hi hi hi i wrote things
I finished remix! Two times, on account of rewrites for suckery, but let's focus on the positive. And that is: I finished. Like it is off to beta and there's a draft up on AO3 and really, things are golden. I am making happy sounds.
Plus, because I'm on some sort of productivity hot streak and my hds_beltane prompt is mocking me and just refusing to be not-gen, I finished a thing. Like, a postable, ownable thing. A while ago, kubrick_potter made me awesome, amazing icons for my special snowflake ship, because apparently I'm not happy unless I've got a rarepair to pet or something, and in exchange, I promised her thank you fic. Then I took approximately 800 years to write it.
H/D, pg-13, Hogwarts-era
for the prompt: I want a fic where Draco who is so in love with Harry cries the first time the sleep together... Hogwarts!era or 8th year, Bottom!Harry and Harry thinks Draco is only wanting no string sex until he realises why he's crying... Adele, bb, thank you for my wonderful icons. I am so, so sorry. ETA because what is wrong me: Thanks times a billion to talekayler , who rescued this fic from WIP hell and Buzzword disaster. ilu <3
Harry sort of comes back to the world to the sound of sniffling, which strikes him as odd. He feels so good, is the thing, tired and drained in all the right ways, and he can’t imagine there’s anything wrong with the world.
Probably things’ll be different in a few hours, when he’s back in his dorm and not lying here, but just for right now, for this moment, everything’s great.
Well, everything but the sniffling, really. Harry’s not fine with that.
He thinks first maybe it’s something escaped from where it belongs, a small Kneazle or something upset because it’s lost, only when he finds the energy to turn his head, it’s not.
It’s Draco. Who’s buried his face in his arm and who’s lying flat on his stomach, his whole back exposed. Harry wants to touch him just then, lay a hand on that quivering bared back or something, just touch him just a little more, only they don’t really do that, do they?
Probably they never will.
Harry won’t say he’s fine with how things are between them most of the time but this bit, the sex and the after, they can usually manage that.
“Erm, Malfoy?” Harry hesitates before he says the name, has to remind himself he can’t use Draco outside his own head.
The sniffling slows. “What?”
All right, that sounds like his git, brusque and rough and wary. Harry can already picture the look on Draco’s face, his eyes all hot and dark and dangerous because he’s in a mood. Merlin help him, Harry likes the moods, the biting laughter and the prickly nerves. Harry even likes the mocking, which is six kinds of bizarre, and that more than anything’s convinced him he’s a lost cause about this.
No sense at all, really, him feeling like this about something that’s at best just a shag, even if it is Draco he gets to touch.
“Was there something you wanted, Potter, beyond the sound of your own voice?” Draco sounds so cold, untouchable, and Harry might believe it only Draco looks up.
There’s an awful lot of red in those eyes.
Harry’s hand is awfully close to touching him, too, and Harry’s not sure at all why he’s this nervous over being caught out at it, but he is. “Everything all right, then?” Harry scrunches his face up thoughtfully, because that’s usually good for a Malfoy mock, only Draco doesn’t say anything, Draco just stares. “I didn’t… hurt you, did I?”
Draco blinks. “Hurt me,” he mouths, like Harry’s slipped to Parseltongue and Draco’s not entirely sure he trusts his translation spell.
Harry tries to stay calm about it, thinking maybe it’s his fault because Draco’d been quite the opposite of sniffling a few minutes ago, Harry’s got the proof of it splattered down his chest. Only, Harry’s never been that good at keeping things to himself, especially not where Draco’s concerned, and he can feel his face twisting, giving all his secrets away.
“No,” Draco says faintly. “I’m fine.”
Harry means to point out he doesn’t look fine, only Harry’s not, erm, at the top of his game, so instead he hears himself say, “Yeah, but you’re sniffling” with a distant sort of horror.
Draco blinks at him again, then sort of shakes his head, swipes a palm over it absently. “I’m not,” he protests, though he clearly bloody is, which is just Malfoy all over, isn’t it? Prickly and stubborn to the end.
“Right, yeah,” Harry tries gamely. “Must be a Kneazle loose somewhere.”
He even looks about a bit, like there really might be something small and furry in the Room of Requirement neither of them know about, and he hears Draco laughing at him, only it sort of chokes off.
“How do you do this to me, Potter, it’s not bloody fair.”
“Sorry,” Harry says right off, then “Erm, what’s not?”
“You don’t even know, do you? You have no idea.” Then Draco sort of snorts softly and looks a bit twee, all his pride puffing up bits of him while he pats himself controlled. Draco spends a long while watching Harry’s face, looking him over like there’s anything special to see before Draco settles in to stare at Harry’s eyes.
It feels a bit funny, more intimate than twenty minutes ago, when he had Draco leaning over him, pushing three fingers into Harry’s arse, breathing hot and restless on him while Harry squirmed. Harry can’t think why it should do, because they’re not doing anything just now, only just watching each other.
But it does.
Then Draco says, “I should go” and Harry can’t keep his response to that off his face, just broadcasts all the objections he can’t put words to quite yet. Funny, what that does to Draco’s face in return. He gets softer, maybe, almost fond.
Draco doesn’t move.
Harry thinks maybe he actually is as thick as Draco’s accused him of being all these years, because despite all sense and reason, Harry points this out.
Draco hikes a brow at him. Nothing cool about him now. “That eager to be rid of me, are you?”
Harry makes the face again.
Draco wings his other eyebrow up.
“Malfoy, I’m not the one running off,” Harry starts, which is all wrong, isn’t it, because that’s how this goes. It’s not anything, is it, just something they do, and Harry likes doing it because it always feels so good and honestly, either he gets control of his tongue or he’ll be lucky to get close enough to Draco to be hexed, let alone actually touch him again.
Stubborn, prickly git, Harry likes him so much more than he should.
“Should I take this as an indication you’d prefer I stay?” Draco asks, careful and mild, and Harry’s
a bit confused until he follows Draco’s pointed gaze down at his hand. On. Oh. Oh.
Harry’s touching again. He’s got his whole hand on Draco’s bare arm, fingers curling in and everything, and that’s not really something Harry’s allowed, is it, touching Draco when it’s not just getting off. Harry should let go, probably. Soonish, he thinks. Just, Draco feels warm is all, and Harry likes how it feels to touch Draco’s bare skin and anyway, Draco doesn’t look mad about it or anything, he still just looks baffled and a bit fond.
“I can’t tell whether to be impressed by your stamina or concerned you’re this hard up for it,” Draco murmurs, and Harry thinks maybe that wasn’t nearly as nice as it could have been only Draco’s still there.
“Bit of both?” Harry shrugs.
“I’ll say this for you, Potter, you do know how to make a boy feel special.” Harry can’t tell if Draco’s kidding, if that’s Malfoy comparing Harry to whoever the Slytherins say he’s been sighing about or if it’s some sort of crack about Harry’s imaginary harem of fangirls or what, maybe something else, but right now Harry wants to believe it’s just. Harry doesn’t want to think about Malfoy kissing other people or maybe calling it off because he’s found someone else-someone better, maybe, someone Draco could love-so, just, Harry doesn’t want to think about what’s going to happen as soon as they’ve got their robes back on, House crests like shields, wants to drag this out until he’s got that peaceful bit the sniffling broke, and he’s not entirely thinking clearly when he leans in for a kiss but, just, Draco’s mouth is right there.
And it won’t be, and Harry needs to take his chances whenever he can.
It’s. Erm. Not the smoothest kiss ever, Harry’s sure, because Draco moves on him or something and Harry ends up sort of mashing his mouth against a corner of Draco’s mouth, bumping noses and clacking teeth and everything, clumsy and awkward as hell.
When Harry tries to fix it, he leans in too far, lands on Draco heavily and gets jostled into kissing Draco’s chin. Probably that won’t help his case, and thinking that just clarifies that Malfoy won’t be back. Not, not for this, Harry making a wreck of it and all, clinging in precisely the way they’re not meant to do.
Only Malfoy’s not shoving him off or anything, Draco’s threading his fingers in Harry’s hair-which feels delightful, really, how is something like that this good?-and fixing their angle, making it a proper kiss, pulling Harry over him properly so they’re chest-to-chest again, touching all over the place.
“Easy, Potter, easy,” Draco murmurs between kisses. “I’m not going anywhere until you do, all right?” Draco works his way down to Harry's chin, sucks lightly on Harry's jaw line, the really sensitive bits of Harry's throat like Draco's got them mapped somewhere in the spring-trap of his mind. "I'm right here until you boot me out," Draco says, punctuating it with pops of suction that feel a bit like Draco's leaving hickeys on Harry's neck.
Harry hears dimly a voice that sounds passably like his own, "Wait, but why would I?" and he'd wonder more why he's got such an indignantly confused tone only he's got both hands involved in the cunning Draco-keeping scheme and as far as he can tell they're both squirming for each other, and Draco mutters, "Beat your fans off with sticks", just growls it right by Harry's ear, and Harry blurts out, "Wait, but why would you?"
Which makes Draco pull back a little to stare at Harry like maybe Harry's lost the plot. Which is possible, really, he's got Draco all trapped under him and there's rubbing, Harry's not going to pretend he's in his right mind just now.
"Potter, really, we're having a moment here, do try to keep up."
"We are?" Harry wants a bit longer to work out what's gone on, why Draco's talking about...what Draco's talking about, really, only Draco smirks at him with that look that makes Harry nuts and Harry's distracted all over again by the need to suck it off Draco's pointy face.
So he does. Breaks off long enough to say "So you're staying, yeah?" all breathy and rough, and Draco hikes his brows up again, just looks helplessly fond.
"Well, I mean, there might be wild Kneazles out there," Draco drawls. "Might not be safe to leave yet. I could be mauled."
"You'll be mauled if you stay," Harry says and sort of wants to kick himself, self-Silencio at least, and Draco does that wicked smile-biting again and says "Possibly I will" like he's absolutely fine with it.
~f~
Plus, because I'm on some sort of productivity hot streak and my hds_beltane prompt is mocking me and just refusing to be not-gen, I finished a thing. Like, a postable, ownable thing. A while ago, kubrick_potter made me awesome, amazing icons for my special snowflake ship, because apparently I'm not happy unless I've got a rarepair to pet or something, and in exchange, I promised her thank you fic. Then I took approximately 800 years to write it.
H/D, pg-13, Hogwarts-era
for the prompt: I want a fic where Draco who is so in love with Harry cries the first time the sleep together... Hogwarts!era or 8th year, Bottom!Harry and Harry thinks Draco is only wanting no string sex until he realises why he's crying... Adele, bb, thank you for my wonderful icons. I am so, so sorry. ETA because what is wrong me: Thanks times a billion to talekayler , who rescued this fic from WIP hell and Buzzword disaster. ilu <3
Harry sort of comes back to the world to the sound of sniffling, which strikes him as odd. He feels so good, is the thing, tired and drained in all the right ways, and he can’t imagine there’s anything wrong with the world.
Probably things’ll be different in a few hours, when he’s back in his dorm and not lying here, but just for right now, for this moment, everything’s great.
Well, everything but the sniffling, really. Harry’s not fine with that.
He thinks first maybe it’s something escaped from where it belongs, a small Kneazle or something upset because it’s lost, only when he finds the energy to turn his head, it’s not.
It’s Draco. Who’s buried his face in his arm and who’s lying flat on his stomach, his whole back exposed. Harry wants to touch him just then, lay a hand on that quivering bared back or something, just touch him just a little more, only they don’t really do that, do they?
Probably they never will.
Harry won’t say he’s fine with how things are between them most of the time but this bit, the sex and the after, they can usually manage that.
“Erm, Malfoy?” Harry hesitates before he says the name, has to remind himself he can’t use Draco outside his own head.
The sniffling slows. “What?”
All right, that sounds like his git, brusque and rough and wary. Harry can already picture the look on Draco’s face, his eyes all hot and dark and dangerous because he’s in a mood. Merlin help him, Harry likes the moods, the biting laughter and the prickly nerves. Harry even likes the mocking, which is six kinds of bizarre, and that more than anything’s convinced him he’s a lost cause about this.
No sense at all, really, him feeling like this about something that’s at best just a shag, even if it is Draco he gets to touch.
“Was there something you wanted, Potter, beyond the sound of your own voice?” Draco sounds so cold, untouchable, and Harry might believe it only Draco looks up.
There’s an awful lot of red in those eyes.
Harry’s hand is awfully close to touching him, too, and Harry’s not sure at all why he’s this nervous over being caught out at it, but he is. “Everything all right, then?” Harry scrunches his face up thoughtfully, because that’s usually good for a Malfoy mock, only Draco doesn’t say anything, Draco just stares. “I didn’t… hurt you, did I?”
Draco blinks. “Hurt me,” he mouths, like Harry’s slipped to Parseltongue and Draco’s not entirely sure he trusts his translation spell.
Harry tries to stay calm about it, thinking maybe it’s his fault because Draco’d been quite the opposite of sniffling a few minutes ago, Harry’s got the proof of it splattered down his chest. Only, Harry’s never been that good at keeping things to himself, especially not where Draco’s concerned, and he can feel his face twisting, giving all his secrets away.
“No,” Draco says faintly. “I’m fine.”
Harry means to point out he doesn’t look fine, only Harry’s not, erm, at the top of his game, so instead he hears himself say, “Yeah, but you’re sniffling” with a distant sort of horror.
Draco blinks at him again, then sort of shakes his head, swipes a palm over it absently. “I’m not,” he protests, though he clearly bloody is, which is just Malfoy all over, isn’t it? Prickly and stubborn to the end.
“Right, yeah,” Harry tries gamely. “Must be a Kneazle loose somewhere.”
He even looks about a bit, like there really might be something small and furry in the Room of Requirement neither of them know about, and he hears Draco laughing at him, only it sort of chokes off.
“How do you do this to me, Potter, it’s not bloody fair.”
“Sorry,” Harry says right off, then “Erm, what’s not?”
“You don’t even know, do you? You have no idea.” Then Draco sort of snorts softly and looks a bit twee, all his pride puffing up bits of him while he pats himself controlled. Draco spends a long while watching Harry’s face, looking him over like there’s anything special to see before Draco settles in to stare at Harry’s eyes.
It feels a bit funny, more intimate than twenty minutes ago, when he had Draco leaning over him, pushing three fingers into Harry’s arse, breathing hot and restless on him while Harry squirmed. Harry can’t think why it should do, because they’re not doing anything just now, only just watching each other.
But it does.
Then Draco says, “I should go” and Harry can’t keep his response to that off his face, just broadcasts all the objections he can’t put words to quite yet. Funny, what that does to Draco’s face in return. He gets softer, maybe, almost fond.
Draco doesn’t move.
Harry thinks maybe he actually is as thick as Draco’s accused him of being all these years, because despite all sense and reason, Harry points this out.
Draco hikes a brow at him. Nothing cool about him now. “That eager to be rid of me, are you?”
Harry makes the face again.
Draco wings his other eyebrow up.
“Malfoy, I’m not the one running off,” Harry starts, which is all wrong, isn’t it, because that’s how this goes. It’s not anything, is it, just something they do, and Harry likes doing it because it always feels so good and honestly, either he gets control of his tongue or he’ll be lucky to get close enough to Draco to be hexed, let alone actually touch him again.
Stubborn, prickly git, Harry likes him so much more than he should.
“Should I take this as an indication you’d prefer I stay?” Draco asks, careful and mild, and Harry’s
a bit confused until he follows Draco’s pointed gaze down at his hand. On. Oh. Oh.
Harry’s touching again. He’s got his whole hand on Draco’s bare arm, fingers curling in and everything, and that’s not really something Harry’s allowed, is it, touching Draco when it’s not just getting off. Harry should let go, probably. Soonish, he thinks. Just, Draco feels warm is all, and Harry likes how it feels to touch Draco’s bare skin and anyway, Draco doesn’t look mad about it or anything, he still just looks baffled and a bit fond.
“I can’t tell whether to be impressed by your stamina or concerned you’re this hard up for it,” Draco murmurs, and Harry thinks maybe that wasn’t nearly as nice as it could have been only Draco’s still there.
“Bit of both?” Harry shrugs.
“I’ll say this for you, Potter, you do know how to make a boy feel special.” Harry can’t tell if Draco’s kidding, if that’s Malfoy comparing Harry to whoever the Slytherins say he’s been sighing about or if it’s some sort of crack about Harry’s imaginary harem of fangirls or what, maybe something else, but right now Harry wants to believe it’s just. Harry doesn’t want to think about Malfoy kissing other people or maybe calling it off because he’s found someone else-someone better, maybe, someone Draco could love-so, just, Harry doesn’t want to think about what’s going to happen as soon as they’ve got their robes back on, House crests like shields, wants to drag this out until he’s got that peaceful bit the sniffling broke, and he’s not entirely thinking clearly when he leans in for a kiss but, just, Draco’s mouth is right there.
And it won’t be, and Harry needs to take his chances whenever he can.
It’s. Erm. Not the smoothest kiss ever, Harry’s sure, because Draco moves on him or something and Harry ends up sort of mashing his mouth against a corner of Draco’s mouth, bumping noses and clacking teeth and everything, clumsy and awkward as hell.
When Harry tries to fix it, he leans in too far, lands on Draco heavily and gets jostled into kissing Draco’s chin. Probably that won’t help his case, and thinking that just clarifies that Malfoy won’t be back. Not, not for this, Harry making a wreck of it and all, clinging in precisely the way they’re not meant to do.
Only Malfoy’s not shoving him off or anything, Draco’s threading his fingers in Harry’s hair-which feels delightful, really, how is something like that this good?-and fixing their angle, making it a proper kiss, pulling Harry over him properly so they’re chest-to-chest again, touching all over the place.
“Easy, Potter, easy,” Draco murmurs between kisses. “I’m not going anywhere until you do, all right?” Draco works his way down to Harry's chin, sucks lightly on Harry's jaw line, the really sensitive bits of Harry's throat like Draco's got them mapped somewhere in the spring-trap of his mind. "I'm right here until you boot me out," Draco says, punctuating it with pops of suction that feel a bit like Draco's leaving hickeys on Harry's neck.
Harry hears dimly a voice that sounds passably like his own, "Wait, but why would I?" and he'd wonder more why he's got such an indignantly confused tone only he's got both hands involved in the cunning Draco-keeping scheme and as far as he can tell they're both squirming for each other, and Draco mutters, "Beat your fans off with sticks", just growls it right by Harry's ear, and Harry blurts out, "Wait, but why would you?"
Which makes Draco pull back a little to stare at Harry like maybe Harry's lost the plot. Which is possible, really, he's got Draco all trapped under him and there's rubbing, Harry's not going to pretend he's in his right mind just now.
"Potter, really, we're having a moment here, do try to keep up."
"We are?" Harry wants a bit longer to work out what's gone on, why Draco's talking about...what Draco's talking about, really, only Draco smirks at him with that look that makes Harry nuts and Harry's distracted all over again by the need to suck it off Draco's pointy face.
So he does. Breaks off long enough to say "So you're staying, yeah?" all breathy and rough, and Draco hikes his brows up again, just looks helplessly fond.
"Well, I mean, there might be wild Kneazles out there," Draco drawls. "Might not be safe to leave yet. I could be mauled."
"You'll be mauled if you stay," Harry says and sort of wants to kick himself, self-Silencio at least, and Draco does that wicked smile-biting again and says "Possibly I will" like he's absolutely fine with it.
~f~