FIC: Sex On Fire 2/2
Part One
Harry spent the next week going over Malfoy’s story in his head again and again. He’d barely given that episode in the Room of Requirement a thought over the past nine years; what had happened afterwards had been so much more important, so life-changing, that the Fiendfyre had paled in comparison. And now, even though he knew it was stupid, he felt guilty about that - because for Malfoy, the fire obviously had been life-changing, in ways Harry couldn’t even imagine.
He went to his next appointment determined not to mention anything Malfoy had told him. For one thing, he still wasn’t sure why Malfoy had told him. It hadn’t been a bid for pity or sympathy; Harry was sure of that. But he couldn’t think of any other reason Malfoy would have admitted such a weakness, and he half-expected Malfoy to have regretted his confession so much that he would refuse to see Harry again.
He didn’t, of course. He also didn’t bring up last week’s conversation, so Harry assumed that he wanted to pretend it had never happened. That was fine with Harry.
“You’re doing much better,” Malfoy said after he’d scanned Harry’s injuries. “Have you noticed an improvement in the pain?”
“Yeah. I’d say it’s about a three now.”
“Good. We can start tapering off the dose of Pain-Away, then. And you can start leaving the sling off a bit. Try using your arm for everyday activities. You probably still won’t be able to do much with it, but it needs to start getting used to movement again. Don’t overdo it, though - you don’t want to set your recovery back.”
“I won’t.” And he wouldn’t, not after what had happened the last time he’d ignored Malfoy’s advice.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, unconvinced. “Any problems with the potions?”
“No. Well, actually, I’ve got a rash on the right side of my neck, but I think it’s just from the sling.”
“Let me see.” Malfoy stepped over to Harry’s right side and leaned in close, his fingers lightly touching the edge of the rash. Harry’s brain chose that moment to register the fact that Malfoy smelled really, really good. He didn’t know if it was cologne, aftershave, or shampoo, but it was woody and delicious and unfortunately went straight to his cock. Unbidden, Harry’s mind flashed back to the sight of Malfoy’s firm arse as he’d bent over last week.
Harry stiffened in dismay. Why had he told Malfoy about the rash? It wasn’t even important.
“Am I hurting you?” Malfoy asked, misinterpreting Harry’s sudden rigidity.
“No, it just, er…itches a bit.”
Malfoy, mercifully, stepped back. “Well, you’re half-right. The nerve-restructuring potion you’re taking can make your skin more sensitive, and the strap of the sling caused some irritation. I’ll give you an ointment -”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said.
Angela poked her head in. “Sorry to bother you, Healer Malfoy, but he sent flowers again.”
He?
“Get rid of them,” Malfoy said tightly.
“This is the fourth time today -”
“For Merlin’s sake, Angela!” Malfoy snapped. “I don’t care what you do with them. Send them up to Pediatrics, take them home yourself, transfigure them into bloody quills if you like. Just get rid of them.”
“All right,” said Angela, seemingly unperturbed by Malfoy’s tone. She shut the door.
“Relationship problems?” Harry asked as Malfoy turned back to him.
“None of your business,” Malfoy answered, although not harshly.
After the usual check of Harry’s freedom of movement - now much-improved - Malfoy walked out to the waiting room with him. He stopped dead when he saw the man standing there.
The man was quite good-looking, tall and dark-haired. Harry didn’t recognize him, but Malfoy did, and he wasn’t happy about it.
“What the hell are you doing here, Edward?”
“I came to apologize,” the man said.
Harry shifted away from Malfoy, not wanting to get caught in the middle of what was clearly a lovers’ spat. He met Angela’s eyes across the room; she looked just as uncomfortable as he felt.
Malfoy’s voice was icy. “And you think harassing me at work is going to make me more agreeable?”
“If you’d just let me explain -”
“I’m not interested in your explanations. Get out.”
Edward took a few steps towards Malfoy. “Please, Draco, I swear I didn’t hear you use your safeword -”
Malfoy’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed in mortification. Harry decided it was time to intervene, because otherwise there was a good chance this Edward idiot was going to lose his bollocks. Not that it would be such a great loss.
“Hey,” Harry said sharply, drawing his wand. “He asked you to leave. So leave.”
“Piss off, you -” Edward looked at Harry for the first time, then did a double-take. He shut his mouth.
Sometimes being Harry Potter had its perks.
There was a long, tense moment in which Edward looked back and forth between Harry and Malfoy, torn between his pride and his survival instinct. Finally, Edward drew his wand with a small sneer.
Harry’s grip tightened on his own wand, ready to cast a Shield Charm. But instead of pointing his wand at Malfoy or Harry, Edward pointed it at the small wastebasket by Angela’s desk.
“Incendio.”
There were only a few bits of parchment in the bin, so the resulting fire was small and non-threatening. From the way Malfoy yelped and sprang back against the wall, though, one would have thought that Edward had set off a blazing inferno.
Angela extinguished the fire immediately, but not before Edward shot a nasty smirk at Malfoy and stalked out of the suite. Harry considered going after him, but one look at Malfoy changed his mind.
Malfoy was bone-white and shaking, his wide eyes fixed on where the fire had been. His breaths were quick and panicky, approaching hyperventilation.
Harry sheathed his wand and started towards Malfoy, knowing he’d pass out if he kept breathing like that. “Malfoy, you -”
Malfoy’s eyes jerked to him, seemingly startled, as if he’d forgotten Harry was there. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m fine. I…Excuse me.”
He disappeared into his office. Harry stared at the shut door for a second before turning to Angela. “Will he be okay?”
She nodded. “He doesn’t like for people to seem him upset, that’s all. I’ll check on him after he’s had time to recover from the shock a bit.”
Angela knew about Malfoy’s pyrophobia, then. Harry was fairly certain Malfoy wasn’t the type to blab his dark secrets to anyone he didn’t trust - his odd confession to Harry aside - so he must trust her. That wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was that Malfoy had apparently trusted his lover enough to tell him, too. Edward had set that fire purposely because he’d known how much it would distress Malfoy - not exactly the behaviour of someone worthy of trust. Harry scowled.
“Who was that bloke?”
“Edward Moreland,” Angela said, her expression uncharacteristically dark. “Healer Malfoy’s boyfriend - ex-boyfriend now, I hope.”
“You don’t like him?”
She shook her head fiercely. “Healer Malfoy’s well-shot of him. Mr. Moreland treated him horribly; I’ve no idea why Healer Malfoy put up with it as long as he did.”
Neither did Harry. As he confirmed his next appointment and headed back to the Ministry, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Malfoy. Why had he gotten into a relationship with a prick like Moreland? What did he need a safeword for?
But most importantly, why had he implied to Harry that he’d conquered his fear of fire when he very clearly hadn’t?
***
When Harry showed up for his appointment the next week, Malfoy had conveniently been called away on an “emergency”, and Harry’s checkup had to be conducted by another Healer. Harry wasn’t the least bit surprised. Malfoy was very proud, and he’d been humiliated in front of someone he still considered a rival, if not an enemy. However much he’d changed, it seemed Malfoy was still more likely to run from a problem than to face it head-on.
Still, Harry was unsettled to find that he was actually disappointed. Malfoy annoyed the hell out of him, but Harry couldn’t deny that he found the challenge invigorating. It was probably because he was so bored at work. Once he was out in the field again, he’d go back to forgetting Malfoy even existed.
His arm was nearly healed, and he was finally able to stop taking the Pain-Away - a great improvement, in his opinion. He’d never been able to get comfortable taking such a potent pain reliever. It might have been his imagination, but he could swear his head felt clearer now. Until a Healer gave him a clean bill of health, though, he couldn’t go back into the field, which meant he was on desk duty for at least another week.
Three days after Malfoy avoided his appointment, Harry was preparing to leave work when Ron came racing over to his desk, trainee partner trailing behind.
“We got him. We got the bastard.”
“Myers? Where?”
“A hunting cabin his cousin owns. The scout just came back, says Myers is definitely there. Jones and I are leaving to bring him in now.”
Ah, so that was the trainee’s name. Harry frowned. “Just the two of you? Shouldn’t you have backup?”
Ron snorted dismissively. “He has no idea we’re coming. We’ve got the drop on him; we can handle it.”
“That’s what you and I thought last time, and look what happened.”
“This is different,” Ron said. “No civilians this time. We’ll get him, Harry.”
Harry nodded. Ron was a great Auror, and Jones…well, he looked timid, but he’d made it through the training programme in one piece. That alone said a lot for his skill. “All right. Just watch your back.”
“Always do,” Ron said with a grin.
Harry watched Ron and Jones set off with no small amount of wistfulness. He was glad Myers had been found, of course, but there was a tiny, selfish part of him that wished the man had been found just a few days later. He really hated being left behind like this.
Not much longer, Harry reminded himself as he Flooed home to Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had prepared an excellent dinner, as usual, and Harry settled down at the kitchen table with a report to read as he ate. The MLE had gotten a few leads on a potions-smuggling ring operating in London, and Robards had hinted to Harry that he and Ron would be put on the case next week, once Harry’s recovery was complete.
He was so engrossed in the report that he didn’t notice the gradual warming of the charmed band on his wrist until it suddenly flared white-hot, searing the skin and making him drop his fork in shock and pain. The band settled down to a less intense but constant, throbbing heat, and Harry forgot all about the pain as he realized what that heat meant.
Ron was in trouble. Big trouble.
Without hesitation, Harry drew his wand and activated the Portkey embedded in the band, hoping that Ron and Jones had already managed to take down any wards Myers had up. A few seconds later, he made a stumbling landing in a small wooden cabin.
Harry’s heart leapt into his throat when he spotted Ron lying on the floor a few feet away, unconscious and bleeding from a wound in his stomach. On the other side of the cabin, Jones and Myers were engaged in a fierce duel, and although Jones was putting up a good fight, he was clearly fading fast.
Myers sensed the same thing. He hit Jones with a vicious Stinging Hex that sent the Auror to his knees, then raised his wand to deliver the killing blow.
“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted.
Myers’ wand was wrenched from his hand and rocketed back towards Harry. As Myers whirled around in surprise, Jones had just enough time to regain his equilibrium and cast a Stunner from behind, sending Myers crashing to the floor.
Harry rushed over to Ron and dropped to his knees, trusting Jones to deal with restraining Myers. Ron was lying on his side, and the pool of blood spreading outward from his body seemed ominously large. Harry gently turned him to his back.
“Is he okay?” Jones asked, sounding much more composed than Harry would have expected.
“I don’t know. I have to get him to St. Mungo’s.” Harry glanced over to see that Jones had Myers properly trussed up with an Incarcerous. “Can you get Myers back to the MLE yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, reassured by the confidence in Jones’ voice. He turned back to Ron, casting a quick first aid spell that would stabilize him enough for transport. “Make sure you let Robards know what happened right away.”
“I will. Good luck.”
Harry lifted Ron into his arms. It was somewhat awkward considering how much taller Ron was, but given Ron’s stomach injury, a fireman’s carry was out of the question. Harry Apparated them straight into the casualty ward at St. Mungo’s.
“I need help here!” Harry called out. He set Ron on the nearest bank of chairs and turned to the mediwitch who was hurrying over. “Please, you need to page Healer -”
He paused, feeling helpless. Hermione wasn’t on duty tonight; she was at home with the kids.
“What happened?” the mediwitch asked.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when he was attacked. It may have been some sort of Slicing -”
“Potter?”
Harry turned around to see Malfoy regarding him with a frown. He’d never been so glad to see anyone in his entire life.
“Malfoy! Oh, thank God. Ron was attacked; he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Let me see.”
Harry and the mediwitch stepped aside to let Malfoy bend over Ron’s body. Malfoy drew his wand, examining the wound. His brow furrowed.
“Take him to Treatment Room C and have Healer Moore meet us there,” he said to the mediwitch. “Quickly.”
The mediwitch nodded and conjured a stretcher, lifting Ron onto it and carting him away with brisk efficiency. Malfoy started after her, but Harry caught his sleeve and held him back.
“What’s going on? Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” Malfoy said. “The wound is hexed not to close, and I’m no good with spell damage. That’s why I asked for Healer Moore; she’s as good with hexes as I am with burns. If anyone can help Weasley, she can.”
Harry gripped his arm tightly. “Please don’t let him die. Please.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Malfoy, gently removing Harry’s hand from his arm. “Just wait here. I’m sure the mediwitches will have plenty of paperwork for you.”
Harry slumped into a chair as Malfoy hurried away. The band on his wrist was still uncomfortably hot, which was actually a relief - if Ron was dead, the band would be ice-cold.
A mediwitch did indeed present him with a thick sheaf of forms to fill out, but Harry could only stare down at them blankly. He couldn’t bear to lose Ron; his entire being recoiled from the thought of life without his best mate. Harry took a deep breath, trying to rein in his emotions. It wouldn’t do for an Auror to lose it in the middle of St. Mungo’s casualty.
Gradually, the heat in the band began to subside, which sent Harry into a panic at first. What if he was feeling Ron’s life ebb away? He clenched the parchments in his lap so forcefully that they tore a little, and he had to physically force himself to remain seated, fighting his urge to jump up and do something. It was out of his hands now.
Soon the band stabilized at its normal temperature, but he couldn’t be sure, not until someone told him…
There. Malfoy was walking towards him. Harry leapt to his feet, scattering the parchments heedlessly. Malfoy didn’t have much of an expression, but that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Even Malfoy would look upset if he was about to tell someone their best friend was dead.
“He’s going to be fine,” Malfoy said once he’d reached Harry.
Harry let out a painful gasp of relief and, without thinking, flung his arms around Malfoy.
Malfoy stiffened but didn’t push him away, and Harry was too happy to feel awkward. Still, Malfoy was obviously uncomfortable, so Harry released him after a few seconds and stepped back.
“Sorry,” he said, a bit too cheerfully to be convincing.
Malfoy smoothed his robes out. “It happens. Occupational hazard.”
Harry laughed as he imagined throngs of relieved relatives assaulting Malfoy with hugs. He felt a little giddy. “Hermione! I’ve got to tell Hermione. I’m surprised she isn’t here yet.” He was going to kill Jones if he hadn’t told Robards.
“Granger? She is here. She’s with Weasley right now.”
“But I didn’t see her come in -”
“Well, she wouldn’t come through casualty, would she? She Flooed straight to the Healers’ lounge. Much faster.”
“Right. Of course.” Harry took a deep breath and looked Malfoy in the eye. “Thank you. For everything.”
“I didn’t really do anything,” Malfoy said.
“Yes, you did. And I’m grateful.” Harry held his hand out. It seemed a little silly to be offering a handshake when he’d been hugging Malfoy just a minute earlier, but it felt like the right thing to do.
After a moment’s hesitation, Malfoy took Harry’s hand and clasped it firmly. “You’re welcome.” Then he looked down, his eyebrows rising. “What happened to your wrist?”
Harry looked down as well; he’d forgotten all about the burn. “Oh, the band - it’s how I knew Ron was in danger. It looks worse than it is.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Malfoy said, releasing Harry’s hand. “Sit down. This, at least, I can do something about.”
Harry sat back in his chair. Malfoy sat next to him, holding Harry’s injured wrist in one hand and pushing the band out of the way with the other. He drew his wand.
“Have you ever considered a warning system that doesn’t give you first-degree burns?” Malfoy asked.
“It only burned me to get my attention,” Harry said. He watched as Malfoy tapped the burn with his wand, murmuring under his breath. “If I hadn’t been distracted, I would have noticed it getting warmer, and it never would have gotten to that point. Maybe I would have reached Ron sooner -”
“Just stop right there,” Malfoy said, still intent on the rapidly fading burn. “I can sense the impending self-flagellation, and I’m telling you right now I won’t stand for it. So don’t even bother.”
Harry fought a smile. “Okay.”
Malfoy turned Harry’s hand and healed the underside of his wrist, then let go. “Good as new.”
The skin was as clear as if it had never been burned. “Thanks.”
“How’s your other arm?”
“It’s fine,” Harry said, realizing that his injuries hadn’t given him a single twinge all night, not even when he’d carried Ron. “I think I’m ready to go back into the field.”
“Not until your next appointment, you’re not. I’ll decide then if you’re really as recovered as you think you are.”
“Oh, so are you going to actually show up for that appointment, then?” Harry teased.
Malfoy regarded him with narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to decide whether the teasing was good-natured or not. Finally, he said, “I’ll be there.”
***
“Make a fist and lift your arm straight out in front of you.”
Harry obeyed, noting with pleasure that his left side remained completely pain-free.
“I’m going to put pressure on your arm,” Malfoy said. “Resist it as much as you can, and tell me if it hurts.”
Malfoy put his hand on Harry’s bicep and pushed down - gently at first, then with more force. Harry had no trouble keeping his arm up. Malfoy repeated the test a couple of times, pushing against Harry’s elbow and then his hand, but Harry’s arm remained firm. Not even a single moment of weakness.
“Told you I was healed,” Harry said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and removed his hand. “Well, I’m sure you’ll forgive me for not taking you at your word, Mr. Self-Sacrifice. Give me your papers so I can sign them. It won’t do you much good, though, with Weasley still convalescing.”
Grinning, Harry pulled the folded parchment from his pocket and handed it to Malfoy. “They said he’ll be ready in a few days.”
“Mm-hmm.” Malfoy smoothed the parchment out next to Harry on the examination table and leaned over to sign it. Unfortunately for Harry, Malfoy hadn’t found it necessary to put his Healer’s robes on for the appointment, and his arse hadn’t gotten any less appealing since the last time Harry had caught a glimpse of it. “And are the two of you planning to continue taking turns sustaining life-threatening injuries? Should I expect to see you back in here next week?”
Harry jerked his eyes away from Malfoy’s arse and tried to refocus. “God, I hope not,” he said. Realizing how that might be interpreted, he hastily added, “I mean, because I like being in the field. Not because I don’t want to see you. Because I don’t. Er, that is, I don’t not want to see you. I mean, I - I wouldn’t mind seeing you…” He trailed off. “You’re about to check me for a head injury again, aren’t you?”
Malfoy’s lips quirked. “I think that by now I’m familiar with the difference between the results of a head injury and simple inane Potter rambling - not that there’s much to distinguish the two.”
Harry couldn’t stop a chuckle at that. A month ago, such a comment would have made him want to punch Malfoy in the face, but now he could tell Malfoy didn’t mean it maliciously. Well, not completely maliciously.
“Thanks for this,” Harry said, as Malfoy gave him back the signed parchment. “And thanks for getting me better in time for the Beltane Ball.”
“You actually go to that?” Malfoy asked, taken aback. “It doesn’t seem like something you would approve of.”
“Hey, everybody deserves a chance to let loose once a year. Are you going?”
“I don’t know. My mother wants me to.”
Harry hesitated, then said, “You do know that the whole thing revolves around a big huge bonfire, right?”
“So?”
“You’re still afraid of fire.”
Instead of getting huffy at the insinuation that he was anything less than perfect, Malfoy just sighed. “It’s better than it used to be.”
If nearly having a panic attack over a tiny wastebasket fire was better than it used to be, Harry didn’t want to know how bad it had been.
“That’s why my mother wants me to go,” Malfoy said. “She thinks it’ll cure my phobia - sort of an immersion thing.”
“Could it?”
“Maybe.” Malfoy leaned back against the counter. “It could also make it a million times worse.”
Harry hopped off the exam table. “Want to know what I think?”
“Not particularly.”
“I think you should go.”
“Harry Potter, condoning risk-taking? I’m shocked.”
“Listen, Malfoy,” Harry said, stepping closer to him. “The war is over. It’s been over for a long time. You don’t have to live in fear anymore. You shouldn’t. Every time you let your life be dictated by this fear, you’re letting him win. Is that really what you want?”
Malfoy stared at him, speechless. Harry reached out and squeezed his shoulder briefly, then left before Malfoy could gather his wits.
And before he could wonder why he cared so much.
***
As always, the Beltane Ball was a resounding success. Years ago, Hermione had suggested adding a fundraising component to the Ball in order to raise money for the rebuilding effort. Now the Ball generated thousands of Galleons every year for relief organizations.
An unintentional side effect of the fundraising was that people felt even more entitled to go absolutely mad. The normal restrictions on hallucinogenic potions were lifted for one night. Sex flowed as freely as alcohol; full-scale orgies weren’t uncommon.
The Ball was always held in a wide-open field in the middle of nowhere - Harry was pretty sure it was the same place that had hosted the Quidditch World cup back when he was a teenager. The enormous, two-story bonfire took the place of honor at the center, surrounded by concentric rings of tents. Some were large, open pavilions with music, food, and drinks; others were smaller, closed tents that could be reserved by groups for private parties. Still others were simple one-room affairs that were rentable by the hour like Muggle motel rooms. Giddy witches and wizards thronged the grassy areas in between, moving from tent to tent with shouts of laughter and squeals of excitement.
Harry had been enjoying himself greatly at Seamus Finnegan’s annual open-house - open-tent, more appropriately - but as the night wore on and the lust in the air grew more intense, he’d realized that he was the only person not coupled up. Accordingly, once Ron and Hermione left to make use of the rentable tents, Harry left as well. Beltane was the one night a year he didn’t feel guilty or ashamed about having a one-night-stand, and he intended to take full advantage of that fact. He was in the mood for a blond tonight.
He’d only had a few drinks, since he wanted to actually be able to perform, and his blood hummed pleasantly as he strolled through the field in the general direction of the bonfire. A few likely-looking prospects caught his eye, but none inspired the mind-clouding lust he was craving, so he kept walking.
Before long, Harry reached the edge of the wards that kept the fire from accidentally spreading and drunken partygoers from trying to get close to it. He walked along the circle, enjoying the warmth and the way the flames bathed everything around them in a flattering golden light.
As he rounded the curve, Harry caught sight of a man standing by the fire. He was too far away for Harry to see him in any detail, but he could definitely see the gleam of the man’s blond hair. Harry immediately chastised himself for the odd leaping sensation in his chest. He had no business getting excited at the prospect of seeing Malfoy, and there was no reason to think that the man was Malfoy, anyway. If Malfoy had come here at all, which was doubtful, he certainly wouldn’t be standing so close to the bonfire.
Except, Harry saw as he drew closer, it was Malfoy.
Malfoy’s skin was paler than usual and his body was stiff as a board. He looked like he was going to either bolt or pass out any second; he didn’t even glance to the side when Harry stood next to him.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Malfoy said, his voice tight with stress.
“It’s just that you look like you’re about to be sick.”
“I suppose that wouldn’t be as bad as running away screaming, which is the course of action I’m currently considering.”
“Why’d you come?”
Malfoy just shook his head. He still hadn’t looked away from the fire, as if it were a dangerous beast that would attack if he took his eyes off it for even an instant.
“Hey,” Harry said, gingerly resting his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “These wards are ridiculously strong, you know. I helped put them up myself. Nothing short of an atomic blast is going to bring them down until the fire goes out.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you’re safe.” Harry tugged his shoulder. After a few seconds of resistance, Malfoy gave in and turned to face him, and Harry let his hand drop. “Why’d you come?” he repeated.
“Because you were right.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Don’t hold your breath.” Seemingly unable to help himself, Malfoy looked back over at the fire. “I never feel safe anymore. I haven’t felt safe in…a long time.” He looked at Harry then. “And I am so fucking tired of being afraid.”
Malfoy was more angry than scared, now, and it was a good look on him. Some of the colour had returned to his cheeks, his eyes were fierce with determination, and the firelight flickering over his features gave him an otherworldly air.
Harry kissed him.
Malfoy made a startled squeak and lifted his hands to Harry’s shoulders as if to push him away, but instead he fisted his hands in Harry’s robe and kissed him back. Harry pulled him close and Malfoy pressed up against him, winding his arms around Harry’s neck.
Harry groaned against Malfoy’s mouth. He wanted to throw the man down on the grass and have him right here, but he had enough presence of mind left to know that Malfoy probably wouldn’t appreciate that. He broke the kiss reluctantly and took Malfoy’s hand.
“Come with me.”
Malfoy followed him without a word, looking a little dazed. His lips were already swollen from the forcefulness with which Harry had kissed him.
Harry headed to the nearest unoccupied rental tent and tossed a few Galleons into the slot. The flap twitched open and Harry pulled Malfoy inside, barely pausing to close the tent back up before yanking Malfoy to him and picking up the kiss where it had left off.
Malfoy tasted as good as he smelled. Harry jerked the fastenings of Malfoy’s robe open before pushing it off his shoulders, moving his mouth to Malfoy’s neck. He couldn’t keep his hands and lips from moving constantly, desperately - he wanted to taste Malfoy everywhere, feel every part of him at once.
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted this?” Harry growled as Malfoy helped him shrug his own robe off.
“I didn’t until just now,” Malfoy said, gasping when Harry ripped a few buttons off his shirt in his haste to get rid of it.
Malfoy let the ruined shirt drop to the floor, and Harry ran possessive hands over his warm, bare chest, rubbing his thumbs roughly over the nipples. “Last time, when you bent over to sign those forms…I wanted to take you right there over the table.”
“That would have been very inappropriate.” Malfoy’s voice was flatteringly breathless.
Harry pulled his jumper over his head and tossed it aside, grabbing Malfoy by the hips and pushing his thigh between Malfoy’s legs. “You’re not my Healer anymore,” he said. “And I, for one, plan to celebrate my recovery by fucking you until your eyes cross. Any objections?”
Malfoy answered him with a rough kiss that had just as much teeth in it as tongue. They stumbled further into the tent until Malfoy bumped against the back of a sofa, and Harry figured that was just as good a place as any. He gave Malfoy one final kiss before turning him around and pushing him forward to lean over the couch.
Not wanting to waste time fumbling with clothes anymore, Harry Summoned his wand from his fallen robe and cast a divestment spell on Malfoy - the same one that had served him so well while he hadn’t been able to use his arm. The rest of Malfoy’s clothes disappeared from his body, landing in a heap not far away.
“Potter!” Malfoy yelped. “A little warning would have been nice.”
Harry ignored him, distracted by the splendour of his naked body. He ran his hands down Malfoy’s back to the delicious arse that had tormented him for weeks. Without thought, Harry dropped to his knees, spread Malfoy’s cheeks, and pressed a hungry kiss against his hole.
“Potter! What did I just say about warning - oh, fuck -”
Usually, Harry liked to draw this kind of thing out, teasing his lovers with little nibbles and licks, but he was too desperate for the taste of Malfoy to play around. He gave Malfoy’s hole one pass with the flat of his tongue before pushing inside, loving the way Malfoy immediately moaned and spread his legs for more.
Harry obliged, fucking Malfoy with his tongue so hard that his jaw quickly started to ache. He barely noticed; the only thing he cared about was getting as deep as he could and making Malfoy shake with pleasure.
“Merlin, stop, stop, I want you to fuck me before I come…”
Harry drew back, unable to resist giving Malfoy’s arse a sharp nip before rising to his feet. He pulled a small tube of lubricant from his pocket and pushed his trousers and pants down around his thighs, eager to get some relief for his aching cock. Quickly slicking himself, he dropped the tube, holding Malfoy’s hip to steady him as he slid inside.
He’d meant to go slowly, give Malfoy some time to adjust, but the second the head of his cock breached Malfoy’s hole, he was lost. Harry groaned and slammed his hips forward, filling Malfoy completely with one stroke. Malfoy gasped and arched his back, more in approval than in protest.
It seemed Malfoy wanted it as rough as Harry did, so Harry didn’t hold back. He tightened his grip on Malfoy’s hips and gave it to him hard, his hipbones knocking bruisingly against Malfoy’s arse, and Malfoy rocked back against him in encouragement.
It wasn’t enough. Malfoy’s breath was coming in sharp staccato pants, and every now and then he’d let out a soft moan, but Harry wanted to hear him scream. He lifted Malfoy’s hips up a little, changing the angle, and was rewarded with a small cry.
“There?” he asked.
Malfoy’s response was completely incoherent, which Harry supposed was answer enough. He kept thrusting, trying to hit the same spot over and over, and Malfoy made a desperate sobbing noise as he clawed at the back of the couch.
Harry only stopped himself from coming at that through iron force of will, and he wouldn’t be able to delay it much longer. He picked up the pace, snapping his hips so forcefully that he lifted Malfoy up on his toes with every thrust. A part of him thought that he should probably reach around and give Malfoy some assistance, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go.
Besides, Harry realized, Malfoy was taking care of that himself - he’d braced himself against the couch with one hand while he wanked himself with the other. His constant, frantic cries made Harry’s stomach clench with impossible lust.
Without warning, Malfoy came violently, his entire body shuddering as his arse clamped down around Harry’s cock. Harry shouted and gave one final, brutal thrust, spilling himself deep inside.
Malfoy slumped over the back of the couch and Harry slumped over him. Neither of them made a move to uncouple themselves.
After a minute or so, when they had started to catch their breath, Malfoy said, “I can’t believe you fucked me here when there’s a bed not three metres away.”
Harry laughed and kissed the back of his neck. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll fuck you anywhere you want.”
***
Three Months Later
“Are you okay?”
“My mother’s getting remarried, Potter,” Draco said. “It’s not exactly the end of the world - although of course I’d rather my parents had stayed together.”
Actually, that hadn’t been what Harry was referring to at all, but if Draco hadn’t noticed the eight million candles Narcissa had strewn about the gardens of Fairfax Manor, Harry certainly wasn’t going to draw attention to them.
“Well, try not to roll your eyes during the ceremony,” he said.
Draco huffed in mock-offense. “I would never.”
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to sit in the front row?”
“Yes. Mother wants you there. I want you there. If I’m to stand beside her, I’ll need somewhere to look besides that horribly insipid Fairfax.”
“All right. As long as you’re sure.”
Draco took Harry’s face in his hands, suddenly serious. “Harry. I’m sure.”
Harry kissed him, then pulled him into a hug, breathing in the delicious scent that had turned out to be Draco’s shampoo, after all. He stepped back before he could start getting excited; an erection was not appropriate at one’s boyfriend’s mother’s wedding. “You should probably go and get your mum. I think they’re ready to start.”
Draco squeezed his hand and gave him one final kiss before heading back towards the house. Harry watched him walk for a few seconds, then took his seat in the front row of chairs set up on the lawn.
The ceremony was absolutely beautiful; Harry hadn’t expected anything less from Narcissa Black. The light from the candles enhanced her happy glow, and Fairfax was obviously enchanted. But Harry only had eyes for Draco, who stood serenely next to his mother, as graceful and poised as ever.
And when a sudden gust of wind made the candle flames flare and leap up, Draco didn’t even flinch.