Disclaimer: All characters are the copyrighted works of J.K Rowling. No profit was made by the writing of this story, nor was any malice intended in any way, shape or form to the author.
A/N: Based on Gay Aurors, Part 5 (Enigma Rising) by the lovely Charlotte Sometimes.In the text of Enigma Rising, my ficlet fills the gap between the time that Harry collapses on top of Draco, and the morning after. Please ignore any mild plot discrepancies between this fic and Charlotte's (such as how Draco was untied); this is just for fun!
Draco breathed deeply, or tried to, in spite of the pressure of Harry's full weight resting on top of him. Not wanting to squash him, Harry slipped off of Draco and rolled to his side.
Draco's hands dangled loosely from where they were tied, his sharp talons long since retracted. With a flick of his wand and a murmured incantation, Harry released the bonds chafing at his narrow wrists and ankles, and Draco sank softly into the cushion below him.
Harry had never seen Draco so completely limp and relaxed. All tension had evaporated from his body, finally free of the frenzied lust which had gripped him earlier. Even with Harry's restraints, it must have taken much of his strength to withstand the siren call of the veela during their ritual. The wild fluttering creatures had brought out something within him that was beautiful and strange, and as dark and evanescent as the night itself.
Draco stirred, flinging a long arm across Harry. He muttered something sleepily, then snuggled into Harry's chest.
Harry wasn't sure he had heard correctly, but he decided to go with what his heart was telling him. "I'll stay with you, I promise," he whispered in reply, hugging him close, but Draco was already asleep.
A single tear ran down his face as he realized this might be the only chance he'd ever get to really hold Draco like this. Ever so gently, Harry stroked his back, his buttocks, the span of his shoulders. He kissed the pointed tips of his ears, smiling as Draco snored quietly. Even drenched with sweat, his hair smelled so sweet, like new-mown grass.
Oh sweet dragon prince, won't you come home to me?
Kirley Duke's pop tribute to Draco echoed absurdly in his head, and Harry scowled at the memory. Bad luck, Kirley, he's not your sweet dragon prince, he thought determinedly.
He's mine