Title: But Thinking Makes It So
Author: Draco Malfoy-Potter (me)
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst, Dark.
Word Count: ~4000
Warnings: Mind- fuckery and infidelity.
Summary: Draco was making dinner.
Notes: Written for the No-Pressure Laissez-Faire challenge at lj user="hp_unfaithful". I wrote for prompt #167, "I saw you , you know. I stood and watched the whole thing…just couldn't tear myself away." Title comes from Hamlet: "There is nothing either good or bad / But thinking makes it so."
Draco was making dinner. The warmth and smells from the kitchen made Harry's stomach cramp. He climbed out of his cavernous chair and padded into the next room, his bare feet protesting the transition from plush carpet to cool tile. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the wall to watch Draco pull a roasted chicken out of the oven.
"Will you carve this for me?" Draco asked, tugging off gigantic oven mitts and tossing them onto the counter.
Harry pursed his lips and nodded, crossing to the silverware drawer and picking a knife at random. For a few moments he watched steam rise from the bird. His grip on the knife tightened and he turned his gaze to Draco, who was smashing potatoes, his forehead creased in concentration.
"Harry, can you stop staring down the bloody chicken and carve it already?" Draco snapped, spooning the now-finished potatoes out into a bowl. For the first time since Harry had entered the kitchen Draco looked at him, his expression exasperated. His eyes drifted to the knife and he frowned. "Fuck, Harry. You don't need a butcher knife."
"I'm letting it rest," Harry said, returning the too-large knife to the drawer and fishing out a more suitable one. Draco's sigh was sharp, and Harry started to carve up the chicken. Draco pulled a salad and two beers out of the refrigerator, putting them on the small butcher's block table in the corner of the kitchen by the window. Harry dropped the first sections of the bird on the platter as he asked, "What did you do today?"
The silverware Draco was placing on the table clattered as he dropped them. "Cleaned the flat. Walked down to the shops. I got you some of those terrible threadbare shirts you like."
"You didn't do anything else?" Harry asked, pulling one of the chicken's legs free.
Draco twisted the caps off the beers. "No. Sort of a boring day, really."
Harry laid the knife down, washing his hands before taking the meat to the table. He sat down and took a swig of his beer and served himself some of the potatoes. He shifted uncomfortably, speared a piece of chicken, and slid down in his seat.
Draco started with the salad. He crossed his legs under the table and cut a piece of chicken into very small pieces. "Are you tired? You seem strange this evening. Long day at work?" Draco's tone was supposed to be casual, but Harry could hear the sharp edge underneath.
"They let me have the afternoon off. I came back home and you weren't here, so I was just curious."
Draco nodded, never lifting his eyes from his plate. Harry watched him for a long moment, his beer still wrapped tightly in his hand. When he was satisfied that he wasn't going to hear any more about Draco's day he moved on to his chicken. It was dry, but he continued to chew.
Draco cleared his throat and laid down his fork to finish off his beer. Why did they let you have the afternoon off?"
"I'm going away tomorrow. They're sending me on a mission for a few days."
Draco finally looked up, his gaze pointed. "How long?"
Harry held Draco's eyes for as long as he would allow it before saying, "I'm not sure."
Draco's brow crinkled and his lips pursed. After a moment he said, "When were you going to tell me?"
Harry shrugged, deciding he needed another beer. From the kitchen he called, "I'm sure you'll manage. You always do."
"I know that," Draco replied, sounding obviously annoyed. "It would just have been nice to know before the day before."
Harry went back into the dining room, taking his seat as he opened his second beer. "Why, so you could make plans?" Draco's cool face didn't change and Harry felt a weight in his stomach. "You know now. I just didn't want you to worry about me."
"I don't worry about you," Draco snapped in reply, sitting back in his seat. "I worry about you not coming home."
Harry wasn't hungry anymore. He frowned, sighed, and folded his hands over his stomach. "This is my home; of course I'll come back."
Draco's eyes held questions, but he didn't say anything. He finished his meal and stood up, gathering his dishes before moving over to Harry's still-full plate, taking it as well.
"I'm going to bed," Harry said as he stood, not waiting until Draco responded to go upstairs. The shirts Draco had got him were laid out on the bed, and one said 'Love Kills Slowly'. Harry laughed, even though it wasn't really funny. He pushed the shirts off into the floor and laid down. Draco came to bed sometime around three in the morning, and Harry tensed when he felt the warmth next to him. Draco must have known he was still awake because he always complained about Harry's snoring, but he didn't say anything, he simply slid underneath the covers and pressed against Harry's back.
Harry couldn't sleep, but Draco fell asleep as soon as he stopped moving.
---
Harry went on missions a lot- he was the most recognizable face and therefore the most likely to get any negotiations done. He was gone so much that Draco readily accepted this time, even though this time was a lie.
Harry wasn't going on a mission assigned by the Ministry; he was embarking on a mission on his own. He had rented a room in the West End for two weeks, paying an astronomical amount of money up front, and started his surveillance.
Across the street was a playhouse which remained relatively busy at all times, except for the long stretch of time that Hamlet was musing whether or not to kill himself inside.
Harry watched the cycle two nights in a row, from the gradually growing filter of the smartly-dressed audience to the huddled masses of smokers during what Harry assumed was intermission, to the flood of people as the play was dismissed. Harry saw the actors slip out the stage door, sometimes being caught by overzealous audience members, sometimes making it to the nearby pub without being noticed.
On the third night Harry had tickets in the stalls and was annoyed by the woman beside him saying all of Ophelia's lines along with the actress. He was watching for the faces: each new entrance brought someone else whose face Harry might recognize.
He was Guildenstern. The long, wavy brown hair he had seen wound around pale, nimble fingers for a fleeting moment, the kohl-rimmed murky eyes he had seen linger on Draco for just a second too long and darken with lust; the voice that made heat rise up over his entire body.
Harry slipped down in his seat and crossed his legs, his cock filling as he remembered how Draco had looked at him so innocently after he pointedly didn't introduce Harry to his newfound friend. Thankfully Guildenstern wasn't on stage too much, and then he was killed on his trip back to England. Harry wanted to leave- the play was terribly long- but he was glad he stayed to the end. He enjoyed the end. The curtain call played to a standing ovation and thunderous applause, and Harry slipped out to head to the stage door.
He waited for two hours- he saw Hamlet's Ghost, Ophelia, Hamlet's mother and uncle, and Hamlet himself. They signed his ticket in unintelligible smears. Rosencrantz slipped out wrapped in a woolen scarf and wearing a newsboy cap over his longish red hair. He smiled at Harry but didn't stop.
Harry finally grew too cold to wait anymore and went back to his room, standing in front of the radiator to warm himself. He was still frustrated but at least he was warm.
Even still, he couldn't sleep.
---
He saw Draco before he saw Guildenstern, but only just before. He was eating lunch by the window, half-listening to the surveillance spell he had cast on the exterior of the theatre as he read the iProphet/i. Harry was finishing off his sandwich when he heard a knock on the heavy metal stage door. His hair was covered by a fur-trimmed cap, but Harry recognized Draco. A few seconds later Harry recognized Guildenstern. He watched them kiss briefly before they ducked back inside together.
Harry only had to wait out the performances, and he knew that Guildenstern would leave with Draco. The wait seemed to take forever and no time. He knew when the show had ended because of a small but teaming crowd of people clutching their tickets and programmes while their eyes lingered hungrily on the stage door.
The wait wasn't long: Draco slipped out of the door talking to some of the young, attractive actors who played sailors and attendants. Guildenstern came out a short time later, signing a few autographs before finding Draco and slipping a protective arm around his waist.
Harry's eyes burned, but he couldn't tear them away. His world moved in slow motion as Draco's face turned to him, his clear, slate gaze meeting Harry's through the crowd. Draco's expression didn't change but he didn't look away until Guildenstern steered him toward the street to hail a taxi.
Harry tasted bile in the back of his throat but he didn't get sick. He just went back to his room and started packing.
---
He had been gone for one week and four days, and when he arrived back home everything was exactly as he had left it, except there was no Draco in the bed. There was no Draco anywhere. He unpacked, did laundry, cooked himself something to eat, and opened the stack of letters that had come for him.
When the sun went down and Draco was still gone Harry gave up and found a bottle of Odgen's Old that his secretary had given him for his birthday. He drank until he was tired and he went to bed, sleeping better than he had slept in ages.
Harry woke up when the front door closed. He climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water and some aspirin. Draco was pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice when Harry came into the room, and Draco's shoulders visibly tensed.
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, his tone neutral.
"Mission's over," Harry replied, taking two aspirins and downing his water. "Didn't take as much time as I thought it would to gather the evidence I needed."
Draco nodded, his eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. "Do you want breakfast? I'll make you something."
"Where were you all night, Draco?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly reckless but gauging his tone as he had been taught by the Aurors.
There was no hesitation to Draco's answer. "I met my friend Oris after his performance and we had a few drinks," he replied smoothly. "You were there, you saw him. I got a little too pissed and fell asleep on his sofa." Draco put a kettle on and stretched. "What were you doing in the West End? Why didn't you tell me your mission was in London?"
"Couldn't," Harry replied. "You know that."
Draco nodded once before striding over to Harry, draping his arms around his neck. Harry's arms slipped around Draco's waist instinctively and Draco kissed him, only stopping when the kettle screamed. He pulled away, his left hand lingering over Harry's heart. "You're mine, Potter. Always."
By the time Harry's throat stopped burning Draco had retreated with his steaming cup of tea into his study.
---
"I want you to fuck me," Draco whispered to the expanse of skin between Harry's shoulder blades. Draco's hand was cold against Harry's stomach.
"That's something that sort of has to be mutual," Harry muttered into his pillow. Even as he said it, Draco's hand was on Harry's erection, stroking it to full hardness.
Draco pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Harry's back. "I'd say it was mutual. Seems pretty mutual to me."
"Who says it's for you?" Harry replied before he could stop himself.
"Doesn't have to be for me, I'll take it anyway." Draco pulled the blankets away and rolled Harry onto his back to no resistance. "All you've got to do is stay hard, Potter. That's not too much to ask, is it?"
Harry's hands were on Draco's hips as he climbed onto Harry's lap, hastily stretching himself and guiding Harry into him. "Fuck," Harry grumbled as he sat up, pushing Draco down onto his back. Draco wrapped his legs around Harry's hips, rolling his own as he grinned up at Harry.
It couldn't be comfortable for Draco, what with no lubrication, but he met every one of Harry's vicious strokes with a whimper and a gasp.
"You know exactly how to get me to do what you want," Harry growled, loving the dark flush of Draco's chest and his disarrayed hair. "You know me too well."
Draco was pulling himself off, barely breathing. "I don't know you at all," Draco gasped as he came onto his own stomach, his muscles squeezing Harry's swollen erection. Harry thrust once more and froze, filling Draco's warm body and clinging to him like Draco was his only possession.
Silence fell between them. Draco was smoothing down Harry's hair as he tried to catch his breath. Draco began to shake and he let his hands rest, one on the back of Harry's head, the other on his shoulder.
"I saw you, you know. I stood there and watched the whole thing…just couldn't tear myself away."
Harry swallowed thickly, his skin crawling. Draco was still beneath him, and Harry pulled away, narrowing his eyes.
"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked, his stomach churning. "You're obviously punishing me."
Draco's laugh was cold, but his eyes never left Harry's face. "I just find it terribly interesting that you feel the need to follow me like you can't trust me."
"You obviously followed me," Harry snarled, climbing out of bed to pull on some pants. "Fuck you, Draco. Did you fuck Guildenstern? Did you fuck that actor?"
Draco cheeks burned and his next words were nearly screamed. "I don't even have to ask if you fucked that Ministry whore, I saw you! I should have fucked Oris just for you to see, after all, I should offer you the same courtesy you offered me."
"Why didn't you leave?" Harry asked before clenching his jaw, leaning against the wall.
"Because I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to hurt you as much as I could. Does it hurt, Harry? Do you feel it at all?" Draco followed Harry out of bed and across the room. "I fucked Oris almost every afternoon, Harry. Every time you left I called him, because I knew you were with her."
Harry felt sick. His vision blurred. "I hate this."
Even without looking, Harry could hear the sneer in Draco's voice. "I hope you do. I hope that every time you look at her you hate yourself. I hope you can't fucking live with yourself, because I can't live with myself."
"I fucked her once," Harry said; it was the only thing he could think to say. "You had pissed me off and I wanted revenge. I was going to tell you that night, but you were gone."
"I went to a play," Draco spat, his eyes flashing. "Everyone needs a little culture every once and a while."
Harry shoved passed Draco to get the clothes he had abandoned earlier. "Fuck you. And he is a terrible actor."
"How mature of you," Draco said with a chuckle. "I'll have to tell him you said that."
Harry whirred around, grabbing hold of Draco's shoulders. He shook him once, hard, and he hissed, "The fuck you will. If you see him again I'll kill him."
"You won't," Draco countered, yielding to Harry's grip and lifting his own hands to cover Harry's. "I'm not scared of you."
Harry sneered and tried to pull away, but Draco had his wrists and wouldn't let go. "Let me go," Harry snarled, jerking his arms. He only succeeded in pulling Draco's still-naked body against him.
"How did it happen?" Draco asked, his lips against Harry's neck. His tone was dark and dangerous, his grip steadfast. "Did you go in that morning knowing you were going to fuck someone? Knowing you were going to fuck her? How long had you been flirting with her? Tell me…"
Harry felt as if he was on fire, but he dragged Draco even closer to him. "I was angry and horny and when I got there she was sitting on the corner of my desk in a short skirt waiting on my signature. She saw my hard-on and offered to help. I didn't fuck her, she sucked me off."
"Same thing, you come either way," Draco countered furiously. "Were you thinking of her just now?"
Harry's throat seized and he was so fucking angry he wanted to wrap his hands around Draco's neck and squeeze until he turned blue. "Stop it," Harry finally ground out, letting his arms go limp. "Leave me alone. Just…let me go."
"You're not going anywhere," Draco replied, although his tight grip around Harry's wrists disappeared. "If you leave you will never see me again."
"What makes you think I want to see you again?" Harry whispered. "Instead of confronting me you decide to exact your own revenge. Instead of talking to me then, you waited until you've fucked someone else, knowing I couldn't get mad at you. How can I trust someone like that? How can I fucking love someone like that? You push me and push me until I stumble, then you punish me for stumbling. Why can't life just be easy? Why can't you fuck your actor and just leave me alone?"
Draco's lips were thin and his eyes were shining. He turned away, his back to Harry. His body was taut, his fists clenched. "I'm going to have a shower. I'll take the couch; you have to rest for work tomorrow."
"She doesn't work there anymore," Harry said, and only then did Draco continue to the bathroom.
Harry heard the water start and he wanted to leave- he didn't want to talk anymore. Instead he climbed back in bed and pretended to sleep. It was easier than talking.
---
"What should we do for dinner?" Draco asked, slamming the refrigerator door closed as Harry emptied his pockets on the counter. "Should we order takeout or go out? There's nothing here to make."
Harry sighed, loosening his tie. "I don't care. We can do whatever you want."
Draco took a sharp breath. "I don't want to do whatever I want, I wouldn't have asked you if that's what I wanted."
"I really don't care," Harry repeated on his way to the bedroom to change out of his suit. He could hear Draco following him, but he didn't stop.
"If you don't care than we won't do anything. If you don't care, then I guess you aren't hungry."
Harry threw his jacket down on the bed and spun around, anger bubbling in his throat. "Stop talking to me like I'm a child. No, I'm not hungry. You can order takeout if you want, I don't bloody care. I don't care what you do." Draco was silent, leaning against the wall. His eyes trailed Harry as he undressed and redressed. Harry ruffled his hair and stopped across the room from Draco. "I don't know what you want me to say. What do you want me to do? I can't keep doing this with you."
"You're the one who didn't want to talk about it," Draco replied, his tone deceptively light.
Harry slowly laid down on the bed, closing his eyes as he let out a slow breath. "Do you want a formal apology? Do you just want me to say I'm sorry? I don't know what else to do. I don't know how you could think that I'm not sorry for what I did."
"Do you love me? Draco asked, his face smooth and his tone emotionless.
Harry was tired. He rolled over on his side, opening his heavy eyes to look at Draco. A muscle in Draco's cheek twitched, and Harry could feel his own heartbeat in his stomach. "Of course I love you. I wouldn't be here still if I didn't. I love you because you can hurt me. And you hurt me all the fucking time, and I hurt you right back. I think you sort of hate me, you hate that I love you."
"I can't trust you," Draco stated.
Harry sighed. "You can't trust anyone."
They were both silent. Harry closed his eyes again, his breathing slowing. Draco's eyes began to sting, and he whispered, "What do you want me to do?"
Harry didn't respond. Draco watched Harry breathe for a few minutes before he stepped over to him, carefully sliding Harry spectacles off his nose. Draco climbed into bed, curling up facing Harry's chest. He drew his knees up, and Harry's breath hitched for just a moment only to pick back up when Draco laid a hand over his chest. Draco felt his eyes and nose begin to run, his chest aching with suppressed sobs. "I love you more than anything I've known," Draco whispered, his voice trembling.
"I can't trust you either," Harry replied in a faint voice. "You won't let me. I'm tired, Draco."
"Then sleep," Draco said, feeling Harry's heartbeat in the palm of his hand. "I'll be here when you wake up."
Harry's question was matter-of-fact. "What if I don't want you to be?"
Draco laughed, taking a fistful of Harry's shirt. "But you do. You do want me here. This is my home. I'll always come back."
There was a small smile on Harry's face as he drifted off to sleep.
---
When Harry woke up the next morning he wasn't tired anymore. Draco was quiet as he fried French toast. Harry watched him from the doorway, feeling contentment heavy and warm in his stomach. The morning sunlight was soft and lit Draco's blond hair in a way that made Harry's skin tingle. In that moment Harry found himself so overwhelmingly in love that his heart hurt.
"I'm so sorry," Harry said, voice hoarse from sleep.
Draco put the toast on a plate and carried it over to the kitchen table. "I know you are. So am I. Breakfast is ready."
Harry crossed to his usual seat, pouring syrup over his steaming toast. Draco lingered over his shoulder for a moment before smoothing a hand down his back. Harry felt more than saw Draco move to his seat, and couldn't look up with his next words. "You're mine, Malfoy. Always."
Harry felt Draco's knee brush against his.