Oh, You Pretty Things
Title: Oh, You Pretty Things
Summary: "I think I love you."
Rating: NC-17
Length: 894
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning: RIMMING
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I profit from this.
Author's note: OMG I WROTE SOMETHING. HAPPY NEW YEAR. I'M BACK. I THINK. I'M SORRY THIS SUCKS. I TRIED TO BE FLUFFY. FAILED.
Albus’ eyes are wide and impossibly green, his pale face alight with wonder. Beside him, Scorpius smirks with an amicable air of amusement: a trait handed down from his father that he mimics with all the pride of an adoring son. But his own smirk is lazy; neutral as milk; lacking the edge of bitterness and insecurity and glued-togetherness of his father’s.
He’s a happy, beautiful boy. He’s not jaded and raw-boned and world-weary. He’s nothing like his father, and even less like his father’s father, and at the end of the day, he’s the one thing that makes Draco Malfoy feel like he’s done something right.
The endless Wiltshire estate unfolds before the two boys: manicured blades of green, green grass touch the clear blue sky. When Scorpius had said that there was a Quidditch pitch at his home, Albus hadn’t been expecting a pitch to rival Hogwarts’, nor had he expected the magnificent manor house situated in the midst of beautiful gardens and winding labyrinths.
“Ready to fly?” Scorpius’ voice breaks Albus’ awe-inspired vow of silence.
Albus’ fingers tighten around his broom, blood rushing in his veins as he imagines unrestrained air against his face, whipping at his hair. He’d inherited his father’s love of flying; thrives on the hint of danger and the absolute freedom. The sky for Albus represents absolute freedom.
He nods, slow but eager.
And they’re off, flying towards the horizon.
From the master bedroom, Draco has the perfect view of the Quidditch pitch, and his heart feels as though it’s about to burst as he watches Scorpius and Albus Potter dart across the sky. From afar, they look just like he and Harry did all those years ago. How they would’ve looked had animosity not poisoned their each and every encounter.
In a way, he lives vicariously through his son; his son who is smarter than he ever was and ever will be. Scorpius is his second chance.
“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Harry’s breath is hot against the nape of his neck, his hands warm and comforting as they slip beneath the waist of Draco’s trousers and settle on his bony hips.
Draco hums his acquiescence, lazy and contented.
Harry tucks his chin in the crook of Draco’s neck, enjoying the clean, masculine smell of skin and long pale hair that’s been tossed to one side. Harry had been the one to place it there with careful fingers so that he could nip it with perfect, gentle teeth.
“That could’ve been us, you know,” Draco says softly and Harry almost doesn’t know what Draco’s talking about because he’s distracted by Draco’s warmth and beauty.
He smiles as he looks out the window at their sons. “It’s us now. That’s all that matters.”
“I suppose.”
Harry notes the lack of confidence in Draco’s statement. He knows that in the back of Draco’s mind, he’s always questioning whether Harry truly forgives him or not. It drives Harry crazy; he doesn’t know how to fix it. Sometimes he thinks he has, but then moments like this take place and he’s back where he’d started.
He gently turns Draco to face him, kissing his wide, pink mouth like a starving man.
“Need you,” he whispers into Draco’s sharp cheekbone.
They tumble into bed, tearing at each other’s clothes until they’re bare. Harry pushes Draco’s thighs apart, licking at his half-hard cock and immersing himself in those breathy, little moans.
He startles Draco when he pushes Draco’s gangly legs higher, displaying the smooth whiteness of his arse and the tight, crinkled skin of his anus-just as pink and inviting as his lips.
Harry’s never done this before, but he wants to do it with Draco more than he’s wanted anything else.
Draco peers down at him between spread, thin thighs. “What are you doing?”
“Just relax,” he answers.
And then he laps at Draco’s hole, feeling every little fold of flesh. He tastes of musk and sex and Harry can’t stop himself from pushing his tongue in as far as it will go.
“Fuck!” Draco exclaims, pulling his legs up even higher. He almost sounds like he’s sobbing.
Harry doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, and it’s impossibly awkward. His nose bumps into Draco’s arse and prevents his tongue from going as deep as he’d like, but he makes up for it with his enthusiasm, sucking on the rim as he fucks Draco with his tongue, eating him out for all he’s worth.
He can tell Draco is close by the way his hole clenches tight around Harry’s tongue as he moans Harry’s name over and over. He’s never seen Draco quite this turned on, and it makes his blood burn hot in his veins.
He pulls his tongue out, ignoring Draco’s whinge, only to swallow his throbbing cock down as he tugged his own cock hard.
Neither of them last long.
Harry collapses beside Draco, kissing his neck softly; unsure that Draco will want to kiss him after he’s had his tongue in his arse.
They lie there quietly, listening to the sound of each other’s beating hearts and shallow breaths.
Surrounded by photographs of Scorpius and Astoria, Draco says, “I think I love you.”
Harry wishes he didn’t feel the same way as sunlight catches the gold band around his finger, causing it to glint, blinding and purposeful.
Summary: "I think I love you."
Rating: NC-17
Length: 894
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warning: RIMMING
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I profit from this.
Author's note: OMG I WROTE SOMETHING. HAPPY NEW YEAR. I'M BACK. I THINK. I'M SORRY THIS SUCKS. I TRIED TO BE FLUFFY. FAILED.
Albus’ eyes are wide and impossibly green, his pale face alight with wonder. Beside him, Scorpius smirks with an amicable air of amusement: a trait handed down from his father that he mimics with all the pride of an adoring son. But his own smirk is lazy; neutral as milk; lacking the edge of bitterness and insecurity and glued-togetherness of his father’s.
He’s a happy, beautiful boy. He’s not jaded and raw-boned and world-weary. He’s nothing like his father, and even less like his father’s father, and at the end of the day, he’s the one thing that makes Draco Malfoy feel like he’s done something right.
The endless Wiltshire estate unfolds before the two boys: manicured blades of green, green grass touch the clear blue sky. When Scorpius had said that there was a Quidditch pitch at his home, Albus hadn’t been expecting a pitch to rival Hogwarts’, nor had he expected the magnificent manor house situated in the midst of beautiful gardens and winding labyrinths.
“Ready to fly?” Scorpius’ voice breaks Albus’ awe-inspired vow of silence.
Albus’ fingers tighten around his broom, blood rushing in his veins as he imagines unrestrained air against his face, whipping at his hair. He’d inherited his father’s love of flying; thrives on the hint of danger and the absolute freedom. The sky for Albus represents absolute freedom.
He nods, slow but eager.
And they’re off, flying towards the horizon.
From the master bedroom, Draco has the perfect view of the Quidditch pitch, and his heart feels as though it’s about to burst as he watches Scorpius and Albus Potter dart across the sky. From afar, they look just like he and Harry did all those years ago. How they would’ve looked had animosity not poisoned their each and every encounter.
In a way, he lives vicariously through his son; his son who is smarter than he ever was and ever will be. Scorpius is his second chance.
“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Harry’s breath is hot against the nape of his neck, his hands warm and comforting as they slip beneath the waist of Draco’s trousers and settle on his bony hips.
Draco hums his acquiescence, lazy and contented.
Harry tucks his chin in the crook of Draco’s neck, enjoying the clean, masculine smell of skin and long pale hair that’s been tossed to one side. Harry had been the one to place it there with careful fingers so that he could nip it with perfect, gentle teeth.
“That could’ve been us, you know,” Draco says softly and Harry almost doesn’t know what Draco’s talking about because he’s distracted by Draco’s warmth and beauty.
He smiles as he looks out the window at their sons. “It’s us now. That’s all that matters.”
“I suppose.”
Harry notes the lack of confidence in Draco’s statement. He knows that in the back of Draco’s mind, he’s always questioning whether Harry truly forgives him or not. It drives Harry crazy; he doesn’t know how to fix it. Sometimes he thinks he has, but then moments like this take place and he’s back where he’d started.
He gently turns Draco to face him, kissing his wide, pink mouth like a starving man.
“Need you,” he whispers into Draco’s sharp cheekbone.
They tumble into bed, tearing at each other’s clothes until they’re bare. Harry pushes Draco’s thighs apart, licking at his half-hard cock and immersing himself in those breathy, little moans.
He startles Draco when he pushes Draco’s gangly legs higher, displaying the smooth whiteness of his arse and the tight, crinkled skin of his anus-just as pink and inviting as his lips.
Harry’s never done this before, but he wants to do it with Draco more than he’s wanted anything else.
Draco peers down at him between spread, thin thighs. “What are you doing?”
“Just relax,” he answers.
And then he laps at Draco’s hole, feeling every little fold of flesh. He tastes of musk and sex and Harry can’t stop himself from pushing his tongue in as far as it will go.
“Fuck!” Draco exclaims, pulling his legs up even higher. He almost sounds like he’s sobbing.
Harry doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, and it’s impossibly awkward. His nose bumps into Draco’s arse and prevents his tongue from going as deep as he’d like, but he makes up for it with his enthusiasm, sucking on the rim as he fucks Draco with his tongue, eating him out for all he’s worth.
He can tell Draco is close by the way his hole clenches tight around Harry’s tongue as he moans Harry’s name over and over. He’s never seen Draco quite this turned on, and it makes his blood burn hot in his veins.
He pulls his tongue out, ignoring Draco’s whinge, only to swallow his throbbing cock down as he tugged his own cock hard.
Neither of them last long.
Harry collapses beside Draco, kissing his neck softly; unsure that Draco will want to kiss him after he’s had his tongue in his arse.
They lie there quietly, listening to the sound of each other’s beating hearts and shallow breaths.
Surrounded by photographs of Scorpius and Astoria, Draco says, “I think I love you.”
Harry wishes he didn’t feel the same way as sunlight catches the gold band around his finger, causing it to glint, blinding and purposeful.