FIC: Hope Springs Eternal (But Love Springs in the Forest, Unannounced) (1/2)

[lettered]

Title: Hope Springs Eternal (But Love Springs in the Forest, Unannounced)
Author: Lettered
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: lots of dirty talk, really
Summary: Draco falls into a love spring. Harry saves him! And now they’re bonded for life. Draco is horrified. Harry thinks it’s kind of neat.
A/N: This was my fic for reversathon. I went with this prompt: the crack-concept of secret, unintentional soul-bonding [handled] with some seriousness (just because you love someone doesn’t mean you don’t also hate them).



The magical life bond between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy lasted five days. During that time, they had five arguments. The first one happened right after Draco Malfoy almost drowned.

Most of Harry’s experience with people being saved from drowning had to do with Ron. There was that time during the Triwizard Tournament when Harry had had to retrieve that which had been taken from him, and then that time in the Forest of Dean when Ron had saved him from a freezing lake. This time it was nothing like those times and everything like them, because it was Draco Malfoy.

Harry didn’t even hesitate. He dove in as soon as he saw those long, pale arms disappear beneath the surface.

The water was cool and clean. It splashed in his mouth when he came up for air, and it tasted sweet. When Harry opened his eyes to look for Draco, the water seemed as clear as air, and yet tinted with silver, almost sparkling at the edges of his vision. Draco sparkled too.

He was going to love that.

When Harry reached him at last (at last) he slid an arm under Draco’s, across Draco’s chest, and hauled, pulling him toward the bright, sun-dappled surface. When they broke through the water at last (at last), Draco wasn’t breathing.

Harry didn’t even know how he got him up to shore; he just knew that he did, and Draco lay there, still, unmoving. Pressing his hands together, Harry covered Draco’s heart, and pushed. His mouth covered Draco’s, and Draco would have called him a fool. Fumbling for his wand, Harry finally got it. ”Aspirate!” he yelled.

Draco coughed, spitting water.

“Christ,” said Harry, because sometimes he still said things like that, when he wasn’t thinking. “Christ Jesus Merlin.”

“Ugh,” said Malfoy.

“Christ,” Harry said again. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“That I’d go for a dip.” Draco’s tone would have been dry, if it weren’t so wet, watery and weak between coughs.

“Don’t,” said Harry. “God. God.”

“Um,” said Draco. “Harry?”

“What?”

“You’re kissing me.”

“So?” said Harry, his lips murmuring on Draco’s jaw. God.

“Stop.” Weakly, Draco tried to push him off.

“God,” said Harry. “You almost drowned.”

“I did not almost drown; I am a perfectly accomplished swimmer, and you’re still kissing me.”

“Why shouldn’t I kiss you?” Harry asked, moving his lips up from Draco’s jaw to cross his strong cheekbones, then down to his mouth.

Draco pushed up on him, more forcefully this time. “Maybe because I almost drowned?”

At last, Harry pulled away, looking down at Draco. He looked just like a kneazle caught out in the rain, and Harry thought he’d never seen a sight quite so lovely. His heart was at last slowing from its thundering, frantic pace, but seeing Draco looking so mussed and just-vulnerable, lying there-was pushing the beating up to his throat. “Why shouldn’t I kiss you?” Harry demanded. “What would I have done had you died?”

“Oh, God.” Closing his eyes, Draco put a dramatic hand on his brow.

“What?” Harry said, brushing his fingertips over the wet white shirt on Draco’s chest. “I can’t be relieved you’re alive?”

“Oh, God.” Draco made a moaning sound. “Harry, this is a love spring.”

“A what?”

“Merlin’s tits, and you still know nothing of wizard history.”

“Accio glasses. I’m not a complete ignoramus,” Harry said, as his glasses came flying into his hands. He put them all. “I thought love springs had all disappeared.”

“Apparently, they haven’t.”

Tilting his head, Harry looked Draco over. He looked perfectly miserable, and now was beginning to shiver, but when Harry reached down, he was forcefully pushed away. “Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Maybe I’m a little bit of an ignoramus.”

“This isn’t happening to me. This isn’t happening.”

“Draco,” said Harry.

“It is happening.” Draco sat up suddenly; he had this way of suddenly filling with purpose, as though he could be instantaneously infused with some unseen strength-sort of like when he had had too much caffeine. Sometimes, Harry found it terrifying. Other times-depending on circumstances-he quite liked it. Sometimes he quite liked it indeed. “But why is it happening? Someone did this to us.”

“Um,” said Harry.

“Think about it.” Draco leapt to his feet and began pacing. “I was lured here. The Apparition coordinates-Harry.” Turning suddenly on him, Draco said, “Why are you here?”

“Well, I thought I was saving your life, but now I’m thinking maybe I’m listening to you rant?” Sighing, Harry stood up, picking a bit of pond scum off of his shoulder.

“No,” said Draco, “why did you come?”

“The clock?”

“Oh.” Draco slumped.

Harry waited while Draco paced, hoping for some kind of explanation, but none was forthcoming. Draco could get a little intense when he was like this-especially whenever whatever little theory he’d been nursing was proven to be a total conspiracy theory. “You mentioned Apparition coordinates?” Harry prompted.

“Lovegood.” Draco was going pink-and not embarrassment-pink; this was fury-pink, two spots of colour high up on his cheekbones, and Harry hadn’t heard him say Luna’s name like that in a long time. In fact, Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Draco say her name like that; Draco had a soft spot for Luna.

“One of her tips?” Harry tried to make his tone consoling instead of amused.

“Maybe it wasn’t. Don’t bother me, Potter.” Draco angled his face away. “I’m thinking.”

Swallowing a sigh, Harry finally stood. Waving his wand at Draco, then himself to dry them, he considered the situation. Luna was often leaving Draco little “tips” about where he could find rare potions ingredients. Frequently the ingredients were so rare that her tips proved invaluable, but she was often also cryptic, and sometimes-Harry hated to admit-even dangerous. As often as she forgot to sign her name, she also forgot to mention the rare cache of metal she’d found was also in a dragon’s den.

That had been a fun day. Draco had been convinced someone was trying to kill him then, too. Harry had been high up on his lists of suspects, despite the fact that Harry had been the Auror who saved him all those years ago.

“So you think it was a set-up,” Harry said finally, because Draco just got so touchy when his pet theories were immediately shot down. “Someone lured you to Apparate into the middle of the lake, knowing I would rush in to save you. I’d swallow the water; you would be drowning, swallowing the water, and then we fall madly, hopelessly in love.”

“But why?” Draco rubbed the back of his neck. He did that when he got really caught up in something. It used to drive Harry absolutely mad. Still did, now that he thought about it. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Someone who never reads The Daily Prophet? Or any wizarding media? And never talks to anyone? At all?”

Draco stopped rubbing his neck, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“In case you missed the biggest new media event in the past-oh, decade or so, we already were madly in love.”

“Irrelevant.” Draco flapped a hand.

“And hopelessly in love.”

“Maybe you’re hopelessly in love.”

“And married,” said Harry.

“Civil partnership.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Great, you’re telling me we’re not married now. That’s just great.”

“Of course we’re married,” Draco snapped. “You think I wave this around for kicks?” He waved his hand at Harry, possibly for kicks. It still had a ring on it, though.

“Fucking hell,” said Harry. “Not this again. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t fucking-”

“This,” said Draco. “This is what I’m talking about.”

“What,” said Harry, and it wasn’t really question. “The fact that you don’t want to wear my wedding ring? Or maybe you just mean now you can’t run if you-you . . .” He couldn’t finish, because the bottom was dropping out, because maybe that was what Draco meant-”

“Listen to yourself,” said Draco, in his worst possible voice. Harry hated that voice. It was very low and quiet and quite forceful. He said the worst possible things in that voice.

(”Sometimes, I just can’t stand to be near you.”

“Some things were better before we ever got together.”

“I don’t think I could live without you, Harry. I think that without you, I would just . . . end. Cease to be.”

Horrible things.)

“You’re already talking about me leaving you,” Draco said, “and it’s been-” he made a mad gesture with his arm, a mad Draco gesture-“ten minutes. Make that eight.”

“Maybe because you said you’re not hopelessly in love.”

“I’m not.”

Harry flinched. Sometimes Draco said these things. He just said them, like he couldn’t help the awful things that came out of his mouth, and Harry had learned to deal with them.

(”I want you to hurt me when you fuck me.”

“I don’t deserve any better.”)

Sometimes the things he said still hurt, though. Harry couldn’t help but flinch, and even Draco should have been able to admit that this was a little worse than most things he said.

“Harry.” Draco’s voice was still low.

“Maybe it’s the love spring,” Harry said dully. “I just don’t . . . really feel up to having this conversation right now. Maybe tonight, yeah?”

“Harry.”

Harry turned away. “In an hour or three I’ll feel better about the fact that you almost died.”

“I didn’t almost die.”

“I know. You’re a very accomplished swimmer.” Harry closed his eyes, but of course he didn’t Apparate. Of course he didn’t, because Draco was there, grabbing his arm, in his face, as Harry knew he would be.

“Why do you make me do this?” said Draco. “Why do you make me say these things?”

Draco hated it when Harry played the victim. He really hated it, but it just wasn’t something Harry could turn off and on like a switch. When someone hurt him, it showed, just as when someone hurt Draco, it was usually invisible.

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Harry said, his voice gentling a little, because he could see all of Draco’s invisible places, all of them. “I know that you care for me. I know that you love me. Sometimes I just don’t understand . . . how.”

Draco took off Harry’s glasses, the way he sometimes did-as though he couldn’t stand to be looked at. He folded them up, slipped them in his pocket, then leaned in until their foreheads touched. “You make me say the most asinine things,” he murmured.

“I’m not making you,” Harry said.

“You make me,” said Draco. “You make me crazy.”

“I could give you Veritaserum,” said Harry. “That would be making you. Imperius, that would be making you. I’m just standing here,” he said, and his lips ghosted over Draco’s, “seducing you.”

“You make me,” Draco said, and kissed him.

His mouth was warm, and tasted clean and sweet, just like the water. His lips were tender against Harry’s own, yet possessive; Harry loved the way Draco kissed, like he wanted to savour every moment. Beneath the warm ache of it he could feel a little-something like a little tug, and suddenly, warmth was pooling low in his belly, feeding on itself. He wanted Draco closer, and the tenderness crashed in waves of warm desire, and pleasure, need, frustration-

“Whoa,” said Harry, and pulled away. “Was that-”

“It’s the love spring,” Draco said, panting.

Harry nipped him on the jaw. “Let’s get one installed in our backyard.”

Draco breathed a husky laugh. “Don’t.”

“Was I feeling what you were feeling?” Harry asked, and nipped him again on the jaw, higher. “Just then?”

“Don’t,” said Draco, pushing him a little.

Harry kissed until his mouth was under Draco’s ear, that perfect, magic little spot where his jaw jutted out, that place that made Draco writhe.

“Oh God,” Draco said, and Harry could feel it, the things that he was doing to him, the hot wash of need, the sudden rush of blood, but under that and deeper-

“Stop,” Draco said, tone ragged, and pulled Harry in again.

Harry could feel it inside that kiss-God-all the way down-there was the place where Draco felt for him, the place for all the real things, so inadequately expressed by things like words.

“Make me stop,” Draco begged.

You could call it love, but that hardly did it justice-God, it was intense, strong and yet so desperately fragile in a way; and Harry could feel the fierce way in which Draco longed to protect-

“Helicopter,” Draco said, sounding desperate.

Harry stopped. Something wild flashed through him-the sudden terror that he wouldn’t let him go-and then he could. He did, and stepped back. Rubbed his scar. “Jesus,” he said. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“I don’t love you hopelessly,” Draco said, all in a rush.

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed his scar again. “Okay.”

“I don’t,” Draco insisted.

Harry tried to clear the fog in his brain. “Okay,” he said again, trying to understand.

“What I feel for you,” said Draco, “it-it’s the most hopeful thing I know.”

Harry stopped rubbing his scar. “Is that the asinine thing I was supposed to make you say?”

“It sounds so stupid,” said Draco, “but loving you, it makes me feel-like I’m in control. Like I can do anything, because of what-what I feel for you.”

“Okay,” Harry said again. “That’s-that’s good. I-I’m sorry. Why aren’t we still making out?”

“Because I used my safe word.”

“I know. I mean, I wouldn’t-just. Why?”

“Because that wasn’t you. This isn’t us.”

“Um.” Harry looked at him, and it was definitely Draco, because it wasn’t like he was sweet or sparkling, like the water. He was just as pale and pointy as he’d ever been, and even if Harry had grown to love all his angles, his stark, finely featured face, he could see that Draco wasn’t perfect. Both outside and in, there were sharp parts, long parts, ridiculous parts, vulnerable hollows full of yearning and fear. Harry loved them all, and then he thought of kissing him again that way and feeling them all, all the way down. “It sort of seems like you?” Harry said at last, because he quite honestly didn’t know what Draco meant.

“We chose,” said Draco. “We chose each other. Do you know what it means to me that I . . . that I got to choose, and choosing, I chose you?”

The problem was that Draco was trying to tell him something important. Really important, if his use of his safe word was any indication, if the tone of his voice was any indication. It was really important, and pretty much the only thing Harry could think of-the only thought he could hold onto for more than five seconds right now-was that he wanted to fuck his husband’s brains out. He really wanted to.

Like he really really really wanted to. Right here, right now.

Gritting his teeth, Harry put his hands in his pockets.

“Do you?” Draco said.

“I guess not,” Harry said.

“It means everything to me,” said Draco.

“Okay,” said Harry.

“Now do you understand?” said Draco.

“No.”

Draco frowned at him. “The love spring takes your choice away.”

“Draco . . .” Harry rubbed his scar again. He was trying to understand this. He honestly was. “We already chose.”

“It’s not a choice you make once, Harry.”

“But . . . we got married.”

“Do you think it’s easy?”

“I . . .” Harry tried to think about it. He tried to think about waking next to Draco in the morning-Draco in the sunlight, bathed in gold, ten times less prickly than any other time of day; sleepy and pliant against him, warm; saying all the things he never said when he was fully awake and fit to be acerbic. Harry thought of Draco sailing into the house at the end of work, confident and bright and happy, because he’d won a contract; he thought of Draco moody and bitchy and glaring daggers, because he’d lost another one to Smith. He thought of Draco looking wicked and mischievous in the bedroom; he thought of Draco vulnerable and defensive at any mention of his parents. He thought of Draco every day and every moment and he loved them, all of them, and said, “It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Not for me,” said Draco.

“Okay,” Harry said again, and put his hands back into his pockets.

“What about when we fight?” Draco said.

“We make up.”

“What about when I bitch at you?”

“You apologize.”

“What about when you’re unfair to me?”

“I apologize.”

Draco was beginning to look annoyed. “What about when I refold your clothes?”

“I put them in the drawer?” said Harry.

“And when I make you wash the dishes with my spell instead of the one Molly taught you?”

“I get annoyed?” said Harry. “Really, Draco, this is what makes it hard?”

“These are decisions, Harry. Every single one of them. It’s a decision we make, to stay together.” His eyes were desperate and grey and exactly the colour they were when he tried to apologize. Those were the times he seemed to think that there was the highest possibility of Harry leaving him, when there wasn’t. There just wasn’t. “Every time we make that decision-every day-we’re stronger. What we have is stronger.”

“So, you’re saying . . .” Harry scratched his chest. His clothes were stiff from the drying spells. “We can’t make the choice to leave each other if we wanted to. Because of the bond from the spring. And you think this is a problem.”

Draco nodded.

“Okay,” Harry said again. He pushed his glasses up. “So, do you think you’re going to leave me, or is it that I’m going to leave you?”

Draco’s shoulders slumped.

“Neither,” Harry guessed. “Okay. Draco, I’m just trying to understand.”

“You don’t understand why our decision to be together is more important than some magical obligation.”

“I would if there was any possibility of us separating, but I just-I don’t see it. I can’t see it. I know that sometimes you doubt that I-”

“No.” Draco shook his head adamantly, teeth grit. “This isn’t about that, Harry. Not right now. I know how you feel. I know that you . . .”

“I know you know,” said Harry softly. “But you don’t always believe it.”

“I believe you love me, Harry.” Draco’s voice was far less vehement, now. He never got vehement about this, because after all this time, he still said things like that with just a little bit of wonder-and just a little bit of disbelief, even when his words said quite the opposite.

Harry just looked at him for a while. Then he sighed, and did what Draco had best taught him: he tried to understand. “Maybe I do need a refresher on history,” he said. “Tell me what the love spring does.”

“It binds people together for life,” said Draco.

“Sure,” said Harry. “So, you feel . . . what? A connection with someone? Like you don’t want to be apart from them.”

“Yes.”

“And does it make you fall in love?”

“Not exactly.”

Harry waited. He’d found that silence sometimes worked best with Draco. It had not been the easiest lesson, but he’d found over a long period of time that patience could be useful. It was useful with his friends; it was useful with criminals; it was useful for getting what he wanted, and it was useful with Draco.

Draco huffed in annoyance. “It’s makes you desire-and require-someone’s presence in order to be . . . fulfilled, but it doesn’t change what you feel toward that person. It could bind you to someone you hate, and you would still hate that person, but you would also feel the need to be with them, and you wouldn’t feel whole if you weren’t.”

“So ‘love spring’ is a misnomer.”

Draco hitched a shoulder, his elegant-at times insolent-equivalent of a shrug.

“Do you need to be constantly near the other person? Will we . . . fall ill and die if I go to the Ministry and you go to your lab?”

Draco shook his head. “People linked by this bond can always feel the absence of the other person, but it doesn’t hurt them unless there’s a prolonged absence. Most historians think they existed in order to create family units. Or, you know. Centaurs and mermaids.”

“And what about . . .” Harry waved a hand. “What happened when I touched you?”

“Some love springs were rumoured to bestow the ability to . . . feel what one’s partner was feeling at times of . . . intense emotion.”

“Because that would be so useful for those couples who hated each other.” Harry pushed up his glasses. “That first horse and man marriage must’ve been really something.”

“I guess it . . . helps to know if you hate each other?”

“But what we felt,” Harry said, “when we kissed-that was just what we felt. Not something the love spring did.”

“Harry-”

“No,” Harry said, and stepped closer. “I listened, just like you asked. Now you listen to me. What did you feel, when I touched you?”

Going a little pink, Draco dropped his gaze.

He used to do that all the time, but for the last five years or so, he hadn’t. Harry hadn’t realized quite how much he’d missed it, the way it used to send that thrum of desire straight down from heart to groin because God help him, Draco looked shy. He looked so uncertain and-and-God, here Harry was fetishising, but he looked virginal, because there was a part of Draco that was secret and vulnerable and quite strongly convinced that no one could ever want him, and he never showed anyone that.

He never showed anyone except Harry, who got to see all that fear and desperation for acceptance and-and approval, because here was something else Draco didn’t show: he liked to be praised. He liked to be petted and soothed and told that he was good, that he was loved, and Harry had been so glad when that shy, uncertain look finally stopped appearing in Draco’s eyes. It meant that Draco finally believed what Harry had been trying to tell him for years: that he loved him. Draco finally understood that someone could love him, completely and unconditionally, just for who he was, and so these days he hardly ever blushed, and always met Harry’s eyes.

Harry came closer. When he spoke, his voice was low. “What did you feel, Draco?”

“I felt . . .” Draco finally lifted his gaze. His eyes looked like wet pavement. “I felt essential. Rare.”

“That isn’t a feeling I got from some spring,” Harry said.

Draco turned away. Sometimes even the slant of his shoulders could look spiky. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, which Harry found ironic. “Are you saying you don’t want to undo this?”

“Isn’t undoing it impossible? I thought these things were permanent.”

“Nothing is impossible,” said Draco. “By all accounts, this love spring shouldn't be possible. They all faded with time.”

“I don’t understand what you want,” said Harry.

Draco finally turned around, still looking miserable. “I want to find out how to get the bond off.”

Harry looked over at the pool, which was still sparkling in the sunlight. It was just the sort of pond that in the movies and his life held shining swords. He thought of Ron. “You know,” Harry said at last, “as far as fate goes . . . I just don’t see how this is all that bad. It’s pretty much just affirming something we already have. Something we want.”

“We want the choice. Harry, I’m talking about free will.”

“Yeah, well. I’m talking about killing the Dark Lord.”

Draco didn’t say anything, because of course he couldn’t say anything to that. Harry supposed it was a pretty cheap thing to say, but he hadn’t said it because he was trying to win an argument. He’d said it because it was true.

Sighing, Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. “I have to go back to work.”

“Harry,” Draco said.

“What?”

“Your glasses.” Draco started to hand them back, and then he didn’t.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice was tired.

“Just . . .” Draco gave the glasses back. “Just say you’ll look into it,” he said. “Just tell me that you’ll try.”

“Yeah.” Harry put his glasses on. “Okay. I’ll try.”

*

The second argument happened that night. It happened because of sex.

Draco was late getting home. He’d sent his Patronus-“working late; don’t wait up-” so Harry waited up. “I told you not to,” Draco said, when he got home.”

“I just wanted to see you,” Harry said. “How was your day?”

“Do you think it’s the love spring?” Draco had taken off his cloak; now he was starting on his robe.

Harry tried hard not to be annoyed. “I always want to see you.”

Spelling the robes into the bedroom down the hall, Draco wandered toward the kitchen. “Surely not always.”

Not bothering to correct him, Harry followed him. “There are noodles if you want them.”

“I already ate.” Draco spelled open a cabinet and down a glass; he never could just get a glass of water like a normal person (“you mean a normal Muggle,” Draco would have said). “Thank you for earlier today, by the way. For saving me from drowning.”

“I don’t think anyone was trying to curse us,” Harry said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“No, I don’t suppose so.” The long line of Draco’s throat undulated as he took a long sip of water.

“I wasn’t able to find anything about how to counteract the bond.”

Draco put the glass down very carefully on the counter. “I wasn’t able to, either.”

“Is that why you’re so late?”

“I think I’ll go to bed.” Draco turned away.

“Draco.” Harry stood up, going after him.

Turning back, not quite looking at him, Draco said, “Yes, Harry. That’s what I was doing. It’s not because I don’t-it’s not because I secretly want to leave you.”

“I don’t think you secretly want to leave me,” Harry said.

Draco still didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m very tired.”

Harry was careful not to touch him. He never touched him, when Draco got like this. “We’ll fix it,” Harry said.

“You’re all . . .” Draco put his hand out, hesitated, then touched Harry’s shirt. “Rumpled,” he said finally.

“Yeah. Sleeping on the couch. See?” Harry teased, just a little. “I didn’t wait up after all.”

Still not looking up at him, Draco started playing with one of the buttons on Harry’s shirt. “I don’t see why you put up with me,” he said.

“Bad habit?”

“I really am tired.” Draco just kept playing with that button.

Harry smiled. “Then go to bed.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I notice you’re not moving.”

Draco took his hand away. “I missed you too. All day. I could feel it, like a physical ache.”

“No worse than usual.”

“We’re almost forty, Harry. We’ve been married fifteen years.”

“Yeah, I can barely stand the sight of you.”

“We were just at work,” Draco said, “and we saw each other at lunch time.”

“You’re saying it’s the love spring?”

“Well, I did almost drown.”

“I thought you were going to bed?”

“I am.” At last, Draco lifted his eyes. “Good night, Harry,” he said, leaning in to kiss him. It felt like it was supposed to be a little peck, but he must have felt Harry’s response to it, because then he was kissing him again, not nearly so quickly, open mouth dragging down to Harry’s own. “Mmm. What did you put in my water?”

“I didn’t,” Harry said, and kissed him back. “It’s the spring.”

“Oh, God. That’s-”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and maybe sort of kind of pulled on Draco’s lower lip with his teeth.

Draco pulled away, then came in again, licking the underside of Harry’s upper lip. Harry could feel the hot pull of desire, the sudden surging want. “God, it’s,” Draco tried to say. He took off Harry’s glasses.

“Intense,” Harry said, then put his tongue in Draco’s mouth.

They were kissing then, Draco clutching at him as desperately as he had those first few times together, when he’d believed so completely he’d never get a chance again. “God,” Draco said, “have you been wanting this-” he stopped to kiss him again-“all night?”

“You have no idea,” said Harry, and pulled him close, fitting Draco’s hips against his.

“Oh God.” Draco had this dirty, dirty way of swivelling his hips, grinding his covered cock against Harry’s own in an utterly obscene motion that Harry loved right down to the tips of his toes-this time compounded by Draco’s own feelings, which felt a lot like: need claim have take want filthy mine. “Do not make me use my safe word again,” Draco muttered.

“Tell me,” Harry said, and had to stop because he’d slid his hands inside Draco’s shirt, and there was the feeling of his hands on Draco’s bare skin, but also Draco’s feelings. Harry could feel what it felt like for Draco, and it was hot more grateful touch me don’t stop need I want to live inside of this; I want to have this, forever. Harry took a breath. “Did you need to use your safe word because you couldn’t stop yourself from doing this?”

“I knew you’d stop for me, if I used it.” Draco was kissing down along the side of his neck and as good as it was, practically eleven times better was Draco’s need to cover him, to claim him, that desire to possess, and Harry could feel it all the way down to his bones. “Fuck,” Draco said, and then he did that thing with his hips-that thing that he did that was like this little twist, and always fit them together so perfectly; it drove Harry crazy.

It drove him crazy.

“Fuck,” Draco said again, and Draco saying words like that, his voice so raw, made Harry crazy, too. “You really need it,” Draco said.

“Yes,” Harry said. “God yes.”

“No, but I mean . . .” Draco’s voice was murmuring into Harry’s neck as his hand slid inside his shirt, teased at the waist of his trousers. “I mean you need it.”

“You did almost die,” Harry said, unbuttoning Draco’s trousers now.

“But, I mean-” Draco pulled his mouth away and took a desperate breath-“you’re practically stupid for it. Weak.”

“Yeah, well.” Harry kissed him again. “I feel the way you feel-” The desire, but also the surprise, the gratitude. Harry didn’t want Draco to be surprised that he wanted him like this, not after all this time. He wanted Draco to just know.

“But it’s like-” Draco pulled away from him again-“it’s like you’re desperate for it. Like you can’t get enough of-”

“I can’t,” said Harry. “I never can.” Then his hand slid in Draco’s trousers, wrapping around his hard cock, tugging. “I’ve told you that a thousand times.”

“But you feel like-” Draco’s hand clamped around his wrist-“you feel like you’d do anything; like you’ll do anything just to-to get inside of me, or-or me inside of you-”

“You inside of me,” said Harry, his lips by Draco’s ear, his hand still pulling on his cock.

“Harry,” Draco said, “do you always-”

“Always,” Harry said, and kissed him again. Into that kiss, he tried to put all the things he felt-all the need and aching desire, the emptiness inside him that only Draco could fill, that aching longing to be filled, taken and stretched and compelled into completion, but there were things much deeper than that, this longing to be with him always, this longing for his life to be filled by him, this connection between them.

“Oh God,” said Draco, when they at last broke apart for air. “Oh God.”

“Yes,” said Harry, and pulled him to the table.

They usually didn’t do it this way. Harry liked to use his hands and mouth and things like oil-enhanced oil, because on that point Draco was adamant, but had it been up to Draco they might have just as well spelled all their clothes off and dispensed with preparation by any means but magical. It was Harry who insisted on doing it manually, on touching every time and place he could.

Harry didn’t insist now, though, because Draco was spelling off his clothes and Harry’s too in his haste; he was doing it on their kitchen table, conjuring lube with his wand and pushing it into Harry with a murmured spell, and he kept saying things like, “So needy Harry; do you always want me this much?”

“Always,” Harry said, trying to pull him closer. “I always do.”

“Oh God,” Draco said again, as Harry’s hand wrapped again around his cock, “you worship it.”

“I do,” said Harry, against his jaw.

Parting Harry’s thighs, Draco positioned himself between them, standing while Harry braced himself on the table top. “Have you always-”

“Yes, I’ve always,” said Harry, because he simply wanted Draco to fuck him now; it was the only thing he wanted; the only thing he could want, because the wonder and the awe and the raw ache that Draco felt were rocking him like waves. “I always have. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”

“But I can feel you-you-” Draco couldn’t seem to speak, cock hard against Harry’s thigh, body leaning over Harry’s and trembling, just slightly.

He must be feeling all the things that Harry was-the way Draco’s desire spiked Harry’s own, but also the way his actual surprise that Harry wanted him so much only made him want Draco more. He had to feel this wealth of tenderness, this desire to protect, this of course I want you so badly I can barely think; I always have. It had to feel like love.

"Tell me,” Harry said. “Tell me what it feels like for you.”

“Harry.” Draco sounded desperate.

Harry pulled Draco down until he could put his lips right by Draco’s ear. “Put your cock inside me. Then tell me how it feels.”

Draco’s breath caught, and then he fumbled a little in a way he hadn’t fumbled in a good long while, hand wrapping around Harry’s on his cock and finally, finally guiding himself in. He swallowed hard and then let go and he was there; Harry could feel the tight burn of him inside, stretching, pushing deeper so that Harry arched, sucked in a breath. “Tell me,” he whispered, pulling Draco down again to bite his mouth.

“It’s-” Draco was flushed, hair bright against pink face. “It’s, you want me-”

“I know,” said Harry. “Tell me more.”

“You’re tight.”

“God, I know,” Harry said, because he could feel it-not clenched around his own cock, the way his arse was around Draco’s, but he could feel Draco’s response to it, the overwhelming clench of need, the pressure of desire. He could feel the way his own body was driving Draco crazy, and Harry was out of his mind with the pleasure of it. “I know I am,” he said. “I always am for you.”

“You want to open up,” said Draco, and pushed deeper. “You want me all the way inside; you want to give me everything-”

“Everything,” said Harry, and sought out Draco’s hand with his own. He knew that Draco hated that, but he wanted him to feel-

“Merlin.” Draco thrust, his hand tangled up in Harry’s. “Merlin-” and he thrust again.

Obviously Draco felt it, the way Harry felt connected, with Draco’s hand in his, just as Harry also felt a little more trapped, a little more tethered without his hand free to roam Harry’s body. “Tell me what I want right now,” Harry said, holding tight.

“God, you want-” Draco slammed in deeper. “You want-”

“You know what I want,” Harry said, spreading his legs yet wider, arching his hips. “Tell me.”

Draco held his hand so hard it hurt. “You want me to come inside of you. You want me to fill you with it, fill you up; you need it-I can feel how-how open you are for it-oh, God, Harry-”

“Say it,” Harry said, and arched his hips again.

“Harry-”

Harry gripped Draco’s hips, yanked him in closer, hard-Draco completely filling him and Harry squeezed, then let him go, anticipating the next thrust. “What’s it feel like,” he panted, “say it.”

One hand still tangled in Harry’s, the other braced against the ground, Draco jerked his hips in, pushing deep inside Harry’s body. “You love me,” he said, and gasped. “Oh, God. You love me.” Then he started shuddering, the way he always did, the way he got loose and crazy and sort of out of control, thrusting erratically. “Harry, you, God, you, love-”

“Always,” Harry said, and followed suit, thrusting against Draco’s stomach until his come was on both their stomachs, their chests, and Draco was inside of him, filling him, saying things like:

“I didn’t know; I never knew-”

Told you so, Harry wanted to say, and didn’t.

Then Draco shuddered and went still against him, limp and sort of weak on top, Harry half on the table. Draco always got so boneless in the aftermath, so much so that Harry just wanted to hold him and forever give him shape, to be his armour and his spine. After a minute, though, Draco always straightened up. He hated being sticky and rather disliked being wet as well-although during he often seemed quite pleased with it. He always went to wash almost immediately.

This time was no different. After a moment, he stood up, and walked out of the kitchen.

For several minutes, Harry just lay there on the table, until the awkward angle of his legs started to catch up with him. He pushed himself up, standing, went over to the wash room. The door was open-Draco often did that, when he showered after sex, his concession to the fact that Harry would have preferred to spend the aftermath together.

For another minute or two, Harry just watched him, his husband’s long, lithe body under the hot spray of the shower, and wondered whether the spring did more than just bind them together and allow them to feel each other’s feelings. Harry was pushing forty, and he’d just come harder than he’d come in quite some time, but after watching Draco bathing in the water for a minute or three, he was nearly ready for another go.

Knowing Draco, he was doing it on purpose. He had to know what all that water sluicing over his pale arse was doing to Harry’s cock. Then at last Draco spelled the shower off, stepped out, and spelled a towel around him. He walked into the bedroom, Harry following. Letting the towel drop, Draco spelled his pyjamas over to him.

Standing there, still nude, Harry watched the rest of his view get covered up, Draco didn’t turn around. “You’re still upset about the spring,” said Harry.

“Of course I’m still upset about it.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“I think we’ve been over that.”

“So, the mind-blowing sex didn’t help at all?”

“Harry . . .”

Draco paused in the midst of putting on the vest he usually wore to bed, and Harry waited for Draco’s explanation. At last, Draco’s arms moved, pulling down the shirt the rest of the way, and then Draco turned around.

“Sex doesn’t really have anything to do with it.”

Harry just looked at him. “I can feel your come inside of me. I can feel it leaking out and drying on me.”

Draco dropped his gaze, looking desperately unhappy. “Then please wash up.”

Sighing, Harry sat up. “You really don’t like it.”

Draco pressed his lips together. “You know that I like . . . like-” he grimaced-“making love to you,” and his lips twisted around the words, because Draco didn’t say things like that very easily. “And feeling what you felt was-” here he swallowed hard-“nice.”

“Nice.”

“Harry-”

“You never even knew I wanted you like that, did you?”

Draco swallowed again. “You’ve told me that you want me like that.”

“Did you believe it?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s not the same as knowing,” Harry pointed out.

“I don’t want to know. I don’t need to know.” Draco’s voice sounded thick. “It’s believing you that’s important. It’s that I trust you, even about-about things like that. That’s what’s important.”

“And for you, trusting me is hard.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped, and all Harry wanted to do was hold him, but he didn’t reach out. He already knew that Draco didn’t want to be held.

“Draco,” Harry said instead, quietly. “If I had a problem with that, we’d have broken up long ago.” He waited, but Draco still just stood there, looking slumped and dejected. “It seems to me that the spring just makes it easier for you to believe me.”

“It’s not who I am.”

“It’s just helping you,” Harry said. “Like-like a medicine.”

Draco flinched, the way he sometimes did at Harry’s words, when Harry couldn’t see that he’d done anything wrong. “If you would understand what you sound like,” Draco said in a low tone.

Harry waited, but Draco didn’t finish. “What do I sound like?”

Draco didn’t meet his eyes. “I already know that you don’t want to change me, Harry. You’ve told me you don’t want to fix me, and I’ve always believed you.”

Harry’s breath caught. “No, of course not, I-”

“Then you need to trust me now,” Draco said. “The fact that it’s hard for me to trust you, and that you make me do it anyway-that’s why we work. Or rather-maybe it’s not the way you work for me, but it’s the way I work for you. It’s what makes me-makes me able to lie down next to you and-and wake up beside you in the morning. It’s the reason that I love you in all the ways that I do, Harry. Don’t take it away. Please,” he added, still not looking at him, and if the rest hadn’t broken Harry, that single word-please-would have done.

“You know that I’ll do anything,” Harry said. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Then let’s find out how to break the bond,” Draco said, “and break it.”

*

part 2