The dining room looms around Harry like a cavern of echoing emptiness. He prefers the tight spaces of the gardens or the familiar surroundings of his rooms, but they, too, are cloying this morning. Tovo's small hands and pleading are the only things that brought him out of his room. He'd retreated there after waking and taking a shower. Draco sleeps as if dead, or at least pretends to.
Harry wonders if maybe Draco didn't want to think about last night, either.
When Draco comes down for breakfast, Harry's eyes grow wide in shock at his appearance. He's shirtless, wearing only silk pajama bottoms and in his bare feet. His hair is mussed and as he enters, he runs tired fingers through it, casually tossing it to the side, scrubbing at his face to wake himself.
Across the room, Harry cowers in his chair, trying to sink into it as far as he can and become invisible. He wishes his cloak was at hand. Draco notices this and watches from his end of the table.
"What got in your porridge this morning, Potter?" His voice isn't cold, but he's irritated and Harry attempts to twist farther away.
His leg is rapidly thumping the underside of the table. It's bruising his kneecap, but he doesn't care—it's a nice sort of pain that brings him back to the moment, brings him back to the reason he can't be here.
He blushes before he can speak, so his words are soft and stuttered. "I-I'll go b-back to my own room tonight." He's dropped his spoon now in order to hug himself, the thump-thump-thump against the table matching the heartbeat rising in his throat.
"The fuck are you talking about?" Draco isn't awake yet, but he's narrowed in on Harry's weakness.
"You don't want to be with me. You don't want to be with someone who can't…" The words stop coming. He can't make them continue to form on his lips when they are traitorous to everything he wants—everything he needs.
Draco waits, thinks. "No one is perfect and fuck if I got it right the first time." He lets out a short bark of a laugh, remembering something he doesn't share. "You will not be moving out of my room." The command startles Harry. "We'll just have to figure it out."
Harry slumps even farther into his chair, which seems impossible, but he finds a way. Draco sighs and walks over to him. He leans down quite far to place a kiss on Harry's forehead.
"It's fine," he says. "You are fine. We are fine." The emphasis helps to pull tortoise-Harry out of his shell and he sits up a little. "Now. While I am incredibly horny," said with a thrust of his hips toward Harry's shoulder, "sex is not the end of the world. We have time."
Harry doesn't respond; he reaches out to squeeze Draco's arm and that is enough.
Draco smirks down at him and adds, "We will, of course, have to keep trying regularly until we get it right."
Harry turns bright red and slaps Draco's hip. "Now?" he asks, the word not quite formed as he's trying to understand thoughts before they all come spilling out. Draco tugs him away from the table with a sly grin and they make their way upstairs.
The bedroom is uncomfortable at first, but when Draco kisses Harry and reaches around to his waist, sliding lower to cup his arse, Harry stops thinking. His mind is on the way Draco's fingers are wriggling their way into his pajamas, sliding them down, revealing his bare skin. He trails all the way down to his toes, which tickle until Harry lifts his feet enough to be freed of the confining clothing.
Then Draco moves upward, focusing on his shirt. He grips the bottom hem and tugs, his knuckles dragging across Harry's chest. He's burning by the time cool air hits him but then Draco's warm tongue glides around a nipple—lapping, sucking, biting. Harry reaches, needing something to hold on to, finding Draco's hair. The white-blond strands are soft, thin, and as he grips them, Draco looks up with a lust-driven "Oh" and dives back down toward Harry's navel.
"Draco, I don't think I can stand for much longer," Harry manages, barely a whisper.
Draco chuckle is husky, but he pushes Harry back until he's sitting on the edge of the bed. He kneels in between Harry's legs and runs skilled hands on the outside of his legs. Harry shakes a little. When Draco first takes Harry's cock in his mouth, Harry's head lolls back, then snaps forward when Draco drops quickly to suck at the base, swirling his tongue and sucking as he comes back up. One hand gently rolls Harry's balls, careful not to squeeze too hard. The other accentuates the pressure beneath his mouth, squeezing and pumping as he sucks, swirling around the head of Harry's cock. It's when Draco stays at the top, gently bobbing, twisting his hand below his mouth, but swirling his tongue just below the glans that Harry begins to tighten his arse and roll his hips.
Draco smiles around the cock in his mouth. He gives Harry a count to ten and just as he hits eight, he feels the build-up in Harry's balls.
"Fuck, Draco, I'm going to—"
Harry's stomach contracts and he's gripping the sheets in delirium, but Draco swallows everything he gives.
After, when he can breathe, Draco slithers up beside him and throws a leg over Harry's. "Better?"
Harry kisses him, surprised at the taste of himself in Draco's mouth. He is most surprised to find he doesn't mind it.
He feels the soft throb of Draco's erection on his thigh. "Do you want me to?" Harry asks the question, knowing the answer, but still insecure about the consequences.
Draco's response is neutral. He doesn't force Harry, but he doesn't stop him, either. The decision is Harry's.
Gathering his wits and bravery, Harry rolls from beneath Draco. "Will you help me with these?" he asks as he plucks at Draco's pajama bottoms. Draco grins, thumbing the fabric, lifting his hips, and sliding them off.
The cock before him is beautiful. It curves upward just a little. Draco shaves, which Harry hadn't noticed before. His balls are pulled tight, the skin smooth—much like the rest of him, Harry thinks as he looks him over. There's only one thing that mars Draco's beauty and it's Harry's fault. He runs his fingers over the Sectumsempra scars, a wistful look on his face. Draco catches his hand and kisses his fingers.
"It's in the past, Harry. Leave it there."
Harry nods, but it's difficult. He returns to Draco's hips, tracing the slow arch from waist to thigh. At this, Draco tries not to squirm and fails. Harry smiles. He finds it oddly attractive that Draco is ticklish. His fingers flatten and his palm travels lower toward the base of Draco's cock. This he's done before. This he can manage.
He grips and strokes. Twists just a little as he's seen Draco do. Uses his thumb to rub some of the pre-come over the head to ease his way. Harry relaxes as Draco starts to move with him, to react. When Harry leans over to taste him, his tongue darts out quickly, not sure what to expect. Draco's sharp intake of breath spurs Harry on and he lowers his mouth over more of the head, easing his tongue out to explore. He doesn't notice when Draco reaches above his head to grip at the bed frame or rolls his eyes back at the overload of sensations. He doesn't pay any attention when he's squeezing a bit too hard or, "Merlin's tits, Harry, too much," or "Fucking Salazar, I'm going to come" and then it's happening and Harry's overwhelmed with the taste and sensation.
He doesn't quite swallow and he doesn't quite spit it out. It's a mixture of all the above as he splutters around Draco's cock, which is shoved down his throat by raised, jerking hips. When Draco's spent, he collapses to the bed and looks up to see come dribbling down Harry's chin and it's the sexiest thing he's seen.
"Fuck that's hot."
Harry smiles and it's awkward but endearing.
After a Scourgify to help Harry feel somewhat clean, Draco pulls Harry to his side and they try re-learning how to breathe.
Harry's eyes are closed when Draco tells him, "Sex doesn't have to be difficult, Harry. It's just us—figuring it out, together." The kiss to his temple is a staple of reassurance before they fall asleep.
Harry wakes before the sun. He feels the pleasant warmth of Draco at his back and an arm slung across his waist. At his full-body stretch, he knows he's woken his bed partner.
"Morning."
"Sorry to wake you."
"It's fine." Draco kisses his neck and idly thumbs his hip. Harry's foot is rubbing up and down beneath the blanket and the sound travels quickly. "Something wrong?"
"No." He's not sure if he says the word aloud, so he shakes his head into the pillow. Draco pulls him closer and he can feel the thrum of a morning erection against his arse. "Draco?"
Draco's hand moves to Harry's hip, moving him in a rhythm that pulls them together in a delicious slide. Harry's breathing is loud and deep as he bites the inside of his arm. He's not sure he's ready. He's not sure he wants to be, but his body says otherwise.
Their clothes end up on the floor and Draco keeps Harry occupied with continued nips to the base of his neck followed by frenzied strokes of his cock. When Draco lifts his left leg and moves it forward, begins to prepare him, Harry's soft whimper changes quickly. Draco finds his prostate easily in this position and presses down. Harry's muscles react around him, but Draco swirls in a circle and waits as he relaxes.
When he's ready, Draco pulls his fingers out and oils himself up. It's a brief moment of emptiness, but Harry feels the loss. Draco's sure to circle his entrance, to stroke his cock, and get him back in the right headspace before trying to push through. It's a little easier in this position and Harry doesn't resist as much.
As he slides in, he talks Harry through it. "Breathe. That's it." A soft bite to the tendons in his neck to get him to release his muscles there. "Okay now let it out." Draco starts to slide out and Harry feels himself clench, the odd pushing something he's not used to yet. "Breathe with me." Draco angles downward and on the push back in he hits it—Harry's prostate—and Harry scrambles for something to hold. Draco doesn't go for long strokes, but together, they rock gently as he bumps into that sweet spot until Harry comes, a soft cry escaping him. Draco follows shortly and they savor the quiet aftermath.