Fic: Defence Mechanisms, part 2
Part 1
9. The Night Draco Discovered He May Have Been Wrong All Along
The night of the Ball was cool and crisp, but the sky was free of clouds and the weather mild. It was held out of doors as tradition demanded, the practice engendered a certain ambiance in addition to the fires, a single large one that burned in the center and several smaller ones surrounding the space. The ground was charmed so that it still looked like a field, short grass waving with the wind currents, but it was as hard as tile, as the attendees were dressed in their best.
There were charms to control how much of the weather was let in, to control the temperature and to contain any stray sparks from the fires. There were unlimited alcoves for couples and groups to slip away into, integrated into the surrounding trees by means of wizard space. Draco eyed them as he and Astoria passed, trying not to wish that he had someone to disappear into one with. He sighed internally and moved on.
There was a reception area for those apparating in, also equipped with temporary floos. The floos were mainly used by those departing, as most were quite intoxicated and splinching was always a risk. The space was equipped with drink stations at regular intervals, manned by bartenders with a wide array of wine, ale, spirits and liqueurs, as well as circulating trays filled with a myriad of appetizers that were charmed to avoid the guests, hold the food and vanish to be refilled once empty. All in all, it was a flawlessly planned and executed event, and much more in keeping with the social mores of high society than the crude bonfires so popular with younger folk and Muggles. Draco supposed he was still a ‘young person’ but in his opinion, that was no excuse to act like a Muggle. Far too undignified for the Malfoy heir, at any rate.
It was also attended by anyone who was anyone in Wizarding Britain, and even many who were not so prominent. It was one of those not-to-be-missed events, the kind where people made statements in what they wore, how they acted, and who they attended with.
And here he was, with Astoria Greengrass on his arm. Oh, she looked resplendent in her gown, snug in the bodice to show off her assets and then flowed out over her hips to fall in a graceful circle around her feet. The dress was pale yellow at the top, to match her hair, deepening into gold, orange and finally a deep red at the bottom, the color of the flames burning in their midst. Draco had to admit, it was stunning and very appropriate, and she looked amazing in it. He was the envy of most of the men there, although that fact did nothing to improve his mood.
The other men could have her, for all he cared. No, he would rather be on the arm of someone else entirely, someone he just then spotted through the milling crowd.
Harry looked marvellous. Gorgeous. Amazing and completely shaggable. He was wearing a Muggle suit, of all things, and despite the flagrant Muggleness of it, he looked born to wear it. His broad shoulders were accented to perfection, as were his lean hips and strong thighs. The fabric moulded to him in places and flowed smoothly in others, giving him an air of strength and vitality. He was clean shaven for once, though Draco was certain if he were to rub his cheek against Harry's it would still come away raw; and his hair was as neat as it ever was. That is to say, not very, although the shorter haircuts he favoured lately mitigated the messiness somewhat.
Their eyes met, and Draco felt as if someone had cast a body bind on him. Harry's gaze was as intense as ever, but his eyes were particularly fiery tonight. Quite frankly, he looked pissed off. Draco wanted to believe that he was the reason why, but he could not bring himself to awaken the smidgen of hope, lest it turn on him when Harry inevitably rejected him again.
Still, he was ravishing. Draco swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. While he'd never had any real claim to the man, just knowing that Harry wasn't even his lover, no, fuck buddy, anymore... well, it stung. The ache in his chest throbbed, but he forced himself to turn from the draw of Harry's eyes and his masculine beauty and turned instead at the woman on his arm. She was just as spectacular, in her own way, but it was utterly lost on Draco. Were it otherwise, his life would be a whole lot simpler, that was certain.
“Wow, Harry Potter looks amazing tonight, doesn't he, Draco?” Astoria asked sweetly, smiling up at Draco.
“I wouldn't know,” Draco replied, pointedly not turning around to look some more.
“I'm sure you don't,” she said, lifting a pale brow in Draco's direction. “You would look amazing in an outfit like that, as well. Maybe you should go ask him where he bought it.”
“I'd rather not, thanks,” Draco said stiffly, giving her a weak smile. “Never mind Harry bloody Potter. Let's mingle, shall we?” He took her arm in his and led them away from the man he was pretending to ignore. The attempt was bound to fail, but he had to try it anyway. For appearances sake, at least.
The evening only went downhill from there. Draco could feel Harry's eyes on him all night, and it set him right on the edge of sanity, control and arousal. He was able, through years of practice and repetition, to keep up the facade for Astoria's sake, but it was a close thing. It didn't help that the spectre of sex was in the air and before the night was half over a large number of people had paired, or more, off and headed for the alcoves or the floos.
Astoria appeared to be having a wonderful time however, and Draco wondered if she was entertaining ideas of taking him home in an attempt to get him to agree to the betrothal. Tipsy or not, he was certain he'd not drunk enough to consider it.
He and Harry had been circling each other all night, one leaving as the other came near, one turning when the other came in their direction. Fate seemed to want them together in the most awkward of circumstances. Harry hadn’t brought a date, much to Draco’s relief, but that only left him with more time to spend stalking Draco around the ballroom. It seemed that whenever Draco went to the loo, Harry wasn’t far behind; whenever he went to the bar, Harry was there already. The sexual tension and anticipation was rising as it approached midnight, it had settled in the base of Draco's skull and had long since stretched out into the rest of his body.
It was bound to come to a head sooner or later, though Draco found himself wishing it had been sooner. When it did happen, he just felt weary, bone deep with exhaustion. His heart could not take this anymore. He’d had enough. He would talk to Father in the morning, and sign the damn papers. Then he could forget that he'd found something in Harry's arms that he could never find anywhere else.
Besides, if he wasn't going to be happy, his family might as well be.
“Malfoy,” Harry spat out, his voice as hard as his cock when it had pressed into Draco's body...no, best not think of that. There was no silk covering the steel this time though, a sharp reminder of where he was and with whom.
“Surprised to see you here,” he continued, while Draco was ruing the day he'd laid eyes on the man.
“Oh?” Draco replied, archly. “Did I miss the notice that it was Gryffindorks, Hufflepoufs and Ravensquares only? Or do you have a more personal reason for wanting me to stay away?” Draco challenged. He could feel Astoria's grip on his arm tightening, but he ignored it in favour of the heat in Harry's eyes. Perhaps he had been mistaken, perhaps Harry felt something for him after all. Besides lust, that is, and anger. And intense burning hatred. No, actually, all of those could account for Harry's confronting him in this manner.
“No actually, I thought you'd be too cowardly to show your face,” Harry growled, an answering shiver running down Draco's spine. “After all, you're not exactly the favorite son you always thought you were, are you?”
Draco scoffed. “At least I don't walk around puffed up on self-righteousness and fevered imaginings of my own importance. Like several others I could name.”
Harry stiffened even further, if such a thing were possible, and Draco allowed himself a mental pat on the back. His self congratulations didn't last very long.
“At least I have something to feel proud of,” Harry said, quietly. “At least I'm doing what I want, instead of what Daddy tells me.”
Draco flinched. That stung, moreso because it was true, Draco realized that he’d always intended to go through with the betrothal, sooner or later, his family responsibility was far too ingrained to cast aside without a very compelling reason. They stared at each other for a few long moments, the silence around them deafening. Draco considered tossing back something about how Harry didn't have a father to obey, but he brushed that off as too juvenile. Not that they weren't acting like children as it was, he didn't want to push it too far. He didn't know what to say, so of course his mouth spoke up before his brain realised what was happening.
“Well, maybe no-one has given me a reason to do otherwise,” he said, his gaze holding Harry's. Moments passed while Harry's eyes softened but then, looking between Draco and Astoria, they froze up again.
“Who would want to give you one?” Harry sneered. “Who would want someone who is too afraid of Daddy to think for himself?”
Draco stood there, mouth agape, a look he was certain was not at all attractive on him, but he couldn't stop it. Harry had changed in the years since Hogwarts, and not all for the better. When had he learned to be so cruel? Draco had learned at his Father's knee, it was true, but he'd been trying to move past that, to be his own man. Clearly, he hadn't tried hard enough.
“You know what, Potter?” he made the word as harsh and ugly as he could, to match Harry's words. “I don't have time for this childishness. Owl me when you've grown up, alright?” He took Astoria's hand and turned away, but Harry's words stopped him again. As they always did, as they always had.
“It goes both ways, Draco,” Harry said, his voice softer, caressing Draco's name in a way he thought he’d never get to hear. He shivered.
“When you're ready to step out of Daddy's shadow, owl me.”
Draco could hear his footsteps as he walked away, but he didn't turn. He couldn't watch Harry walk away from him again. Instead, he walked away himself, leaving Astoria behind him as well.
She found him later in one of the private alcoves, with a bottle of Firewhisky as his partner.
“Draco,” she said, sitting beside him and reaching for the bottle. He relinquished it reluctantly, but she was firm. He thought she would set it aside, but she surprised him by taking a swig right out of the bottle.
“Astoria,” he said, slightly scandalized. “That's not very lady-like.”
“No, perhaps not,” she replied, stopping to have another drink before continuing, “but then again, I'm not as lady-like as I would have you believe.”
He stared at her. “Or anyone else, I imagine.”
“Precisely.” She smiled at him, taking one more drink before returning the bottle. He took it and had a drink himself, lapsing back into thoughts of Harry and what might have been if he hadn't been such an arsehole when he was eleven. Or if Harry wasn't being such an arsehole now.
“Draco,” Astoria said, breaking the silence and Draco's ever downward spiralling thoughts. “Why are you hiding in here with a bottle of Firewhisky?”
“It's the only place to get some quiet around here,” he replied, taking another swig and passing her the bottle again.
“I'm sure there are some people who could make better use of it than you are.” She took another drink, a long one this time, before passing it back. She really wasn't the fussy girl he'd thought her to be. Maybe this marriage wouldn't be so bad after all.
“Too bad for them,” he snarled. “I'm using it, it doesn't matter what for.”
“Sulking is hardly an appropriate use,” Astoria said, nudging her shoulder with his.
“I am not sulking!” he exclaimed, but she just laughed.
“Yes you are, Draco. You can deny all you want to yourself, but I see you more clearly than that,” she said.
“You don't know anything about me,” Draco said. “We barely even know each other.”
“That's not true.” She nudged him on the shoulder again and he looked at her, surprised by the look of amusement on her face. “Just because you were too busy during our school years to pay attention to a younger girl like me doesn't mean I didn't pay any attention to you. Oh, don't look at me like that Draco, I'm not in love with you. Anymore.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “You were in love with me?” She nodded, her eyes wistful, so he passed her the bottle again.
“Sorry,” he said, but she just shook her head, toying with the label on the whisky bottle.
“It's alright, I got over that before you graduated.”
“Oh, good,” he said, feeling a bit less like an oblivious moron.
“Yes, I spent a lot of time watching you, before the war, in my fifth year, and that's when I fancied myself in love with you. But then, when we all came back to redo the war year, it kind of faded.”
“Oh,” was all he could say to that.
“Well, you were still beautiful and everything I'd fancied before, if a little less outgoing, but...” she trailed off, so Draco looked up, to see a thoughtful expression across her features. He took notice for the first time, taking a good look at her. She really was beautiful; strong, classic facial structure and lovely, pale green eyes framed by wavy blonde hair. Why had he never noticed her eyes were green before? Perhaps because a darker, more stunning pair had riveted his attention since he was eleven. Or because she was a girl. Or that he'd tried hard not to notice her before then.
Perhaps it was a combination of the three. Regardless, she was lovely. She'd make some man a...oh wait. Scratch that.
“But?” he prompted, placing the bottle on the bench beside him, leaning back to look at the stars instead.
“But, in that repeat year, I realised that it would never be. That's when I realised that you're gay.”
Draco froze. How had she figured that out?
“Oh, Draco, it was fairly obvious for someone who watched you as close as I did,” she said, smiling at him. Shit, he'd said that out loud. His control was seriously lacking since this thing with Harry had begun. Whether that was months or years ago, Draco wasn’t sure.
“I never, I didn't... how? Why?” he shook his head to stop the babbling. “I didn't date, or even kiss, a single boy that year,” he said at last.
“Well, there was one boy you never took your eyes off of. In fact, after making a few discrete enquiries and thinking back to the previous years of watching you, it became all too clear,” she said.
“Well, if you could enlighten me?” he asked.
“I don't know how anyone could miss it. You were so plainly in love with Harry Potter,” she said, and promptly had to pound Draco on the back as he was suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing. When he'd regained his breath, he looked at her incredulously.
“I was not!” he exclaimed, but once again, she just laughed.
“Yes, you were. Didn't you know?” she asked, smiling slyly at him. “Draco, you never took your eyes off him for a second, if he were in the room. You spent your first five years at school harassing him and his friends, clearly out of hurt that he rejected you and jealousy that he chose them instead. You may as well have pulled his hair and dipped it in your inkwell.”
“What? I did not! I hated him genuinely,” Draco insisted. “He was an utter, self righteous prat, and someone had to bring him down from that pedestal.”
“Oh, is that all it was? I suppose you were well up to the task, then?” she said and Draco could tell she wasn't buying a word he said.
“Well, no one else seemed willing or able to do it. Who better than me?” Draco asked with a wry grin. Astoria just smiled at him.
“Well, whether or not you were then, you're in love with him now. And based on that spectacle you two put on earlier, he's in love with you too.”
Draco was far too stunned by her second statement to pay any attention to the first. He stared at her in amazement, unable or unwilling to believe her. He gaped at her for a few minutes, trying to come up with something, anything to say.
“You didn't know? I thought he was so upset because you'd finally agreed to the betrothal,” Astoria said, though Draco still could not respond. “You are sleeping with him, aren't you?”
Draco just shook his head, his mind finally focusing on one thought. If Astoria, who by this point had proven herself very observant, thought that Harry was in love with him, could he be? Was it possible that Harry returned Draco’s feelings but was too frightened to make them known? He'd never given Draco a reason to believe that he was anything but a part time fuck buddy, but, then again, Draco had never given him a reason to think he wanted anything otherwise. Just as Harry had said.
He'd been so wrapped up in his own angst, his own perceptions of who and what Harry was, that he'd probably missed every sign that Harry had shown him. He'd been so focused on keeping his own tells under control, on never letting Harry see how much he was affected by him, by the things they'd done, the way they'd touched each other. He'd never opened his eyes and really looked, plainly and without bias. He'd made an assumption and had based his entire world view upon it.
Just as he had at Hogwarts.
“Astoria!” he exclaimed at last, startling her. He stood quickly, swaying a bit, before grasping her face and pulling her in for a sloppy, hurried kiss.
“I love you. But not like that. The betrothal is off, and I've got to go,” he said in one breath, staring at her incredulously. “I'll owl you, we'll have lunch.” And with that he was out of the alcove and headed in the direction of the apparition room, leaving Astoria behind, bemused and smug.
6. The Night Harry Was A Complete Prat
Draco found himself pressed up against the door of his flat, trousers around his ankles and Harry's tongue loosening his hole by sheer force of will. It was hot, always so hot, and wet and suddenly Draco felt something inside him break, something that screamed 'no!' over and over until he twisted away, tripping on his pants and sprawling on the floor, panting as he scrabbled back. He put as much distance between himself and Harry as he could.
“Stop, we... just stop,” he gasped, trying to tug his pants and trousers up and having only partial success.
“Malfoy, what the fuck?” Harry asked from his position on the floor across from Draco. And there, that's another thing. Harry still called him Malfoy. Draco had even told him to use his first name, but he never did. And Potter had long since become Harry in Draco's head, though he avoided using his name when at all possible, biting out a forced 'Potter' when it became utterly necessary.
“That's exactly it,” Draco said, struggling onto his feet and putting his clothes to rights. “Fuck. That's all we do, we just fuck.”
Harry looked confused, brushing his sweaty fringe back and wiping the saliva from his face before standing up as well. “I thought that was the point,” he said.
“The point of what?” Draco asked.
“Of this thing we're doing,” Harry replied, taking a step closer, his eyes intense. “I mean, we fuck, presumably because it's the best sex either of us has ever had, and then we go back to our regular lives because both of us know that there will never be anything more between us.”
And oh, didn't that just kill the shred of hope that Draco hadn't even realised he'd been clinging to. That same hope that had tortured him throughout their school years, the hope that one day Harry would come up to him and say 'I'm sorry for not shaking your hand, would you like to be friends?' The hope that had morphed into Harry saying 'I love you' after they'd shagged for hours and lay tangled in Draco's sweaty sheets, or even just 'why don't we go out for dinner, before we go back to your place and shag like rabid animals', in the corridors of the Ministry or after bumping into each other in Diagon Alley.
“Right,” Draco said, rebuckling his belt and holding his temper by a thread. “Right, of course we both know that. Right, okay, it's...”
“What is wrong with you tonight, Malfoy?” Harry said, scrunching his nose at Draco in seeming disgust.
Draco took a deep breath and gathered up his courage. Not that there was much of it to begin with, but his dignity was bolstering him to an act that he would never have attempted otherwise.
“What's wrong with me is that I can't do this anymore. I'm worth more than to just be your secret shag, the one you can't tell your friends about because they would never believe you if you told them anyway. The one they would guilt trip you out of, the one they would be more than slightly disgusted to learn about.”
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know, but it was unnecessary anyway, since that was when Harry had opened his again, and that shred of hope Draco had clung to shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
“Oh, they know, they just don't care.”
Draco opened his eyes again. “What?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “What does that mean?”
“It means they don't care,” Harry said, eyeing Draco as one would a crazy person. And perhaps he was.
“They don't care,” Draco stated, still trying to parse it.
“Well, why would they? They know it's just a release, you know, to blow off steam while I'm waiting for Ginny to get back. It's not like it'll ever go anywhere, so they don't care. And again, what is wrong with you tonight?”
“What's wrong is that I am an idiot. And you need to go.” Draco walked to the door, the one Harry had been about to shag him against. He could barely look at it. He'd have to move, clearly he couldn't live in this flat anymore.
“What? Why?” Harry looked pissed and a little confused, but Draco's head had never been clearer.
“Get the fuck out, you fucking user,” Draco said firmly, throwing open the door, never meeting Harry's eyes.
“User? Wait, how can you use someone who is only in it for the sex?” Harry hadn't moved but the fire had flared in his eyes and Draco was becoming desperate. He felt a full on breakdown looming and the last time he'd felt like that with Harry near his blood had soaked the tiles of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
“Just get the fuck out, Potter.” That one hadn't needed to be forced. Draco felt something like himself again, as his feelings for Harry Potter teetered back to hatred, having hung from the cliffs of lust and admiration for far too long.
“Fine,” Harry said, finally redoing his jeans and stalking toward the door, his face set in anger. “I don't have time for your drama anyway, I have an early morning.”
As he passed Draco, he stopped and before Draco realised what was happening he was clutching Potter's jacket desperately, kissing him as if his life depended on it. He pulled back once he'd realised what he’d done and before Harry could do anything but stand there looking like the imbecile Draco had always assumed he was, Draco pushed him out and slammed the door in his face, throwing up every ward and locking charm he could think of before falling to the floor in sudden exhaustion.
All in all, not his best night.
10. The Night They Finally Get It Right
Draco had only been to Harry's flat once, but he'd never forget where it was. Within moments he was pounding on Harry's door, hoping that this is where Harry had gone when he'd left.
He had. Harry opened the door promptly, though by the looks of him, he'd been having the same conversation with a Firewhisky bottle that Draco had been having before Astoria had written him a reality cheque. Lovely girl that, he would need to buy her a gift. An expensive gift.
“Malfoy,” Harry began, but Draco just gave him a shove, forcing his way into the flat.
“Not out here,” he said, moving around Harry and into the flat, turning the corner into the sitting room and waiting for Harry to catch up.
“What?” Harry said harshly. That was when Draco realised he didn't know what to say.
“You are such a fucking coward!” came out before he realised he was speaking.
“What?” Harry repeated, questioning him. “You've just come here to insult me?”
“That's not the only reason,” Draco snapped at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Well, you've got the insult out of the way, so what else do you want?”
“Why didn't you tell me?” Draco countered Harry's question with one of his own.
“Tell you what? Talking isn't what we do best, Malfoy,” Harry replied.
“Clearly. And yet I want an answer,” Draco said.
“To what question?” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
“Why didn't you tell me how you feel about me?”
“Oh for,” Harry's hands dropped and he ran them through his hair. “What makes you think I feel anything for you?”
“Astoria,” Draco said simply.
“Your fiance,” Harry spoke the word with undeniable derision.
“She's not my fiance,” Draco said quickly, before Harry could get another word in. “She never was, tonight was mostly to shut my father up,” he concluded.
“Oh, but...” Harry trailed off. They both seemed at a loss for words, or clues on where to go from there. Draco was beginning to go a little mad in the uncertain silence when Harry spoke again.
“So, how did Astoria know that... you know,” he said, fidgeting and throwing glances at Draco, never meeting his eyes.
“She noticed in Hogwarts,” Draco replied, amused at Harry's shocked face, but he continued. “That I had certain inclinations, and from there she figured out where my affections were directed,” he said rather stiffly. How does one discuss one's feelings, especially when they go that far back, when one is accustomed to ignoring said feelings, even going so far as to pretend they're not there?
“And you admitted it?” Harry asked.
“Not to her,” Draco clarified, turning away and fiddling with the knick-knacks and pictures frames on the mantlepiece. “But then she said she'd noticed the same about you and... you do, don't you?”
“Have,” Harry said, finishing as eloquently as ever with, “yeah.”
“Good,” Draco replied. “That's... good.”
“So Astoria's really not--” Harry began, but Draco interrupted him before he could finish.
“No, never,” he assured Harry. “Except in my father's mind, that is. It's too bad for him.”
“Oh?” Harry asked absently, his gaze now fixed on Draco's mouth. He took a step forward.
“Well, he'll have to learn to live with it, won't he?” Draco said, taking a step closer as well.
“So you've made a decision then?” Harry asked.
“I wouldn't be here if I hadn't,” Draco said. “It's good to know it's not been made for me. By my father, or by you.”
“Me?” Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. “As if I had any influence on your decision making process.”
“But you did,“ Draco insisted. “I couldn't agree to marry her when I was feeling... things for you, but I couldn't say no either. I didn't want to burn a bridge with my father only to find out that you weren't interested. I thought you weren't.”
“How could you think I wasn't interested?” Harry asked. “I only practically attacked you whenever we met.”
“Yet you only ever met me in my flat, mostly the bedroom. And after shagging me silly, you'd leave abruptly, usually going on about how much you were looking forward to your girlfriend getting back, how you couldn't wait. You made it pretty clear that I was just a stop-gap shag,” Draco pointed out, and Harry had to bashfully agree.
“Okay, I see what you mean,” Harry nodded. “Sorry about that, it was kind of a defence mechanism. I kept expecting you to tell me that you were getting married and it was over. Or expecting your engagement to be announced and having to end it myself.”
They stared into each other for a few minutes, both trying to work things out in their heads, neither one really succeeding. Draco supposed Harry was right. From his perspective, he couldn't do or say anything until Draco made a move either way. Apparently, the move Draco had finally made had not been the one Harry had been hoping for.
All this time Draco had been waiting for Harry to make the move, all this time they had been circling each other, waiting. Draco closed his eyes as the missed opportunities flashed in front of his eyes. All this time they could have been together for real. They should have been, if Harry hadn’t conveniently forgotten he was a Gryffindor. Honestly, Draco was a Slytherin, not the type to make bold, risky declarations. He was all about self preservation, and Harry really should have known that.
“So,” Draco began, asking the last question that lay between them like a chasm. It was Harry's turn to make a decision. “What happens when the She-Weasel returns, then?”
“Right,” Harry said, shuffling nearer to Draco. “She, um, she's not coming back,” he said at last. “Not for me, anyway. We’re not... anything.”
Draco was stunned. “So it was all a lie?”
“A defence,” Harry insisted. “Something, anything to make you think I wasn't just going home to pine over the knowledge that you'd never be mine, not really.”
“That's,” Draco trailed off again. He’d been doing that a lot. What was it about Harry that made him either an utter prat or a complete imbecile? On the other hand, it seemed that he had the same effect on Harry, so he supposed they were even.
“Understandable,” he finished. “I have a few of those myself.”
“I've noticed,” Harry replied, meeting Draco's eyes again, at last, and smiling. “The cool as a cucumber, nothing can touch me facade is very effective.” Draco smiled back. Harry was within touching distance now and the temptation to do so was becoming unbearable. Something had to give and finally, it did.
His hand reached out, running slowly up Harry's arm, continuing up across his shoulder and into his hair, gripping the short locks there at the base of Harry's neck.
“Draco,” Harry whined, his eyes, his face strained with want.
“Do you want me, Harry Potter?” Draco asked carefully, his eyes fixed on Harry's face.
“Fuck, yes!” Harry said, leaning in to capture Draco's lips in a hard kiss, even as his arms wrapped around Draco's back. Then they were into it, no stopping now. Both of Draco's hands were buried in Harry's hair, holding his head close, the better to snog the breath out of him.
Harry was clinging, his hands gripping Draco's shoulders almost painfully as the kiss turned passionate. They both gave into it, letting go of their fears and doubts. Draco moaned, suddenly overwhelmed by the certainty that Harry loved him, that the feelings he had been denying and hiding for so long were returned. Knowing that Harry was his made him taste even better.
Harry must have felt the same because he was clinging to Draco as fiercely as Draco was clinging to him. It didn't take long before their hands began to roam, Draco's sliding down Harry's neck and shoulders, finally wrapping around his back while Harry's hands made their way unerringly to Draco's arse where they were engaged with squeezing and kneading.
“I need to be in you,” Harry said after pulling free of Draco's lips. He clenched Draco's arse cheeks together for emphasis as he began to suck kisses down Draco's neck, his stubble leaving an itch that Draco loved. His skin would be raw for hours after Harry's rough beard scrapped across it. The only reminder of Harry's passion that Draco loved more was the ache Harry inevitably left in Draco's arse. And from the way Harry was clutching at him, his arse would be sore before long.
“Yes,” he said, rubbing his crotch against Harry's in encouragement. Harry rubbed back, pushing until Draco's legs hit the front of the sofa. Harry continued pushing harder, toppling them both onto the cushions.
Draco gasped when Harry's weight pinned him in the cushions, his hard cock digging painfully into Draco's thigh. He wouldn't trade it for anything though, especially now that Harry was kissing him again, his tongue equally as insistent as his cock.
And there it was again, the heat that Draco had been missing. It was in Harry’s eyes, burning like green fire, seeping from his hands as he slid them up Draco’s torso, pushing his shirt up as he went. It pressed Draco into the sofa, surrounding him as surely as Harry’s body did. Every kiss, every touch pushed away the chill that had held Draco in it’s thrall whenever Harry wasn’t toughing him like this.
This heat was different, though. This heat, Draco knew now with certainty, would stay, lingering on his skin and in his heart, even when Harry wasn’t near. Draco basked in it, pulled it close and held tight.
“Take your clothes off,” Harry commanded, making Draco squirm.
“Only if you get off me, you big lump,” Draco replied, not making the slightest effort to dislodge him.
“Don't wanna,” Harry said, fumbling instead with Draco's belt and trousers, unfastening them sloppily before attacking his own. When he was done, he slid his hands under Draco's arse and pulled his clothes right off, pants and all. Draco gasped again at the suddenness of the action but Harry kept pulling, over arse and knees and soon Draco's clothing was tangled around his still shod feet.
Harry didn't bother to untangle them, simply pushing Draco's legs down so that he was bent almost double, presenting his bare arse to Harry's eager gaze.
And also to his cock, which was poking enthusiastically out of Harry's boxers as he rubbed it, still clothed, over Draco's bare cheeks.
“Your turn,” Draco insisted, tugging at Harry's shirt.
“Done,” Harry said, while pulling his pants over his hard cock, which bobbed as it was freed. “And done,” he finished, pulling the pants over his arse along with his jeans.
“Lube?” Harry asked expectantly, rubbing his leaking erection in Draco's crack.
“Now you ask?” Draco replied. “Sorry, but I wasn't thinking that far ahead when I dressed this evening.”
“You weren't?” Harry asked, clearly surprised. “Aren't you always ready for anything? You're like a Boy Scout.”
“A what?” Draco asked, but he quickly changed his mind. “Never mind. I'm usually prepared, that's the advantage of being a wizard. Which you are also, so get on with it!”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, with a smirk, but he conjured the lube anyway, slicking his hard cock with it before sliding several perfunctory fingers into Draco's hole preparing him quickly. Then, wasting no more time, thrusting at last, sheathing himself fully in Draco's welcoming heat.
“Don't want to be without this, ever again,” Harry said between groans and gasps as he expertly found Draco's hot spot and pounded it like a drum. Over and over, the thrusts filled him, hitting home with eerie accuracy.
“Oh god, Harry, me either,” Draco cried, his hands attempting to find purchase on Harry's sweat slickened skin, clinging as Harry fucked the breath out of him.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, thrusting harder, fast, still hitting Draco's prostate unerringly as they both approached climax.
It roared over Draco before he was even prepared for it, the heat of emotions and passion throwing him off the plateau with gusto, leaving him shaking in the aftermath. Harry wasn't far behind, his thrusts losing their accuracy as they became erratic but honestly, to Draco it was a blessing, his orgasm had thoroughly sensitized his skin, not to mention his arsehole.
“Draco, Draco, god,” Harry moaned in ecstasy, his cock pumping his sticky release into Draco's already sticky hole. He gasped and panted, letting Draco’s legs fall and he pulled back and out, collapsing on the couch behind him.
And there they lay, sated and, finally, feeling complete.
9. The Night Draco Discovered He May Have Been Wrong All Along
The night of the Ball was cool and crisp, but the sky was free of clouds and the weather mild. It was held out of doors as tradition demanded, the practice engendered a certain ambiance in addition to the fires, a single large one that burned in the center and several smaller ones surrounding the space. The ground was charmed so that it still looked like a field, short grass waving with the wind currents, but it was as hard as tile, as the attendees were dressed in their best.
There were charms to control how much of the weather was let in, to control the temperature and to contain any stray sparks from the fires. There were unlimited alcoves for couples and groups to slip away into, integrated into the surrounding trees by means of wizard space. Draco eyed them as he and Astoria passed, trying not to wish that he had someone to disappear into one with. He sighed internally and moved on.
There was a reception area for those apparating in, also equipped with temporary floos. The floos were mainly used by those departing, as most were quite intoxicated and splinching was always a risk. The space was equipped with drink stations at regular intervals, manned by bartenders with a wide array of wine, ale, spirits and liqueurs, as well as circulating trays filled with a myriad of appetizers that were charmed to avoid the guests, hold the food and vanish to be refilled once empty. All in all, it was a flawlessly planned and executed event, and much more in keeping with the social mores of high society than the crude bonfires so popular with younger folk and Muggles. Draco supposed he was still a ‘young person’ but in his opinion, that was no excuse to act like a Muggle. Far too undignified for the Malfoy heir, at any rate.
It was also attended by anyone who was anyone in Wizarding Britain, and even many who were not so prominent. It was one of those not-to-be-missed events, the kind where people made statements in what they wore, how they acted, and who they attended with.
And here he was, with Astoria Greengrass on his arm. Oh, she looked resplendent in her gown, snug in the bodice to show off her assets and then flowed out over her hips to fall in a graceful circle around her feet. The dress was pale yellow at the top, to match her hair, deepening into gold, orange and finally a deep red at the bottom, the color of the flames burning in their midst. Draco had to admit, it was stunning and very appropriate, and she looked amazing in it. He was the envy of most of the men there, although that fact did nothing to improve his mood.
The other men could have her, for all he cared. No, he would rather be on the arm of someone else entirely, someone he just then spotted through the milling crowd.
Harry looked marvellous. Gorgeous. Amazing and completely shaggable. He was wearing a Muggle suit, of all things, and despite the flagrant Muggleness of it, he looked born to wear it. His broad shoulders were accented to perfection, as were his lean hips and strong thighs. The fabric moulded to him in places and flowed smoothly in others, giving him an air of strength and vitality. He was clean shaven for once, though Draco was certain if he were to rub his cheek against Harry's it would still come away raw; and his hair was as neat as it ever was. That is to say, not very, although the shorter haircuts he favoured lately mitigated the messiness somewhat.
Their eyes met, and Draco felt as if someone had cast a body bind on him. Harry's gaze was as intense as ever, but his eyes were particularly fiery tonight. Quite frankly, he looked pissed off. Draco wanted to believe that he was the reason why, but he could not bring himself to awaken the smidgen of hope, lest it turn on him when Harry inevitably rejected him again.
Still, he was ravishing. Draco swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. While he'd never had any real claim to the man, just knowing that Harry wasn't even his lover, no, fuck buddy, anymore... well, it stung. The ache in his chest throbbed, but he forced himself to turn from the draw of Harry's eyes and his masculine beauty and turned instead at the woman on his arm. She was just as spectacular, in her own way, but it was utterly lost on Draco. Were it otherwise, his life would be a whole lot simpler, that was certain.
“Wow, Harry Potter looks amazing tonight, doesn't he, Draco?” Astoria asked sweetly, smiling up at Draco.
“I wouldn't know,” Draco replied, pointedly not turning around to look some more.
“I'm sure you don't,” she said, lifting a pale brow in Draco's direction. “You would look amazing in an outfit like that, as well. Maybe you should go ask him where he bought it.”
“I'd rather not, thanks,” Draco said stiffly, giving her a weak smile. “Never mind Harry bloody Potter. Let's mingle, shall we?” He took her arm in his and led them away from the man he was pretending to ignore. The attempt was bound to fail, but he had to try it anyway. For appearances sake, at least.
The evening only went downhill from there. Draco could feel Harry's eyes on him all night, and it set him right on the edge of sanity, control and arousal. He was able, through years of practice and repetition, to keep up the facade for Astoria's sake, but it was a close thing. It didn't help that the spectre of sex was in the air and before the night was half over a large number of people had paired, or more, off and headed for the alcoves or the floos.
Astoria appeared to be having a wonderful time however, and Draco wondered if she was entertaining ideas of taking him home in an attempt to get him to agree to the betrothal. Tipsy or not, he was certain he'd not drunk enough to consider it.
He and Harry had been circling each other all night, one leaving as the other came near, one turning when the other came in their direction. Fate seemed to want them together in the most awkward of circumstances. Harry hadn’t brought a date, much to Draco’s relief, but that only left him with more time to spend stalking Draco around the ballroom. It seemed that whenever Draco went to the loo, Harry wasn’t far behind; whenever he went to the bar, Harry was there already. The sexual tension and anticipation was rising as it approached midnight, it had settled in the base of Draco's skull and had long since stretched out into the rest of his body.
It was bound to come to a head sooner or later, though Draco found himself wishing it had been sooner. When it did happen, he just felt weary, bone deep with exhaustion. His heart could not take this anymore. He’d had enough. He would talk to Father in the morning, and sign the damn papers. Then he could forget that he'd found something in Harry's arms that he could never find anywhere else.
Besides, if he wasn't going to be happy, his family might as well be.
“Malfoy,” Harry spat out, his voice as hard as his cock when it had pressed into Draco's body...no, best not think of that. There was no silk covering the steel this time though, a sharp reminder of where he was and with whom.
“Surprised to see you here,” he continued, while Draco was ruing the day he'd laid eyes on the man.
“Oh?” Draco replied, archly. “Did I miss the notice that it was Gryffindorks, Hufflepoufs and Ravensquares only? Or do you have a more personal reason for wanting me to stay away?” Draco challenged. He could feel Astoria's grip on his arm tightening, but he ignored it in favour of the heat in Harry's eyes. Perhaps he had been mistaken, perhaps Harry felt something for him after all. Besides lust, that is, and anger. And intense burning hatred. No, actually, all of those could account for Harry's confronting him in this manner.
“No actually, I thought you'd be too cowardly to show your face,” Harry growled, an answering shiver running down Draco's spine. “After all, you're not exactly the favorite son you always thought you were, are you?”
Draco scoffed. “At least I don't walk around puffed up on self-righteousness and fevered imaginings of my own importance. Like several others I could name.”
Harry stiffened even further, if such a thing were possible, and Draco allowed himself a mental pat on the back. His self congratulations didn't last very long.
“At least I have something to feel proud of,” Harry said, quietly. “At least I'm doing what I want, instead of what Daddy tells me.”
Draco flinched. That stung, moreso because it was true, Draco realized that he’d always intended to go through with the betrothal, sooner or later, his family responsibility was far too ingrained to cast aside without a very compelling reason. They stared at each other for a few long moments, the silence around them deafening. Draco considered tossing back something about how Harry didn't have a father to obey, but he brushed that off as too juvenile. Not that they weren't acting like children as it was, he didn't want to push it too far. He didn't know what to say, so of course his mouth spoke up before his brain realised what was happening.
“Well, maybe no-one has given me a reason to do otherwise,” he said, his gaze holding Harry's. Moments passed while Harry's eyes softened but then, looking between Draco and Astoria, they froze up again.
“Who would want to give you one?” Harry sneered. “Who would want someone who is too afraid of Daddy to think for himself?”
Draco stood there, mouth agape, a look he was certain was not at all attractive on him, but he couldn't stop it. Harry had changed in the years since Hogwarts, and not all for the better. When had he learned to be so cruel? Draco had learned at his Father's knee, it was true, but he'd been trying to move past that, to be his own man. Clearly, he hadn't tried hard enough.
“You know what, Potter?” he made the word as harsh and ugly as he could, to match Harry's words. “I don't have time for this childishness. Owl me when you've grown up, alright?” He took Astoria's hand and turned away, but Harry's words stopped him again. As they always did, as they always had.
“It goes both ways, Draco,” Harry said, his voice softer, caressing Draco's name in a way he thought he’d never get to hear. He shivered.
“When you're ready to step out of Daddy's shadow, owl me.”
Draco could hear his footsteps as he walked away, but he didn't turn. He couldn't watch Harry walk away from him again. Instead, he walked away himself, leaving Astoria behind him as well.
She found him later in one of the private alcoves, with a bottle of Firewhisky as his partner.
“Draco,” she said, sitting beside him and reaching for the bottle. He relinquished it reluctantly, but she was firm. He thought she would set it aside, but she surprised him by taking a swig right out of the bottle.
“Astoria,” he said, slightly scandalized. “That's not very lady-like.”
“No, perhaps not,” she replied, stopping to have another drink before continuing, “but then again, I'm not as lady-like as I would have you believe.”
He stared at her. “Or anyone else, I imagine.”
“Precisely.” She smiled at him, taking one more drink before returning the bottle. He took it and had a drink himself, lapsing back into thoughts of Harry and what might have been if he hadn't been such an arsehole when he was eleven. Or if Harry wasn't being such an arsehole now.
“Draco,” Astoria said, breaking the silence and Draco's ever downward spiralling thoughts. “Why are you hiding in here with a bottle of Firewhisky?”
“It's the only place to get some quiet around here,” he replied, taking another swig and passing her the bottle again.
“I'm sure there are some people who could make better use of it than you are.” She took another drink, a long one this time, before passing it back. She really wasn't the fussy girl he'd thought her to be. Maybe this marriage wouldn't be so bad after all.
“Too bad for them,” he snarled. “I'm using it, it doesn't matter what for.”
“Sulking is hardly an appropriate use,” Astoria said, nudging her shoulder with his.
“I am not sulking!” he exclaimed, but she just laughed.
“Yes you are, Draco. You can deny all you want to yourself, but I see you more clearly than that,” she said.
“You don't know anything about me,” Draco said. “We barely even know each other.”
“That's not true.” She nudged him on the shoulder again and he looked at her, surprised by the look of amusement on her face. “Just because you were too busy during our school years to pay attention to a younger girl like me doesn't mean I didn't pay any attention to you. Oh, don't look at me like that Draco, I'm not in love with you. Anymore.”
He looked at her, puzzled. “You were in love with me?” She nodded, her eyes wistful, so he passed her the bottle again.
“Sorry,” he said, but she just shook her head, toying with the label on the whisky bottle.
“It's alright, I got over that before you graduated.”
“Oh, good,” he said, feeling a bit less like an oblivious moron.
“Yes, I spent a lot of time watching you, before the war, in my fifth year, and that's when I fancied myself in love with you. But then, when we all came back to redo the war year, it kind of faded.”
“Oh,” was all he could say to that.
“Well, you were still beautiful and everything I'd fancied before, if a little less outgoing, but...” she trailed off, so Draco looked up, to see a thoughtful expression across her features. He took notice for the first time, taking a good look at her. She really was beautiful; strong, classic facial structure and lovely, pale green eyes framed by wavy blonde hair. Why had he never noticed her eyes were green before? Perhaps because a darker, more stunning pair had riveted his attention since he was eleven. Or because she was a girl. Or that he'd tried hard not to notice her before then.
Perhaps it was a combination of the three. Regardless, she was lovely. She'd make some man a...oh wait. Scratch that.
“But?” he prompted, placing the bottle on the bench beside him, leaning back to look at the stars instead.
“But, in that repeat year, I realised that it would never be. That's when I realised that you're gay.”
Draco froze. How had she figured that out?
“Oh, Draco, it was fairly obvious for someone who watched you as close as I did,” she said, smiling at him. Shit, he'd said that out loud. His control was seriously lacking since this thing with Harry had begun. Whether that was months or years ago, Draco wasn’t sure.
“I never, I didn't... how? Why?” he shook his head to stop the babbling. “I didn't date, or even kiss, a single boy that year,” he said at last.
“Well, there was one boy you never took your eyes off of. In fact, after making a few discrete enquiries and thinking back to the previous years of watching you, it became all too clear,” she said.
“Well, if you could enlighten me?” he asked.
“I don't know how anyone could miss it. You were so plainly in love with Harry Potter,” she said, and promptly had to pound Draco on the back as he was suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing. When he'd regained his breath, he looked at her incredulously.
“I was not!” he exclaimed, but once again, she just laughed.
“Yes, you were. Didn't you know?” she asked, smiling slyly at him. “Draco, you never took your eyes off him for a second, if he were in the room. You spent your first five years at school harassing him and his friends, clearly out of hurt that he rejected you and jealousy that he chose them instead. You may as well have pulled his hair and dipped it in your inkwell.”
“What? I did not! I hated him genuinely,” Draco insisted. “He was an utter, self righteous prat, and someone had to bring him down from that pedestal.”
“Oh, is that all it was? I suppose you were well up to the task, then?” she said and Draco could tell she wasn't buying a word he said.
“Well, no one else seemed willing or able to do it. Who better than me?” Draco asked with a wry grin. Astoria just smiled at him.
“Well, whether or not you were then, you're in love with him now. And based on that spectacle you two put on earlier, he's in love with you too.”
Draco was far too stunned by her second statement to pay any attention to the first. He stared at her in amazement, unable or unwilling to believe her. He gaped at her for a few minutes, trying to come up with something, anything to say.
“You didn't know? I thought he was so upset because you'd finally agreed to the betrothal,” Astoria said, though Draco still could not respond. “You are sleeping with him, aren't you?”
Draco just shook his head, his mind finally focusing on one thought. If Astoria, who by this point had proven herself very observant, thought that Harry was in love with him, could he be? Was it possible that Harry returned Draco’s feelings but was too frightened to make them known? He'd never given Draco a reason to believe that he was anything but a part time fuck buddy, but, then again, Draco had never given him a reason to think he wanted anything otherwise. Just as Harry had said.
He'd been so wrapped up in his own angst, his own perceptions of who and what Harry was, that he'd probably missed every sign that Harry had shown him. He'd been so focused on keeping his own tells under control, on never letting Harry see how much he was affected by him, by the things they'd done, the way they'd touched each other. He'd never opened his eyes and really looked, plainly and without bias. He'd made an assumption and had based his entire world view upon it.
Just as he had at Hogwarts.
“Astoria!” he exclaimed at last, startling her. He stood quickly, swaying a bit, before grasping her face and pulling her in for a sloppy, hurried kiss.
“I love you. But not like that. The betrothal is off, and I've got to go,” he said in one breath, staring at her incredulously. “I'll owl you, we'll have lunch.” And with that he was out of the alcove and headed in the direction of the apparition room, leaving Astoria behind, bemused and smug.
6. The Night Harry Was A Complete Prat
Draco found himself pressed up against the door of his flat, trousers around his ankles and Harry's tongue loosening his hole by sheer force of will. It was hot, always so hot, and wet and suddenly Draco felt something inside him break, something that screamed 'no!' over and over until he twisted away, tripping on his pants and sprawling on the floor, panting as he scrabbled back. He put as much distance between himself and Harry as he could.
“Stop, we... just stop,” he gasped, trying to tug his pants and trousers up and having only partial success.
“Malfoy, what the fuck?” Harry asked from his position on the floor across from Draco. And there, that's another thing. Harry still called him Malfoy. Draco had even told him to use his first name, but he never did. And Potter had long since become Harry in Draco's head, though he avoided using his name when at all possible, biting out a forced 'Potter' when it became utterly necessary.
“That's exactly it,” Draco said, struggling onto his feet and putting his clothes to rights. “Fuck. That's all we do, we just fuck.”
Harry looked confused, brushing his sweaty fringe back and wiping the saliva from his face before standing up as well. “I thought that was the point,” he said.
“The point of what?” Draco asked.
“Of this thing we're doing,” Harry replied, taking a step closer, his eyes intense. “I mean, we fuck, presumably because it's the best sex either of us has ever had, and then we go back to our regular lives because both of us know that there will never be anything more between us.”
And oh, didn't that just kill the shred of hope that Draco hadn't even realised he'd been clinging to. That same hope that had tortured him throughout their school years, the hope that one day Harry would come up to him and say 'I'm sorry for not shaking your hand, would you like to be friends?' The hope that had morphed into Harry saying 'I love you' after they'd shagged for hours and lay tangled in Draco's sweaty sheets, or even just 'why don't we go out for dinner, before we go back to your place and shag like rabid animals', in the corridors of the Ministry or after bumping into each other in Diagon Alley.
“Right,” Draco said, rebuckling his belt and holding his temper by a thread. “Right, of course we both know that. Right, okay, it's...”
“What is wrong with you tonight, Malfoy?” Harry said, scrunching his nose at Draco in seeming disgust.
Draco took a deep breath and gathered up his courage. Not that there was much of it to begin with, but his dignity was bolstering him to an act that he would never have attempted otherwise.
“What's wrong with me is that I can't do this anymore. I'm worth more than to just be your secret shag, the one you can't tell your friends about because they would never believe you if you told them anyway. The one they would guilt trip you out of, the one they would be more than slightly disgusted to learn about.”
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know, but it was unnecessary anyway, since that was when Harry had opened his again, and that shred of hope Draco had clung to shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
“Oh, they know, they just don't care.”
Draco opened his eyes again. “What?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “What does that mean?”
“It means they don't care,” Harry said, eyeing Draco as one would a crazy person. And perhaps he was.
“They don't care,” Draco stated, still trying to parse it.
“Well, why would they? They know it's just a release, you know, to blow off steam while I'm waiting for Ginny to get back. It's not like it'll ever go anywhere, so they don't care. And again, what is wrong with you tonight?”
“What's wrong is that I am an idiot. And you need to go.” Draco walked to the door, the one Harry had been about to shag him against. He could barely look at it. He'd have to move, clearly he couldn't live in this flat anymore.
“What? Why?” Harry looked pissed and a little confused, but Draco's head had never been clearer.
“Get the fuck out, you fucking user,” Draco said firmly, throwing open the door, never meeting Harry's eyes.
“User? Wait, how can you use someone who is only in it for the sex?” Harry hadn't moved but the fire had flared in his eyes and Draco was becoming desperate. He felt a full on breakdown looming and the last time he'd felt like that with Harry near his blood had soaked the tiles of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
“Just get the fuck out, Potter.” That one hadn't needed to be forced. Draco felt something like himself again, as his feelings for Harry Potter teetered back to hatred, having hung from the cliffs of lust and admiration for far too long.
“Fine,” Harry said, finally redoing his jeans and stalking toward the door, his face set in anger. “I don't have time for your drama anyway, I have an early morning.”
As he passed Draco, he stopped and before Draco realised what was happening he was clutching Potter's jacket desperately, kissing him as if his life depended on it. He pulled back once he'd realised what he’d done and before Harry could do anything but stand there looking like the imbecile Draco had always assumed he was, Draco pushed him out and slammed the door in his face, throwing up every ward and locking charm he could think of before falling to the floor in sudden exhaustion.
All in all, not his best night.
10. The Night They Finally Get It Right
Draco had only been to Harry's flat once, but he'd never forget where it was. Within moments he was pounding on Harry's door, hoping that this is where Harry had gone when he'd left.
He had. Harry opened the door promptly, though by the looks of him, he'd been having the same conversation with a Firewhisky bottle that Draco had been having before Astoria had written him a reality cheque. Lovely girl that, he would need to buy her a gift. An expensive gift.
“Malfoy,” Harry began, but Draco just gave him a shove, forcing his way into the flat.
“Not out here,” he said, moving around Harry and into the flat, turning the corner into the sitting room and waiting for Harry to catch up.
“What?” Harry said harshly. That was when Draco realised he didn't know what to say.
“You are such a fucking coward!” came out before he realised he was speaking.
“What?” Harry repeated, questioning him. “You've just come here to insult me?”
“That's not the only reason,” Draco snapped at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Well, you've got the insult out of the way, so what else do you want?”
“Why didn't you tell me?” Draco countered Harry's question with one of his own.
“Tell you what? Talking isn't what we do best, Malfoy,” Harry replied.
“Clearly. And yet I want an answer,” Draco said.
“To what question?” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
“Why didn't you tell me how you feel about me?”
“Oh for,” Harry's hands dropped and he ran them through his hair. “What makes you think I feel anything for you?”
“Astoria,” Draco said simply.
“Your fiance,” Harry spoke the word with undeniable derision.
“She's not my fiance,” Draco said quickly, before Harry could get another word in. “She never was, tonight was mostly to shut my father up,” he concluded.
“Oh, but...” Harry trailed off. They both seemed at a loss for words, or clues on where to go from there. Draco was beginning to go a little mad in the uncertain silence when Harry spoke again.
“So, how did Astoria know that... you know,” he said, fidgeting and throwing glances at Draco, never meeting his eyes.
“She noticed in Hogwarts,” Draco replied, amused at Harry's shocked face, but he continued. “That I had certain inclinations, and from there she figured out where my affections were directed,” he said rather stiffly. How does one discuss one's feelings, especially when they go that far back, when one is accustomed to ignoring said feelings, even going so far as to pretend they're not there?
“And you admitted it?” Harry asked.
“Not to her,” Draco clarified, turning away and fiddling with the knick-knacks and pictures frames on the mantlepiece. “But then she said she'd noticed the same about you and... you do, don't you?”
“Have,” Harry said, finishing as eloquently as ever with, “yeah.”
“Good,” Draco replied. “That's... good.”
“So Astoria's really not--” Harry began, but Draco interrupted him before he could finish.
“No, never,” he assured Harry. “Except in my father's mind, that is. It's too bad for him.”
“Oh?” Harry asked absently, his gaze now fixed on Draco's mouth. He took a step forward.
“Well, he'll have to learn to live with it, won't he?” Draco said, taking a step closer as well.
“So you've made a decision then?” Harry asked.
“I wouldn't be here if I hadn't,” Draco said. “It's good to know it's not been made for me. By my father, or by you.”
“Me?” Harry exclaimed, shaking his head. “As if I had any influence on your decision making process.”
“But you did,“ Draco insisted. “I couldn't agree to marry her when I was feeling... things for you, but I couldn't say no either. I didn't want to burn a bridge with my father only to find out that you weren't interested. I thought you weren't.”
“How could you think I wasn't interested?” Harry asked. “I only practically attacked you whenever we met.”
“Yet you only ever met me in my flat, mostly the bedroom. And after shagging me silly, you'd leave abruptly, usually going on about how much you were looking forward to your girlfriend getting back, how you couldn't wait. You made it pretty clear that I was just a stop-gap shag,” Draco pointed out, and Harry had to bashfully agree.
“Okay, I see what you mean,” Harry nodded. “Sorry about that, it was kind of a defence mechanism. I kept expecting you to tell me that you were getting married and it was over. Or expecting your engagement to be announced and having to end it myself.”
They stared into each other for a few minutes, both trying to work things out in their heads, neither one really succeeding. Draco supposed Harry was right. From his perspective, he couldn't do or say anything until Draco made a move either way. Apparently, the move Draco had finally made had not been the one Harry had been hoping for.
All this time Draco had been waiting for Harry to make the move, all this time they had been circling each other, waiting. Draco closed his eyes as the missed opportunities flashed in front of his eyes. All this time they could have been together for real. They should have been, if Harry hadn’t conveniently forgotten he was a Gryffindor. Honestly, Draco was a Slytherin, not the type to make bold, risky declarations. He was all about self preservation, and Harry really should have known that.
“So,” Draco began, asking the last question that lay between them like a chasm. It was Harry's turn to make a decision. “What happens when the She-Weasel returns, then?”
“Right,” Harry said, shuffling nearer to Draco. “She, um, she's not coming back,” he said at last. “Not for me, anyway. We’re not... anything.”
Draco was stunned. “So it was all a lie?”
“A defence,” Harry insisted. “Something, anything to make you think I wasn't just going home to pine over the knowledge that you'd never be mine, not really.”
“That's,” Draco trailed off again. He’d been doing that a lot. What was it about Harry that made him either an utter prat or a complete imbecile? On the other hand, it seemed that he had the same effect on Harry, so he supposed they were even.
“Understandable,” he finished. “I have a few of those myself.”
“I've noticed,” Harry replied, meeting Draco's eyes again, at last, and smiling. “The cool as a cucumber, nothing can touch me facade is very effective.” Draco smiled back. Harry was within touching distance now and the temptation to do so was becoming unbearable. Something had to give and finally, it did.
His hand reached out, running slowly up Harry's arm, continuing up across his shoulder and into his hair, gripping the short locks there at the base of Harry's neck.
“Draco,” Harry whined, his eyes, his face strained with want.
“Do you want me, Harry Potter?” Draco asked carefully, his eyes fixed on Harry's face.
“Fuck, yes!” Harry said, leaning in to capture Draco's lips in a hard kiss, even as his arms wrapped around Draco's back. Then they were into it, no stopping now. Both of Draco's hands were buried in Harry's hair, holding his head close, the better to snog the breath out of him.
Harry was clinging, his hands gripping Draco's shoulders almost painfully as the kiss turned passionate. They both gave into it, letting go of their fears and doubts. Draco moaned, suddenly overwhelmed by the certainty that Harry loved him, that the feelings he had been denying and hiding for so long were returned. Knowing that Harry was his made him taste even better.
Harry must have felt the same because he was clinging to Draco as fiercely as Draco was clinging to him. It didn't take long before their hands began to roam, Draco's sliding down Harry's neck and shoulders, finally wrapping around his back while Harry's hands made their way unerringly to Draco's arse where they were engaged with squeezing and kneading.
“I need to be in you,” Harry said after pulling free of Draco's lips. He clenched Draco's arse cheeks together for emphasis as he began to suck kisses down Draco's neck, his stubble leaving an itch that Draco loved. His skin would be raw for hours after Harry's rough beard scrapped across it. The only reminder of Harry's passion that Draco loved more was the ache Harry inevitably left in Draco's arse. And from the way Harry was clutching at him, his arse would be sore before long.
“Yes,” he said, rubbing his crotch against Harry's in encouragement. Harry rubbed back, pushing until Draco's legs hit the front of the sofa. Harry continued pushing harder, toppling them both onto the cushions.
Draco gasped when Harry's weight pinned him in the cushions, his hard cock digging painfully into Draco's thigh. He wouldn't trade it for anything though, especially now that Harry was kissing him again, his tongue equally as insistent as his cock.
And there it was again, the heat that Draco had been missing. It was in Harry’s eyes, burning like green fire, seeping from his hands as he slid them up Draco’s torso, pushing his shirt up as he went. It pressed Draco into the sofa, surrounding him as surely as Harry’s body did. Every kiss, every touch pushed away the chill that had held Draco in it’s thrall whenever Harry wasn’t toughing him like this.
This heat was different, though. This heat, Draco knew now with certainty, would stay, lingering on his skin and in his heart, even when Harry wasn’t near. Draco basked in it, pulled it close and held tight.
“Take your clothes off,” Harry commanded, making Draco squirm.
“Only if you get off me, you big lump,” Draco replied, not making the slightest effort to dislodge him.
“Don't wanna,” Harry said, fumbling instead with Draco's belt and trousers, unfastening them sloppily before attacking his own. When he was done, he slid his hands under Draco's arse and pulled his clothes right off, pants and all. Draco gasped again at the suddenness of the action but Harry kept pulling, over arse and knees and soon Draco's clothing was tangled around his still shod feet.
Harry didn't bother to untangle them, simply pushing Draco's legs down so that he was bent almost double, presenting his bare arse to Harry's eager gaze.
And also to his cock, which was poking enthusiastically out of Harry's boxers as he rubbed it, still clothed, over Draco's bare cheeks.
“Your turn,” Draco insisted, tugging at Harry's shirt.
“Done,” Harry said, while pulling his pants over his hard cock, which bobbed as it was freed. “And done,” he finished, pulling the pants over his arse along with his jeans.
“Lube?” Harry asked expectantly, rubbing his leaking erection in Draco's crack.
“Now you ask?” Draco replied. “Sorry, but I wasn't thinking that far ahead when I dressed this evening.”
“You weren't?” Harry asked, clearly surprised. “Aren't you always ready for anything? You're like a Boy Scout.”
“A what?” Draco asked, but he quickly changed his mind. “Never mind. I'm usually prepared, that's the advantage of being a wizard. Which you are also, so get on with it!”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, with a smirk, but he conjured the lube anyway, slicking his hard cock with it before sliding several perfunctory fingers into Draco's hole preparing him quickly. Then, wasting no more time, thrusting at last, sheathing himself fully in Draco's welcoming heat.
“Don't want to be without this, ever again,” Harry said between groans and gasps as he expertly found Draco's hot spot and pounded it like a drum. Over and over, the thrusts filled him, hitting home with eerie accuracy.
“Oh god, Harry, me either,” Draco cried, his hands attempting to find purchase on Harry's sweat slickened skin, clinging as Harry fucked the breath out of him.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, thrusting harder, fast, still hitting Draco's prostate unerringly as they both approached climax.
It roared over Draco before he was even prepared for it, the heat of emotions and passion throwing him off the plateau with gusto, leaving him shaking in the aftermath. Harry wasn't far behind, his thrusts losing their accuracy as they became erratic but honestly, to Draco it was a blessing, his orgasm had thoroughly sensitized his skin, not to mention his arsehole.
“Draco, Draco, god,” Harry moaned in ecstasy, his cock pumping his sticky release into Draco's already sticky hole. He gasped and panted, letting Draco’s legs fall and he pulled back and out, collapsing on the couch behind him.
And there they lay, sated and, finally, feeling complete.