Eternus Spes, for hamimifk (Part 1/2)
Title: Eternus Spes
Author: fallen angel of repression (
o0o_faor_o0o) (Sorry~! LJ flipped out the first time I tried t
Rating: R
Word Count: 9103
Challenge (Recipient, keywords, and dialogue):hamimifk. halo, bright, fiddles (OMF. This has got to be the hardest keyword I have ever received). "Suppose if I close my eyes, this will all go away?"
Summary: He knew that he should not go in. He knew he should respect other people's belongings and boundaries. He knew he shouldn't; but being Harry Potter, he did.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Gripping onto the Alicanto-threaded sheets, Harry writhed in delighted satisfaction. Perhaps they should not be doing this on such an expensive fabric, but its owner had not complained so Harry saw little reason to suggest they move elsewhere. The brunet would do his best to avoid destroying the delicate bed cover, but it was not his top priority: after all, it would not be the first time they ruined something either irreplaceable or worth more Galleons than what most wizards would see after a lifetime of hard work. There was the Urn of Ta'lab in one of the northern hallways in the East Wing that had smashed when Harry was pushed into its case; countless ripped briefs and shirts without buttons; and an antique Kusanagi prototype now had a permanent blemish that refused to be Scourgfied away...
Perhaps Harry should not be thinking about such frivolous things now. After all, various Ministry functions, business meetings, and other “necessary” appointments filled both his and Malfoy's respective calendars: the possibility of Harry visiting again within three fortnights was dim.
But however much he tried, Harry could not bring himself to paying full attention to the platinum blond's ministrations. He never could. Whenever Malfoy welcomed the brunet into the Manor (and after having some tea, of course), they unceremoniously fell into the young heir's bed, romped, washed up and (if Harry's schedule allowed it) chatted about work or Quidditch for about a quarter hour before calling it a night. (Harry slept over because something about fuck-and-running seemed cheap. Malfoy agreed.) The sex was lovely, but it had quickly become so routine that Harry was in need of something... something more. He was unsure as to what he wanted exactly, but he knew it was something important.
“Potter,” Malfoy drawled from between Harry's spread legs, causing the latter man to jump slightly. “I said to hand me the lubricant. Would you rather I charm you tonight?”
“You know I hate that,” Harry said as he reached for the vial of lube Malfoy kept at his bedside, immediately tossing it to the blond once he got his hand around it.
The slightly older man sent Harry a sharp glance. “I hate being ignored.”
Blushing at the thinly-veiled reprimand, Harry mumbled an almost inaudible “sorry” before lying back down. Malfoy, although probably unsatisfied by the apology, bit down on the brunet's inner thigh softly, his tongue lining the edge of his teeth against the flesh. Focusing on the blond and not, well, anything else, Harry sighed at the delightful sensation, knowing that Malfoy's skilled fingers would soon be-
“Ah!” yelped Harry as Malfoy's bite moved from his thigh to the base of the brunet's scrotum. The blond roughly sucked on the skin, pulling some of it further into his mouth. The hot sac lifted, the weight of it straining on the part Malfoy held captive between his lips. Harry lifted his hips in a vague attempt to minimize the strain, but to no avail. Instead, the blond slowly juggled the balls on his tongue, taking more into his mouth with every lap. When Malfoy could not fit any more comfortably, his fingers cradled the excess; the second knuckle of Malfoy's pinkie probed nonchalantly against Harry's perineum. Harry bucked into the warmth just as Malfoy swallowed, forcing the blond to take just that more of the other man. Feeling thrills of pleasure jolt from his crotch, Harry moaned and slipped his hand into the other's silky hair. Pleased, Malfoy swallowed again, a hint of a gag reflex vibrating against Harry's scrotum.
Harry barely registered the two fingers that had eased into his anus until they curved against the walls and deliberately brushed against the brunet's prostrate. At this, Harry cursed Merlin, Gringott and all the ancient founders of the wizarding world as he reached down to grip his engorged erection. The brunet held onto the base to delay his orgasm, and the touch was enough to at least appease his needy cock for the time being. Malfoy, seeing the other's reaction, roughly added in a third and fourth finger, making Harry very thankful that their previous foreplay had loosened his entrance enough to allow such rapid progression.
“F-fist or fuck-fu-fuck me. Pick one,” Harry managed to get out after a couple minutes of having Malfoy swallow, fondle, and stretch him simultaneously. He barely had the strength or state of mind to restrict his oncoming climax: his grip was loose, his fingertips lazily stroking the swollen length.
The disappearance of Malfoy's moist mouth around him brought forth a cry of absolute annoyance from Harry, who had gotten used to the heat. The blond heaved for breath, his exhales seductively brushing against Harry's already stimulated cock. Nothing was enough to satisfy Harry's need, but at least the fingers still twisted within him... although Harry knew that that would not last for too much longer.
“Are you paying attention to me now, Potter?” Malfoy hissed as he shoved into Harry knuckle-deep.
“Yes, Malfoy, yes.”
Malfoy sat back and, taking care not to remove his fingers, ushered Harry onto his lap. Although content that he finally had his lips on Malfoy's once again, Harry felt a bit awkward at his new position, but knew better than to complain: the blond was a sadistic bitch of a man when he wanted to be, and said bitch would be willing to stop right now if he so fancied. There was that one time that just as Harry was about to climax after a particularly rough frotting session, Malfoy got up and left because Harry did not apologize for showing up late that night. It wasn't even his fault! The Head of the Auror Department wanted to commend the brunet on his work so far, and Harry couldn't just leave! It was his boss, for crying out loud. What was Harry supposed to say? “Sorry, sir, but I don't have time for this now: you see, a wonderful piece of ass is waiting for me and he hates to wait. I'm sure you understand...” No, that would not do (even if he could get away with saying such inappropriate things: he was still Harry Potter, after all, and no matter how much it displeased him, being savior of the wizarding world came with some perks). For all that is good and magical, Malfoy could be such a-
“Tell me want you want,” the blond whispered into their kiss.
“You.”
To which Malfoy replied, “You're a bright man, Harry Potter,” before quickly replacing his fingers with his cock. Harry tightened his hold of his own erection, lifting his hips sharply before slamming down onto the stiffness inside him. Groaning, the brunet closed his eyes and pressed his lips tighter against the other man's. It was just enough to stifle Harry's more than grateful scream.
Rising once again, Harry noticed that the elongated preparation and liberal use of lube loosened Harry considerably, so he had to actively clench onto the blond to increase friction. (Which he did, of course. There was no way Harry would sacrifice pleasure because of laziness...)
Malfoy smirked as best he could but finally settled on a content quirk of his lips, probably realizing that he was much less smug when his arousal was as great as it was at the moment. He forced Harry to rock harder and faster-nimble and rough-reckless and with enough aim to have the head of Malfoy's cock strike Harry's prostrate with every third rut. Somehow, the blond's hand was helping delay Harry's much-needed orgasm further, squeezing the pre-cum slick length with a queer mix of gentleness and resolve that only served to turn the brunet on more.
And then just to mess with Harry even more, the bastard went back to cradling the brunet's scrotum again (this time with the curve of his palm).
“Mal...” a very lightheaded Harry started, breaking the steady pattern of pants and groans.
“Hush. Hush. Just-just,” Malfoy breathed. He, with flushed cheeks and sweat beading down his hairline, shivered before growling some incomprehensible declaration. Knowing what this meant, Harry kissed the other's neck and clenched down around Malfoy once more before feeling a scorching liquid fill him. The brunet's erection was finally released-and much to Harry's embarrassed chagrin, he was so overstimulated that the mere change in pressure was enough to send him over the edge.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could still remember the day he first kissed Draco Malfoy. It was a stupid day for kissing. Valentine's Day.
How cliché.
Molly had invited both to a Weasley dinner at the Burrow for the occasion. Molly and Gin had cooked a huge feast of all their favorites and then some, most with a hint of chocolate to intensify the good feeling of the day. As with any get together with the redheaded clan, the house was crowded and wild and wonderfully homely. Children ran around, Teddy hung onto Harry's every word, and the adults were giddy from the holiday festivities. Harry spent most of his time at the Burrow with the children, while Malfoy attached himself to Hermione's side (even after months of easing into his relatives' lives, the blond still felt awkward amongst the Weasleys). Harry must not have said a single word to the other man for the entire visit save a “May you please pass the salt?” or “Do you want a refill of pumpkin juice?”
It was not until he made his way to a prime Apparition point after the party that he had any real form of contact with Malfoy. The blond was leaving as well, and they walked together chatting about work and (dear Merlin) the weather. As they said their polite goodbyes, Malfoy took Harry's hand in a firm handshake. Harry squeezed the other man's offering, and a spark of urgency made him lean forward and press his cheek and lips against Malfoy's in a more familiar touch.
It was chaste; it was short; and it was not really a real kiss... but that was how Harry remembered his first kiss with Draco Malfoy.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry awoke with a yawn. Literally. His tender mouth opened and gulped for air, and with the intake of oxygen (and the other gases that comprised the invisible, magic-charged energy around him) came his consciousness. It took the path of his respiratory system-to his circulatory-and then all over: to his brain, bellybutton, knees, and the tips of his fingers. It was such a nice way to get up: a sharp wizarding alarm jolted him awake most mornings, so this was a pleasant change. Actually, it was always a pleasant change to wake up in the Manor...
Although, getting laid might have had a large part of it.
Wiggling his toes, Harry half-grumbled, half-groaned. He wanted to just sleep a little more on the extremely comfortable bed-to sink into the heavenly Diricawl-feathered mattress and pillows-and just relax. But, although tired, he guessed that he should not lounge about on Malfoy's bed if he was conscious: that was not what they did. That was not to say, of course, that it was against some predetermined list of dos and don'ts or that there were certain regulations that he had to abide by, but there was a courtesy to these kinds of things. It took Harry a few months (read: almost an entire year of awkward transgressions and hardheaded avoidance) to finally get down most of the general idea of what was considered “okay” to do with a fuck buddy. (And just to put it out there, calling Malfoy a fuck buddy to his face was definitely the most important “not okay” thing to never do... again.)
So, with all the determination of a former Gryffindor, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position and slowly opened his eyes. His blurry vision prevented him from seeing much further than, well, a hairsbreadth away from his face, but even he could make out the subtle blur of a glowing candle.
“You're up,” came from the distant light. The voice, which had been so cheeky-and... emotional-when they were having sex, was now decidedly removed. It disappointed Harry to hear the impassivity, but he knew that he was one of a very few privileged enough to even know that there was something other than the cold man Malfoy played himself to be. (But was he as harsh as he appeared? Harry actually did not know...)
“That I am.”
“Are you feeling alright?”
Harry stretched. “Yeah. I need my glasses, though.” Immediately, the slight reverberation of a spell wavered the atmospheric balance in the already magic-potent space. A light weight pressed against the bridge of his nose, and Harry blinked as the world flew into focus once again. Just as he had suspected, Malfoy sat at the small study area by the unlit fireplace. Slim parchment tablets and scrolls covered the span of the tabletop, a quill perched in midair as the blond calmly watched Harry. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I performed some minor cleaning charms while you were asleep, but I suggest you wash before leaving.”
The brunet shivered (how he hated spells cast on his body) before he nodded. “Which room are we in?”
“Because Mother decided that the Eastern Wing has seen so many 'mysterious' alterations lately, she banished me from my quarters to refurnish. I am not sure where we are exactly-it's been years since I've been in this section of the Manor-so it must be the South Wing.”
“So, how am I going to find the bathing chamber?”
Malfoy turned back to his work, making Harry feel guilty for the second time that night for dropping by (the first was when he stepped into the Manor to find Malfoy bitterly scratching at his parchment). Hermione had mentioned that she and the blond had an important bill to finish in the next fortnight, and that they both were up late every night trying to perfect their legislation.
“You are an Auror, and you have a personal Elf. Figure it out.” The finality in the blond's voice made it clear that Harry was to receive no more information on their whereabouts. Rolling his eyes, Harry threw his legs over the side of the bed. Tossing on a dressing robe folded neatly on the bedside table and picking up his clothes on his way out, he strode past the working man.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could not remember when he first decided to fuck Draco Malfoy. He liked to imagine it as a subtle yearning for contact with the hot man that built into a completely unreasonable lust that overtook all his senses. He liked to imagine it as a dark and stormy day that somehow bewitched his mind with dirty thoughts of the young heir. He liked to imagine many things, and he hated not knowing which was true.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Sinking into the semi-opaque malachite-tinted bubbles one again, Harry contemplated what he would be doing next. By time writ on the complicated clock adorning the chamber's far wall, it was still ridiculously early in the morning: some five hours before he had to be up. All that time... His body tingled with restlessness and the distant remembrance of Malfoy's pristine touch, so falling back to sleep was out of the question. There was nothing to do at his residence, Grimmauld Place, nor the memorial for those lost in the First and Second Wizarding Wars at Godric's Hollow (which Harry maintained because he refused to trust anyone else with the property). It was too early to bother his friends, obviously, or start his workday, and he would hate to visit a pub alone at such a horrid hour.
“Bloody hell.” Despite his age, Harry dipped his jaw into the mildly warm water and blew some bubbles in frustration. He delighted himself as the potion solution that filled the pool kept the shape of these smaller baubles, creating glossy green orbs. Now long out of Hogwarts, the color no longer associated with his “mortal” enemies-the Slytherins: now, Harry loved the peaceful nature of green. It might have had to do with the fact that Malfoy's best soaps were either emerald, lime, terreverte, chartreuse, holly, chrome... well, some shade of green. Maybe Harry's mind automatically linked the color to the wonderfully fragrant scents of the soaps... or maybe it just reminded him of Malfoy.
Malfoy...
The possibility of propositioning the man to more sex tumbled within Harry's thoughts, but the more it cemented itself as a genuine desire, the more the Auror knew that it was a bad idea. Anything that Harry wished he could do with Malfoy was generally a bad idea.
“Death to all unfulfilled fancies,” Harry groaned to the empty room, languidly swimming to the edge of the pool and pulling himself out. Sensing that the brunet was done with his bath, the water became crystalline once again. The bubbles were magically enhanced to slide off his body even without a rinse, leaving him clean and wet. Using some wandless magic (which he had perfected despite the fact that he, an Auror, should know that it was against regulation to do such temperamental magic), he accio-ed a towel, dried off, and brought his clothes over so he could change.
Even bathing at the Manor had become just another list of predetermined, drawling actions.
Harry slid his wand into the dragonskin holder around his wrist before stepping out of the bathing chambers. The hall was quiet and although it was as clean as any other part of the Manor, Harry felt that a thick layer of dust should have shrouded every surface of the clearly abandoned Southern Wing. It was creepy, to say the least, and the brunet was more than happy to leave.
“Miss Joffi, I need your assistance once again,” Harry called. Waiting a moment, he repeated himself. When nothing changed, Harry laughed. “Joffi, I am where you left me.”
A wild pop cracked in front of him then, and a little House Elf appeared with her eyes round and a blush already rushing to her cheeks. She was tiny even for one of her kind, a full head smaller than most, but she was still only a child; just old enough to even be considered to work.
“Still need practice with your apparition, it seems,” Harry commented.
“Aye, Sir Potter,” the Elf squeaked. Her voice was so high-so melodious-that it still amazed Harry that it could come from such a small form. “But Joffi learns quickly, sir.”
“I know. Joffi is a good Elf.” The girl beamed. “I need help again. May you show me to the nearest fireplace with access to the Floo Networks?”
Joffi nodded. “Not too many in this Wing, Sir Potter,” she said as she began to toddle off, Harry not far behind.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could still remember the day the House Elves Legislative Protection and Equality Report (H.E.L.P.E.R. for short) was passed. Hermione had been working on it for months, trying to get Wizengamot to review her case. It was the cumulation of the schooling and effort she sludged through for after Hogwarts, and it meant everything to her. She refused Harry's help; understandably, she did not want the Potter name to be the reason H.E.L.P.E.R. was passed, rather than because it was necessary to do so. Then, to surprise of just about the entire wizarding community, the Draco Malfoy contacted Hermione to help support her cause with his own political expertise, legal aid office and monetary funds. And thus, the most powerful duo the legality branch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had ever seen was born.
They were all crowded into the Burrow when the Wizengamot made their decision. The entire Weasley clan was ecstatic: she was one of their own, after all, and to have her accomplish her dream was Hermione cried into her husband's chest, Ron cheering enough for the both of them. The celebration burned the very air around the redheaded family, stifling Harry and pushing him to retreat to a corner. It was amazing, but something was missing.
It was Malfoy. Without him, it might have taken years to get the kind of reception H.E.L.P.E.R. needed to pass.
The blond deserved congratulations, did he not?
So, Harry bid some quick farewells (saying that he would return shortly) and went to the Manor. He was unsure how to approach the intimidating mansion. Finally, he decided on Flooing in, where he was greeted by an aged Elf named Hoppskin. The old boy led Harry to Malfoy's private study chambers, not bothering to tell his Master that he had a visitor.
Harry let himself into the room and caught the image that had startled something deep within him. It was of Malfoy smiling into a glass of light blue wine, leaning up against his desk as he stared gleefully at his lit fireplace. He was wearing simple, black clothes and his hair was wet as if he had just stepped out of the shower. Harry had never seen the blond smile so genuinely, and it pleased him even more when the blond acknowledged him with a soft nod and an offer of a glass.
Harry did not say congratulations as he intended, but instead drank his semisweet wine with the blond in peaceful silence.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
“Here it is, Sir Potter.”
“Thank you, Miss Joffi,” Harry said as he patted the young girl's head. She was his personal House Elf at the Manor. Although she was too young to work in a proper position, she really wanted to help out, even going as far as asking her Master for something to do. Malfoy assigned her to Harry because he knew the brunet would not demand much from her, and because Harry liked Joffi immensely: she reminded him of his dear friend, Dobby, in her quirky nature and perchance to not flinch toward humans. He knew that the latter was because House Elves were now protected by Wizarding Law and Joffi was just one of the first generation of her species who did not have to fear humans, but still: Joffi was adorable.
“So Joffi did good?”
“Very good. You may leave now.”
A pop rang out, and Harry was alone once again. Without missing a beat, Harry opened the door the young Elf pointed him to.
“Oh!”
Harry moaned as a overwhelming trill of magic shivered over him. It curled around him, filling his senses with the distinct taste of the man he spent so many nights kissing-fucking-touching. To say that it turned him on was a given; but something about the tenderness with which each spell had been executed warmed Harry down to his very core. This... this sensation was something he had never felt from Malfoy personally, but now... this was fucking bliss.
For him to completely miss the signature of such an abundance of magic, there must have been several seriously complicated charms ensuring that a passerby would think that this room was just one of a long line of knobs and door frames. Harry knew that he should not go in; whatever those wards had been protecting had to be important or special in some way to the pureblood heir. He knew he should respect other people's belongings and boundaries.
He knew he shouldn't; but being Harry Potter, he did.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could not remember the last time he really heard the blond laugh. It must have been the time they used that hippogriff feather in bed... but that did not count. No, it had been ages since he heard that tremble in Malfoy's voice-that lightheartedness that the blond hid behind a thick facade of indifference. Harry could barely remember what a laugh from the other man sounded like.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
For long he had sat there, the brunet had no clue although it could not have been long. Barely ten minutes, if even that.
But for those few moments, Harry felt at peace.
The color scheme was subtle yet elegant: a dark bordeaux red with maroon accents and wide black trimmings. Some kind of magical wood that Harry failed to recognize planked the floor. A large, proud fireplace stood directly opposite the door, and a comfy-looking couch and two chairs facing toward the center of the room formed a cozy sitting area that Harry would have been more than happy to be part of after a long day of Auror work. Curious stands, plaques, hooks and cases cluttered the room's walls and floorspace. Halos of dust formed shapes of what these containers previously held, but after spending a moment trying to figure out what they could have been used for, Harry gave up. If if he did not know right away, it was not worth his time to guess what Malfoy's intention for this room was.
Well, all of that would have led to one very handsome (albeit disappointedly empty) space.
What made this room amazing was the very wards that first washed over him. He wanted to absorb it into his skin; shallow it and take it into his body. It was not lust that caused these queer tendrils of pleasure, but honest affection. Harry could honestly say that it had been years since such an innocent sensation tingled within him-not since he left Ginny. But even with her, there was always the distance between them that Harry painstakingly discovered was him not being attracted to the Weasley girl-or any woman, for that matter. No.
There was no distance here. Only comfort. Only warmth.
He halfheartedly reminded himself that the caster had been Draco Malfoy: Law Defender, pureblood heir, fuck buddy. There was nothing real between them-except a multitude of trysts-and Harry was more than happy to keep it that way.
Still... this room was addicting.
Harry-his eyes heavy despite what he thought earlier-was sinking further into the splendid couch when the door from which he entered the queer, red room burst open. Malfoy stood at the threshold panting, his cheeks flush with what Harry could only presume was rage and fatigue. (Had the young heir been running?)
“What are you doing, Harry?” Malfoy sneered the brunet's given name as if a dark arts curse, making Harry flinch: it had been many months since he had heard his name from the blond, and to have it said in such a context was horrid indeed.
Biting the tip of his tongue, Harry used the nonchalant tone of a trained Auror to say, “I needed a fireplace, so Joffi led me here: the closest one to the bathing chambers with Floo access.”
The mention of the young House Elf seemed to appease Malfoy somewhat, but he still hissed as he asked, “Fine. But why are you still here?”
Harry blushed, standing. “This is such a pleasant little room. I thought I would-”
“You have no permission to be here. Get out, Potter,” Malfoy interrupted as he advanced on Harry and grabbed the man by the sleeve at his elbow. The Auror was yanked across the room to the fireplace, which burst into flame as the blond jabbed his wand toward it. “12 Grimmauld Place!”
And with that, Harry was thrown into the hungry flames.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Author: fallen angel of repression (
o0o_faor_o0o) (Sorry~! LJ flipped out the first time I tried t
Rating: R
Word Count: 9103
Challenge (Recipient, keywords, and dialogue):hamimifk. halo, bright, fiddles (OMF. This has got to be the hardest keyword I have ever received). "Suppose if I close my eyes, this will all go away?"
Summary: He knew that he should not go in. He knew he should respect other people's belongings and boundaries. He knew he shouldn't; but being Harry Potter, he did.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Gripping onto the Alicanto-threaded sheets, Harry writhed in delighted satisfaction. Perhaps they should not be doing this on such an expensive fabric, but its owner had not complained so Harry saw little reason to suggest they move elsewhere. The brunet would do his best to avoid destroying the delicate bed cover, but it was not his top priority: after all, it would not be the first time they ruined something either irreplaceable or worth more Galleons than what most wizards would see after a lifetime of hard work. There was the Urn of Ta'lab in one of the northern hallways in the East Wing that had smashed when Harry was pushed into its case; countless ripped briefs and shirts without buttons; and an antique Kusanagi prototype now had a permanent blemish that refused to be Scourgfied away...
Perhaps Harry should not be thinking about such frivolous things now. After all, various Ministry functions, business meetings, and other “necessary” appointments filled both his and Malfoy's respective calendars: the possibility of Harry visiting again within three fortnights was dim.
But however much he tried, Harry could not bring himself to paying full attention to the platinum blond's ministrations. He never could. Whenever Malfoy welcomed the brunet into the Manor (and after having some tea, of course), they unceremoniously fell into the young heir's bed, romped, washed up and (if Harry's schedule allowed it) chatted about work or Quidditch for about a quarter hour before calling it a night. (Harry slept over because something about fuck-and-running seemed cheap. Malfoy agreed.) The sex was lovely, but it had quickly become so routine that Harry was in need of something... something more. He was unsure as to what he wanted exactly, but he knew it was something important.
“Potter,” Malfoy drawled from between Harry's spread legs, causing the latter man to jump slightly. “I said to hand me the lubricant. Would you rather I charm you tonight?”
“You know I hate that,” Harry said as he reached for the vial of lube Malfoy kept at his bedside, immediately tossing it to the blond once he got his hand around it.
The slightly older man sent Harry a sharp glance. “I hate being ignored.”
Blushing at the thinly-veiled reprimand, Harry mumbled an almost inaudible “sorry” before lying back down. Malfoy, although probably unsatisfied by the apology, bit down on the brunet's inner thigh softly, his tongue lining the edge of his teeth against the flesh. Focusing on the blond and not, well, anything else, Harry sighed at the delightful sensation, knowing that Malfoy's skilled fingers would soon be-
“Ah!” yelped Harry as Malfoy's bite moved from his thigh to the base of the brunet's scrotum. The blond roughly sucked on the skin, pulling some of it further into his mouth. The hot sac lifted, the weight of it straining on the part Malfoy held captive between his lips. Harry lifted his hips in a vague attempt to minimize the strain, but to no avail. Instead, the blond slowly juggled the balls on his tongue, taking more into his mouth with every lap. When Malfoy could not fit any more comfortably, his fingers cradled the excess; the second knuckle of Malfoy's pinkie probed nonchalantly against Harry's perineum. Harry bucked into the warmth just as Malfoy swallowed, forcing the blond to take just that more of the other man. Feeling thrills of pleasure jolt from his crotch, Harry moaned and slipped his hand into the other's silky hair. Pleased, Malfoy swallowed again, a hint of a gag reflex vibrating against Harry's scrotum.
Harry barely registered the two fingers that had eased into his anus until they curved against the walls and deliberately brushed against the brunet's prostrate. At this, Harry cursed Merlin, Gringott and all the ancient founders of the wizarding world as he reached down to grip his engorged erection. The brunet held onto the base to delay his orgasm, and the touch was enough to at least appease his needy cock for the time being. Malfoy, seeing the other's reaction, roughly added in a third and fourth finger, making Harry very thankful that their previous foreplay had loosened his entrance enough to allow such rapid progression.
“F-fist or fuck-fu-fuck me. Pick one,” Harry managed to get out after a couple minutes of having Malfoy swallow, fondle, and stretch him simultaneously. He barely had the strength or state of mind to restrict his oncoming climax: his grip was loose, his fingertips lazily stroking the swollen length.
The disappearance of Malfoy's moist mouth around him brought forth a cry of absolute annoyance from Harry, who had gotten used to the heat. The blond heaved for breath, his exhales seductively brushing against Harry's already stimulated cock. Nothing was enough to satisfy Harry's need, but at least the fingers still twisted within him... although Harry knew that that would not last for too much longer.
“Are you paying attention to me now, Potter?” Malfoy hissed as he shoved into Harry knuckle-deep.
“Yes, Malfoy, yes.”
Malfoy sat back and, taking care not to remove his fingers, ushered Harry onto his lap. Although content that he finally had his lips on Malfoy's once again, Harry felt a bit awkward at his new position, but knew better than to complain: the blond was a sadistic bitch of a man when he wanted to be, and said bitch would be willing to stop right now if he so fancied. There was that one time that just as Harry was about to climax after a particularly rough frotting session, Malfoy got up and left because Harry did not apologize for showing up late that night. It wasn't even his fault! The Head of the Auror Department wanted to commend the brunet on his work so far, and Harry couldn't just leave! It was his boss, for crying out loud. What was Harry supposed to say? “Sorry, sir, but I don't have time for this now: you see, a wonderful piece of ass is waiting for me and he hates to wait. I'm sure you understand...” No, that would not do (even if he could get away with saying such inappropriate things: he was still Harry Potter, after all, and no matter how much it displeased him, being savior of the wizarding world came with some perks). For all that is good and magical, Malfoy could be such a-
“Tell me want you want,” the blond whispered into their kiss.
“You.”
To which Malfoy replied, “You're a bright man, Harry Potter,” before quickly replacing his fingers with his cock. Harry tightened his hold of his own erection, lifting his hips sharply before slamming down onto the stiffness inside him. Groaning, the brunet closed his eyes and pressed his lips tighter against the other man's. It was just enough to stifle Harry's more than grateful scream.
Rising once again, Harry noticed that the elongated preparation and liberal use of lube loosened Harry considerably, so he had to actively clench onto the blond to increase friction. (Which he did, of course. There was no way Harry would sacrifice pleasure because of laziness...)
Malfoy smirked as best he could but finally settled on a content quirk of his lips, probably realizing that he was much less smug when his arousal was as great as it was at the moment. He forced Harry to rock harder and faster-nimble and rough-reckless and with enough aim to have the head of Malfoy's cock strike Harry's prostrate with every third rut. Somehow, the blond's hand was helping delay Harry's much-needed orgasm further, squeezing the pre-cum slick length with a queer mix of gentleness and resolve that only served to turn the brunet on more.
And then just to mess with Harry even more, the bastard went back to cradling the brunet's scrotum again (this time with the curve of his palm).
“Mal...” a very lightheaded Harry started, breaking the steady pattern of pants and groans.
“Hush. Hush. Just-just,” Malfoy breathed. He, with flushed cheeks and sweat beading down his hairline, shivered before growling some incomprehensible declaration. Knowing what this meant, Harry kissed the other's neck and clenched down around Malfoy once more before feeling a scorching liquid fill him. The brunet's erection was finally released-and much to Harry's embarrassed chagrin, he was so overstimulated that the mere change in pressure was enough to send him over the edge.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could still remember the day he first kissed Draco Malfoy. It was a stupid day for kissing. Valentine's Day.
How cliché.
Molly had invited both to a Weasley dinner at the Burrow for the occasion. Molly and Gin had cooked a huge feast of all their favorites and then some, most with a hint of chocolate to intensify the good feeling of the day. As with any get together with the redheaded clan, the house was crowded and wild and wonderfully homely. Children ran around, Teddy hung onto Harry's every word, and the adults were giddy from the holiday festivities. Harry spent most of his time at the Burrow with the children, while Malfoy attached himself to Hermione's side (even after months of easing into his relatives' lives, the blond still felt awkward amongst the Weasleys). Harry must not have said a single word to the other man for the entire visit save a “May you please pass the salt?” or “Do you want a refill of pumpkin juice?”
It was not until he made his way to a prime Apparition point after the party that he had any real form of contact with Malfoy. The blond was leaving as well, and they walked together chatting about work and (dear Merlin) the weather. As they said their polite goodbyes, Malfoy took Harry's hand in a firm handshake. Harry squeezed the other man's offering, and a spark of urgency made him lean forward and press his cheek and lips against Malfoy's in a more familiar touch.
It was chaste; it was short; and it was not really a real kiss... but that was how Harry remembered his first kiss with Draco Malfoy.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry awoke with a yawn. Literally. His tender mouth opened and gulped for air, and with the intake of oxygen (and the other gases that comprised the invisible, magic-charged energy around him) came his consciousness. It took the path of his respiratory system-to his circulatory-and then all over: to his brain, bellybutton, knees, and the tips of his fingers. It was such a nice way to get up: a sharp wizarding alarm jolted him awake most mornings, so this was a pleasant change. Actually, it was always a pleasant change to wake up in the Manor...
Although, getting laid might have had a large part of it.
Wiggling his toes, Harry half-grumbled, half-groaned. He wanted to just sleep a little more on the extremely comfortable bed-to sink into the heavenly Diricawl-feathered mattress and pillows-and just relax. But, although tired, he guessed that he should not lounge about on Malfoy's bed if he was conscious: that was not what they did. That was not to say, of course, that it was against some predetermined list of dos and don'ts or that there were certain regulations that he had to abide by, but there was a courtesy to these kinds of things. It took Harry a few months (read: almost an entire year of awkward transgressions and hardheaded avoidance) to finally get down most of the general idea of what was considered “okay” to do with a fuck buddy. (And just to put it out there, calling Malfoy a fuck buddy to his face was definitely the most important “not okay” thing to never do... again.)
So, with all the determination of a former Gryffindor, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position and slowly opened his eyes. His blurry vision prevented him from seeing much further than, well, a hairsbreadth away from his face, but even he could make out the subtle blur of a glowing candle.
“You're up,” came from the distant light. The voice, which had been so cheeky-and... emotional-when they were having sex, was now decidedly removed. It disappointed Harry to hear the impassivity, but he knew that he was one of a very few privileged enough to even know that there was something other than the cold man Malfoy played himself to be. (But was he as harsh as he appeared? Harry actually did not know...)
“That I am.”
“Are you feeling alright?”
Harry stretched. “Yeah. I need my glasses, though.” Immediately, the slight reverberation of a spell wavered the atmospheric balance in the already magic-potent space. A light weight pressed against the bridge of his nose, and Harry blinked as the world flew into focus once again. Just as he had suspected, Malfoy sat at the small study area by the unlit fireplace. Slim parchment tablets and scrolls covered the span of the tabletop, a quill perched in midair as the blond calmly watched Harry. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I performed some minor cleaning charms while you were asleep, but I suggest you wash before leaving.”
The brunet shivered (how he hated spells cast on his body) before he nodded. “Which room are we in?”
“Because Mother decided that the Eastern Wing has seen so many 'mysterious' alterations lately, she banished me from my quarters to refurnish. I am not sure where we are exactly-it's been years since I've been in this section of the Manor-so it must be the South Wing.”
“So, how am I going to find the bathing chamber?”
Malfoy turned back to his work, making Harry feel guilty for the second time that night for dropping by (the first was when he stepped into the Manor to find Malfoy bitterly scratching at his parchment). Hermione had mentioned that she and the blond had an important bill to finish in the next fortnight, and that they both were up late every night trying to perfect their legislation.
“You are an Auror, and you have a personal Elf. Figure it out.” The finality in the blond's voice made it clear that Harry was to receive no more information on their whereabouts. Rolling his eyes, Harry threw his legs over the side of the bed. Tossing on a dressing robe folded neatly on the bedside table and picking up his clothes on his way out, he strode past the working man.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could not remember when he first decided to fuck Draco Malfoy. He liked to imagine it as a subtle yearning for contact with the hot man that built into a completely unreasonable lust that overtook all his senses. He liked to imagine it as a dark and stormy day that somehow bewitched his mind with dirty thoughts of the young heir. He liked to imagine many things, and he hated not knowing which was true.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Sinking into the semi-opaque malachite-tinted bubbles one again, Harry contemplated what he would be doing next. By time writ on the complicated clock adorning the chamber's far wall, it was still ridiculously early in the morning: some five hours before he had to be up. All that time... His body tingled with restlessness and the distant remembrance of Malfoy's pristine touch, so falling back to sleep was out of the question. There was nothing to do at his residence, Grimmauld Place, nor the memorial for those lost in the First and Second Wizarding Wars at Godric's Hollow (which Harry maintained because he refused to trust anyone else with the property). It was too early to bother his friends, obviously, or start his workday, and he would hate to visit a pub alone at such a horrid hour.
“Bloody hell.” Despite his age, Harry dipped his jaw into the mildly warm water and blew some bubbles in frustration. He delighted himself as the potion solution that filled the pool kept the shape of these smaller baubles, creating glossy green orbs. Now long out of Hogwarts, the color no longer associated with his “mortal” enemies-the Slytherins: now, Harry loved the peaceful nature of green. It might have had to do with the fact that Malfoy's best soaps were either emerald, lime, terreverte, chartreuse, holly, chrome... well, some shade of green. Maybe Harry's mind automatically linked the color to the wonderfully fragrant scents of the soaps... or maybe it just reminded him of Malfoy.
Malfoy...
The possibility of propositioning the man to more sex tumbled within Harry's thoughts, but the more it cemented itself as a genuine desire, the more the Auror knew that it was a bad idea. Anything that Harry wished he could do with Malfoy was generally a bad idea.
“Death to all unfulfilled fancies,” Harry groaned to the empty room, languidly swimming to the edge of the pool and pulling himself out. Sensing that the brunet was done with his bath, the water became crystalline once again. The bubbles were magically enhanced to slide off his body even without a rinse, leaving him clean and wet. Using some wandless magic (which he had perfected despite the fact that he, an Auror, should know that it was against regulation to do such temperamental magic), he accio-ed a towel, dried off, and brought his clothes over so he could change.
Even bathing at the Manor had become just another list of predetermined, drawling actions.
Harry slid his wand into the dragonskin holder around his wrist before stepping out of the bathing chambers. The hall was quiet and although it was as clean as any other part of the Manor, Harry felt that a thick layer of dust should have shrouded every surface of the clearly abandoned Southern Wing. It was creepy, to say the least, and the brunet was more than happy to leave.
“Miss Joffi, I need your assistance once again,” Harry called. Waiting a moment, he repeated himself. When nothing changed, Harry laughed. “Joffi, I am where you left me.”
A wild pop cracked in front of him then, and a little House Elf appeared with her eyes round and a blush already rushing to her cheeks. She was tiny even for one of her kind, a full head smaller than most, but she was still only a child; just old enough to even be considered to work.
“Still need practice with your apparition, it seems,” Harry commented.
“Aye, Sir Potter,” the Elf squeaked. Her voice was so high-so melodious-that it still amazed Harry that it could come from such a small form. “But Joffi learns quickly, sir.”
“I know. Joffi is a good Elf.” The girl beamed. “I need help again. May you show me to the nearest fireplace with access to the Floo Networks?”
Joffi nodded. “Not too many in this Wing, Sir Potter,” she said as she began to toddle off, Harry not far behind.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could still remember the day the House Elves Legislative Protection and Equality Report (H.E.L.P.E.R. for short) was passed. Hermione had been working on it for months, trying to get Wizengamot to review her case. It was the cumulation of the schooling and effort she sludged through for after Hogwarts, and it meant everything to her. She refused Harry's help; understandably, she did not want the Potter name to be the reason H.E.L.P.E.R. was passed, rather than because it was necessary to do so. Then, to surprise of just about the entire wizarding community, the Draco Malfoy contacted Hermione to help support her cause with his own political expertise, legal aid office and monetary funds. And thus, the most powerful duo the legality branch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had ever seen was born.
They were all crowded into the Burrow when the Wizengamot made their decision. The entire Weasley clan was ecstatic: she was one of their own, after all, and to have her accomplish her dream was Hermione cried into her husband's chest, Ron cheering enough for the both of them. The celebration burned the very air around the redheaded family, stifling Harry and pushing him to retreat to a corner. It was amazing, but something was missing.
It was Malfoy. Without him, it might have taken years to get the kind of reception H.E.L.P.E.R. needed to pass.
The blond deserved congratulations, did he not?
So, Harry bid some quick farewells (saying that he would return shortly) and went to the Manor. He was unsure how to approach the intimidating mansion. Finally, he decided on Flooing in, where he was greeted by an aged Elf named Hoppskin. The old boy led Harry to Malfoy's private study chambers, not bothering to tell his Master that he had a visitor.
Harry let himself into the room and caught the image that had startled something deep within him. It was of Malfoy smiling into a glass of light blue wine, leaning up against his desk as he stared gleefully at his lit fireplace. He was wearing simple, black clothes and his hair was wet as if he had just stepped out of the shower. Harry had never seen the blond smile so genuinely, and it pleased him even more when the blond acknowledged him with a soft nod and an offer of a glass.
Harry did not say congratulations as he intended, but instead drank his semisweet wine with the blond in peaceful silence.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
“Here it is, Sir Potter.”
“Thank you, Miss Joffi,” Harry said as he patted the young girl's head. She was his personal House Elf at the Manor. Although she was too young to work in a proper position, she really wanted to help out, even going as far as asking her Master for something to do. Malfoy assigned her to Harry because he knew the brunet would not demand much from her, and because Harry liked Joffi immensely: she reminded him of his dear friend, Dobby, in her quirky nature and perchance to not flinch toward humans. He knew that the latter was because House Elves were now protected by Wizarding Law and Joffi was just one of the first generation of her species who did not have to fear humans, but still: Joffi was adorable.
“So Joffi did good?”
“Very good. You may leave now.”
A pop rang out, and Harry was alone once again. Without missing a beat, Harry opened the door the young Elf pointed him to.
“Oh!”
Harry moaned as a overwhelming trill of magic shivered over him. It curled around him, filling his senses with the distinct taste of the man he spent so many nights kissing-fucking-touching. To say that it turned him on was a given; but something about the tenderness with which each spell had been executed warmed Harry down to his very core. This... this sensation was something he had never felt from Malfoy personally, but now... this was fucking bliss.
For him to completely miss the signature of such an abundance of magic, there must have been several seriously complicated charms ensuring that a passerby would think that this room was just one of a long line of knobs and door frames. Harry knew that he should not go in; whatever those wards had been protecting had to be important or special in some way to the pureblood heir. He knew he should respect other people's belongings and boundaries.
He knew he shouldn't; but being Harry Potter, he did.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
Harry could not remember the last time he really heard the blond laugh. It must have been the time they used that hippogriff feather in bed... but that did not count. No, it had been ages since he heard that tremble in Malfoy's voice-that lightheartedness that the blond hid behind a thick facade of indifference. Harry could barely remember what a laugh from the other man sounded like.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-
For long he had sat there, the brunet had no clue although it could not have been long. Barely ten minutes, if even that.
But for those few moments, Harry felt at peace.
The color scheme was subtle yet elegant: a dark bordeaux red with maroon accents and wide black trimmings. Some kind of magical wood that Harry failed to recognize planked the floor. A large, proud fireplace stood directly opposite the door, and a comfy-looking couch and two chairs facing toward the center of the room formed a cozy sitting area that Harry would have been more than happy to be part of after a long day of Auror work. Curious stands, plaques, hooks and cases cluttered the room's walls and floorspace. Halos of dust formed shapes of what these containers previously held, but after spending a moment trying to figure out what they could have been used for, Harry gave up. If if he did not know right away, it was not worth his time to guess what Malfoy's intention for this room was.
Well, all of that would have led to one very handsome (albeit disappointedly empty) space.
What made this room amazing was the very wards that first washed over him. He wanted to absorb it into his skin; shallow it and take it into his body. It was not lust that caused these queer tendrils of pleasure, but honest affection. Harry could honestly say that it had been years since such an innocent sensation tingled within him-not since he left Ginny. But even with her, there was always the distance between them that Harry painstakingly discovered was him not being attracted to the Weasley girl-or any woman, for that matter. No.
There was no distance here. Only comfort. Only warmth.
He halfheartedly reminded himself that the caster had been Draco Malfoy: Law Defender, pureblood heir, fuck buddy. There was nothing real between them-except a multitude of trysts-and Harry was more than happy to keep it that way.
Still... this room was addicting.
Harry-his eyes heavy despite what he thought earlier-was sinking further into the splendid couch when the door from which he entered the queer, red room burst open. Malfoy stood at the threshold panting, his cheeks flush with what Harry could only presume was rage and fatigue. (Had the young heir been running?)
“What are you doing, Harry?” Malfoy sneered the brunet's given name as if a dark arts curse, making Harry flinch: it had been many months since he had heard his name from the blond, and to have it said in such a context was horrid indeed.
Biting the tip of his tongue, Harry used the nonchalant tone of a trained Auror to say, “I needed a fireplace, so Joffi led me here: the closest one to the bathing chambers with Floo access.”
The mention of the young House Elf seemed to appease Malfoy somewhat, but he still hissed as he asked, “Fine. But why are you still here?”
Harry blushed, standing. “This is such a pleasant little room. I thought I would-”
“You have no permission to be here. Get out, Potter,” Malfoy interrupted as he advanced on Harry and grabbed the man by the sleeve at his elbow. The Auror was yanked across the room to the fireplace, which burst into flame as the blond jabbed his wand toward it. “12 Grimmauld Place!”
And with that, Harry was thrown into the hungry flames.
-ooo0oo0o0oo0ooo-