Lameos gift for j_folked

[earth_magic]

Title: Sine qua non
Author: dragon_charmer
Rating: R (for adult themes)
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Prompt: Requested by j_folked. Pairing: Harry/Draco. Bunny: Vampire!Harry. PWP. Definitely bloodplay. Squicks: None baby!

Author’s Notes: Sorry this is so late and sorry it doesn’t really meet the requirements of the request. There is Vampire!Harry, but it doesn’t come close to being a PWP and although there is a little bloodplay, you might miss it if you blinked.

Thanks to snottygrrl, lovely_slyth and lusiology for beta-ing above and beyond the call of duty.

Note: All dictionary definitions used in this story are taken from the Collins English Dictionary (Complete and Unabridged)

Sine qua non - Latin - noun - an essential condition or requirement

Lust - noun - a strong desire for sexual gratification

The French windows opened from the first-floor bedroom onto a balcony overlooking a private garden. The still evening air was filled with the fragrance of climbing hydrangeas and of sweet autumn clematis that trailed over the ironwork tracery and clung to the brickwork.

Standing on the balcony, hidden amongst the shadows, Harry Potter watched the person in the bedroom with single-minded lust. It had been over three weeks since he’d last seen Draco Malfoy and watching the blond-haired man now brought back memories of that last visit. Of what it had felt like to sink his sharp canine teeth into that sweet, sweet artery in Draco’s alabaster neck. Of the way it felt to touch pale skin and hair. And of how Draco tasted.

Symbiosis - noun - a mutually advantageous association between persons

Harry had won the war but Voldemort had exacted his revenge from beyond the grave. The Dark Lord’s pack of vampires had attacked Harry and turned him into one of their own. It hadn’t taken long to find out just how prejudiced the Wizarding world could be even when the target of their bigotry was the Chosen One. Vampires, the Ministry of Magic decreed, were non-wizard and part-human. As far as Harry was concerned, he was very much still a wizard (his magic was intact) and very much human.

He’d been coming to Draco’s home every couple of weeks for the last year, ever since Draco had tracked him down in the wilds of the Cornish Moors. At first Harry had told the other man to get lost -- Draco might not have joined the Dark Lord, but he hadn’t helped defeat the psychopath either. But then his childhood rival had put a proposition to him, one that would benefit them both.

Draco Malfoy was dying, his body poisoned with a potion administered by his father as a final punishment for his son’s betrayal in not joining the Dark Lord. The potion was slow-acting, gradually eating away at his immune system until he would be too weak to deal with even the simplest infection. Supposedly there was no antidote.

But after much research Draco had finally found something that might keep him alive a little longer, maybe long enough to discover a cure. He ascertained that he could slow the progress of the poison by having a vampire regularly bleed him.

So Harry secured a regular supply of blood, all the more sweeter because of where it was coming from, while Draco got to live. There had been nothing sexual to the agreement back then, just Draco baring his throat and Harry sinking his teeth into the willing flesh.

No, nothing sexual at all.

Disrobe - verb - to remove the clothing of (a person) or (of a person) to undress

Harry had long ago decided that Draco Malfoy didn’t undress, he disrobed.

‘Undressing’ was what Harry did as he quickly removed his clothes and tossed them over a chair or in a pile on the floor. But whenever he watched Draco undress, especially if, like now, the other man didn’t know he was being scrutinized, it was definitely ‘disrobing’.

He watched now as Draco removed his travel cloak before hanging it with practised care in the wardrobe and knew that the movements couldn’t have been more sensual if Draco had been deliberately stripping for someone.

Harry counted each of the tiny buttons on Draco’s dress shirt as long, nimble fingers unfastened them. His eyesight was perfect now, one of the few positive benefits of being attacked by Voldemort’s vampires. Even through the glass pane, he could make out Draco’s manicured fingernails as he worked each button through the hole. Harry knew what it felt like to have those fingernails rake over his own skin, leaving red wheals in their wake and he wondered what it would be like to have one cut into his flesh.

And yet there was a quiet, niggling voice in the back of Harry’s mind that whispered something wasn’t right. He might find himself turned on by the thought of those nails and desperate to lick the two perfect dusky nipples revealed by the now open shirt, but concern battled with the passion. Was there a tremor in Draco’s fingers? And was the pale skin even paler than normal?

Sometimes he felt as if he was two people -- like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde -- torn between the needs of a caring human and those of an always-hungry vampire. Was it possible, he wondered, to reconcile such disparate personalities?

Draco reached up and pulled away the band that had been holding the long blond hair at the nape of his neck. Still unaware of the voyeur at the window, Draco tossed his head, causing the loosened strands to fall to his shoulders blades. Then, unfastening the top few buttons on his trouser flies, Draco tugged his shirt from the waistband. The half-open flies gaped, revealing normally hidden flesh and the sight chased away the niggling voice. Harry groaned audibly as his insides tightened with expectation.

Thirst - noun - a craving to drink, accompanied by a feeling of dryness in the mouth and throat

Bending down, Draco removed his shoes and socks. Straightening, he paused for a moment, as if needing to regain his balance before walking towards the French windows. He stood for a moment just looking out into the darkness before reaching for the handles and pushing the twin doors open.

Harry stepped further into the shadows as Draco moved through the doors and onto the balcony. Long fingers curled around the iron balustrade and grey eyes stared into the night as if searching for something in the darkness that filled the garden. Harry could smell the pheromones rolling off the other man; almost taste Draco’s sex to the point it made his mouth dry. But he had to be patient and wait until Draco went back inside and he could follow.

Licking now at suddenly parched lips, his gaze was drawn to the other man’s neck -- to the place where, if he touched, he would feel the rhythmic beat of Draco’s pulse. The blood always seemed sweeter when taken from that point; fresh and rich with oxygen, and its warm taste would always heighten all his senses as he sucked and swallowed.

Need - verb - to be in want of

Harry could remember the moment his relationship with Draco had changed from mutual necessity to something more.

It had been a night in December when the garden had been covered in a thick blanket of snow. Draco had shivered under Harry’s fingers and even though they were inside in the warmth at first he’d thought the other man was cold. But the shiver had become a moan as he’d pushed the shirt back to bare Draco’s neck.

Harry still wasn’t sure who had arched against whom, but he knew that they were both hard. It had happened the next time, and the next until one night, just after New Year, they had both climaxed as Harry had finally pulled his teeth from soft flesh. Afterwards, as he’d licked at the wound to stop the bleeding, they had held on to each other, both trembling through the afterglow of their orgasms.

Draco’s sudden sigh brought Harry out of his reverie and he found himself once again alone on the balcony as the man strode back into the bedroom. Now that Draco had opened the French windows Harry could enter the building. Yet despite the fact that the need was almost overwhelming within him, he paused on the threshold unsure of himself.

Now the need seemed to have changed again. His first thought when he made these visits was no longer about blood or sex, but about seeing Draco. He needed to be with someone who cared.

Naked - adjective - having the body completely unclothed; undressed

Harry came out of the shadows and watched as Draco walked back across the bedroom removing the rest of his clothes. Draco was beautiful in his nakedness. The slight build of the Slytherin child had changed into the defined muscles under taut skin of the Slytherin man. Harry loved the sensual curve of Draco’s arse and the way it felt to have the man’s long legs wrapped around his waist.

But the quiet voice in his head niggled again as he watched Draco disappear into the bathroom. Draco’s stride seemed a little tentative as if it hurt him to walk and his shoulders were slumped.

Finally edging into the room, Harry felt the protection wards like an itch on his skin as he crossed the threshold. He loved this room, with its huge four-poster bed and comfortable chairs. He loved how the evening light softened the hard edges of the furniture and how the dark of the night closed in to make it feel like the bed was the only place in the universe. He wished he could see what the room was like when the light of dawn crept over the balcony or in the afternoon with the sun shining in and the breeze full of the scent of the clematis.

As he began to undress, Harry heard the sound of the shower and imagined biting into warm, wet flesh.

Shower - noun - a sudden abundant fall or downpour, as of tears, sparks, or light

Harry stood just inside the bathroom and watched as the steamy water showered down over the other man. Draco’s hands rested on the tiles and he was leaning forward a little so that the water beat down on the top of his head. It streamed down his hair, over his back and down his long legs. Harry knew he had to touch.

“Draco.”

Draco didn’t react immediately and Harry knew that the other man would have felt the wards opening to let him in. However, when a few moments passed and he still hadn’t move, as if it was just too much effort to push himself away from the wall, Harry stepped into the shower behind Draco and rested a hand on his shoulder.

Draco seemed to slump a little further and when he finally spoke the word was a relieved whisper almost lost in the sound of the falling water. “Harry.” He finally turned and for few seconds there was a look of pure relief in the grey eyes that was so heartfelt Harry thought Draco was going to cry. The moment passed and despite being in the shower, soaking wet, Draco’s chin rose defiantly. “You’re late.”

Harry reached out and pushed wet hair from Draco’s face. “I know ... I’m sorry.” He was late, their arrangement had been to meet every two weeks and they had always managed to keep to that schedule give or take a day or two. But this was the first time he’d been this late -- twenty-three days -- and as he studied Draco, he realised his earlier concerns were well founded. He was shocked at how the man had changed.

Draco had always been slender, but up close like this, Harry saw he had lost weight and there were dark shadows under the grey eyes that looked like someone had smudged coal across the too pale skin.

The potion was doing its deadly work.

He ran his thumb gently over the smudge and tried not to think about the poison as he cupped Draco’s cheek. “Will you let me wash you?” He leaned in and licked drops of water from the cheek before placing a gentle kiss just below the smudge.

Draco’s breath hitched, “Yes,” and Harry realised there were tears mingling with the shower drops.

Blood - noun - life itself: lifeblood

Warm, damp skin against warm, damp skin.

They were on the bed now, Harry with his back resting against the pillows, Draco in the vee of his legs, back pressed against Harry’s chest as they had been since he’d carried Draco from the shower into the bedroom. Harry was torn between his hunger to take blood and his concern for the other man’s welfare. He wasn’t sure Draco was fit enough to withstand the loss of even a small amount of blood.

He wondered when he had started caring. Had it been the first time Draco had kissed him? Or the first time he’d taken Draco into his mouth and tasted him? Or had it been watching Draco shivering through the effects of the poison on his body and realising just how sick the man really was? When they’d first made their arrangement, Harry hadn’t thought much about Draco dying -- that was in the future, and for the time being he would get regular blood without having to hunt for it -- but doing something as intimate as taking another’s blood couldn’t be done without caring just a little. Then he realised the turning point had been when his first thought on going to visit Draco hadn’t been about blood or sex but just about the fact that he would be with the other man.

Gently running fingers through Draco’s hair, Harry whispered in his ear. “Are you ready?”

Draco shifted a little, letting his head fall away to expose the long line of his neck. “Yes.”

“Tell me if it’s too much ... I’ll stop.”

But Draco shook his head and pulled his hair out of the way. “I need you to do this.”

Harry leaned forward and began to lick and suck at the spot he’d chosen to take Draco’s blood.

Pure-blood.

Suck - verb - to draw (a liquid or other substance) into the mouth by creating a vacuum in the mouth

Harry’s ministrations desensitised the area a little and when he finally sank his teeth into the artery, he knew what Draco would feel was a pressure on his skin followed by a pleasure/pain sensation flooding through his nervous system.

However, he quickly forgot about Draco’s pleasure or pain as the liquid filled his mouth and he lost himself in the taste of another person’s lifeblood. He sucked and licked at the twin wounds, aware of the desire building inside both himself and the person whose blood he was taking.

Draco was talking, murmuring sweet, sexy swear words of pleasure, and Harry knew that the other man was touching himself. Still lapping at the blood, he turned just enough to watch Draco’s hand as he worked his erection. The taste as he drank and the sight were enough to make Harry hard and he pressed his hips forward, trapping his own cock between his and Draco’s bodies.

Harry continued drinking as Draco played with himself, fingers slick with his own precome as he fisted the hard length. Harry wanted to reach out and tease at the slit and cup the heavy balls, but watching Draco bring himself off was always erotic. He could feel a tightening in his own balls and knew they were both close.

“Are you ready?” he asked the question again.

“Yes,” Draco hissed. “Now! Please!”

Harry sucked hard, knowing it would trigger Draco’s climax and felt his own orgasm surge through him.

Sate - verb - to satisfy (a desire or appetite) fully

Harry didn’t remember falling asleep. Normally he would take the blood, remain until he was sure Draco was going to be okay and then leave. When he woke, the candles had burned down low and the bedroom was bathed in the soft pre-dawn light of a new day. The sun would rise soon and he cast a quick spell to draw the curtains before curling almost protectively around Draco, spooning against his back.

He shifted slightly and considered leaving, but this was exactly where he wanted to be, waking up with this man. He was comfortable and warm and it felt good to feel skin against his own. So instead he snuggled closer enjoying the other man’s scent.

“Harry.” The single word was said with a light sigh that made Harry’s breath hitch and it was a moment before he replied.

“Yes?”

“You’re awake.” Draco’s voice was sleepy and sated.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t leave.”

“No. Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

Trust - noun - reliance on and confidence in the truth, worth, reliability, etc., of a person or thing; faith.

They were both silent, unmoving except for the rise and fall of chests and Draco’s fingers bushing back and forth over Harry’s hand.

“I thought,” Draco finally broke the silence, “that you weren’t coming back.”

“I’m sorry.... It was the new laws about rights for magical creatures. I had to go to the Ministry and make the submissions. It dragged on and on and I couldn’t get away.” He stroked at Draco’s arm. “It was ... important.”

“Always the Gryffindor. Always having to save everyone else.” Draco gave a little snort. “I left the French windows open every night, just in case....” His grip on Harry’s hand tightened. “I didn’t want to die alone.”

Harry swallowed, his stomach tying itself in knots at the sound of the other man’s words. “Draco, I wouldn’t let that happen.” He buried his face in the long blond hair and tightened his grip. “I’ll never be late again.” Harry took a ragged breath. Did Draco only want Harry to protect him from the potion? “I should go.” He started to pull away but Draco held onto his arms.

“No, don’t. Stay with me. We need to ... talk.”

Harry settled again. “If you want.”

Draco turned in his arms and finally he could see the familiar face. The dark smudges were still there under the grey eyes but they weren’t so prominent and Draco’s hand no longer shook as it reached up to push into Harry’s hair. “You should have sent me a message. I was worried.”

“Because I wouldn’t be here to bleed you?”

“No. Because I was afraid something had happened to you. And ... I missed you.” With that, Draco leaned closer and placed a kiss on Harry’s lips.

They had kissed before but not like this, Harry decided as his mind dizzily took in what was happening. The other kisses had been like a battle, with both trying to dominate, but this one was gentle and sweet. Draco teased at Harry’s lips until he opened his mouth to match the quiet passion. It made his heart ache and when Draco enfolded him in his arms; Harry had to fight the urge to cry.

When Draco finally pulled back Harry thought he saw something in the grey eyes that might have been hope or maybe it was quiet acceptance of his fate.

“Harry, I want to ask you one last favour.”

Harry tensed knowing exactly what Draco was going to ask. They had talked about it in the past, ever since Draco had found the only way to stop the poison. “What is it?”

“I was so close to dying this time. I think if you’d been another day late it would have been the end. But there is an answer -- you’ve seen my research.”

Harry swallowed. “You want me to turn you?”

“It would stop the poison.”

“You’d be a vampire.” Harry took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t have to rely on me any longer and would never have to see me again if you didn’t want to.”

“Never see you?” The serene look on Draco’s face disappeared, replaced by concern. “But you’d be my sire. I thought that meant we’d be together.”

Harry gave a little snort. “I haven’t seen the vampires who turned me since it happened.”

“But we could be together if you wanted ... and I wouldn’t mind that. I’m not sure I’d want to live forever without you.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak as the enormity of those words sunk in. Draco wanted to be with him. Finally he spoke. “That’s a myth. We just live longer and....” He faltered as Draco’s fingers began to trail over his face as if trying to commit the features to memory. He waited in silence as the touch continued. The fingers finally stilled on his lips. “I could stay ... or you could come with me.” He took hold of Draco’s fingers and carefully kissed the tip of each one.

“Does it hurt? Being turned?”

“It doesn’t have to. It wasn’t nice when it happened to me, but I’ve spoken to others who said it was a glorious experience.”

“Have you done it to anyone else?”

“No, never. You’d be my first....” Harry leaned forward a little and placed a gentle kiss on the other man’s face, a mirror of how Draco had kissed him earlier. “And my last.” He kissed the mouth again, waiting for the kiss to be returned. It was almost immediately and he gloried in the taste and feel and passion of the intimate touch. He wanted it to last forever, but all too soon it ended and he gave a sad sigh.

“I want you to do it.” There was a nervous tremor in Draco’s voice.

Harry was suddenly worried. The idea of being Draco’s sire scared him because he would have to drain the other man almost to the point of death before Draco drank from him. What if it went wrong? What if he didn’t stop in time? “I could kill you if I take too much blood.”

“I’ve trusted you since the moment you said ‘yes’ to this agreement. And besides, I’m going to die anyway.” Draco looked at him for a long time as if searching for something. He must have finally found what he was looking for, Harry decided, because Draco pulled away and climbed from the bed. He returned with a thin-bladed knife with what looked to have a very sharp point.

Harry stared at the blade for a moment. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” Draco held out the knife. “Before either of us can change our minds.”

With reverence, Harry took the knife and tested the tip against his thumb. It was, indeed, very sharp, and a single drop of blood gathered at the spot. He gave a little hiss and made to suck it away.

But Draco grabbed at his hand, stilling the movement. “No.”

They stared at each other for a long time as if giving and receiving trust and reassurance from one another.

“Let me.” The voice was a whisper.

Pulling the thumb towards his mouth Draco caught the drop of blood on the tip of his tongue and swallowed. Then holding back his hair, he bared his neck. “I’m ready.”

Love - verb - to have a great attachment to and affection for; to have passionate desire, longing, and feelings for

They stood on the cliff top, watching as the full moon rose above the sea, reflecting silver across the waves. Today had been their tenth anniversary and as night closed in, Draco reached for Harry’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Ready to go, love?”

Harry turned and smiled. “Yeah. I’m ready. Let’s go home.”

---
28th August 2006