Fic - Warmth H/D [PG13]
Author/Artist: alovelycupoftea
Title: Warmth
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Summary: Draco wants to want to be touched. A companion piece to vaysh11’s Harry likes to touch
Word Count: ~1700.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Harry likes to touch belongs to vaysh11.
Author's notes: Vaysh, your ficlet of the relationship between a Harry who loves to touch and Draco who can’t take it wouldn’t let me go. So this is for you - I hope it might ring true to your Draco from Harry likes to touch.
Draco dreamt that he was being encased in warmth, wrapped up in softness. He was lying in a meadow, naked, and the sun was shining on him and the breeze tickling him. He was at peace. Awareness seemed to creep over him, and he turned, trying to recapture the meadow. Stretching out his hand, he felt the softness of sheets instead and the meadow drifted away. In that fleeting moment before waking, he revelled in the warmth, tried to recapture it, but it was gone.
He woke and that lethargic warmth transformed into tension, taut through his body. The feeling of lying in that meadow drifted back to him, and his stomach turned in nausea. Pushing it out of his mind in revulsion, he swung his legs off the bed and stalked into the bathroom, looking for Harry, looking to fuck him until all traces of that sickening softness were erased.
~*~
He always pretended to fall asleep as soon as they finished fucking. It was the only way that he could cope with sharing space after sex, by imagining he was only there in body. He didn’t though, not really. When he fucked Harry rough and hard and dirty till he found that place where it was complete sensation and nothingness all at the same time, that place where he could just be, that place he yearned for and hated himself for wanting, needing - coming back down was painful. He was so exposed, so vulnerable, so… naked that he couldn’t even contemplate letting anyone into that weakness. It had taken long enough before he could even bear to stay afterwards.
~*~
Sometimes Harry’s face looked like the meadow. Warm and open. Overcome by the simultaneous urge to engulf himself in it and run from the weakness it exemplified; without fail he would close his eyes, or pull Harry into a new position, one where he couldn’t see the meadow, see its softness taunting him. Harry never resisted. He always let Draco find his pleasure in him.
Draco sometimes wondered, in that pretend-sleep time, whether he would ever be able to let Harry take his pleasure in him. He knew, he saw how much Harry loved being fucked, being manhandled by Draco. But sometimes there was something in his eyes or expression that evoked a niggling feeling of… not guilt, not really. But the feeling that somehow it wasn’t equal.
~*~
It seemed like whenever he slept in Harry’s bed, he dreamt of the meadow.
~*~
He blinked and shook his head, wondering how long he had been sitting at his desk, not moving, not writing. He was in the middle of examining some documents, the sort that would normally increase his tension until it was crawling under his skin, desperate for release. This time though, his mind had supplied that feeling of warmth, and instead of feeling slightly sickened, he’d allowed himself to slip into the memory of the night-time sensations. He went back to work, but he filed the odd sense of peace away for further consideration.
~*~
An ex of Draco’s had once shouted at him that even the Malfoy fortune wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to pay for the therapy required to deal with his issues with intimacy. Draco had curled his lip and opened the front door for him. He didn’t need someone else to tell him that a childhood spent being told that softness and vulnerability was an unforgivable weakness had severely fucked him up.
Yet for the first time, he felt like he might want to repair it.
Draco knew rationally, that it wasn’t weakness. He watched Harry lay himself open to him every day and every night and Draco didn’t find him repulsively, unforgivably weak. It made him stronger in Draco’s eyes. It made him love him more.
He did love him.
He had never vocalised it, never shared it. But when that revelation had hit, he’d not run. He guarded it, jealously. It was his. He could love. He did love. The thought of telling Harry, that was the irrationally terrifying part.
~*~
That night, in his pretend-sleep time, when he’d been practising feeling everything he’d been forbidden in his previous life, Draco screwed up his courage and rolled into the middle of the bed, away from his safe side, flinging out an arm as he did so. He reached for Harry and interlinked their fingers and tried to keep up the illusion of sleep. He couldn’t stop the smile spreading though. He’d ignored the sickness in his stomach and reached out, and he had been rewarded with that warmth he usually only felt in his dreams.
~*~
He’s tired. Not because of the fucking he’s just given Harry, but mentally tired. Tired of holding up the walls around him, tired of fighting against the feelings he knows are right and normal and perfectly acceptable but he still feels are weaknesses. It feels paradoxical, but his exhaustion motivates him to action. He’s going to open himself, to share them.
Harry likes to walk on Sunday mornings. When he gets up from the breakfast table and heads towards the closet for his coat, Draco follows him. He reaches for his own coat and looks at Harry, silently asking if he can go with him. Draco doesn’t think he is brave enough to ask out loud, but he knows Harry well enough to know that he doesn’t have to. And the gentle smile and the delighted nod he receives in answer to his tacit enquiry makes him smile in return.
They walk through London parks and squares and Harry shows Draco his Sunday ritual, as always, asking Draco for nothing. And because he asks for nothing, Draco is hit by a powerful yearning to share something of himself in return. No, not in return, because this is not bartering. Draco had decided that. He takes one hand out of his coat pocket and reaches for Harry. Harry’s step falters, just for a moment, and then he takes hold of the proffered hand and squeezes. Draco keeps looking ahead, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the joy on Harry’s face.
He holds Harry’s hand all the way home.
They only let go of each other when they are back inside and taking off their coats. Draco had not been surprised by the warmth and peace he’d felt when they were walking together, but the feelings of arousal were unexpected. He didn’t know that holding hands with Harry when walking and talking about inconsequential things would turn him on so fucking much. He didn’t realise how much he would appreciate Harry not drawing attention to it either, and he drew his courage from that.
He took Harry’s coat out of his hands and hung it up with his own. In the dark of the cupboard, he took a couple of deep breaths and bit his lip to strengthen his resolve. Harry was heading towards the kitchen to make tea, as he always did after his walk, but Draco knew that if he waited, his courage would desert him.
He reached out and hooked his hand in Harry’s battered Quidditch t-shirt. He used the material to pull him towards him, not roughly like he usually did, but slower, gentler. Harry looked up at him in surprise, and Draco closed his eyes, in case seeing the shock on Harry’s face at this uncharacteristic behaviour would stop Draco from going through with it. No. He was going to do this. He could do this. He opened his eyes and lowered his head slightly. He had no idea how he could do unspeakably filthy things with Harry without any apprehension, but a gentle kiss was turning out his insides uncomfortably.
That press of lips was the chastest kiss Draco had ever experienced. His muscle memory wanted to intensify it, to bite, to suck, to devour, but Draco held back. He just tasted and felt and he had no idea that a kiss could fill him with such sensation; with wonder, with delight and with a sensual arousal, so different but somehow the same as his usual ferocity. He dropped his hand from Harry’s shirt but he didn’t know what to do with them in this kiss. Draco reached forward and pressed his fingers against Harry, who gently took his hands.
Harry kissed him back, and Draco wondered how he could ever have rejected Harry’s gentle kisses before. He’d always taken control of them before, turned them into a fight, made them rough and fast and filthy, but this time he just accepted them, enjoyed them, tried to ignore everything that was screaming at him to keep it safe, to stick to what they knew made for fantastic sex.
Draco tried to pour everything into the kiss that he was too scared to say. He leaned back against the hall wall and tried to open himself up, trying to communicate to Harry that he wanted to do it his way this time but without actually saying the words. He felt Harry smile around the kiss and gently run his hands up and down Draco’s arms, as ift rying to soothe him.
He realised, just as Harry was licking the seam of his lips, gently opening them up, that Harry needed to hear him say it, just as he needed to vocalise it.
Draco let their tongues touch for a moment, before breaking the kiss. He felt Harry move back and Draco lifted his hands to his hair to keep him in place. Draco placed a line of tiny kisses from the corner of Harry’s mouth to his ear, and whispered, barely able to phrase his request as a question,
“Show me how to make love with you.”
He felt Harry’s gasp and he didn’t stop him pulling back, but looked at the floor as tears of rejection prickled in his eyes. He hadn’t cried in front of anyone since that godforsaken bathroom incident and he felt like he was going to explode with humiliation and despair.
Harry lifted his chin so their eyes met.
“Yes.”
Looking into Harry’s open delighted aroused face filled Draco’s body with that meadow warmth he’d never quite been able to recapture. He let Harry lead him, touch him, warm him and love him.
I loved writing this fic. Choosing something of Vaysh's was hard, but when I read her ficlet, I just knew I wanted to explore this Draco. So Vaysh, thank you for joining hd_remix!
Title: Warmth
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Summary: Draco wants to want to be touched. A companion piece to vaysh11’s Harry likes to touch
Word Count: ~1700.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Harry likes to touch belongs to vaysh11.
Author's notes: Vaysh, your ficlet of the relationship between a Harry who loves to touch and Draco who can’t take it wouldn’t let me go. So this is for you - I hope it might ring true to your Draco from Harry likes to touch.
Draco dreamt that he was being encased in warmth, wrapped up in softness. He was lying in a meadow, naked, and the sun was shining on him and the breeze tickling him. He was at peace. Awareness seemed to creep over him, and he turned, trying to recapture the meadow. Stretching out his hand, he felt the softness of sheets instead and the meadow drifted away. In that fleeting moment before waking, he revelled in the warmth, tried to recapture it, but it was gone.
He woke and that lethargic warmth transformed into tension, taut through his body. The feeling of lying in that meadow drifted back to him, and his stomach turned in nausea. Pushing it out of his mind in revulsion, he swung his legs off the bed and stalked into the bathroom, looking for Harry, looking to fuck him until all traces of that sickening softness were erased.
~*~
He always pretended to fall asleep as soon as they finished fucking. It was the only way that he could cope with sharing space after sex, by imagining he was only there in body. He didn’t though, not really. When he fucked Harry rough and hard and dirty till he found that place where it was complete sensation and nothingness all at the same time, that place where he could just be, that place he yearned for and hated himself for wanting, needing - coming back down was painful. He was so exposed, so vulnerable, so… naked that he couldn’t even contemplate letting anyone into that weakness. It had taken long enough before he could even bear to stay afterwards.
~*~
Sometimes Harry’s face looked like the meadow. Warm and open. Overcome by the simultaneous urge to engulf himself in it and run from the weakness it exemplified; without fail he would close his eyes, or pull Harry into a new position, one where he couldn’t see the meadow, see its softness taunting him. Harry never resisted. He always let Draco find his pleasure in him.
Draco sometimes wondered, in that pretend-sleep time, whether he would ever be able to let Harry take his pleasure in him. He knew, he saw how much Harry loved being fucked, being manhandled by Draco. But sometimes there was something in his eyes or expression that evoked a niggling feeling of… not guilt, not really. But the feeling that somehow it wasn’t equal.
~*~
It seemed like whenever he slept in Harry’s bed, he dreamt of the meadow.
~*~
He blinked and shook his head, wondering how long he had been sitting at his desk, not moving, not writing. He was in the middle of examining some documents, the sort that would normally increase his tension until it was crawling under his skin, desperate for release. This time though, his mind had supplied that feeling of warmth, and instead of feeling slightly sickened, he’d allowed himself to slip into the memory of the night-time sensations. He went back to work, but he filed the odd sense of peace away for further consideration.
~*~
An ex of Draco’s had once shouted at him that even the Malfoy fortune wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to pay for the therapy required to deal with his issues with intimacy. Draco had curled his lip and opened the front door for him. He didn’t need someone else to tell him that a childhood spent being told that softness and vulnerability was an unforgivable weakness had severely fucked him up.
Yet for the first time, he felt like he might want to repair it.
Draco knew rationally, that it wasn’t weakness. He watched Harry lay himself open to him every day and every night and Draco didn’t find him repulsively, unforgivably weak. It made him stronger in Draco’s eyes. It made him love him more.
He did love him.
He had never vocalised it, never shared it. But when that revelation had hit, he’d not run. He guarded it, jealously. It was his. He could love. He did love. The thought of telling Harry, that was the irrationally terrifying part.
~*~
That night, in his pretend-sleep time, when he’d been practising feeling everything he’d been forbidden in his previous life, Draco screwed up his courage and rolled into the middle of the bed, away from his safe side, flinging out an arm as he did so. He reached for Harry and interlinked their fingers and tried to keep up the illusion of sleep. He couldn’t stop the smile spreading though. He’d ignored the sickness in his stomach and reached out, and he had been rewarded with that warmth he usually only felt in his dreams.
~*~
He’s tired. Not because of the fucking he’s just given Harry, but mentally tired. Tired of holding up the walls around him, tired of fighting against the feelings he knows are right and normal and perfectly acceptable but he still feels are weaknesses. It feels paradoxical, but his exhaustion motivates him to action. He’s going to open himself, to share them.
Harry likes to walk on Sunday mornings. When he gets up from the breakfast table and heads towards the closet for his coat, Draco follows him. He reaches for his own coat and looks at Harry, silently asking if he can go with him. Draco doesn’t think he is brave enough to ask out loud, but he knows Harry well enough to know that he doesn’t have to. And the gentle smile and the delighted nod he receives in answer to his tacit enquiry makes him smile in return.
They walk through London parks and squares and Harry shows Draco his Sunday ritual, as always, asking Draco for nothing. And because he asks for nothing, Draco is hit by a powerful yearning to share something of himself in return. No, not in return, because this is not bartering. Draco had decided that. He takes one hand out of his coat pocket and reaches for Harry. Harry’s step falters, just for a moment, and then he takes hold of the proffered hand and squeezes. Draco keeps looking ahead, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the joy on Harry’s face.
He holds Harry’s hand all the way home.
They only let go of each other when they are back inside and taking off their coats. Draco had not been surprised by the warmth and peace he’d felt when they were walking together, but the feelings of arousal were unexpected. He didn’t know that holding hands with Harry when walking and talking about inconsequential things would turn him on so fucking much. He didn’t realise how much he would appreciate Harry not drawing attention to it either, and he drew his courage from that.
He took Harry’s coat out of his hands and hung it up with his own. In the dark of the cupboard, he took a couple of deep breaths and bit his lip to strengthen his resolve. Harry was heading towards the kitchen to make tea, as he always did after his walk, but Draco knew that if he waited, his courage would desert him.
He reached out and hooked his hand in Harry’s battered Quidditch t-shirt. He used the material to pull him towards him, not roughly like he usually did, but slower, gentler. Harry looked up at him in surprise, and Draco closed his eyes, in case seeing the shock on Harry’s face at this uncharacteristic behaviour would stop Draco from going through with it. No. He was going to do this. He could do this. He opened his eyes and lowered his head slightly. He had no idea how he could do unspeakably filthy things with Harry without any apprehension, but a gentle kiss was turning out his insides uncomfortably.
That press of lips was the chastest kiss Draco had ever experienced. His muscle memory wanted to intensify it, to bite, to suck, to devour, but Draco held back. He just tasted and felt and he had no idea that a kiss could fill him with such sensation; with wonder, with delight and with a sensual arousal, so different but somehow the same as his usual ferocity. He dropped his hand from Harry’s shirt but he didn’t know what to do with them in this kiss. Draco reached forward and pressed his fingers against Harry, who gently took his hands.
Harry kissed him back, and Draco wondered how he could ever have rejected Harry’s gentle kisses before. He’d always taken control of them before, turned them into a fight, made them rough and fast and filthy, but this time he just accepted them, enjoyed them, tried to ignore everything that was screaming at him to keep it safe, to stick to what they knew made for fantastic sex.
Draco tried to pour everything into the kiss that he was too scared to say. He leaned back against the hall wall and tried to open himself up, trying to communicate to Harry that he wanted to do it his way this time but without actually saying the words. He felt Harry smile around the kiss and gently run his hands up and down Draco’s arms, as ift rying to soothe him.
He realised, just as Harry was licking the seam of his lips, gently opening them up, that Harry needed to hear him say it, just as he needed to vocalise it.
Draco let their tongues touch for a moment, before breaking the kiss. He felt Harry move back and Draco lifted his hands to his hair to keep him in place. Draco placed a line of tiny kisses from the corner of Harry’s mouth to his ear, and whispered, barely able to phrase his request as a question,
“Show me how to make love with you.”
He felt Harry’s gasp and he didn’t stop him pulling back, but looked at the floor as tears of rejection prickled in his eyes. He hadn’t cried in front of anyone since that godforsaken bathroom incident and he felt like he was going to explode with humiliation and despair.
Harry lifted his chin so their eyes met.
“Yes.”
Looking into Harry’s open delighted aroused face filled Draco’s body with that meadow warmth he’d never quite been able to recapture. He let Harry lead him, touch him, warm him and love him.
I loved writing this fic. Choosing something of Vaysh's was hard, but when I read her ficlet, I just knew I wanted to explore this Draco. So Vaysh, thank you for joining hd_remix!