Potter's ass. To his complete and utter surprise, Potter looks undone for the first time, groaning loudly as he furiously shoves back inside Draco. His cock wracks over Draco's spot, and he matches Potter's groan as his pleasure intensifies and runs through his lower extremities.
Ready to send them both over, Draco slaps Potter again, harder this time, and Potter responds by lubing up his hand again and reaching for Draco's cock. Pulling Draco in time with his thrusts, Potter cries out as he reaches his climax and spurts inside Draco. Draco comes a second later, spurred on by Potter's excitement and frantic penetrations. He sees stars as the orgasm overtakes him, holding Potter for fear of drifting away without him as an anchor. After Draco comes back to his senses, he sees Potter smiling at him. Potter's weight feels like a comfortable blanket, and if he wasn't so eager to get cleaned up, Draco could see laying out here like this all night.
Potter understands as Draco wiggles beneath him, gently pulling out and cleaning them up with a quick wandless spell. By silent confirmation, both start dressing, and disappointedly Draco expects for Potter to say goodnight and head back into the direction of his cabin. Instead, Potter spreads out the wrinkles in the sleeping bag, conjuring up blankets and pillows for two.
"Was it good for you, Draco?" Potter asks as he lays down on one of the pillows and gestures for Draco to join him.
"That was amazing, Harry," says Draco honestly as he lies down besides Potter. Snuggling in as Potter's little spoon, Draco covers them both with the blankets.
"Suddenly, a whole season of camp doesn't sound half bad," Potter laughs, nuzzling Draco's neck.
Draco says nothing in return, but reaches behind him to grab Potter's hand and wrap it around his waist, never letting go even as they settle together. Finally, for the first time tonight, Draco relaxes completely, falling asleep with Potter snug against him in his sleeping bag.