Hard Time, Chapter 22
Title: Hard Time Ch. 22/?
Author: Juwel (juweldom@yahoo.com)
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Rating: Adult (NC-17)
Catetories: romance, hurt/comfort, angst
Warnings: SPOILERS for DH, compliant with DH except for the epilogue. Warnings for rape (early chapters), submission and domination, and suicidal tendencies. Warning this chapter: cutting, blood play, wondering if either of the boys are sane.
Archive: just ask.
Disclaimer: The characters in this fic are the property of J.K. Rowling and not mine, sadly. That doesn't seem to have stopped anyone from using them in truly sick and demented ways. No money is being made from this.
Summary: The war is over, and the Death Eaters must do hard time in Azkaban. Draco must vanquish his worst enemy; his own fear.
Notes: I said I'd post this on Thursday, but I can't wait that long. Yes, I'm nervous about the reactions to this. Oh the joys of fanfiction writing!! *ducks*
3605 words this chapter
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
******
The instant Harry's hands were released, he pressed one hand to the burn, hissing and breathing hard. It must be really painful, Draco thought to himself, ashamed and horrified, hating himself with as much passion as he'd hated Harry just moments ago. "I'm sorry - I don't know what came over me … perhaps we should take you to St. Mungo's …" and then he couldn't go on, because he could only imagine the questions they'd ask at the hospital, and if they learned that the first thing Draco Malfoy did once he had his wand back was to burn his saviour and the wizarding world's favourite, his case was lost. He was lost. "Harry, - I -" Words just didn't seem up to the task. Draco’s figure crumpled and he started to tremble.
"Shh-shh," Harry murmured, putting his other hand on Draco's shoulder and sitting up. He looked down at the mark on his chest, staring at it. "Kreacher," Harry said calmly. "Bring me some ice."
Draco was light-headed, breathing in gulps and worried that he might be sick, which wouldn't improve the situation at all. "I really am sorry," he offered uselessly in a small voice, as the house elf appeared besides Harry with a little bag of ice for him to press on the enflamed skin. The instant Kreacher was gone, Draco couldn't help it; he started crying. "I was so angry. I don't even know why I was so angry."
"You have plenty of reasons to be angry," Harry said quietly, frowning as the icepack did its work. Sighing, he set the bag aside and pulled Draco into his arms. "It's not entirely your fault."
"Potter … Harry … I just bloody scarred you. Am I completely insane?" Draco said, brokenly. And, ironically, it would only show Harry just why Draco couldn't be trusted; that he was just as messed up now as he'd been at St. Mungo's. He sniffed, nose gone all stuffy with tears, and hating the fact that his emotions seemed to be on a rampage of late.
Harry sighed with exasperation. "Draco, I let you scar me. Even bound, I could have stopped you. All I had to do was call Kreacher. I didn't want to."
"But why?" Draco's head was resting on Harry's shoulder, which he had to admit was rather convenient, because it meant his tears simply rolled off his cheeks into Harry's hair. He seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time lately crying in Harry's arms.
"It would be a scar worth getting. It certainly makes me think of a lot nicer things than the other ones." Harry gave a sad twist of his mouth that Draco supposed was a smile, but there was too much pain in it for it to be real. It tore at Draco's heart. Harry turned his hand over to show Draco the words still scarred there, I must not tell lies, and turned it back to show another scar on his forearm. "Voldemort gave me that one, taking my blood to come back to life." And of course there was the lightning scar. "I don't mind the scar. It means I won't forget this."
For a moment, Draco was sure his heart had stopped. He can't have meant it that way, he angrily told himself. But incredibly, it seemed Harry was not going to drag him back to St. Mungo's and shove him off onto the nearest Healer. He likes the scar. I can't believe it. Potter was truly insane. They were a matched pair.
He still felt incredibly guilty, however. It could have been done in the right atmosphere, but he had done it in anger. He'd done it like Pucey had marked him. Everything still felt wrong. "I should have asked you first." Harry chuckled, nodding, and Draco wanted to slap him. He didn't have to look so cheerful about it.
Draco let his hand then to trail down to feel his own scars, the one Harry had given him by accident, and Pucey's letter 'P'. He swallowed bitterly. It still felt like there was a residue on him, something that couldn't be seen or touched, but it was there. Coating him in filth. "I wish you could replace this mark." With one of your own, Draco thought, but he didn't dare to voice it aloud.
Harry looked at the carved letter and rubbed his thumb over it, gently, reverently almost. "I can't heal it. I don't think it would be a good idea to burn over the scar tissue. But I could re-cut it. If you wanted."
They were decidedly both mad, Draco decided. He smiled, because the idea sounded not only sane, but desirable. Very desirable. He could wear Harry's mark, and Harry could wear his. Draco didn't want to think about the ramifications of that. "I would like that. Please." He looked cautiously up at Harry, aware that he'd been demanding a great deal lately.
Harry swallowed, nodding. "Let me get a knife and a towel. You're certain about this? The last thing I want to do is … I don't want to make things worse, Draco. I want you better."
Draco nodded shortly, moving aside so that Harry could get out of bed to get the needed items. "I'm certain. I'm definitely certain. I don't want to think of him again." I'd much rather think of you. Everything was still feeling murky and uncertain. But looking at Harry's face as he returned to the bed, the strange intensity, the mixture of concern and worry and, could it be, care? Draco began to feel the stirrings of hope.
"All right, lie down on your back there," Harry instructed, taking his wand to perform cleaning spells on both of them. Draco did so, stretching out so that he was comfortable. Harry paused for a moment, staring at him with a peculiar look on his face. They were both nude, of course, but that was hardly new.
"What?" Draco asked.
Harry shook his head, looking awe-struck. "You're gorgeous, " he said. “You know that, right?"
Draco flushed with praise, and perhaps, for the first time since he'd been with Blaise, he actually felt beautiful. "I - thank you," he stammered, at a loss of words. Harry knelt beside him and unsheathed a small hunting knife. Draco felt an unexpected thrill go through him.
"Are you ready?" Harry looked a little pale, but resolute, and his hand was steady. This was fortunate; Draco had no desire to yet earn them a trip to the hospital. He nodded, blowing out a breath, and couldn't help smirking when Harry also blew out a breath. Lying quietly as Harry brought the blade closer, Draco felt calm, despite the thrill of anticipation coursing steadily through him. One scar, whose meaning would be changed. He still had the faint scars on his wrists; pity that. But this was the worst among all his marks.
"Try to make it a bit more rounded at least," Draco said in a low voice as Harry pressed in, biting his lip as the blade cut into skin, and blood welled up from the cut. Draco winced, and held the towel so that any drips wouldn't reach the bed. "You're going to have to go a little deeper that that, Harry. Pucey did."
"I'm really going to have to kill him," Harry said in a strange flat voice. He bit his lip in concentration and cut a little deeper, and then rounded out the letter, so that it didn't look so much like goblin runes carved into an oak tree. Draco nodded with approval as Harry added a little flourish at the bottom, then pressed the towel against it to soak up the blood. Harry shook his head; he looked flushed now, and his body was betraying him; he'd enjoyed that. That would have earned him a scathing remark, except that Draco was experiencing a similar reaction. "Ron would say we're mental," Harry said, trying to cover his embarrassment.
"Ron's mental. We're just very messed up," Draco said wryly, as Harry put away the knife and lay down next to him. Checking the cut, Draco saw that it did indeed look better. Merlin, he'd really wanted that. Yes, very, very messed up. And he wanted one thing more. "Harry," he started to ask, but Harry was staring at him in that peculiar fashion again. "Harry? What is it?"
Harry licked his lips. His eyes were fixed on the cut, which was still bleeding a bit with fat droplets of blood. "I don't want to scare you. But I'm seriously having the urge to lick that."
Draco felt his nipples go hard. "Go ahead." Harry bent his head, eyes green fire, mouth open to reveal the tip of a pink tongue as he grazed his cheek along Draco's stomach. It wasn't like Pucey at all; Pucey had demanded, taking. Harry, by his actions, asked, adored. He licked at a little drop of blood like a cat licking cream, face suffused with pleasure. Draco moaned. Harry licked harder, and then he was sucking, moving his mouth over the wound and then beyond, finding a nipple to tease and worship.
Harry had learned quite a lot in a brief time, Draco found himself thinking as the hazy languor of desire swept over him, making his cock pulse with excitement and his skin burn with need. Harry moved to the other nipple and Draco nodded, reaching to tangle his fingers in Harry's hair. "Harry," he said again, dredging up the courage to continue. "I need you to fix something else. I want you to take me."
"Take you where?" Harry murmured, half-distracted by licking Draco's stomach.
He would not roll his eyes. He would not, Draco intoned with his lips soundlessly. "Take me. Top me. Fuck me. Here in this bed." To make things perfectly clear.
Harry's eyes flared with hunger. "You're sure it's all right?" There was a tension in his body, a sign that he was struggling to hold back, behave himself. Draco wondered if it had been there before, hidden under the surface the prior times he'd taken Harry's body.
Draco's chest burned from the cut, but it was a wholesome burn, a healing one. He wanted to erase all memory of Pucey's touch. "I'm positive." Scared perhaps, but positive. If he trusted Harry hovering over him with a knife, he trusted Harry with anything. It was time to give in to his heart's yearning.
No reply from Harry, other than the dip of his head forward, as he captured Draco's mouth in a searing kiss, a kiss that broached no argument, taking instant command of the situation. Draco sucked on Harry's tongue, and that only seemed to spur him on more, a soft, low growl resonating in Harry’s throat as their bodies pressed together and the kisses went on and on. He finally let Draco breathe a bit, mouth moving on to Draco's jaw, and then to his ear, tugging gently at it, teeth worrying at the skin. It sent shivers all down Draco's spine. Harry turned Draco's throat into a feast, nibbling, sucking, and leaving scarcely a centimetre unchristened. Harry's hands were busy adjusting Draco's legs, roaming over his skin, exploring.
As Harry continued, Draco had to revise his nomenclature. This wasn't taking, or topping, or even fucking. Seduction might be a term he'd use, or, perhaps, body worship. If he were a girl, he might have even called it lovemaking. Harry moved down his body, nibbling, licking, kissing, hands caressing Draco's thighs, his arsecheeks, and finally his cock, one hand slowly stroking him as the other played with his balls. Draco was breathing heavily, all blood having decided to congregate in his groin. Harry dragged a finger across Draco's arsehole and it twitched in response, and, for the first time perhaps ever, Draco felt eager to be filled. Even Blaise hadn't made him feel like this.
Harry's mouth brushed over the head of Draco's cock, lips only, and then with the flat of his tongue, licking him like the most delicious ice cream cone. Draco thought Harry would begin sucking then, but instead he moved his mouth further down the shaft, sucking on the pulsing vein, and then took one, and then the other ball into his mouth, rolling them with his tongue and making Draco claw the sheets in sheer frustration. "Harry …" Draco said. He didn't want to beg. But he was being driven to it.
For a moment, Harry seemed to hesitate, and Draco wondered if he'd misunderstood, if he thought Draco was trying to tell him to stop. Then Draco felt the unmistakable warm wetness of a tongue against his hole, and he realised the cause of Harry's hesitation; he'd never done that before. Draco let out a whine. "Harry, just fuck me already!"
"And you say I talk too much," Harry said with amusement. He was grinning, reaching over for the lube. "I had to try it. And I'm going to try it more." He leaned back down, warm hair tickling Draco's thighs, his breath wafting over Draco's balls, and then the insistent tongue was back, probing deeper this time. Draco thought he might die right there.
Finally, Harry lubed up a finger and slid it inside. Draco almost expected his body to reject it somehow, but apparently all of Harry's teasing was working; all he wanted right now was to be fucked. There was no room in his brain for thoughts of the past, not with all the stimulation, not with Harry tending to his needs so attentively. Harry moved his mouth back to Draco's cock, licking and then swallowing him as he pushed his finger deeper, coating his hole with plenty of lube. A bit more than strictly needed, Draco would have told him, but at the moment, it was probably for the best. Harry worked a second finger, and there was just a bit of pain at the stretch, which made Draco's heart beat faster in fear and anticipation. Just Harry, he told himself, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, focusing on the feel of Harry's mouth, because no one would have ever done it that way in Azkaban. Just Harry. Want Harry. He made it a mantra, keeping his eyes open so that he could see that it was true, running his fingers through strands of Harry's dark hair.
Harry worked in a third finger. Draco was clenching; he tried very hard not to, but his body wouldn't listen.
"Easy, Draco. Just let it happen," Harry said in a low voice. He worked his fingers very slowly in and out, sucking Draco's length deep, and then focusing on the head tonguing his slit. Draco swallowed hard; his balls were drawn tight up against his body, nerves aflame. He wanted this so badly.
Eventually the clenching eased. Harry pulled out his fingers, and slicked himself up. "We're just going to take our time, all right?" He looked at Draco for confirmation, and Draco nodded firmly. It was going to be fine. He trusted Harry.
Harry hovered over Draco, rubbing the head of his cock against Draco's entrance and staring into his eyes, doing just as he'd said, slowly working things forward. The newest thought assaulting Draco was that Harry was thicker than he was, and that -, but that wasn't going to matter, he told himself. There was nothing to be afraid of. Part of him wanted Harry to just do it, just shove into him and be done with it. Of course that was daft.
There was resistance in taking the widest part of the glans, and then the head was in, and Harry was making minute thrusts, each thrust sending him just a little deeper. He stroked Draco leisurely, leaning in to kiss him slowly, gently. Each action of his was almost a perfect opposite to the actions of those who had simply taken. For some reason Draco found himself weeping silently, even as he kissed back hungrily, clutching Harry ever closer to him.
Somewhere between the fear and the need and the other emotions swirling through Draco, the thrusts became deeper, and pleasure began to overtake all over sensations. Harry breathed in soft grunts, eyes gone hazy and soft. Draco shuddered, watching Harry’s face as he moved above him, finally letting himself enjoy the invasion, welcoming it, and imagining it erasing all traces of Pucey, and all remnants of the filth from him. "Close," Harry whispered and Draco nodded. Harry began stroking Draco's cock faster, thrusting in time, balls slapping up against Draco's arse.
Draco just let the orgasm steal over him, seizing him up in its grasp and making him cry out as his semen splashed hot between them, pleasure making his spine arch as Harry finally let go and begun to thrust roughly into him, groaning as his climax hit him as well. Harry pumped in hard several more times, coming deep inside, and then he shakily pulled out and collapsed beside Draco, panting. He offered Draco an arm, which immediately Draco ducked into, letting Harry pull him down against his chest. Now this felt right.
Harry murmured a quiet cleaning spell for the two of them, and pulled the covers up. Draco was already burrowed deep under the covers, curled up against Harry’s form and ready to drift off to sleep, when he heard Harry's whisper close to his ear. "Draco?"
"Mm," Draco said, or rather grunted. He was quite content to let the glow of after sex lull him right into unconsciousness.
"It was good for you, right?"
It really took a supreme effort of will not to return a snarky remark like 'whatever bloody gave you that idea?' But Draco could hear the uncertainty in Harry's voice, and he had to remind himself that it had been Harry's first time topping. He smiled, and snuggled in closer. "Bloody perfect," he said instead.
"Good. Night," Harry said. Something in his voice hinted that he might say more, but after several moments, he was still silent, and Draco suspected that he might have finally fallen asleep.
"Night," Draco whispered back. Want to be yours, part of him wanted to add. But he, too, stayed silent.
They slept.
***
Chapter Twenty-three
***
Author: Juwel (juweldom@yahoo.com)
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Rating: Adult (NC-17)
Catetories: romance, hurt/comfort, angst
Warnings: SPOILERS for DH, compliant with DH except for the epilogue. Warnings for rape (early chapters), submission and domination, and suicidal tendencies. Warning this chapter: cutting, blood play, wondering if either of the boys are sane.
Archive: just ask.
Disclaimer: The characters in this fic are the property of J.K. Rowling and not mine, sadly. That doesn't seem to have stopped anyone from using them in truly sick and demented ways. No money is being made from this.
Summary: The war is over, and the Death Eaters must do hard time in Azkaban. Draco must vanquish his worst enemy; his own fear.
Notes: I said I'd post this on Thursday, but I can't wait that long. Yes, I'm nervous about the reactions to this. Oh the joys of fanfiction writing!! *ducks*
3605 words this chapter
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
******
The instant Harry's hands were released, he pressed one hand to the burn, hissing and breathing hard. It must be really painful, Draco thought to himself, ashamed and horrified, hating himself with as much passion as he'd hated Harry just moments ago. "I'm sorry - I don't know what came over me … perhaps we should take you to St. Mungo's …" and then he couldn't go on, because he could only imagine the questions they'd ask at the hospital, and if they learned that the first thing Draco Malfoy did once he had his wand back was to burn his saviour and the wizarding world's favourite, his case was lost. He was lost. "Harry, - I -" Words just didn't seem up to the task. Draco’s figure crumpled and he started to tremble.
"Shh-shh," Harry murmured, putting his other hand on Draco's shoulder and sitting up. He looked down at the mark on his chest, staring at it. "Kreacher," Harry said calmly. "Bring me some ice."
Draco was light-headed, breathing in gulps and worried that he might be sick, which wouldn't improve the situation at all. "I really am sorry," he offered uselessly in a small voice, as the house elf appeared besides Harry with a little bag of ice for him to press on the enflamed skin. The instant Kreacher was gone, Draco couldn't help it; he started crying. "I was so angry. I don't even know why I was so angry."
"You have plenty of reasons to be angry," Harry said quietly, frowning as the icepack did its work. Sighing, he set the bag aside and pulled Draco into his arms. "It's not entirely your fault."
"Potter … Harry … I just bloody scarred you. Am I completely insane?" Draco said, brokenly. And, ironically, it would only show Harry just why Draco couldn't be trusted; that he was just as messed up now as he'd been at St. Mungo's. He sniffed, nose gone all stuffy with tears, and hating the fact that his emotions seemed to be on a rampage of late.
Harry sighed with exasperation. "Draco, I let you scar me. Even bound, I could have stopped you. All I had to do was call Kreacher. I didn't want to."
"But why?" Draco's head was resting on Harry's shoulder, which he had to admit was rather convenient, because it meant his tears simply rolled off his cheeks into Harry's hair. He seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time lately crying in Harry's arms.
"It would be a scar worth getting. It certainly makes me think of a lot nicer things than the other ones." Harry gave a sad twist of his mouth that Draco supposed was a smile, but there was too much pain in it for it to be real. It tore at Draco's heart. Harry turned his hand over to show Draco the words still scarred there, I must not tell lies, and turned it back to show another scar on his forearm. "Voldemort gave me that one, taking my blood to come back to life." And of course there was the lightning scar. "I don't mind the scar. It means I won't forget this."
For a moment, Draco was sure his heart had stopped. He can't have meant it that way, he angrily told himself. But incredibly, it seemed Harry was not going to drag him back to St. Mungo's and shove him off onto the nearest Healer. He likes the scar. I can't believe it. Potter was truly insane. They were a matched pair.
He still felt incredibly guilty, however. It could have been done in the right atmosphere, but he had done it in anger. He'd done it like Pucey had marked him. Everything still felt wrong. "I should have asked you first." Harry chuckled, nodding, and Draco wanted to slap him. He didn't have to look so cheerful about it.
Draco let his hand then to trail down to feel his own scars, the one Harry had given him by accident, and Pucey's letter 'P'. He swallowed bitterly. It still felt like there was a residue on him, something that couldn't be seen or touched, but it was there. Coating him in filth. "I wish you could replace this mark." With one of your own, Draco thought, but he didn't dare to voice it aloud.
Harry looked at the carved letter and rubbed his thumb over it, gently, reverently almost. "I can't heal it. I don't think it would be a good idea to burn over the scar tissue. But I could re-cut it. If you wanted."
They were decidedly both mad, Draco decided. He smiled, because the idea sounded not only sane, but desirable. Very desirable. He could wear Harry's mark, and Harry could wear his. Draco didn't want to think about the ramifications of that. "I would like that. Please." He looked cautiously up at Harry, aware that he'd been demanding a great deal lately.
Harry swallowed, nodding. "Let me get a knife and a towel. You're certain about this? The last thing I want to do is … I don't want to make things worse, Draco. I want you better."
Draco nodded shortly, moving aside so that Harry could get out of bed to get the needed items. "I'm certain. I'm definitely certain. I don't want to think of him again." I'd much rather think of you. Everything was still feeling murky and uncertain. But looking at Harry's face as he returned to the bed, the strange intensity, the mixture of concern and worry and, could it be, care? Draco began to feel the stirrings of hope.
"All right, lie down on your back there," Harry instructed, taking his wand to perform cleaning spells on both of them. Draco did so, stretching out so that he was comfortable. Harry paused for a moment, staring at him with a peculiar look on his face. They were both nude, of course, but that was hardly new.
"What?" Draco asked.
Harry shook his head, looking awe-struck. "You're gorgeous, " he said. “You know that, right?"
Draco flushed with praise, and perhaps, for the first time since he'd been with Blaise, he actually felt beautiful. "I - thank you," he stammered, at a loss of words. Harry knelt beside him and unsheathed a small hunting knife. Draco felt an unexpected thrill go through him.
"Are you ready?" Harry looked a little pale, but resolute, and his hand was steady. This was fortunate; Draco had no desire to yet earn them a trip to the hospital. He nodded, blowing out a breath, and couldn't help smirking when Harry also blew out a breath. Lying quietly as Harry brought the blade closer, Draco felt calm, despite the thrill of anticipation coursing steadily through him. One scar, whose meaning would be changed. He still had the faint scars on his wrists; pity that. But this was the worst among all his marks.
"Try to make it a bit more rounded at least," Draco said in a low voice as Harry pressed in, biting his lip as the blade cut into skin, and blood welled up from the cut. Draco winced, and held the towel so that any drips wouldn't reach the bed. "You're going to have to go a little deeper that that, Harry. Pucey did."
"I'm really going to have to kill him," Harry said in a strange flat voice. He bit his lip in concentration and cut a little deeper, and then rounded out the letter, so that it didn't look so much like goblin runes carved into an oak tree. Draco nodded with approval as Harry added a little flourish at the bottom, then pressed the towel against it to soak up the blood. Harry shook his head; he looked flushed now, and his body was betraying him; he'd enjoyed that. That would have earned him a scathing remark, except that Draco was experiencing a similar reaction. "Ron would say we're mental," Harry said, trying to cover his embarrassment.
"Ron's mental. We're just very messed up," Draco said wryly, as Harry put away the knife and lay down next to him. Checking the cut, Draco saw that it did indeed look better. Merlin, he'd really wanted that. Yes, very, very messed up. And he wanted one thing more. "Harry," he started to ask, but Harry was staring at him in that peculiar fashion again. "Harry? What is it?"
Harry licked his lips. His eyes were fixed on the cut, which was still bleeding a bit with fat droplets of blood. "I don't want to scare you. But I'm seriously having the urge to lick that."
Draco felt his nipples go hard. "Go ahead." Harry bent his head, eyes green fire, mouth open to reveal the tip of a pink tongue as he grazed his cheek along Draco's stomach. It wasn't like Pucey at all; Pucey had demanded, taking. Harry, by his actions, asked, adored. He licked at a little drop of blood like a cat licking cream, face suffused with pleasure. Draco moaned. Harry licked harder, and then he was sucking, moving his mouth over the wound and then beyond, finding a nipple to tease and worship.
Harry had learned quite a lot in a brief time, Draco found himself thinking as the hazy languor of desire swept over him, making his cock pulse with excitement and his skin burn with need. Harry moved to the other nipple and Draco nodded, reaching to tangle his fingers in Harry's hair. "Harry," he said again, dredging up the courage to continue. "I need you to fix something else. I want you to take me."
"Take you where?" Harry murmured, half-distracted by licking Draco's stomach.
He would not roll his eyes. He would not, Draco intoned with his lips soundlessly. "Take me. Top me. Fuck me. Here in this bed." To make things perfectly clear.
Harry's eyes flared with hunger. "You're sure it's all right?" There was a tension in his body, a sign that he was struggling to hold back, behave himself. Draco wondered if it had been there before, hidden under the surface the prior times he'd taken Harry's body.
Draco's chest burned from the cut, but it was a wholesome burn, a healing one. He wanted to erase all memory of Pucey's touch. "I'm positive." Scared perhaps, but positive. If he trusted Harry hovering over him with a knife, he trusted Harry with anything. It was time to give in to his heart's yearning.
No reply from Harry, other than the dip of his head forward, as he captured Draco's mouth in a searing kiss, a kiss that broached no argument, taking instant command of the situation. Draco sucked on Harry's tongue, and that only seemed to spur him on more, a soft, low growl resonating in Harry’s throat as their bodies pressed together and the kisses went on and on. He finally let Draco breathe a bit, mouth moving on to Draco's jaw, and then to his ear, tugging gently at it, teeth worrying at the skin. It sent shivers all down Draco's spine. Harry turned Draco's throat into a feast, nibbling, sucking, and leaving scarcely a centimetre unchristened. Harry's hands were busy adjusting Draco's legs, roaming over his skin, exploring.
As Harry continued, Draco had to revise his nomenclature. This wasn't taking, or topping, or even fucking. Seduction might be a term he'd use, or, perhaps, body worship. If he were a girl, he might have even called it lovemaking. Harry moved down his body, nibbling, licking, kissing, hands caressing Draco's thighs, his arsecheeks, and finally his cock, one hand slowly stroking him as the other played with his balls. Draco was breathing heavily, all blood having decided to congregate in his groin. Harry dragged a finger across Draco's arsehole and it twitched in response, and, for the first time perhaps ever, Draco felt eager to be filled. Even Blaise hadn't made him feel like this.
Harry's mouth brushed over the head of Draco's cock, lips only, and then with the flat of his tongue, licking him like the most delicious ice cream cone. Draco thought Harry would begin sucking then, but instead he moved his mouth further down the shaft, sucking on the pulsing vein, and then took one, and then the other ball into his mouth, rolling them with his tongue and making Draco claw the sheets in sheer frustration. "Harry …" Draco said. He didn't want to beg. But he was being driven to it.
For a moment, Harry seemed to hesitate, and Draco wondered if he'd misunderstood, if he thought Draco was trying to tell him to stop. Then Draco felt the unmistakable warm wetness of a tongue against his hole, and he realised the cause of Harry's hesitation; he'd never done that before. Draco let out a whine. "Harry, just fuck me already!"
"And you say I talk too much," Harry said with amusement. He was grinning, reaching over for the lube. "I had to try it. And I'm going to try it more." He leaned back down, warm hair tickling Draco's thighs, his breath wafting over Draco's balls, and then the insistent tongue was back, probing deeper this time. Draco thought he might die right there.
Finally, Harry lubed up a finger and slid it inside. Draco almost expected his body to reject it somehow, but apparently all of Harry's teasing was working; all he wanted right now was to be fucked. There was no room in his brain for thoughts of the past, not with all the stimulation, not with Harry tending to his needs so attentively. Harry moved his mouth back to Draco's cock, licking and then swallowing him as he pushed his finger deeper, coating his hole with plenty of lube. A bit more than strictly needed, Draco would have told him, but at the moment, it was probably for the best. Harry worked a second finger, and there was just a bit of pain at the stretch, which made Draco's heart beat faster in fear and anticipation. Just Harry, he told himself, trying to breathe slowly and deeply, focusing on the feel of Harry's mouth, because no one would have ever done it that way in Azkaban. Just Harry. Want Harry. He made it a mantra, keeping his eyes open so that he could see that it was true, running his fingers through strands of Harry's dark hair.
Harry worked in a third finger. Draco was clenching; he tried very hard not to, but his body wouldn't listen.
"Easy, Draco. Just let it happen," Harry said in a low voice. He worked his fingers very slowly in and out, sucking Draco's length deep, and then focusing on the head tonguing his slit. Draco swallowed hard; his balls were drawn tight up against his body, nerves aflame. He wanted this so badly.
Eventually the clenching eased. Harry pulled out his fingers, and slicked himself up. "We're just going to take our time, all right?" He looked at Draco for confirmation, and Draco nodded firmly. It was going to be fine. He trusted Harry.
Harry hovered over Draco, rubbing the head of his cock against Draco's entrance and staring into his eyes, doing just as he'd said, slowly working things forward. The newest thought assaulting Draco was that Harry was thicker than he was, and that -, but that wasn't going to matter, he told himself. There was nothing to be afraid of. Part of him wanted Harry to just do it, just shove into him and be done with it. Of course that was daft.
There was resistance in taking the widest part of the glans, and then the head was in, and Harry was making minute thrusts, each thrust sending him just a little deeper. He stroked Draco leisurely, leaning in to kiss him slowly, gently. Each action of his was almost a perfect opposite to the actions of those who had simply taken. For some reason Draco found himself weeping silently, even as he kissed back hungrily, clutching Harry ever closer to him.
Somewhere between the fear and the need and the other emotions swirling through Draco, the thrusts became deeper, and pleasure began to overtake all over sensations. Harry breathed in soft grunts, eyes gone hazy and soft. Draco shuddered, watching Harry’s face as he moved above him, finally letting himself enjoy the invasion, welcoming it, and imagining it erasing all traces of Pucey, and all remnants of the filth from him. "Close," Harry whispered and Draco nodded. Harry began stroking Draco's cock faster, thrusting in time, balls slapping up against Draco's arse.
Draco just let the orgasm steal over him, seizing him up in its grasp and making him cry out as his semen splashed hot between them, pleasure making his spine arch as Harry finally let go and begun to thrust roughly into him, groaning as his climax hit him as well. Harry pumped in hard several more times, coming deep inside, and then he shakily pulled out and collapsed beside Draco, panting. He offered Draco an arm, which immediately Draco ducked into, letting Harry pull him down against his chest. Now this felt right.
Harry murmured a quiet cleaning spell for the two of them, and pulled the covers up. Draco was already burrowed deep under the covers, curled up against Harry’s form and ready to drift off to sleep, when he heard Harry's whisper close to his ear. "Draco?"
"Mm," Draco said, or rather grunted. He was quite content to let the glow of after sex lull him right into unconsciousness.
"It was good for you, right?"
It really took a supreme effort of will not to return a snarky remark like 'whatever bloody gave you that idea?' But Draco could hear the uncertainty in Harry's voice, and he had to remind himself that it had been Harry's first time topping. He smiled, and snuggled in closer. "Bloody perfect," he said instead.
"Good. Night," Harry said. Something in his voice hinted that he might say more, but after several moments, he was still silent, and Draco suspected that he might have finally fallen asleep.
"Night," Draco whispered back. Want to be yours, part of him wanted to add. But he, too, stayed silent.
They slept.
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Chapter Twenty-three
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