Title: Lines on Various Emotions
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series; JKR does.
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual content, my own interpretation of "xenophobia," weirdness, and the feeling of temporariness.
Summary: The lines under Draco's skin are precious, but they are not Harry's to own.
Word Count: 1,330
Author's Note: I'm in a writing rut right now, so this is an experiment. This whole thing is just a snapshot of a moment in their relationship, one that is fragile and possibly ephemeral. I don't normally write this kind of story, so bear with me here. I do have some negative energy in my life to burn, due to my father falling ill and my studies becoming overwhelming. I find that this is one of the few ways I can turn that energy into something more positive, although positive might be an odd word to use for this story.
If any of you are particularly bored, you can write down the first letter of every sentence in the actual story and rot13 them to see the message that started me off on this story in the first place. It's not a profound message or anything, but it is related.
Anyway, time to go to sleep before I face the pile of homework again. Sigh.
Veins, thought Harry, as he licked a path down Malfoy's skin. Always the veins, faintly visible beneath the paleness, and it amazed him that blood flowed through those thin tubes and kept this man alive.
"Git," grumbled Harry, when Malfoy tugged impatiently on his hair. Underneath the complaint was a fondness faint as fairy floss, a comparison also fitting because he found himself disgusted by it. Really, he was not here to be fond; he was here to take, enjoy, and leave again.
"Right now," demanded Malfoy, gently pushing him down further. "All I've got is you for practice, Potter, so you better make this good."
Questions whirled in Harry's head as he wanted to know what Malfoy meant and whether or not he really felt what he meant. The idea of being Malfoy's practice was almost off-putting, but the fact that he was the only one was very arousing.
"Remember that, you wanker," Harry breathed against Malfoy's skin as he got closer and closer to his goal. "All you've got is me."
"Quelle surprise, you would fixate on that," sneered Malfoy, and Harry rolled his eyes at the prat and his show-offy, badly accented French.
"Rendezvous," he retorted with the only French word he knew, even though it was such a non-sequitur. Even as he said it, his face heated up, knowing that his attempt at banter had been abysmal.
"Quel idiot," said Malfoy, and Harry bit back a grin as he heard a reciprocation of his ill-advised fondness in Draco's voice. "But you do have a point; we are meeting together right now."
Rolling his eyes, Harry finally reached Draco's cock and took him in without preamble, for time was limited and his mouth was already used to this.
"Fuck," Draco moaned, tangling his fingers more tightly into Harry's hair. "All you're good for, you know."
Git, Harry thought, since saying it was no longer possible with his mouth occupied. Zealously, he sucked more of him in, curling his fingers around his hips in order to keep him down.
"Never going to let you go," Draco gasped, even though technically Harry was the one holding onto him. "Give me more. Give me everything."
Requests, Harry mused, and not commands. Evidently it was hard for Draco to feel superior when he was on his back, begging for the man he shouldn't have wanted.
Very slowly, Harry sneaked a finger in between Draco's thighs, even as he increased his suction. Freed, Draco's right hip began to jerk off the bed, but Harry dealt with that like he dealt with everything else: by adapting.
"God, I hate you," Draco moaned, when Harry's finger finally teased and traced his entrance. "Very much, always will."
Yes, Harry agreed in his head, and I hate you, too—very much, always will.
"Yes," Draco disagreed out loud, "I need you."
Yes, confessed Harry, as he finally pushed his finger in, I need you, too, although I don't get why.
Vexingly, Malfoy still would not come, even though Harry had been sucking him for a while now, if by "a while" one meant several months of this dance in the darkness. Xenophobia had long since pushed them together in their own world, a fear of all those who were not them and who could not understand what went on in this bed. Relinquishing all those foreign to this feeling had been the agreement since the day someone spat on Malfoy's priceless shoes for even daring to look at Harry.
"Love this," Draco whinged, bringing Harry back to the moment, "but hurry up."
But you hurry up, Harry grumbled, as he felt his jaw getting sore. He pushed in another finger and flexed it.
Very soon, Draco's moans were getting higher-pitched, and his exclamations were getting nonsensical.
"Xenophon, Artaxerxes, Cunaxa!" Always articulate, and always trying to imitate Harry's hiss by choosing words with X's in them. Bloody bastard knew instinctively how to appeal to the faint memory of Harry's snake-whispering days, handing him a morsel of nostalgia.
Just as Harry slid his other hand further around Malfoy's thigh with the intention of spanking him, though, Malfoy stiffened beneath him, gasping his name.
Good, Harry thought, as he finally swallowed and relaxed. Under no circumstances was I going to do that forever.
Removing his mouth from Draco's warm skin, Harry stood up and stretched before climbing into bed with him.
For a while, they just lay there, breathing an off-beat staccato.
Relief-seeking used to be Harry's number one priority during these encounters, but now he was content to let his own cock just stand there and wait. Slow was the key to making the most out of these finite moments.
Reaching over with a lax hand, Draco finally gave him some attention.
"Relax, Potter, I've got you."
"Yes, you do."
"Very good, trust me just like the idiot you are."
"Alright, I will."
The lazy strokes of Draco's hand gradually grew faster, and Harry squirmed as he sought more contact.
"Fuck yeah, that's the ticket."
"Urgh, Potter, you really need to come up with better mid-sex lines."
"Never you mind; just keep doing this."
"I will."
Reaching over to Draco's shoulder, Harry pulled him closer, fully intending to come all over his belly and force him to have to clean it up.
"God damn it, Potter, I know what you're doing," he hissed, but he made no move to push Harry away, continuing to stroke him instead.
"Be proud," Harry gasped, rocking as Draco sped up. "Really, only one."
"As usual, I have no idea what the fuck you're saying, but I don't care. Come for me."
Quirking his lips, Harry leaned in to kiss him, even as he felt the end approaching. Orgasm used to be Harry's sole goal, but now his goal was Draco.
Hitching his breath, Harry released himself all over him, pulling him even closer as he gasped and panted.
"Gods, so perfect," he whimpered.
"Sex is always perfect, Potter," Draco retorted as he pulled away to reach for his wand. Before Harry could blink, the mess vanished, and he could not help but feel a little disappointed.
"Er, I wouldn't agree."
"Always," Draco insisted.
"But that's only because you've only had me," retorted Harry.
"Just means I am smart enough to pick a decent partner from the get-go, Potter. Very shrewd and discerning of me, I should say."
"Forming such an opinion from only one partner—"
"Give me a break; I would much rather get things right on the first trial."
"Very lazy of you, Draco."
"Yes, and very cost-effective."
"You could never afford me."
For a moment, Draco seemed to mull that over. "Zeus could never afford you; that is what makes my endeavour so cheeky in the first place," he concluded.
"Very funny," Harry snorted. "You're a real bag of laughs."
"Rather be that than your enemy," Draco mumbled, and it was clear that he was about to drop off into sleep.
"Just you wait and see," muttered Harry, "you do try my patience."
Under the sheets, Harry twined his leg with Draco's.
"Rest assured, Potter, I am not waiting for anything," he responded before snuggling up to him.
Always the veins, Harry reflected yet again as Draco draped his arm around his chest. Veins that were unimpressive yet very important to Harry's sanity.
Faced with Draco's face, Harry admitted to himself that this was not really much of a fling, after all. Real flings had the feel of plastic-covered couches and seedy motel rooms.
Right now, Harry felt at home.
Love had an awful taste when mixed with longing.
Bent out of shape, bent out of time.
Harry looked his fill at the sleeping man next to him, already knowing that he would have to get up and leave soon.
Everyone must say goodbye at some point.
(Someday.)
Never to look back.
(Perhaps.)
Right now, however, Harry had this moment, and he was not going to let it go.