Nearly three weeks went by sluggishly for Draco, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it; there was a void. Going to bed early wasn't possible for him; reading in the living room after he had dinner was easier said than done; and wanking in the shower to tire him-self out drew zero satisfactory.
He'd owled Harry once or twice, but no response had arrived at his window. This was disheartening.
Draco sighed as he walked through the door. Despite his outer appearance of being perfectly fine without Harry, holding his head up high, lower lip refusing to quiver when he enters a patient's room who has dark shaggy hair; inside he was a mess.
He hung up his outer robes to reveal lime green robes beneath covered in….well, Draco didn't want to relive it.
To sum the story up quickly; a patient came in, who looked a tremendous amount like Harry, who was a John Doe and bled out in Draco's arms. By now the blood had dried, leaving dark, rusty red stains all down his front.
Draco decided to skip dinner, heading straight upstairs to the bedroom. He stripped on his way into the bathroom, turning on the water wandlessly, and stepped into the steamy corner unit big enough to shower both him and Harry simultaneously.
He washed his body of the long day then settled for wrapping his hand around his lean cock which, when it was only him doing it, only brought him halfway. Under the hot stream of water, he spread his legs and pressed his front against the green tiles; the cold ceramic on his bare nipples made him shudder. Then, whilst he pumped his cock, fingers probed and rimmed his entrance before stuffing two in. They scissored inside him to stretch and he moaned needily, bucking his hips.
His forehead rested against the tile and rolled his hips. His fingers brought him closer and closer to the edge, brushing his prostate causing him to cry out, until with one hard grind and simultaneous pump; he came.
When he came to there was still an empty satisfaction. He needed something….more.
Draco crawled into bed and snuggled down into a bed that no longer smelled like Harry, held a t-shirt close to him that did smell like Harry, and fell asleep.
Draco dreamed, or rather, nightmared about Harry.
The raven was running down a pathway in a heavy, dark forest. He was sweating, panting, and visibly exhausted in every way, shape, and form. The man needed shelter, rest, food, and probably a hug. When Draco focused on the backround of the dream, he noticed that something large was chasing him. Something that didn't belong in forest, and it, whatever it was, was gaining on Harry.
Gaining fast.
It was clear that Harry was in for his fate.
When the beast caught up, he swiped his large claw-tentacle at Harry, swooping him up and swallowed him whole.
Draco awoke with a start. He panted and looked around his room in panic, clutching Harry's shirt tight to his chest. When he'd managed to calm his beating heart he realized it was just a dream.
Just a dream…
Just a dream…
Or maybe not.
Draco held the shirt tighter and curled into a ball around it.
"Damn you, psyqe…" he cried softly, sleep didn't come to him that night.