Chapter Sixteen of 'The House That Lovers Built'- In Memory of Consequences

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter Fifteen.

Title: The House That Lovers Built (16/17 or 20)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione mentioned
Warnings: Angst, violence, forced bonding (of a sort), hurt/comfort.
Rating: R
Summary: A planned Auror raid on a notorious Potions brewer goes wrong. Badly wrong. To the point of Harry-ending-up-trapped-in-a-magical-house-with-Draco-Malfoy wrong. And the secret to leaving is going to be something that Harry might not have the strength to face.
Author’s Notes: This is a hurt/comfort fic for both characters in some ways. The forced bonding is more related to the house than to a typical bond. And, finally, I’ve been wanting to write this fic for a long time. It will update every Monday, and probably be somewhere between ten and twelve chapters long.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Sixteen-In Memory of Consequences

Draco roused up again from the dazed puppet Harry had turned him into when he kissed him, and kissed Harry again, firmly, within the door of his bedroom, his fingers sliding onto Harry’s shoulders and gripping until Harry thought he might shake him. He lifted his own hands, though, and caught Draco’s wrists, and held them there, and they stumbled into the bed gripping each other.

This bed wouldn’t shrink under them, or grow larger, or try to make them sleep in a particular way, Harry thought. They wouldn’t wake up tangled with each other. Unless they wanted to.

And that made all the difference.

Draco had shown him how pleasurable sex could be, but their first time together hadn’t made Harry’s fingers burn this way, hadn’t made his hands clumsy when he pulled at Draco’s clothes, hadn’t shown him the way that Draco would look up at him from his nest in the middle of a bunch of blankets and crook a finger. And that was more arousing than infuriating, somehow.

“Come here,” Draco whispered. “I want to see you come.”

Harry took his time removing his own shirt and letting it slide down his shoulders, because they were out of the house and he only had to obey Draco’s orders when they matched his own desires. Long before he got his shirt completely off, Draco was gaping at him, a small string of drool sliding down his cheek. Harry reached out and caught it on one finger, cocking his head winsomely at Draco.

“Yes, I drool over you,” Draco said, and reached down to grip his erection, thrusting it towards Harry in his fist.

Harry almost melted to the bed, but turned it to good purpose by kneeling down and taking Draco in his mouth.

Draco stared at the ceiling with his mouth going wider and wider, and then began a series of short, uncoordinated thrusts into Harry’s throat, which was when Harry learned that it wasn’t much fun when your lover tried to choke you. He pulled back, shaking his head, and this time leaned his cheek on Draco’s leg, so that no matter what angle Draco thrust at, he would have a harder time getting all the way down Harry’s throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” Draco whispered, and his hands snatched at Harry’s hair and the sheets and his own legs, digging his fingers into his skin as though that would make up for something. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to.”

He sounded like he thought Harry might climb out of bed and give up on him entirely. Harry didn’t want that. So he licked him to show that he was forgiven and to shut him up, and then returned to using his mouth in different ways. Draco babbled in response and fell back on the bed with his legs wide open.

Harry pulled back, once, to absorb that vision. Draco on his bed, under his roof, was absurdly satisfying. Draco panting for him and making desperate little motions of his hands for Harry to get back to what he was doing was great.

Harry dipped his head and began to practice with circling his tongue in different directions and altering the angle of his head. Draco responded to all of it, arching his back and crying out, but he never closed his eyes, and he never took them off Harry.

It was impossible not to feel touched by that tribute, that Draco wanted to see at all times who was in bed with him. Harry rewarded him with a special scrape of his tongue, and then he locked his hands on Draco’s hips and slid Draco down his throat after all.

Draco whined, his hips thrusting in jagged little movements as he fought his own desire. Harry closed his lips down as hard as he could and sucked, and Draco gave in with a resounding cry. Harry tried his best to swallow, but it was just impossible, and he ended up turning his head and coughing some of it discreetly over the side of the bed.

He thought Draco might stare at him in disgust when he turned back, but the emotion on his face was closer to rapture, and he reached up to cradle Harry’s head and draw him down for a kiss, ignoring Harry’s muttering about what his breath must smell like.

“You’re magnificent,” Draco said, and he really did sound more drunk than what he’d had earlier could account for. “God, I want to touch you. Make you come.” He was running his hands over Harry’s shoulders as though that could do it, but Harry had to admit, it was the only part of him that was bare.

“Down here,” Harry said, and took Draco’s hand and directed it to the right spot. Yeah. He closed his eyes and rocked into Draco’s grip.

“No. Properly.”

Before Harry could get his eyes all the way open and tell Draco that he was still just as bossy as ever and Harry did not like it, Draco was stripping his trousers off, and his pants followed right after that. And he was fastening his hand around Harry’s cock, and it was better with the cloth gone, so Harry would give him that one.

“What do you want?” Draco was easing Harry back into the pillows like he was a bride or something, and then hovering over him, staring down at him. “What do you-anything you want. Anything you like.”

Harry squinted up at him. The problem was that a lot of what he liked was in their memories from the house, but he was determined that whatever they did here, it was going to be different from the house.

Well, he could think of one thing that was different, at least. “Fuck me like this,” he said. “On my back, so I can see you, and all those absurd faces that I know you made the last time we fucked.”

Draco half-closed his eyes and nodded, then cast a spell at his own cock. In seconds, he was erect again and rocking into Harry’s arse, and his eyes were wide open with desperation.

“That’s what I like to see,” Harry said, and smiled sweetly at him while he reached across the bed for the lube.

“You like to see me desperate to fuck you?” Draco was taking the lube from him almost before Harry realized that he had it in hand, and he was drinking Harry in with his eyes, and Harry arched his neck and threw his head back feeling that he was more alive than he had ever been.

“I like to see you as desperate as I am,” Harry said, and spread his legs. “That was what was infuriating in the house, knowing that anything you wanted you were going to get, and what I felt was just-”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t want to think about the house right now. I want to think about you, and I want you to tell me how you like it.”

Harry wanted to say that they had to talk about the house sometime, and ask how he could know what he liked when he’d never had sex with any man except Draco? But he had known how he liked to be kissed even though he and Ginny hadn’t done much together, and Cho had been his only kiss before that.

He half-shut his eyes and thought about it while Draco slicked himself up and made sure that all their clothes were off. How would he like to be fucked? To be touched, around his arse and on his legs and on his balls?

“Harry.”

It was Draco’s voice, gentle and frantic both at once, as though he was afraid that Harry would retreat into his own head and leave him there. Harry nodded and reached out, taking Draco’s hand in his, feeling the lube slicking his fingers. He guided the fingers down to his entrance, and paused until he could feel Draco’s breath coming sharp and hard, and then slid Draco’s fingers into himself.

That was what he liked, fast and hard and with Draco’s breath getting even more frantic. God, it was desperate and it was what he wanted, more than anything, more intense than anything else had ever been. Draco’s fingers twisted and delved, and Harry pushed Draco’s hand further and further into himself.

He realized that he was murmuring and stretching his legs and enjoying it when a ragged edge of Draco’s nail caught at him, but he didn’t know what Draco was feeling. He remedied that right away by opening his eyes.

Draco was bending over him, his rapt eyes flickering back and forth between Harry’s hole and Harry’s face. Harry smiled at him and spread his legs until he thought he could feel the edges of the bed behind his knees.

“Please,” he said, because he wanted to see what would happen.

Draco reared back on his heels and seized Harry’s legs, was what happened, and Harry arched his neck back and hummed as Draco pulled his hand out. He felt pleasantly empty, aching, waiting, but also knowing what was coming. Yes, this was nicer than anything they had done in the house.

Then Draco was sliding into him.

It hurt, of course. Well, yes. Harry hadn’t done this much. But he knew the pain could give way now, and he knew that Draco was watching him, and Harry could watch him back if he wanted. He just didn’t really want to right now, because closing his eyes made the sensations so much more intense.

Then the pain ebbed a bit, and Draco held himself still and panted, and Harry thought that maybe it was time to open his eyes and take a look.

Draco was rocking back and forth, his head bobbing, his mouth dangling. But his eyes remained as steady on Harry’s as ever, and there was a depth in them, a light, that made Harry want to reach up to his neck.

He couldn’t persuade his hand to stretch that far. His arms were limp with pleasure, and so was most of the rest of him, minus one part. He did manage to find one of Draco’s hands that was on his hip and guide it to his cock, though. So Harry didn’t feel that he was completely useless right now.

“Yes, yes,” Draco whispered. “You ought to see your face.”

“Same back to you,” Harry wanted to say, but by this point he couldn’t get the words out. He was swallowing air and turning it into pleasure. It burned in his chest, and his face, and his neck, and his arse. All of him burned and was consumed, and it had never felt like this in the house. He tilted his head further back on the pillow, gasping out air.

Then Draco began to stroke him, and that was even better. Harry made all sorts of noises that sounded embarrassing to him but probably thrilled Draco, and really, who was ever going to know that he liked to whimper in bed?

And when he could lift his head again and focus on Draco’s face…

Being worshipped wasn’t fun when Harry knew that the person worshipping him didn’t know about his fear, or care about it. To them, he was just a hero who always went and did the right thing, and then came back and was strong about it.

But Draco knew. He knew that Harry had hated the house, and had been a virgin, and wanted him to get along with his friends, and was pathetic on a number of levels.

But he was still looking at him like that.

Harry reached down hard, straining, and impaled himself further on Draco’s cock when he did, and wasn’t that brilliant? He managed to catch Draco’s hand, the one stroking him a little slower than they were fucking. He caught Draco’s hand, and wrung it back and forth, over and over, up and down, gasping as he did.

He didn’t know if he could properly convey what he was feeling, if there was any way of doing that. But he could look at Draco with distinct, sharp eyes, and touch his hand, and then drive himself down again, and Draco seemed to get the message enough to pick up the pace, his eyes never leaving Harry’s eyes now.

Draco was fucking him. Harry had to shut his eyes at last, and he gave himself up to that, and to the imagination of what he probably looked like, spread out on his bed, and to the reality of the feeling, deep inside him, over him, throughout his body. It was all through him. It was there. It was real.

There was no flight from it, and it was real.

His orgasm felt like the pleasure gathering and burning to a point, more intense but no greater than what he’d already felt. He rocked and clenched as he came, and felt Draco gasping and shuddering above him. Draco was calling out, too, and Harry might have been able to hear his name in there if he concentrated.

But, frankly, at this point in time, he couldn’t care less about what Draco was saying. He cared about what was happening inside him, around him, within his body and outside it.

When Draco sagged down on top of him, he brought the first return of pain. Harry didn’t care. He held Draco’s neck with his hands, scratching lightly at the nape with his nails, the way he’d thought of touching Draco’s cheek when they’d been in the middle of sex. He cradled him, and his body burned, and his lungs ached.

It was so brilliant. Yes, the house and what it had forced on them in there couldn’t touch it.

Harry had chosen this, and he was glad that he had been honest, and Draco had been honest, and they had kept going together. They might have violently torn themselves apart if they had just thought about the house; they might have fucked again if they had just trusted what happened in the house, and then it wouldn’t have been this good. And Draco might have gone his way the next day shaking his head.

“You’re drunk on pleasure,” Draco said, sounding startled, and very young.

Harry opened his eyes and smiled at him. Draco’s face was hanging a little under his, so Harry had to move his head until Draco could see the smile. “Yes, I am,” he said simply.

“Your friends-” Draco whispered, and swallowed nervously, and started again. “Your friends wouldn’t like that. They would think that you were only with me for the sex, and what would happen when the afterglow faded? Do you know, Harry? Do you know what’s going to happen to us if we fuck a few times and it gets worse for you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “And of course you would say something like that, just when I was getting comfortable and not thinking about them,” he muttered. He stretched, and ended up tugging one arm out from under Draco to do it. Draco was staring at him anxiously, and Harry rolled his eyes again. “If you want my friends in the bed, just say so, Draco.”

Draco glared at him. Harry ruffled his hair, and Draco ducked away from his hand and glared at him again.

“If it gets worse, then you’ll be the first to know,” Harry said quietly. “Because you’re the one who’s sleeping with me. And I think you would be happy to leave me and go on your way, if it became bad for us.”

“I’ll never be happy without you.”

Draco’s eyes were wide and honest, and he might have been made of glass; Harry could see through him that easily. He took his hand and kissed him on the mouth, slow and long. Draco kissed back, and if he hadn’t already revived his cock with magic, Harry thought it would have woken up again.

“We’ll do something about that,” Harry said gently, pulling back. “Because I don’t want you feeling that you’re incomplete without me, Draco. I want you to stand on your own, and be happy with your life, and fuck whoever you want.”

“I don’t want to be different,” Draco said, curling himself around Harry. “I want to be with you, and I want to be happy.”

“But if those two things become different,” Harry said, as gently as he could, “if being with me makes you unhappy, would you really want to stay?”

Draco’s face went blank, and he looked over at the far wall. “I promised myself, once, after the war,” he said, voice so low that Harry only understood half the words long seconds after he spoke them, “that I would never let anyone make me unhappy again. That I would never stay in any situation where I was unhappy.”

“Do you think you can keep that promise?” Harry rubbed his wrist, up and down, feeling the quivering and yielding of the tendon, of the skin. “Because I want you to, Draco. I want you to be happy, but also your own person. If I suddenly died or it doesn’t work out, I don’t want you to think that your life will never be worthwhile again.”

Draco bowed his head, and didn’t say anything. Harry gently touched his cheek, trying to get Draco to look at him, but Draco just tightened his shoulders and shook his head.

“I’m in love with you,” Draco breathed. “And all you can keep talking about, even just after we had brilliant sex, is about how it might not work out, and you’ll abandon me the minute it doesn’t.”

Harry swallowed. He reached up and touched Draco’s hair, thought of kissing him again, knew it wouldn’t solve anything, and dropped his hands back to his sides.

“Yes, the sex was brilliant,” he said at last. “But I don’t know if we’ll be together for the rest of our lives, Draco. You still want the kind of commitment from me that I don’t know if I can give. If I told you that we were, if I told you that I was in love with you, and then it didn’t work out, what would happen to you? I think you would be more betrayed than you would be if I’m honest with you from the beginning.”

“Tell me what you think could destroy us.” Draco’s words were harshly gasped, and his hands fisted on either side of Harry’s hips. Harry realized with a little start that Draco was still inside him. They had been arguing so hard that the realization had slipped out of his mind. “Tell me what you’re afraid of. And I’ll fight it. I’ll fight it harder than anyone you ever heard of. Please, Harry.”

Harry gave it careful thought, while he petted Draco’s face with the backs of his fingers. If it would make Draco feel better, there was no reason not to talk about it, even though Harry felt his words wouldn’t encompass half the fears he had, half the things that could tear them apart. But didn’t he owe it to them to try?

Yes. I made the decision to try this when I met with him after the house instead of just walking away.

He looked up, and said, “I’m afraid that I won’t ever need you as much as you need me. I’m afraid that your love for me could be too obsessive. I’m afraid that you won’t like me being an Auror, or sharing me with other people. I’m afraid that I might fall in love with someone else, or that the sex won’t be enough between us forever. All those things.”

“But those are-ordinary things,” Draco said, and he lifted his head with his face transfigured. Harry stared into his blazing eyes, and couldn’t think of a thing to say. “I thought you would say you were afraid of something I couldn’t prevent, something different and important and special to being the Boy-Who-Lived. Or you would say the war, and I couldn’t change what I did and what I didn’t do. But you’re not afraid of the past?”

“I think we’ve got enough of the present to be afraid of right now,” Harry said dryly.

“I can do something about this,” Draco said, rubbing his hip and glancing down as if he had just realized that he was still inside Harry. From his small smile, he liked that fact. “I can’t change the fact that I’m in love with you, but I can try to be gentle and what you need, so you’ll fall in love with me, too. I can’t do anything about the past, but I can try to be polite to your friends from now on. And I can try not to do illegal things so that your career won’t cause problems between us.”

Harry shook his head. “How can I ask you to make those changes?”

“If I want to make them, then it’s kind of insulting that you would think you were somehow forcing me into them,” Draco said, and his eyes blazed.

“Er, right,” Harry said, still feeling nearly swept from his feet. “But what if we can’t keep this up? What if it doesn’t matter, and nothing we do is enough, and we break up in the end?”

“Then I’ll deal with that,” Draco said in a different voice, a low one, and he shifted his hips so that Harry gasped. “The same way I deal with my father being in prison and Severus being dead and the fact that I failed in the most important thing I ever had to do. The same way I dealt with being without you for years. We can do this, Harry. This is ordinary. You’re afraid of it because you’ve never had a regular lover before, but this is the kind of thing that so many people face every day.”

Harry folded his arms and scowled at him. “Then you ought to be okay with it. Better than you were, I mean. If anyone can break up at any time-”

“You wouldn’t say that you were afraid of ordinary things before this, prat,” Draco said, and lightly slapped the side of his head. “I thought it was something a lot bigger and darker than that. The war. Or magical. Or the house.”

“The house might still play a part,” Harry snapped.

“But right now, it doesn’t. Right now, I can do this.” Draco reached out and entwined their fingers, moving their hands backwards as though he was going to pin Harry’s hands against the pillow. “We can do this. Can I count on as you part of a ‘we,’ Harry? Can we do this?”

Harry took a deep breath. He was still so worried, about so many things, and Draco seemed to grow more hopeful the more Harry tried to warn him, which worried Harry.

But he thought about the roses Draco had bought him, and the pleasant dinner with his friends, and the way Draco had wanted to know what he liked, and he thought it was at least worth trying.

He nodded, his hair moving against his trapped wrists. “Yeah,” he said, and then Draco’s ferocious kiss drowned any other warning he might have given.

And Draco was inside him, tongue and cock and, Harry had to admit, worries and warnings and dreams, and it was pretty fucking brilliant, as well as brilliant fucking.

Chapter Seventeen.

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