CW: This chapter is rated E for explicit content of a sexual nature.
Once the chambermaid had helped her out of her evening gown and corset, leaving her only in her one-piece camisole and drawers, Hermione thanked her and sent her on her way back down, saying she could put on her nightgown by herself. Really, what she wanted was solitude. It was the night before her wedding, and yet... she couldn't feel a shred of the excitement most girls recounted before their own big days. Not a smidge. She felt, instead, a lonely sort of dread, as if she had been cornered and was at last in a spot where she couldn't wriggle out. Because tonight was her last night as an unmarried woman— which meant it was her last night of loving Ron freely, with no allegiance or commitment to anyone but him. The thought made her eyes water, and she dabbed the incipient tears hastily away.
Her gaze traveled instinctively to the wedding dress, still draped over the mannequin in the corner of her bedroom. It really was a beautiful dress— Madam Malkin had outdid herself, to the point where she had earned herself an invitation to the wedding (from Lady Amelia herself, which was no small feat) so she could see her creation glide angelically down the aisle. Hermione was glad that she would be looking at the dress mostly from the back, because she was sure that she would not be wearing the radiant smile that dress deserved to fully make it shine.
But it was a beautiful dress.
As if in a trance, Hermione walked to the mannequin and slowly began unbuttoning the crowded file of pea-sized white buttons down the back. Tomorrow morning, Maisie the chambermaid would be back, along with her mother's lady's maid Norma, to do down the buttons and then do them up after they'd helped her into it. But tonight, she could pretend. She could pretend she was getting in this dress of her own free will. She could pretend she was putting it on for the man she'd have wanted to be waiting for her at the altar.
Careful not to wrinkle it, Hermione slid the unbuttoned dress off of the mannequin and held it slightly away from her, not letting the skirts brush the Persian rug at the foot of her bed too much as she stepped into the dress, one leg after the other. Both legs in, she held the dress's bodice and pulled up, hoisting the short sleeves over her shoulders and then pulling the bodice slightly back to settle the weight properly. She looked at herself in the mirror. Without a corset underneath and with the buttons all undone, the dress looked loose and wilted, but even in that state it was certainly the most beautiful thing Hermione owned. And not that Ron would mind. No, Ron would marry her in anything. But still, as she twirled and turned in front of the mirror, examining herself in the dress that was to be a prison garment, she wished desperately that it was him she was marrying in something this wondrous.
"It's a beautiful dress." A voice, seemingly come out of nowhere, startled her, and she jumped slightly backward, interrupting her mirror turn. There was someone else in the room with her. Hermione looked around the room, her eyes darting to try to find the intruder, until they reached a darkened corner between her bathroom door and her wardrobe. There, as if on cue for her gaze to reach him, out of the shadows and into the light of the dying hearth stepped Ron.
Hermione breathed out with relief and clutched at her chest with one hand. "You scared me."
"I didn't mean to," Ron said, now fully joining Hermione in the center of the room. He was wearing a simple pair of khaki trousers and a soft cotton shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He reached out a hand to stroke Hermione's cheek gently, and she willingly bent into his touch.
"How did you get in here?"
"Your brother. After dinner, he came to find me and snuck me upstairs. He said he didn't want tonight... out on the gravel path, before dinner, he didn't want that to be our last goodbye. So he said to wait here and stay hidden until you were alone in your room." Seeing the look of alarm on Hermione's face, he hastened to add: "Don't worry, nobody saw us. He knows the movements of the house well."
"Well, if even Maisie didn't see you while she was in here..." Hermione said.
"That's right. And I've been in here the whole time."
"Then I'm reassured." She sighed and then a look of alarm came over her face. "Wait— does that mean you've been looking at me the whole time, as in, while I was still in my bloomers?"
To her surprise, Ron didn't hurry to reassure her or make a quip. Instead, his expression was replaced with something darker, richer, and his voice dropped. "Why? Would that be so unwelcome?"
Warmth coursed through Hermione at his words, and she found herself answering: "No," her voice dropping to Ron's tone, "it would not."
Ron moved closer, angling his legs so one of Hermione's would be between both of his, in a pose reminiscent of the first kiss they had shared in this very room. The hand on her cheek now cupped it in earnest, while the other hand settled on her lower back, where the dress's opening began. Through the slight gape of the dress, Hermione shivered at the touch of his fingers on her skin. Ron leaned in close, so close Hermione could almost feel the weight of his words as they fell from his lips. "It is a beautiful dress, y'know."
"Oh, this old thing?" Hermione whispered.
Ron let out a small laugh and then shifted even closer, their hips parallel and their chests touching. "What a lucky man he is," he said huskily, his lips almost brushing against Hermione's as he spoke, "the bloke that gets to get you out of this dress."
Again the words came naturally to Hermione. "Why isn't it you?"
Ron looked almost pained, and he withdrew slightly. "Hermione, you know that I can't—"
"No," Hermione cut him off, taking his face in her hands and turning it so he was looking at her. "I mean, why don't you do it? Right now?"
Ron looked at her with wide eyes, as if asking, you mean it?; when he found nothing but certainty in her eyes, he said nothing and merely let his hands travel to her shoulders, where he brushed off the short sleeves and held them in his hands. Without breaking eye contact with Hermione, he began pulling upward; getting the gist, Hermione raised her arms and let Ron pull the dress off her. With dress in hand, he looked at her in awe.
"My, my," he said, his mouth agape and his blue eyes traveling indulgently up and down Hermione until they met hers. Even in her modest undergarments, the camisole and drawers shielding the angles of her body from view, she took his breath away.
"Now you," Hermione ordered, stepping up to him and taking the hem of his cotton shirt in her hands. Ron didn't protest, just set the dress aside on the boudoir and then, hands free, raised his arms and let Hermione pull his shirt off over his head. Hermione had the same reaction: she stepped back and took Ron in, the taut muscles of his back and chest, the arms that had held her before but whose broadness she only now realized, the freckles that speckled the creamy skin.
"Ron, you..." she trailed off, unable to finish the thought. "Oh, just kiss me."
And then there it was, that muscular firmness that defined Ron's body, but wrapped around her and drawing her closer as he kissed her ardently, as if he'd waited for years for her to ask him to. The contact of his skin against hers was exhilarating, but she wanted more. She grabbed one of his hands from where it rested on her waist and brought it up to the strap of her camisole. Ron wasted no time in understanding —and executing— the message: without breaking the kiss, he took a strap of the camisole in each hand and tugged softly down, letting the one-piece undergarment slide down Hermione's body and pool at her ankles.
With her body uncovered, Hermione now pressed herself more tightly to Ron, wanting to drink in every inch of his skin with hers. Ron gave in passionately, pressing her closer to him, feeling the softness of her breasts against his chest, the smoothness of her bare back under his rough hands. His kiss searched hers, wanting to go deeper, wanting more, even as he was giddy with more than he'd had in his entire life, more than he ever thought he would. Hermione seemed to feel the same, because with the leg that wasn't between Ron's, she inched toward the bed.
Only then did Ron break the kiss and hold her by the shoulders at arm's length. "Hermione," he panted, still breathless from the kiss, "are you sure you want to do this?"
Hermione walked to the canopied bed and pulled back the duvet, opening up the sheets and laying herself across them. "I'm sure."
Ron stifled the urge to just leap onto the bed right then and there, keeping his composure just long enough to unbutton his trousers and slide them down along with his knickers, shaking off his shoes along the way. Then, feeling her eyes on him (and loving it), he rounded the bed and joined her atop it, cradling her head as he leaned in with a kiss. He ventured on the bed first with a knee, then with the other, getting up slowly and rotating so he and Hermione were not laying across the bed but along it. Satisfied, he suspended himself above her on all fours and gazed straight down at her face, her hair strewn on the pillow and her rosy lips slightly open with the anticipation of a just-broken kiss that wants desperately to revive.
"Blimey, Hermione, you're so fucking beautiful," Ron muttered as he lowered himself down to kiss her, letting his lips touch hers but keeping his body suspended just a few inches above. To his surprise, however, Hermione pulled him down brusquely, wrapping an arm around his back and placing the other on the nape of his neck. Her eyes closed as she gave into the kiss, she raised her legs and wrapped them around Ron, as if she wanted to draw him closer, closer to her in any way she could. The shift in her legs, however, meant that Ron's groin was now right up against the warmth between them— and when the sensation first hit him, Ron immediately felt himself start to harden.
Out of consideration, not wanting his erection to spring right against her folds, Ron shifted slightly so it was instead against the inside of one of her thighs, giving him the same silky warmth without worrying he was making Hermione uncomfortable. As she felt him against her leg, Hermione moaned softly into the kiss, which only made Ron harden even faster. Using a hand to keep himself propped up so as to not drop his whole weight onto her, Ron let his other hand find its way to one of Hermione's breasts and close around it, the pad of his thumb right over the nipple. He rubbed tenderly and it wasn't long before the nub had become stiff, Hermione's body responding to his touch with as much eagerness as his had to hers.
He then moved to the other nipple, now rubbing in small circles over it, Hermione's soft sighs letting him know he was doing a good job. Wanting to do for him what he was doing for her, Hermione took her hand off his neck and sent it downward, brushing tentatively against the underside of Ron's shaft, then closing around it. Hesitantly, Hermione shifted her hand up and down, settling for staying near the top of and using her thumb to stroke the exposed tip.
Above her, as she stroked him, Ron saw stars. "Hermione..." he groaned as he tried not to burst just from the feel of her hand on him.
"Is this good?" Hermione said softly, just as her thumb started rubbing circles along the tip.
"Oh—" Ron blurted, shivering with the stimulation of her touch. "It's perfect."
"You mean it?" Hermione said, though her motion didn't stop.
"Anything you did to me would be," Ron said, resuming the kiss, hoping that if he kept his mind on kissing her he might keep himself from going over the edge right then and there.
But Hermione's hand was making it bloody difficult: it moved from the tip and shifted back toward the base, pumping softly up and down, trying to elicit more of those little grunts of his Hermione was learning she loved and determined to hear as many of as possible.
Wanting to focus on anything except how good she was making him feel, because it was bliss and he wanted to draw it out as long as possible, Ron moved his own hand downward between her legs, finding the spot easily considering the openness of their being wrapped around him, his thumb now rubbing her clit. Hermione moaned under him and, for a second, the pace of her hand slowed as she adjusted to the new pleasurable sensation, and then resumed even more eagerly, Ron responding in kind. Her skin was soft and lush under his hand, and where his fingers brushed her folds they drew away slightly sticky, her musk reaching his nose and almost making him dizzy.
Hermione let him touch her for a few more minutes, her tongue venturing deeper into his mouth and her hand never leaving his shaft, sinking deeply into the joined bliss of the most passionate kiss they had ever exchanged and the unrestrained feel of her body against hers, him in his hand, his hand over her. She felt warmth pool at the base of her stomach and ooze downward, permeating the space between her legs with the pleasant warmth that, under Ron's able fingers, soon turned into heat. Then she shifted her hips again and moved her hand upward once more, so she was still caressing his tip but had his base rub up against her thigh. She began bucking her hips softly up and down, adding to the friction of her skin against him with her moving thigh. The message was, again, clear, but still Ron looked expectantly at her, wanting her to be the one to say it so he wouldn't do anything to make her uncomfortable.
"Ron, take me," Hermione said, and the desire in her voice, evident almost to the point that she was whimpering, made him want to do as she said, to plunge into her, right then and there. But he stopped himself for a final check.
"Hermione, my love, I'm not asking this because I don't want to —because believe me, it's taking every ounce of my self-restraint not to—, but because I want you to be comfortable: are you sure?"
Hermione raised her head slightly to meet his lips, the fire drained from her kiss and replaced by a tenderness that spoke only of love. "Yes," she said as she pulled away, looking right into his eyes. "I want it to be the man I love. I want it to be you."
To hear the words come from her lips was all he needed. "Alright," he said softly, shifting again to lower himself atop her.
"Wait," Hermione said, pushing him softly away from her right as their chests were about to touch. "In the top drawer. Little green box."
She gestured toward the nightstand by her bed. Ron caught the gist and reprimanded himself internally, blaming his desire for how he had managed to overlook that crucial detail. Resenting the feel of the air on his skin as it lost contact with hers, Ron got off the bed and went to the nightstand. He opened the top drawer and found a squat kelly-green box at its back. He opened it to find a few yellowish sheaths folded inside. He withdrew one, knowing full well what it was, and showed it to Hermione to make sure he'd found them alright, even though he knew he had. She nodded.
"Where did you get these?"
"Orlando got them for me," Hermione shrugged. "I told him I'd never use them, but he said it pays to be prepared."
"Wise man, that brother of yours," Ron said, shaking the sheath open and beginning to slide it over his shaft, which had softened slightly.
"Ron, don't bring my brother into the bedroom—"
"Sorry, sorry," Ron said, the sheath placed over him, as he returned to bed, resuming his position above her. "You know all I'm about is you."
Hermione's eyes were full of lust and love under him as she extended a hand and pulled the small ribbon that held the curtains of her four-poster bed in place. The knot loosened and the curtains on one side fell around them. Ron took the cue and extended his own hand to undo the other side of the curtains, and as Hermione pulled the covers over both of them, the rest of the curtains were shaken loose and fell into place, closing the bed off from the rest of the room.
Now they were in a pocket universe of their own, ensconced between the four curtains and under the heavy covers of Hermione's bed. The light of the embers through the velvet curtains infused their little shrine in a rich red glow, bordering on darkness but just enough so Hermione could make out the freckles on Ron's face, which was all she needed.
"It's just you and me," she whispered, bringing a hand up to his face.
"Just the way I'd want it," Ron responded, kissing her softly. His hands wove around her back and settled there, locking them in an embrace as Hermione did the same. Hermione's back was soft, so heavenly soft, against the roughness of his callused, work-worn hands. The discordant touch made him think that he was just a workboy, while she, she was...
Involuntarily, tears came to his eyes. "I have never held something so beautiful in my hands," he mumbled as he moved them over her back, "and to think I'm going to lose it."
Hermione clung to him with more force, the soft pads of her fingertips brushing against the rough edges of the peeling sunburns he had from working outside. "But we have tonight," she said, her whisper wavering.
"If tonight is to be the last chapter of our story," Ron said, kissing her temple, "then let's make it a perfect epilogue, my love."
Hermione kissed his cheek and opened her legs to let the weight of Ron settle comfortably between them. Ron brought one hand out from under her and used it to position himself at her entry, the tip teasing at the edge of her folds. "I want it to be you, too," he whispered into her ear, punctuating it with a kiss to her earlobe, before he slid in.
As she felt him enter her, Hermione let out a sigh, spreading her legs slightly wider to accommodate him. Feeling the shift, Ron pulled out slightly and eyed her.
"Does it hurt?"
"No," Hermione said, her hand again on the nape of his neck, brushing tenderly against his hair. "Just feels like a little bit of an unusual pressure, but that's all. I'm getting used to it. But it's wonderful."
"You mean it?"
"Yes, Ron, I mean it." And she did: though the sensation of Ron inside her was new and unlike anything she had felt before, the tenderness and care with which he was making every move made her feel safe. "Keep going."
With her reassuring hand on his back now, Ron obeyed and pushed slowly further in, relishing again in Hermione's sigh, which this time sounded more pleasurable. Encouraged by this, he moved out and thrust a little deeper, again enchanted by the small moan Hermione let out. Ron began thrusting in earnest, keeping his pace steady and his movements smooth, his arm again wrapping around Hermione's back. Hermione nudged him slowly down into a kiss, tilting her legs slightly upward to rest on the backs of his thighs and open herself up more.
Now Ron closed his eyes and finally let himself get fully lost in the bliss of every sensation inside the four red curtains of the bed: Hermione's skin against his, the warmth of her around him, the little sounds she made into the kiss when she liked something he'd done. He withdrew briefly from the kiss to look at her where she lay, and found the sight divine: Hermione's eyes were closed and her face drawn into an expression of obvious pleasure. Satisfied, he again budged her lips open with his to let his tongue in, resuming the kiss as he thrusted just a little deeper.
He had liked the look on Hermione's face and wanted to keep it there, wanted to make it even more pronounced, so he again disengaged a hand from his embrace of her and replaced it back between her legs, rubbing delicately to heighten any sensation Hermione was reveling in. Feeling his touch, Hermione's grip around him tightened even more, so the back of his hand as it worked was even touching her abdomen, pulling him into an embrace that made it very clear she wanted him to keep doing what he was doing— and she wanted more.
Ron still kept his pace careful but steady, and it wasn't long before Hermione's moans became shriller and more frequent. "Oh, Ron, I think I'm— I think I will— I think I'm about to—" Her words dissolved into a low, sustained whimper as she trembled under him and came. Her body quivered with her orgasm, and she felt herself tighten around him with the spasms, clamping him in and sending delightful throbs up his shaft.
Ron pulled out slightly and looked down at her. "Was that good?"
"Perfect," Hermione smiled and raised her head to kiss him. "It was perfect, Ron, thank you." To his delighted surprise, she pulled him back onto her and now it was her hand that positioned him back at her entrance. "Let me make you feel at least half as good now?"
"You don't know what you're saying," Ron said gruffly as he again pushed in. "You'll be making me see at least four times the stars, Hermione."
Hermione wrapped her legs more tightly around him and kissed him deeply, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth, as Ron thrust, unable to help himself and quickening the pace of his thrusting ever so slightly. Her warmth, her mouth on his, her hands gripping at his back, the floral-and-musky scent of her, her warmth... Altogether, it wasn't too much time before Ron too was going over the edge with a low groan that was music to Hermione's ears. He rode out the wave and then collapsed over her, still inside, panting slightly and with his head nestled between her breasts.
Hermione's hand found its way to his hair and tousled it. "Was that good?"
"You, Hermione Granger," Ron eked out between heavy breaths, "will be the death of me."
"I'll take that as a yes," Hermione laughed softly.
Regaining his senses, Ron got up onto his knees and out of her, withdrawing the sheath and making sure to knot it tightly.
"Just put it back in the drawer," Hermione instructed. "I'll take care of it tomorrow. But come back to me fast."
Ron obliged and ventured a hand out of the curtains to set the filled sheath back in the drawer, closing it softly. That done, he let himself roll over onto his back and lay there beside Hermione, who shifted so her hand was on his chest and her head resting on the crook of his neck and shoulder. Ron wrapped an arm around her and turned to look at her, almost moved to tears again by her flushed face, so earnest and gleaming for the love of him.
"I love you," he said, leaning forward to kiss her.
"I love you," she said back, kissing him one more time after that.
She settled into his arms and smiled softly as Ron held her, burying her face in her neck and pressing a kiss to the skin against her lips. Ron responded with a kiss on her forehead, moving his legs so they again tangled with hers. Under the covers, they breathed one same rhythm, ecstatic in the aftermath of their first time and delighted to be where they felt like they fit best: in each other's arms. Though it was their last night together, the swelling in their chests felt like a new dawning.
In Hermione's room, something was beginning.
In Draco's room, something was ending.
The knock at the door barely surprised him when it came, but his heart didn't turn over in his chest, merely fluttered slightly, dampened with the dread of the day ahead him once morning dawn. Still, he felt happy when he opened the door and found Harry, already in his sleeping robe.
"Did I lose another cigarette case?"
Harry, however, didn't play along, just showed himself into Draco's room and shut the door softly behind him. "Nobody followed me, I'm sure," he promised as he turned the lock on Draco's door, taking extra caution to see that it was well and truly locked.
"Harry, this is risky," Draco said, though he meant it only futilely.
"So what? We've already been caught, and you promised your father you wouldn't back out of the marriage. The least I can do is be here."
"But why?"
"And you need to ask?" Harry stepped forward and cupped Draco's cheek in his hand. "I've come to say goodbye. The proper way."
Draco felt his heart begin to crack in his chest and turned away hastily, swatting Harry's hand off of him with his head's brusque movement. "So goodbye, then."
"Come on, Draco," Harry said, and the hurt in his voice made Draco want to look at him again, even if he was currently trying to fight back the tears he didn't want Harry to see. "Don't tell me this is how you want it to be."
"No, but it'll only hurt more if I have you, if I delude myself into thinking it can last more than one final night."
"Here's how I see it," Harry said. His hand hung tentatively in the air, but rather than reposition it on Draco's face, he extended it to take Draco's own hand in it. "You already have a rest of your life without me. That much is guaranteed. But we can stave it off for one last night."
"No," Draco mumbled. Harry's face dropped, and he let go of Draco's hands.
"I see. Well, that's alright. The last thing I'd want is to force you into anything. I'll be seeing myself out, then. I'll see you at the wedding."
He turned to leave, and he was halfway to the door before Draco piped up again. "Harry, wait!" Harry stopped in his tracks and spun to look at Draco, trying to keep too much expectation from building in his chest. "It's not that I don't want— I mean, I want to, you know that— I just don't think I can stand to hurt any more than I do right now."
"And I understand that," Harry said.
"So maybe we shouldn't do anything too physical, but you... can you hold me?" His last phrase came out as a desperate plea.
Harry gave him a soft, sad smile. "Of course," he said, already beginning to walk to the unmade bed. He laid down on it and opened his arms, waiting for Draco. He didn't need to wait long: Draco hopped onto the bed and rolled into Harry's waiting embrace immediately. Harry closed his arms as Draco brought his own to Harry's chest, laying in a warm hug with foreheads touching on the pillows.
"It feels so right," Draco mumbled. "To be laying here with you. In your arms."
"It feels perfect," Harry said, tilting his chin up slightly to kiss Draco's forehead.
He stayed there, and they lay there for a little longer, Harry's lips touched to Draco's forehead and both of their arms around one another, pressing tighter and tighter to share in the warmth of each other's bodies, a warmth that had become wonderfully familiar, a warmth that would be painfully missed.
It was perhaps the thought of never feeling this warmth again that made Draco pipe up again. "I've changed my mind," he said, and Harry pulled away from the embrace to eye him somewhat quizzically. "I want to do it. One last time."
"Are you sure?" Harry said, his brow slightly furrowed. "Because I don't want to coerce you into anything you don't want—"
"I'm sure," Draco cut him off, his voice now not trembling in the slightest but infused with a kind of desperate certainty. "I want you, Harry. And since I'm going to be wanting you for the rest of my life, it seems foolish not to have you the last time I'll be able to."
"If you're sure," Harry said, but his fingers had already trailed to the lapel of Draco's robe, beginning to pull it softly off his shoulders.
"Undress me, darling," Draco whispered by way of assent, and Harry didn't need to be told twice. They sat up in bed, each one's hands working on unknotting and sliding off the other's sleeping robe, pulling it softly out from under them when done and casting them to the floor on each respective side of the bed. Then, their clothes discarded, they fell back onto the bed in nothing but their pants, holding each other's face by the side and exchanging a kiss that deepened with every passing second.
Draco's hand was the first to leave that hold, trailing down the side of Harry's body to the waist of his pants, tugging down. Harry caught the hint and broke the kiss to squirm out of his underwear, and Draco took the opportunity to do the same, both tossing their pants off the bed to join their robes where they'd fallen on the floor.
Now there was that warmth again, but even fuller, even more all-consuming, as Harry's naked body pressed against his own. Draco let out a sigh of pleasure as he felt Harry shift closer to him. They resumed their kiss, and as the kiss deepened, Draco felt Harry begin to rock slightly against him, rubbing his growing erection against the lower part of Draco's stomach. Draco disentangled one hand from the kiss and brought it down to between their bodies, closing it lightly around Harry's length and beginning to move it up and down with the pace of Harry's rocking, moving in synchrony with Harry's body.
Harry moaned lowly into the kiss and responded in kind, detaching one of his hands from Draco's face and bringing it down to the growing warmth between both of their crotches. Instead of grabbing Draco the way he was grabbing him, though, Harry flattened his palm and set it against Draco's undershaft, moving it slightly up and down to reach Draco's sensitive spots with a fuller touch. Draco's moan was higher than Harry's, but it was there nonetheless, and he responded to the added touch by prying Harry's lips further open with his tongue and delving into the inside of his mouth with it, exploring every inch as if it was the first time. Harry let his teeth brush lightly against Draco's lower lip, tangled in the kiss even as his hand quickened its pace.
They lay there, pleasuring and kissing one another, for a good few minutes before Draco broke away, almost breathless. "Harry, I'm ready."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, but he didn't need to: Draco was as hard as he was, and he'd be willing to bet anything that he was just as aroused.
"Yes," Draco said, stopping his movement along Harry's length to signal, somewhat more tangibly, that he was ready for what was next. "Everything is in the drawer."
But Harry already knew that and had beat Draco to the chase, reaching for the second drawer on the nightstand by Draco's bed. He rifled in it briefly to withdraw one of the sheaths Sirius had so graciously provided him in large quantities what seemed like an eternity ago, as well as the metallic tube with the green label with a big K-Y on it. With the supplies in hand, he shut the drawer and turned back to Draco: "Ready?"
Draco nodded and rolled over so he'd be laying on his back, bending his knees and spreading his legs slightly. Harry grabbed for one of the throw cushions at the foot of the bed, left there from when Draco had unmade it for the night, and slipped it under Draco's rear, raising his hips just an inch or two more. Then, he twisted the cap off the tube and squeezed out some of the contents onto his fingers, rubbing the jelly to spread it evenly on his finger tips. Then he squeezed out one more dollop onto his index finger and brought it to Draco's entrance, spreading it on and around the hole to ease the slip-in of his fingers. When he was sure Draco was sufficiently lubed up, he gently eased a finger in, reveling in the pleased sigh Draco exhaled as he felt the start of the pressure. Harry placed more of his finger inside, moving it in little circles, whispering encouraging words of 'relax, Draco' more out of custom than because Draco really needed it. Soon enough, he could slip another finger in, Draco tightening around him as his body grew accustomed to the increased pressure, but then gradually relaxing as it did. Harry was up to three fingers and moving just as slowly and as carefully when Draco spoke: "I'm ready, Harry."
Harry pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh, and made one last check, as he always did, just to be safe in the knowledge that Draco absolutely wanted him to proceed. "Ready, dear?"
"Yes," Draco eked out, struggling to get out coherent words under the bliss of Harry's fingers moving inside him. "Harry, do it now, please."
"As you wish," said Harry. Draco gave a little moan of disappointment as he felt Harry's fingers withdraw, but Harry needed both hands to unfold the sheath and fit it over himself. Once he'd tied the two little strings around the base, he squirted out a larger amount of the jelly onto his palm and lathered it up and down his full length, making sure every inch of the sheath was oiled. He also used more of the jelly to reapply to Draco's arse, wanting to ensure that the entry, despite being a well-practiced one, was smooth.
Once satisfied, he pressed his tip to Draco's entrance, restraining himself from pushing past the initial puckered pressure. Before he did, he sought Draco's eyes, wanting to find in them the signal to proceed.
"Go, darling," Draco told him.
Harry obliged, taking a light hold of Draco's hips with his hands and easing himself in slowly, gently, not wanting to make any sudden movements that might discomfort or hurt Draco under him. Draco's moans, however, were encouraging, and soon he was slipping in and out at a constant, while still tender, pace. Once he'd found his rhythm, he lifted one of his hands off Draco's hips and took it to Draco's erection, using his thumb to tease along the tip right where it met the shaft.
Draco's moans grew slightly louder. "Don't stop," he told Harry in between hitched breaths. "Don't stop, Harry, keep going right there, maybe a little faster—"
Harry did as Draco wished, quickening his pace slightly, just to increase the speed of the simulation but without making his movements rougher or more careless. He knew Draco's body well, but tonight was the last time he would hold it in his hands, and he wanted to worship it, to treat it as one would a sacred thing. He wanted Draco to get off, sure, but he wanted to feel close to him more than anything, to show him his love in a physical sense in the last chance he would ever have to do so.
Draco's breathing grew more ragged as his excitation climbed, and Harry responded to this by wrapping his hand now fully around Draco's girth, moving up and down with the pace of his thrusting instead of just teasing along the tip. Draco almost whimpered as Harry's hand closed around him. "Harry, I'm close, I'm gonna—"
He didn't finish before the spurts of white began coming from his tip, dripping down onto his stomach as Harry rubbed him for every last drop. Once his orgasm was over, he sighed and relaxed slightly, his hands dropping to his sides on the bed. Harry ceased his thrusting and, without drawing out of him, leaned over him to kiss him. "You did good, dear," he whispered, brushing against his lips as he did. "Was that good?"
"Better than ever before," said Draco, lifting his head slightly to return the kiss. "I want to do the same for you."
"Are you sure? Because I can finish myself off—"
"Do what you need to do, Harry. I want you to," Draco assured him, brushing a hand against Harry's cheek.
Then Harry resumed his long, steady strokes, growing even more aroused when he heard Draco sigh in delight under him. The pace mounted with Harry's arousal, and Harry's occasional grunts became more frequent and louder as he neared his own climax.
"Draco, I'm going to—"
Draco brushed his hand against Harry's messy black hair. "Come for me, darling."
Harry let forth a low groan as he went over the edge, staying inside as the delicious spasms moved through him. Once it was over, he leaned over to kiss Draco one more time before pulling out, careful not to spill anything as he took off the sheath and tied it to keep it from leaking.
Leaving Draco still panting on his back on the bed, Harry stood up from the bed and walked to the bathroom to toss the filled sheath in the trash. Then he went over to the mantelpiece over the hearth and grabbed the small pitcher of water and the few washcloths the chambermaids always left behind in every room for after-dinner freshening-up.
"Thank you," said Draco as Harry poured the water, warm from the heat of the hearth, carefully onto the cloth and then drew it across Draco's stomach and his own, cleaning them both up.
"It's my pleasure," Harry said, setting the pitcher and the washcloths on the nightstand and leaning over Draco to kiss him again. The lust, foregone between the sheets, had melted into a love that knew it was its farewell stint, and that much was evident in the passion and tenderness with which Harry kissed Draco.
Draco grabbed the cushion from under him and discarded it, reaching a hand out to turn off the lamp as Harry settled into bed beside him, pulling the blankets over them.
The darkness that settled upon the bedroom without the lamp, almost impenetrable except for the dying glow of the embers in the hearth, was more conducive to silence, and Draco and Harry said nothing as they snuggled up to one another, intertwining their arms and legs in a close embrace that ended up with them chest-to-chest, legs tangled, arms around each other, and noses touching on their respective pillows.
"How's that for goodbye?" Harry whispered, and Draco felt his warm breath on his face as Harry spoke the words.
"I wish it didn't have to be," Draco mumbled, cuddling closer to Harry.
One of Harry's hands, still wrapped around Draco, snaked up to the nape of Draco's neck and stroked the hair there lovingly. "I know," Harry said, "I wish for that if I never wish for anything else in my entire life." He paused and, in the near-total darkness, found Draco's eyes.
"You are everything I've ever wished for, Draco Malfoy."
"Don't say that," said Draco, casting his gaze away. "If anything, I'm the one lucky to have you."
"But I mean it," Harry said, his fingers looping around the strands of thin blond hair at Draco's nape. "My time with you has been beyond my wildest dreams."
"Even if it has to end now?"
In the dark, Harry's mouth drew upward in a sad smile. "I never thought I'd get this much time with you, Draco. I never thought we'd build from our occasional trysts, even though I badly wanted you from that first time at Ashcroft Manor, back in your bedroom during the Black gathering. This —you— has all been more than I ever thought I had a right to ask for. For a time longer than I ever dared dream of, I got to call you mine."
"You know I'm still yours, don't you? I'm always yours."
"In heart, perhaps, but after tomorrow you won't be mine in body, in name..."
"But you knew we never stood a chance, did you?"
"Maybe not. At least not at the start— I went in knowing full well I could never marry you. But I got soft, and I got foolish, and I let myself dream a little too much."
The sorrow in Harry's voice made Draco's heart break, even more than it already had, even more than he thought it could. "Hey," he whispered, nuzzling even closer to Harry, "I'm all yours tonight. In every possible way— heart, body, mind, soul. Can we let tonight be enough?"
"It has to be," Harry said, shifting his face closer to Draco's as well, "but I don't think I'll ever have enough of you."
"Nor I," said Draco, closing the gap between their faces with a light kiss. "I love you, Harry Potter."
"And I love you, Draco Malfoy, and I will love you, for as long as there's breath left in my body." Harry shifted to tighten his hold on Draco, keeping their mouths close and their chests pressed together, a position that was one of Draco's favorites to sleep together in. They settled into one another, ready to fall asleep in each other's arms one final time, lulled by the rhythm of their synchronized breathing. So Draco almost didn't hear when Harry added, almost as an afterthought: "And maybe even beyond that."