FIC: Romance Is Dead
Disclaimer: I would now like to perform for you the 'Not Mine' dance complete with tassels and body chocolate
...
Wasn't that fun!
Romance Is Dead
Pairing: Drarry
Rating: R/NC17ish
Warnings: Dubious consent on both sides. (Yes, it's possible)
Betaed By: angelgazing (any mistakes still there are mine because I purposely ignored her on a few issues.)
Summary: Who really wants what these days?
Notes: Big hugs to angelgazing for the beta and patience of me going 'STFU' to most of her suggestions on how to fix my grammar. Huge thanks to both girlsigh and gin_and_ironic for the wonderful music suggestions. Those songs helped.
Romance Is Dead
It's a very strange dream that Harry's having, though he can't say why. There's this boy, whose biological mother is not the woman that's married to his biological father. That's not the strange bit, that happens all the time. Perhaps the strange bit is the mother's not human, or doesn't seem it when she's angry ... something about talons and feathers and screeching. But in his dream that doesn't strike him as odd, for some reason. And still he watches and the boy is tiny, only a baby, as his mother hands him over to his father who now has to explain this to his wife and that's not the weird part either.
And the boy is rather arrogant and a bit of a spoiled brat really and Harry's almost certain he should know who it is but the name won't come to him. And the boy is walking through Hogwarts with his crony-like friends and it's all rather eerie and deja vuy. But then something wakes him from this dream and he's displaced for a bit as his mind tries to focus on where he is. His tiny room at Privet Drive comes into semi-focus without his glasses and he frowns, wondering what the hell all that was about.
Finally his mind wakes up enough to tell him that someone is in the room with him and, for some inexplicable reason, they're touching him. In the exceptionally bad lighting he manages to make out pale - almost sickly so - skin and blonde hair. His first reaction to finding that Draco Malfoy is in his room and slowly sliding hands down his naked chest is oddly one of relief that it isn't someone from his family. He wonders how Draco managed to unbutton his pyjama shirt without him waking up, before it finally occurs to him how ridiculous this whole situation is.
"What are you doing?" He hisses into the night, hoping to god the rest of the family are already asleep.
He gets no response and the hands feel good as they brush the hairs of his stomach.
"Stop it."
Draco shifts into what little light there is from outside and it's a disturbing sight. His face is blank, eyes unfocused, like he's possessed or maybe sleepwalking. But he still says nothing and the hands press harder in a pleasant, forceful way. He's leaning down to kiss Harry's ribs now, slowly moving his lips down his side.
Harry wants to move, to stop this madness, but his body doesn't seem to be responding. Not to his will anyway, it was certainly paying attention to Draco, though. He shudders when a damp palm runs down the underside of his erection and questions how he hadn't yet noticed that his pyjama pants were down around his knees.
Draco's whispering something over his stomach now. Not any real words, just something to make his breath glide over the sweat that was starting to seep out. Harry isn't listening anyway, his mind too busy trying to work out how to make Draco stop and leave and wishing very hard that what that hand was doing now didn't feel so good.
His arms aren't working so he doesn't push him away when Draco slides his lips over the tip and sucks just hard enough to make Harry's feet twitch. Thoughts of how very wrong this is fill his mind as his legs jolt again and it's relief that he feels when Draco stops doing that and simply wraps those long, pale fingers around his erection and begins a too-fast dragging motion that is somehow the best feeling yet.
He gets his fingers to move a little, but all they do is clutch at Draco's shirt and hang from it as if that had taken all his energy and he now has nothing left. And this night has been all to strange and sudden and fast for him so he closes his eyes hard until his face hurts and tries to wish the madness away as a pathetic squeak rises in his throat and his hips lift.
A hand, no doubt Draco's left seeing as his right was obviously still occupied, presses into Harry's face and there's breath moving over his nipples and Harry swears he can feel soft hair brushing its way over his ribs. The bed creaks a little when Draco leans down, his torso making the mattress dip to the side. Harry's spine lets out a soft cracking noise when the hand on his cock speeds up, making him lift his hips higher while digging his skull into his pillow.
And he wants to gasp, suck air into his lungs so that it could exit in what would have no doubt been a rather dirty word or perhaps just an incomprehensible moan. But the hand over his mouth isn't allowing air in and his chest burns as he struggles slightly with the suffocating feeling, the pleasure in his groin not dulled by his panic.
And then the hand lifts and the air rushes in finally but the blissful few seconds have passed and Harry's grateful that it was silent actually, reminded of one of the reasons he regretted not moving out the second he was old enough to.
Draco's blinking rapidly now, as if waking up and he looks down at Harry, actually seeing him for the first time since this bizarre interlude started. His gaze switches to his hand, sticky and soiled and it's clear in his eyes when he works out what he's done. Delicately he sucks the tip of his forefinger clean before turning towards the window.
"I do wish you wouldn't call for me during the week." Is the sleepy whisper before he leaves out the window. Harry wants to scream at him to come back and explain what fucked up little game he's playing at, maybe even punch him a couple of times.
But he's utterly exhausted now, which he can't understand and it isn't long before he slips back into sleep.
And there's that boy again, older now, a man. And he's in love and married and a father and happy. Then he's dead and it's all very sudden and a touch 'not fair'. Harry watches the man's son sit in a small cupboard playing with some broken toys, talking to the spiders that are his only company. And the image seems to turn inside-out, shifting and changing and now the boy's in a small, dark room, much older, lying on a bed while his eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, trance-like and peaceful. His mouth moves but Harry doesn't hear anything and it's the same movement over and over again. A word, a name - he can't tell and is starting to think he doesn't want to know.
And the window opens, a blonde, young man slipping in between the ugly curtains. His grey eyes are unfocussed, a slighter shade of dead, as he moves next to the bed to answer the new boy's soundless call.
And Harry thinks he's just worked out why this dream is so strange.
Further Note: *shrug* Just got sick of it being Veela!Draco 99% of the time ... Harry needs a turn every now and then.
...
Wasn't that fun!
Romance Is Dead
Pairing: Drarry
Rating: R/NC17ish
Warnings: Dubious consent on both sides. (Yes, it's possible)
Betaed By: angelgazing (any mistakes still there are mine because I purposely ignored her on a few issues.)
Summary: Who really wants what these days?
Notes: Big hugs to angelgazing for the beta and patience of me going 'STFU' to most of her suggestions on how to fix my grammar. Huge thanks to both girlsigh and gin_and_ironic for the wonderful music suggestions. Those songs helped.
Romance Is Dead
It's a very strange dream that Harry's having, though he can't say why. There's this boy, whose biological mother is not the woman that's married to his biological father. That's not the strange bit, that happens all the time. Perhaps the strange bit is the mother's not human, or doesn't seem it when she's angry ... something about talons and feathers and screeching. But in his dream that doesn't strike him as odd, for some reason. And still he watches and the boy is tiny, only a baby, as his mother hands him over to his father who now has to explain this to his wife and that's not the weird part either.
And the boy is rather arrogant and a bit of a spoiled brat really and Harry's almost certain he should know who it is but the name won't come to him. And the boy is walking through Hogwarts with his crony-like friends and it's all rather eerie and deja vuy. But then something wakes him from this dream and he's displaced for a bit as his mind tries to focus on where he is. His tiny room at Privet Drive comes into semi-focus without his glasses and he frowns, wondering what the hell all that was about.
Finally his mind wakes up enough to tell him that someone is in the room with him and, for some inexplicable reason, they're touching him. In the exceptionally bad lighting he manages to make out pale - almost sickly so - skin and blonde hair. His first reaction to finding that Draco Malfoy is in his room and slowly sliding hands down his naked chest is oddly one of relief that it isn't someone from his family. He wonders how Draco managed to unbutton his pyjama shirt without him waking up, before it finally occurs to him how ridiculous this whole situation is.
"What are you doing?" He hisses into the night, hoping to god the rest of the family are already asleep.
He gets no response and the hands feel good as they brush the hairs of his stomach.
"Stop it."
Draco shifts into what little light there is from outside and it's a disturbing sight. His face is blank, eyes unfocused, like he's possessed or maybe sleepwalking. But he still says nothing and the hands press harder in a pleasant, forceful way. He's leaning down to kiss Harry's ribs now, slowly moving his lips down his side.
Harry wants to move, to stop this madness, but his body doesn't seem to be responding. Not to his will anyway, it was certainly paying attention to Draco, though. He shudders when a damp palm runs down the underside of his erection and questions how he hadn't yet noticed that his pyjama pants were down around his knees.
Draco's whispering something over his stomach now. Not any real words, just something to make his breath glide over the sweat that was starting to seep out. Harry isn't listening anyway, his mind too busy trying to work out how to make Draco stop and leave and wishing very hard that what that hand was doing now didn't feel so good.
His arms aren't working so he doesn't push him away when Draco slides his lips over the tip and sucks just hard enough to make Harry's feet twitch. Thoughts of how very wrong this is fill his mind as his legs jolt again and it's relief that he feels when Draco stops doing that and simply wraps those long, pale fingers around his erection and begins a too-fast dragging motion that is somehow the best feeling yet.
He gets his fingers to move a little, but all they do is clutch at Draco's shirt and hang from it as if that had taken all his energy and he now has nothing left. And this night has been all to strange and sudden and fast for him so he closes his eyes hard until his face hurts and tries to wish the madness away as a pathetic squeak rises in his throat and his hips lift.
A hand, no doubt Draco's left seeing as his right was obviously still occupied, presses into Harry's face and there's breath moving over his nipples and Harry swears he can feel soft hair brushing its way over his ribs. The bed creaks a little when Draco leans down, his torso making the mattress dip to the side. Harry's spine lets out a soft cracking noise when the hand on his cock speeds up, making him lift his hips higher while digging his skull into his pillow.
And he wants to gasp, suck air into his lungs so that it could exit in what would have no doubt been a rather dirty word or perhaps just an incomprehensible moan. But the hand over his mouth isn't allowing air in and his chest burns as he struggles slightly with the suffocating feeling, the pleasure in his groin not dulled by his panic.
And then the hand lifts and the air rushes in finally but the blissful few seconds have passed and Harry's grateful that it was silent actually, reminded of one of the reasons he regretted not moving out the second he was old enough to.
Draco's blinking rapidly now, as if waking up and he looks down at Harry, actually seeing him for the first time since this bizarre interlude started. His gaze switches to his hand, sticky and soiled and it's clear in his eyes when he works out what he's done. Delicately he sucks the tip of his forefinger clean before turning towards the window.
"I do wish you wouldn't call for me during the week." Is the sleepy whisper before he leaves out the window. Harry wants to scream at him to come back and explain what fucked up little game he's playing at, maybe even punch him a couple of times.
But he's utterly exhausted now, which he can't understand and it isn't long before he slips back into sleep.
And there's that boy again, older now, a man. And he's in love and married and a father and happy. Then he's dead and it's all very sudden and a touch 'not fair'. Harry watches the man's son sit in a small cupboard playing with some broken toys, talking to the spiders that are his only company. And the image seems to turn inside-out, shifting and changing and now the boy's in a small, dark room, much older, lying on a bed while his eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, trance-like and peaceful. His mouth moves but Harry doesn't hear anything and it's the same movement over and over again. A word, a name - he can't tell and is starting to think he doesn't want to know.
And the window opens, a blonde, young man slipping in between the ugly curtains. His grey eyes are unfocussed, a slighter shade of dead, as he moves next to the bed to answer the new boy's soundless call.
And Harry thinks he's just worked out why this dream is so strange.
Further Note: *shrug* Just got sick of it being Veela!Draco 99% of the time ... Harry needs a turn every now and then.