Title:Carte Blanche
Author: Ryyne
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling. Also, this was inspired by/ (quite) loosely based upon A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. Any plot elements in common with that brilliant piece of work are, then, not mine.
Warnings: Slashiness. Lots of it. Yay! (Also a lot of cursing, at one point.)
Note: Thanks to Beth for her beta-ing! All you readers should be grateful that she reminds me I shouldn't torture Harry too much. Aw... but he's so fun!
Second Note: This fanfiction is obviously AU as of HBP. Although I have so many plot bunnies because of HBP it's ridiculous. So much to write and so little time... why do I work in the summer? Why! (To make money, that's why. Stupid me!) But as an aside, since Canon!Draco Malfoy actually cried ... well, this gives me a lot more license to make him a bit more of a softy without being completely OOC, no? happiness
So... Here you go, everyone! Action that's NOT part of a dream! (I swear my beta was about to maim me... g).
Carte Blanche
Chapter Six: Games of the Oral Variety
A hot and calloused hand rose to caress Draco's pale cheeks. Grey eyes widened and the Malfoy heir moved to take another step away, but a second strong hand shot out to hold his wrist; not too tightly, but firmly enough to stop Draco in his reluctant tracks.
"What are you doing," Draco half-hissed, although the domineering brunette knew him well enough to realize that Draco wasn't angry, just confused.
Harry smiled benevolently, not gracing the blond with an answer to the rhetorical question. The usually narrowed eyes of the Malfoy were widened to the size of expensive silver dinner plates.
"Hey, you did it to me," Harry murmured, his hand snaking from Draco's cheek to the back of his neck. He felt supple muscles tighten stressfully underneath fingers. "Relax," Harry told him.
Draco would have raised an eyebrow, if he wasn't about to: a) sprint away, b) wake up, or c) collapse because of his exponentially weakening knees. Draco wasn't entirely sure which would happen, but somehow he was betting on number three.
Draco looked upwards through his white eyelashes, and saw Harry's face towering above him – which didn't make much sense, seeing as Draco couldn't be an inch shorter than Harry – but then he felt a cold wall against his back. With a jolt, Draco realized he was now trapped, albeit gently, against the wall, his knees sinking to the ground. Harry's other hand had moved from his wrist to right next to his head. There was a strange look on his face, and if it wasn't Harry, terribly Gryffindorish Harry, Draco might have been nervous. The look was possessive yet un-threatening, confident yet gentle. It was a look he had seen on his own features before, standing in front of a costly baroque mirror, surrounded by the riches of the Malfoy manor.
But Harry was standing in a dark alley in the middle of Nice, a few Muggle gas lamps making his face glow ever-so-slightly.
Draco's face tilted minutely upwards, although whether it was by Harry's gentle prod or of his own volition, he wasn't sure. Staring blankly into the brunette's dark green eyes – they looked nearly black now – he momentarily wondered how he had gotten himself into this particular position.
Oh, yes...
Earlier that night...
"Wait," said Draco, stopping abruptly as the pair turned a corner, and were temporarily obscured by trees planted by the side of the sidewalk. Harry stopped mid-step, surprised at Draco's blurt. They'd been silent until now; Harry waiting for Draco to initiate the "business conversation," and Draco stubbornly remaining quiet.
"What?"
Draco's eyes darted to the right, then left, causing them to glint in the moonlight. "Here," he hissed, and grabbed Harry's hand, moving into the shadow of a building. Harry jumped as if touching a hot iron rod, prompting Draco to glare at him. "Stop fidgeting. Be quiet," He ordered curtly.
"What are we doing?" Harry whispered back, now used to Draco's odd mannerisms and unexpected actions.
"Apparating."
"Where?"
"Nice. France."
"Er... Why?" Harry cringed as Draco leveled a look of pure irritation at him.
"Because that's where I'm living... at the moment."
"Oh," Harry said, still in a whisper.
Draco's hold on Harry's hand tightened, and Harry momentarily felt a flash of heat go across his face. The next moment, however, he was standing on a different street, surrounded by quaint shops, the area lit by classical lanterns. Oh. They had just apparated. Which would explain the hand-holding. Oh.
Harry couldn't help but notice that Draco was still gripping his hand, although much more loosely, and the Slytherin's fingers were now gently entangled in Harry's. The next second, however, the warm hand was gone. A feeling of disappointment gathered like a group of clouds in Harry's mind, but Harry quickly squashed it.
Immediately the two were walking again, although more slowly. Just meandering, really, and only now did Draco begin to speak.
He quickly outlined his situation: told Harry about Neville, his informant from the Ministry, told Harry about the Death Eaters in the nightclub in Spain. Hinted at his own fears of being captured by Blackwell, although he quickly added that Blackwell didn't dare do anything yet, as other high-ups in the Ministry still valued Draco for his information. Little did they know, of course, that Draco worked both ways: the information he managed to slide out of the Ministry he, in turn, handed to the Death Eaters.
Harry stared at Draco after the blond finished his long and, towards the end, agitated narrative. He knew Remus trusted the Malfoy, but... well, Malfoys are Malfoys, aren't they?
"So..." Harry began, and looked down at the cobblestone street, "Um... if you don't mind me asking... which side are you really for?"
"Neither, Potter, I thought that was obvious," Draco sneered. Harry appeared a bit taken aback.
"Well I know you've said that before but – just making sure – so then," he paused, "You're on our side? For neither the Ministry nor the Death Eaters?"
"Who's 'us'?"
"Me and Remus."
"No."
Harry, again, was taken aback at how little hesitation Draco had in answering. "So –"
Draco smirked. "You just don't get it, do you, Potter?"
"No, frankly I don't," Harry retorted in annoyance. God, Malfoy was an arse of the first degree, wasn't he? "You risk your life without any motivation? Any purpose? You have a death wish, Malfoy?"
"Oh, there's a purpose, all right," Draco returned loftily. "Just not your Gryffindor-brand noble one."
"What is it, then?"
Draco took a moment to examine his fingernails. After completing the inspection, he said without emotion: "Money."
"Money? I thought you were loaded!"
"Yes, well, having your family's assets confiscated by the Ministry tends to make a dent in your fortune," Draco sneered at Harry disdainfully.
Harry was quiet for a moment. Then, "I'm sorry. I for –"He was interrupted roughly by a hand clamping down on his mouth. "Mmmpphhhh!"
"Shut up!"
"Whmph?"
Draco's fingers were digging into Harry's cheek and, Harry noticed, his knuckles were pure white. "I heard something," he told Harry quietly, and much too calmly for Harry's liking. Then, as if a lightbulb had suddenly turned on in Harry's head, he heard the voices as well.
They were coming closer, and getting louder. The pair managed to catch a few snippets of their low conversation.
"I tell you, Blackwell's getting mighty mad –"
"Against Ministry rules –"
"Shut up, you two, we're supposed to be looking for the Malfoy bastard – He's supposed to live here now, according to our information –"
Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and looking at his companion, didn't feel so alone in his total and utter panic. The voices were clearly getting extremely close – coming towards them, in fact.
"Fuck," Draco whispered, skin completely white, even down to his fingertips.
"What should we do," Harry whispered, almost rhetorically – it seemed a helpless situation; there was nowhere to hide. Absolutely nowhere; all the shops were closed, and breaking into one would just cause even more attention. The street was wide and plain.
Draco slowly turned his head towards Harry's, meeting his eyes in a frank gaze. Harry could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and something told him he should be a bit worried about how Draco was staring at him.
Pursing his lips, Draco was barely able to say, "Just don't get any ideas, okay?", before he grabbed Harry and forcefully pushed him against a wall of a shop; pressing his own body against Harry's as much as he could. Harry barely had the breath or thought to gasp, but he did – and was soon silenced by a rough mouth against his.
"Grrrphhmm!" Harry's mouth was tight and firm, mainly because of his attempts to push Draco off him.
As he was actually making progress in these attempts, Draco abruptly stopped the harsh kiss and moved his face just a millimeter away from Harry's, enough to hiss: "Just go along with it, Potter, and we might get out of this mess alive."
Realization quickly dawned on Harry and he scowled at Draco, giving him a 'you-are-so-going-to-pay' look. Then, with a sigh of resignation – and a gulp of anticipation, although he attempted to hide it – Harry allowed Draco to descend upon him again, just as the three Ministry figures came into clear sight.
Oh, God. Oh, God, this cannot be happening, Harry managed to coherently think, as he (in a moment of temporary insanity, Harry assured himself) grabbed Draco's arse and pulled him even closer.
Now their faces, and even entire fronts, were obscured from view, as the three men walked towards them: however, they weren't exactly being silent...
As the kiss progressed, the rough, panicking pressure of Draco's mouth against Harry's slowly lessened, and their lips began to move in more gentle synchronization. Part of Harry's mind was yelling, Are you crazy? This is absurd!... No – Fuck! No! Stop it right now, Harry! Not the teeth! And GOD DAMN IT, keep your tongue to yourself!, while another part was doing a strange and disturbing imitation of Homer Simpson, with matching intelligence and ability to articulate: Mmmm... Draco-lips. Mmmm... Draco-tongue. Mmmm... Draco –
Fuck!
Harry's eyes opened in shock. What the fuck was ... oh, shit. Oh, shit shit shit.
He was definitely feeling something other than Draco-lips and Draco-tongue, now, and he wasn't feeling it by mouth, either.
And ... Draco wasn't the only one with the problem.
Damn damn damn, shit shit, fuck, Harry sang in his mind, hardly lucid.
Of course, there was the intended upside to this situation: No way were those three Ministry guys, who had incidentally just passed by, going to recognize the two passionate, grinding away gay men as Draco Malfoy and co.
Hmmm. I should keep this in mind for next time, Harry thought involuntarily.
Then: Shit. I mean, no I shouldn't, I mean... oh hell, he finished, now intent on simply the gorgeous blond against him.
However, as soon as Harry lost himself again in pure essence of Draco, the Malfoy pulled away from him just as suddenly as he had 'attacked.'
Face flushed, lips swollen, hair mussed. Beautiful, Harry thought, now much too drunk off Draco to punish himself for his unbidden thoughts.
"So – " Draco cleared his throat, voice low and husky. "Sorry about that." He made no move, however, to move away.
Harry remained strangely silent, and this made Draco even more nervous. "Um – right then," he finished lamely, and made a move to step away.
That was when he felt a brush against his cheek, and his eyes widened in shock as Harry's hand caressed his cheek. Before he could move away more, the second hand gripped his wrist, and he was now staring into the two passionate dark eyes of one Harry James Potter.
Present time...
And, well, long story short: he was now the one pressed against the wall, Harry about to kiss him – voluntarily. Draco shivered as lips covered his own; however, there were not rough nor fake, but rather... gentle. Loving, even.
Okay. Time to pass out, Draco thought as his knees finally buckled, but he was 'caught' by Harry's body, once again tight against his. Harry's lips were still moving against his own, and Draco now felt himself begin to respond in the same sensual manner. Allowing himself to close his eyes, be breathed a sigh into Harry's mouth, which conveniently let Harry slip his tongue past Draco's lips.
...Shock. Now Draco's mind returned to him in partial function: Tongue in mouth. Harry's. His mind figured that this roughly equaled Bad, ... or at least, it should... But...
Harry groaned in protest as Draco turned his head away from Harry's prying mouth.
"P... Potter..." Draco breathed, looking at the ground, "I think –"
Harry interrupted. "Harry."
Draco turned his head again to look into Harry's scarily frank eyes. "What?"
"Harry. Call me Harry." The serpentine gems of eyes bored into Draco's. Draco let out a long, shaky breath. The intense green gaze was much too penetrating.
"You said – remember?" Harry continued. "At graduation. About names. Their power..." Harry trailed off, looking expectantly at Draco.
The blond licked his lips in anxiety, and was secretly delighted when Harry's gaze was attracted towards the motion. "I – I..." Draco cursed himself for stuttering. "I... will call you Harry, if you call me by my first name."
"What? S.O.B.?" Harry joked.
Draco's eyes narrowed instantly. God, Potter was a bastard. Maybe he should rethink this...
Harry smiled at Draco's irritation, and gently explained in an odd tone of affection, "Seriously Orally-talented Beauty."
Draco couldn't prevent a grin. By Merlin, he was acting completely un-Malfoy-like... and was enjoying it. "Wouldn't that be S.O.T.B, Harry?"
"You tell me, Draco," Harry returned teasingly, and then tilted his head in mock consideration. "Actually, never mind. Don't say anything," and he once again descended upon the silver-eyed S.O.T.B.
TBC...
Hehehe. I had way too much fun with this chapter. Remember to REVIEW! Extra points if someone can spot from where I got the inspiration for the "diversion tactic"!