A few spells and potions had Harry right as rain after his persistent clumsiness on the pitch, but a soreness that went deeper than muscle and bone grated at him as he stood scowling out his window into the night.
This is ridiculous. Sure it was five years ago, but for months, I was anybody's whore. It's not like I'm a blushing fucking virgin, so why is this knobhead affecting me so much?
Despite the burn to return to the pitch and wear himself to exhaustion, he lifted his whiskey back to his lips and tried to force the frown off his brow. A rumble of thunder shook the foundations of his flat as the liquor singed his throat.
I just need to fuck him out of my head. That's the only solution.
His eyes went unfocused as rain began to gently splatter his window. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip, collecting the drop of whiskey that had lingered and recalling the softness of Draco's mouth on his. The way his tongue had delved into it, had traced every surface of the inside as he'd rutted against him—
A flash of lightning broke his reverie and his whiskey tumbler shattered in his grip. With a muttered curse, he whipped out his wand and vanished the mess before carrying his bleeding palm to the washroom to clean it up. As he ran it beneath the faucet's spray, he was suddenly reminded of a different sort of spray he'd witnessed, and lifted his scowl to his reflection.
Honestly, I'm acting like a fucking addict after one time. It's ludicrous.
He'd seen enough war to be able to spell simple lacerations closed, and then he was back out in his living room, withdrawing a fresh tumbler from the cabinet and returning to his couch to refill it. And as he did, he hesitantly curled his fingers around his wand.
What's the worst that could happen? He doesn't come?
With a sigh, he tipped back another mouthful of whiskey and summoned his Patronus. He'd send it along to Draco, wherever he was, with a simple message:
"I, er… D-don't really know how this works, but if you… M-my floo's open for the next hour if you… A-anyway…"
His stag dipped its antlers obediently and then whizzed out into the stormy night, a sailing stream of silver. And Harry reclined back on his couch, pinching his brow as another sigh leaked through his lips. As an afterthought, he sent a silent spell towards the fireplace to lift the restrictions on who could visit his home. He didn't have Malfoy's magical imprint to weave into its magic, nor to his Loquorum's, so this was to be the next best thing.
I wonder if he'll come.
Draco was just spelling himself dry after a warm bath when he stepped from his bathroom to his bedroom and found a glowing stag waiting patiently on his bed, legs curled up under itself. When he halted, it raised its grandly-antlered head to look at him, and then he heard Harry's voice:
"I, er… D-don't really know how this works, but if you… M-my floo's open for the next hour if you… A-anyway…"
Draco chuckled as he watched the stag vanish, but as amusing as the Savior's ineloquence was, he couldn't deny the smile that lingered on his lips was edging more on pleasure than amusement.
Finally.
He dressed himself simply, not wanting a big task of it when he inevitably shed his clothes again, and stepped up to his own floo. He had to duck his head slightly to fit, but then he was saying that name and green flames engulfed him.
When he stepped through, casually brushing soot off his shoulder, he nearly laughed again at the stiffness to Harry's posture where he sat on his couch. Their eyes met, and somehow the tension in his shoulders reached his face, drawing his eyes taut, and Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Took you long enough," he began conversationally as he cast his gaze around the room. Every surface was covered in candles, medals, photos, memorabilia, Christmas cards, books and quills and parchment and just about every other nicknack Draco could name. And posters.
Posters in the living room. Finally, he did chuckle.
"Didn't realize you were waiting," Harry said quietly as he took a sip of what he assumed to be firewhiskey. And stood to approach a cabinet against one wall, withdrawing a second tumbler.
Draco sloped towards the couch he'd left, easily sinking into it as he pulled one knee up to face Harry's back, elbow coming to rest against the back and chin in his palm. Harry seemed to take his sweet time, but the reason was obvious when he turned back around and his cheeks were the color of cherries. Draco smirked.
"My pride's still well-enough intact to refrain from making the first and second move," he declared as he accepted the glass. Harry's lips twitched as he sat beside him, a full cushion away, and reached toward the coffee table for the decanter.
"I… Wasn't sure you'd come, honestly."
Draco hummed noncommittally as he allowed Harry to fill his glass.
"You weren't that awful, you know."
Green eyes lifted to his as he stopped pouring, and seemed frozen for a moment as Draco pulled his whiskey up to his lips and took a sip, never looking away. A muscle in Harry's brow feathered, but he made no comment as he finally returned the decanter to the low table.
"Mustn't have been, if you're coming back for seconds," he muttered into his own glass before taking another hesitant sip.
Draco smacked his lips and lowered his glass to his lap, eyeing the brunette speculatively. I wonder what happened this time. He's clearly in a mood.
"So," he began casually as Harry stiffened again. "How's… Quidditch, or whatever?"
He cast Draco a dubious glance, but a corner of his lips lifted.
"Same as ever. Although…" Here, he turned a frown down at his lap, leaning over his elbows as he twirled his glass between his hands. "I… I've been… Distracted, lately."
Draco snorted. "Glad to hear I'm not the only one."
Green eyes cut sideways at him as he rose his glass back to his lips, and he didn't miss how they followed the length of his throat as he swallowed his mouthful.
"Seems we're having quite a negative influence on each others' professional lives," Harry supposed, leaning back against the couch.
Negative? I mean… He's not altogether wrong, but… "I could use the distraction, honestly."
Draco was temporarily lost in his imagination as he pictured Harry getting hard against his broom, recalling the night they'd spent together during practice. Must've been nearly as uncomfortable as those tight pants, he assumed, but his musing came to a halt as the Seeker took a hesitant scoot towards him across the couch. His eyes focused back on the brunette, watching his cautious expression as he slowly closed the intentional gap he'd left between them. And then his thigh was pressing against Draco's knee, and he saw those green eyes flash down to his lips, and gutter.
Do it, he nearly begged. If these forty-eight hours have been as excruciating for you as they have for me, then fucking do it!
A trembling hand extended for him, and shakily wrapped around the collar of his shirt, and he nearly moaned in relief when those lips closed the final few inches toward his own.
The effect was instantaneous. He felt Harry shifting to face him more directly, parting his lips to deepen their kiss, and then he was pressing him back against the cushions. As frenzied as he'd been the first time, he rose onto a knee over Draco, forcing his head to angle back to allow their mouths to remain connected.
Oh, shit, he thought dimly as he heard the increasingly ragged draw of Harry's breath through his nose. The hand on his collar finally eased to thread into his hair, and then it was a fist, tugging his head back further to stretch his neck open to him. As if there were some kind of drug in his skin, Harry hungrily chased his mouth down his throat to his shoulder, where he bit down, and finally a whine forced its way up through his lips.
His free hand lifted of its own accord to grip the back of Harry's neck as his teeth dragged back up to his ear.
"You have no idea how often I've thought about doing this," he whispered rawly before swinging a leg over Draco's lap. He held his whiskey out of the way, straightening his hips on the couch to allow him to straddle him. He huffed a breathless laugh, recalling all the times he'd also thought about this. About him.
"I think I've… Oh, shit… " A clink behind him told him Harry'd set his glass down on the table behind the couch as his fingers wove between them to begin doing away with his shirt buttons. "I've probably got a fairly good idea."
Draco extended his whiskey over the arm of the couch, feeling for some surface to set it on since there was little hope of him using his eyes under Harry's onslaught of touch and taste. As his shirt was steadily unbuttoned, the mouth on his throat lowered to his chest, and suckled one of his nipples into itself. A tremor danced up his spine, and he sucked in a gasp. Before he could get much lower, though, Draco's glass found a side table and then his hands were on those muscular shoulders, twisting and pushing him back onto the couch until he was propped up over him, a bit more than slightly out of breath. Harry blinked up at him, an urgent need singing in his eyes, and he smiled.
"You're so fucking hot when you want me," he whispered as he leaned down to run the tip of his nose against Harry's flushed cheek. And he was delighted to hear a whine keen in his throat.
"I want you so fucking bad it's humiliating," he gasped his reply before taking Draco's face in his hands and forcing his mouth back onto his. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at Harry's words, and though he was just as frantic as he'd been the first time, he couldn't deny it was infectious. His knees hooked under Harry's and he pressed their hips together purposefully. And the urgent mouth on his broke away with a gasp.
"You want me to fuck you again?" Harry swallowed, eyes suddenly focusing on his as he gulped down air like he'd been drowning. But he nodded.
"Yes, please," he begged quietly. Fuck, that's hot. He… Seems really desperate for it. FUCK!
Draco sighed appreciatively as he ground his hips into Harry's, and another little whimper ushered from his lips.
"Anything for the Boy who Lived," he teased sardonically, but whether Harry felt any displeasure at the title wasn't obvious because he was immediately reaching between them to undo Draco's trousers, and all coherent thought fled.
In the back of his mind, Harry knew he was being too eager. Too embarrassingly needy, but once Draco had ripped his t-shirt up over his head, they were chest-to-chest and the long-forgotten but recently-remembered sensation of skin against skin sent his head spinning.
He took precious comfort in the fact that it seemed he wasn't the only one acting like a child on Christmas morning, because Draco was tearing his clothes away like this was a competition. And the tongue in his mouth was heady, dizzying, and so soft even in its insistence.
Despite Draco's slim stature, he was surprisingly strong, and easily flipped Harry over onto his stomach. As he felt his hard length slide between his cheeks, he fisted the couch cushion and hesitantly arched back against it, wondering what it'd be like from this angle. The overwhelming sensation left him only briefly as he felt the preparation spells cast on him, and then he was trembling all over with anticipation and fear and want. And Draco didn't keep him waiting.
"Jesus– Christ, you don't have a bad angle, you know that?" The blond asked as he introduced himself into Harry. He couldn't form any words around the strangled cry that broke in his mouth, though, as Draco slid in and in and in.
Oh, fuck… Despite his previous experience with this position, being in the opposite spot lent a certain understanding as to why his partners had always seemed so responsive to it. Because it wasn't two grunting ruts later that sharp, shocking pleasure sparked inside him, and he yelped into the couch.
Long fingers wrapped around his hips, pulling him slightly further up onto his knees as Draco assumed a punishing pace with him, pulling a drawn-out groan from his lips.
"Oh, shit– Ha-Harry, you-'re so fucking t-ight– Ah-!"
Harry couldn't think, couldn't process what was being done to his body. Too much, far too much sensation, too much pleasure to catalog. He suddenly found it difficult to breathe, and turned his head sideways to free his face from the couch cushion, but as soon as he did, his voice sang free, and humiliation rose up in him again.
Is that… My voice?
The top of his head met the armrest, and started pounding against it in time with Draco's thrusts, but he couldn't even try to care. He felt one of Draco's legs shift off the couch to brace against the floor, and how he could angle himself even deeper seemed impossible to him, but he gave a particularly loud shriek, and the push and drag into and out of him eased.
"Are you a-alright…? Haa–"
Don't fucking ask me that! Don't… Don't–
"Don't stop– Oh, god, don't– P-please–!"
A sound that sent Harry's hair on end groaned out of Draco, and the grip on his hips tightened fractionally. If he'd thought he'd already been fucking the shit out of him, the definition of such a thing was instantly rewritten as the blond heeded his desperate plea. More and more, his voice was shrieking out of him in short, panicked yelps, but fuck, it was so good…
The hands on his hips left suddenly, and he felt Draco lean over him, hands on either side of his waist against the couch as he fucked him into the cushion.
"Fucking Christ, you… Ah– Feel so fucking good–! Oh– H-Harry, tell me how it feels–!"
Oh, fuck… Fuck me! He hasn't even touched my dick, and I'm about to–!
"I-I'm cum–! AH–! "
He sprayed the couch with a scream, and then he felt a forehead against the nape of his neck.
"Oh, god… The way you tighten when you cum– I'm gonna–!"
Draco's moans devolved into something like shouts as he rutted purposefully once, twice, three more times and then came with a groan. And Harry felt it. Like a jet of hot water against that mind-numbing spot inside him, he yielded another shot of cum from his untouched cock.
And then they collapsed into a gasping, sticky heap on the cushions, neither making a move for several long moments as they caught their breath.
Shit… This is bad. If he keeps fucking me like this…
Eventually, Draco slowly, painstakingly withdrew, paired by groans from each, before collapsing back on top of him. He wasn't terribly heavy atop Harry, but just the feeling of so much skin pressed against his… For some damn reason he wasn't ready to acknowledge, it made him want to cry. He felt so nauseatingly safe beneath Draco, it should've made him sick. But he never wanted the git to move again.
After what must've been ten minutes, though, he finally did. Withdrew to sit at Harry's feet, and reached over to stroke his ankle. Just a thumb, stroking inches against his skin, and that fucking knot in his throat returned. I'm so goddamn pathetic.
When he could muster some semblance of dignity again, he shoved his feet off the couch onto the floor, and, still heaving, lifted himself onto his hands, head hung.
"Alright?"
Harry really didn't mean to shake his head. Didn't mean it to mean no, necessarily, just that he needed a moment. But how was Draco supposed to know that? He felt the cushions shift behind him, and then that warm torso was pressed against his back, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, and a tender mouth on his shoulder.
He didn't press him, just held him. Just held him. And as he felt Draco's orgasm leak out of him, a trembling that made him want to sprint to the nearest window and throw himself out of it began in his shoulders. Still, the blond said nothing.
Stop it. Why am I shaking like a fucking leaf? Why am I crying?
Warmth trailed down his cheeks, and humiliation burned his ears. But he only lowered his forehead to the armrest to hide his face, wishing for all the world he wasn't such a goddamn wreck.
Stop it.
"Harry," Draco began quietly. A hand on his back, stroking gently. "I'd really like it if you'd talk to me."
Again, like when he'd asked to kiss him, it wasn't a request. Wasn't a demand. Simply a declaration of desire. Harry hiccuped, and the urge to throw himself out of his window inched closer to reality.
"I-I…" What am I supposed to say? Being touched like this is so nice it makes me cry? "I–"
A sob coughed out of his throat, and he swallowed thickly. Forced a deep inhale, tried not to sniff when his nose leaked. But then a single kiss was pressed to his spine, and Draco stood.
"Don't move," he instructed. As if I could.
He wondered what Draco was doing, but couldn't lift his head off the armrest. Couldn't let him see the red nose or the puffy eyes sure to be on his face. How could he explain? Even to himself, it only made sense if he was brutally honest. And that wasn't something he was keen on being.
Sounds of the cabinet opening, glass against glass, and then the cabinet closing. Liquid flowing, and then a knee cracking as Draco appeared in Harry's peripherals. He screwed his eyes tighter together as he felt a hand brushing his hair back over his ear.
"Drink," he insisted. And finally, Harry peeked an eye sideways at him.
The blond was knelt beside him, holding a glass of water and wearing frowning concern on his face. Fuck…
Hesitantly, Harry lifted his forehead off the armrest. Passed an arm across his mouth and accepted the glass with a trembling hand.
Stop it.
"S-sorry–" he choked out. But his voice sounded strange. He cleared his throat, a frown of his own pinching his brow as he lifted the glass of water to his lips. It slid down easily, despite the tightness of his throat, and he gulped down the whole thing.
"I'm not upset," Draco reassured. And Harry's eyes nearly boggled in his head.
How the fuck is he so well-adjusted? After all he went through, to have to be committed, and now he's giving me after-care? What the hell has my life come to?
Harry huffed a humorless laugh as he handed the glass back to Draco and forced himself to sit more upright. Shit, his arse was sore. A wince flashed across his face before he could prevent it, and Draco sighed, lips pursed slightly.
"I-I don't… This isn't… Fuck."
One Aguamenti later, and Harry was offered another glass of water. One he accepted with a grimace, but gulped down nonetheless. A steady stream of tears leaked down his cheeks, and he shook his head.
"I think I… Get it," Draco eventually uttered. Harry had to doubt it, but he let the blond continue, marking the bob of his throat as he swallowed. "But I'd still listen if you'd like to talk."
A wry smile spread Harry's lips as he scrubbed at his pounding temple, and he finally gave into the urge to sniff.
"I-I think I'm just tired," he whispered, unsure of his voice. Draco frowned, but nodded.
"Should I leave?"
"No!" Harry cursed under his breath at the quickness of his answer, but the blond didn't smirk. "No, I… I'd like you to stay."
