Chapter Twenty-Five of 'There's a Pure-Blood Custom For That'- A Love Match
Chapter Twenty-Four.
Title: There’s a Pure-Blood Custom For That (25/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Rating: R
Warnings: Partial AU after DH (Draco has Scorpius but is not married to Astoria, Harry is not married to Ginny), some angst, off-screen violence
Pairings: Harry/Draco, past Draco/Astoria, Ron/Hermione
Summary: The day that Harry stops Draco Malfoy and his son from being bothered in the middle of Diagon Alley starts a strange series of interactions between him and Malfoy. Who knew there was a pure-blood custom for every situation?
Author’s Notes: A series of loosely chronological, short “chapters” based on silly pure-blood customs, and a developing relationship between Harry and Draco. This is more humor and fluff than anything else, despite the angst warning.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
A Love Match
Draco climbed the stairs ahead of him. Harry thought about saying that he knew where Draco’s rooms were and didn’t need a guide, but he knew it was the sort of thing that would come out wrong no matter how humorous it was. He followed silently, instead.
And he couldn’t cool either the anticipation or the nervousness squirming in his gut. His breath was coming in pants, his hands clenched. He did his best to relax them, open them. He didn’t want Draco to look back at him and think that Harry was terrified of having sex with him.
Even if it was partially true.
They halted at the top of the stairs, and Draco lifted his head with a misty smile and kissed Harry. Harry took some refuge and relief in that kiss, something he’d done before, something he knew how to do. And he felt his veins fill with heat when he rocked against Draco and found Draco hard and waiting for him, made him gasp and his mouth open until Harry wanted to do nothing but fill it with his tongue.
“Yes, and yes again,” Draco whispered, pulling away, his eyes hard and fastened on Harry.
Harry inclined his head and followed Draco down the corridor to his bedroom. He knew something else from that kiss: he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.
*
Draco stood in the middle of his bedroom and looked around as though he had no idea what to do next. Harry nodded, because it was up to him to decide if Draco was going to be docile, and took Draco by the shoulders to push him towards the bed.
Docility was evidently the last thing on Draco’s mind. He braced his heels and shoved back against Harry, one of his hands stealing down to cup Harry’s erection.
Harry gasped. Incredibly, his mind had been on other things than his own physical reaction up until that point, like how he was going to ease Draco out of his clothes without making him self-consciousness. But now, he wondered how he could have missed out on this wonderful source of pleasure, and he pushed forwards and ground against Draco’s palm.
Draco let his head fall back and his own deep laugh work its way out of his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Oh, yes.”
Harry twisted his head back to kiss him, and pushed him onto the bed. The only problem that caused was Draco nearly pulling Harry with him by the cock. Harry laughed and gasped, or some mixture between the two sounds that really couldn’t be too much concerned with dignity, and followed Draco down, finding his lips again.
Draco squirmed underneath him and lifted his hands to capture Harry’s hair in two tight fists. No one had ever done this for Harry before, held his head and directed him where to go and where to thrust his tongue, but he discovered he liked it. And it helped him to forget the ringing shock of impact that was hitting Draco’s hips with his own.
And Draco’s cock with his cock. Harry decided to try something, and thrust there, too. Draco’s face went pale.
“You’re all right?” Harry asked cautiously, sitting up. Merlin, now he was afraid that he’d hurt Draco.
“I never realized it would feel like that,” Draco whispered, and redness replaced the whiteness. He stared at Harry in utter silence, and then said, “I’m going to have to do all the work around here, aren’t I?” His arm around the back of Harry’s neck was a surprise, his strong tug onto the bed even more so.
Harry rode the motion, though, and soon took over the way that he thought Draco wanted, filling Draco’s mouth with his tongue and the gap between Draco’s legs with his hand. Draco tilted his head back and mouthed at the air, silent except for the soft murmur of sound that worked its way out between his lips. Harry knew something was wrong if Draco could make any noise, though, and he pushed his tongue more insistently in.
“The point is not to choke me,” Draco said, pulling his head back and giving Harry a slight glare that was even more effective from the distance that separated them.
Harry tore his hand through his fringe and muttered, “Right. Right.” His heart was banging so painfully that he wanted to start kissing Draco again just so he could think about something else. “But I’m doing okay so far?”
“Of all the lovers I’ve ever had who worried about things like that in the middle of the lovemaking,” Draco said solemnly, “you’re the best.”
“And you’re a prat,” Harry muttered, but he felt cheerful despite himself. “I’m ignorant of the way you like to make love the same way I am of pure-blood customs, all right?”
“But unlike the customs, you don’t need to learn this from a book,” Draco said, and reached up, sliding one hand down Harry’s cheek. “You can let me teach you a bit of what I like to do. If you’d rather.”
Harry smiled a little. “That might be interesting. Show me.” He lounged on his elbow, and found that his nervousness was gone entirely when Draco leaned over and gently kissed him.
Draco took one of Harry’s hands and guided it to the back of his neck, murmuring quiet encouragement that Harry relaxed into with a sigh. Draco rubbed Harry’s hand back and forth, then paused. Harry took it over himself, and knew he was doing it right when Draco had trouble keeping his eyes open, tilting his head back with tiny, breathless grunts escaping him.
“This feels so good when you do it,” Draco said, and smiled at him.
Harry kissed him again, and kept up the stroking while he reached up to the top of Draco’s robes. Draco tensed once as though he was going to flinch, and then nodded and bowed his head, stretching his arms out so Harry could draw off the robes more easily.
Harry pulled them over Draco’s head, and smiled at the way Draco tried to rub his disordered hair flat. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“Fuck, you’re probably right,” Draco said, and caught Harry’s eye. “What?”
“I just...liked the way you said ‘Fuck,’” Harry said, and leaned in to kiss him again. For the moment, the simple way Draco had spoken that word affected him more than the sight of Draco’s body, naked now except for his pants.
But he looked down, of course, and swallowed at the sight of Draco’s cock standing out, straining, against his pants.
Draco caught his gaze, and looked a little pained. “Too much for you?”
“No,” said Harry. “I just don’t know what I want to do first.” It had seemed so simple with Ginny, two people finding each other out, and Daphne had always guided Harry to her desires with a minimum of fuss and hand gestures. But he hadn’t the slightest idea about what he should do with another man’s cock.
Then he thought about what he liked, and felt the stirring in his own pants creeping up his body. There’s at least a few things you can imagine.
“That’s a promising sign,” Draco said, breathy, as Harry rolled his hand over Draco’s cock, paying particular attention to how it felt against his knuckles.
“Sometimes, you talk too much.” Harry smiled into his eyes. “You said that you were going to show me what you liked, so show me.”
Draco raised his eyebrows, a second before a slow smile crept across his face. He scooted back across the bed, mouth ostentatiously closed, and settled himself against the pillows. There, he spread his legs and began slowly to slide his pants off.
Harry decided that perhaps Draco had found a way to cause trouble even with his simple request. For a man who had invited Harry into such a bewildering and beautiful world of pure-blood customs that Harry was never sure where he should step, that made sense.
Draco slid his pants down so slowly that Harry kept blinking, sure he would have them off any second now, only to find the stripping still in progress. And he did it without moving his legs, and moving his arse in such small, graceful directions that Harry wasn’t sure he saw them at all. He only knew that at the end, Draco’s pants were down around his ankles and he kicked them off with a fluid motion Harry actually did see, and then reached for his cock.
And then Harry discovered the secondary meaning of “show” that he really should have thought about before now.
Draco’s hand on his cock was as slow as the rest of him, at first, or at least as slow as the motion he had used to gets his pants off his ankles. His cock was pink, and his hand was paler, and he stroked with a motion that made his chest shudder a little with his breath. His eyes on Harry were paler still, although Harry thought the smug light in them was pretty deep.
Draco, it turned out, favored a long, slow stroke with his hand that ended with a sharp motion up at the end. As he kept stroking, he flushed more, and his mouth began to slowly open. Harry found himself leaning forwards as if all the secrets of the universe were about to spill off Draco’s tongue.
He also thought for a moment that Draco was gasping, although he didn’t know how without him being able to see it. Then he heard it more clearly, and the noises were his own.
Draco smiled at him, a soft expression, his blush creeping around his cheeks and his eyelashes drooping as if he wanted to shield his eyes. A second later, he was gasping himself. Maybe he’d been holding back the sounds until now, waiting for Harry to let them out.
And a second later, Harry decided it didn’t fucking matter. What mattered was the sheer glory of the look in Draco’s eyes, the hunger in his face, the way that his hand, when he finally stopped stroking himself and held it out, dripped.
Harry crawled in, so drawn that for a second he didn’t understand what was happening when something caught under his knee and kept him from moving. Then he looked down and realized he was still wearing his own robes.
He tore them off so fast that he burned his neck, and never mind Draco’s small chuckle. He knew where he needed to be, for right now.
He didn’t bother about his pants, knowing they could come off later. Instead, he replaced Draco’s hand with his, firmly, and began the same stroking that Draco had, speeding it up while Draco stared at him.
“You’re something else,” Draco whispered.
“Not something other than your lover, I hope,” said Harry, which was probably horribly soppy and something Draco would never let him forget that he’d said, but he didn’t care. He was here in the moment, involved. The warmth was rising around him, and his hand was full, and his mouth was full of water when he licked his lips, and he leaned in and kissed Draco again in a manner that Draco returned ferociously.
Then Draco caught his wrist and murmured, “Slow down. I’m getting a little sensitive.”
Harry held his breath for a second, but Draco still smiled at him, eyes glowing, and he knew that he wasn’t being criticized. He nodded and obediently slowed his wrist, and Draco sighed and tossed his head back languidly, one hand on Harry’s shoulder as if he needed support.
He should, by the time I’m through with him.
Harry was smiling so hard that it hurt his lips. He leaned in and kissed Draco again, although he wasn’t sure how much of it Draco felt. His eyelids were fluttering now and he was gasping, his free hand making random catching motions. Harry pictured him on a broom with an invisible Snitch dancing around him. He nearly snickered.
But then he looked down, and felt himself overwhelmed again by the sight of his hand on Draco, and any impulse to laugh left him.
Draco was entirely flushed below the waist now, and even the muscles of his thighs were fluttering almost in rhythm with his eyelids. He panted; the sound was butterfly-gentle against Harry’s ears. Harry smelled a sharp scent of salt rising up from him, salt and sweat and exertion, and Draco’s hand on his shoulder tightened.
Harry thought he knew what that meant. He kissed Draco behind the ear and added that little motion near the head that Draco had liked when he practiced it on himself.
Draco came with a soft cry, both more quietly and more messily than Harry had suspected he would. Somehow, it never seemed as messy when he was on the other end. Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with his hand, so he put it on the bed to brace himself and leaned in for a kiss.
Draco returned it so slowly at first that Harry didn’t think he knew who was doing it, his breath loud and strenuous now. Then he was kissing in earnest, and his hand was on Harry’s groin so abruptly that Harry jumped.
Draco didn’t take his pants off, though. He slowly, teasingly, traced Harry through the cloth, and Harry bucked forwards with a hissing cry.
“Yes, I thought so,” said Draco, which was nonsense as far as Harry was concerned because he didn’t know what Draco meant, and then he was urging Harry up onto his knees and reaching around behind his arse. Harry squirmed when Draco’s fingers dipped into his crack.
“I know, too far tonight,” said Draco, and kissed him as he eased Harry’s pants down his hips. Now, of course, he wanted to take his time again, when Harry was more than hard enough to want it quicker. But Draco seemed to think that Harry needed guidance even in this, as he reached back and gently fondled Harry’s balls and his cock and…Harry’s head was spinning.
“Yes,” said Draco again, and Harry was starting to wonder who he was having this invisible conversation with. He was going to be pissed if it wasn’t him.
But Draco eased Harry back into the position he’d used earlier, against the pillows, and Harry caught a glimpse of his face then. He had to smile back, although Draco wasn’t smiling. His eyes were so wide, so bright, and his hands were gentle and solemn as he touched Harry.
“You’ll have to tell me the way you like it,” Draco said, finally bringing Harry back to the real world after drifting in another one for a while. “Fast? Slow? Hard?” The word resulted in a teasing tug to Harry’s cock.
“I could show you, the way you did me,” Harry offered, wiped his hand on the bed, and reached for himself.
Draco caught his wrist and shook his head firmly. Harry blinked at him. Draco whispered, “This time, I want it this way. I want you to tell me. I want to hear your voice break, and I want you to come to the point where you can’t speak anymore.”
Harry arched. “Keep talking like that and I’ll come before you can get your hands on me,” he muttered.
“Maybe that’s what I want,” said Draco, and he began to stroke again. “You have to tell me. You must tell me.”
His voice was commanding, nearly hypnotic, and Harry surrendered without thinking about it. “I like it slow at first. But speeding up when you get-near the tip.” Draco’s hand was already mimicking his words, and it was exhilarating. “You have to put some force into it. I’m not going to get off if someone teases me.”
“I don’t plan to tease you,” Draco said, and leaned near to breathe on his cheek even as he started adding some force to the twist. “Someone who teases you isn’t going to satisfy you, and I will.”
“Yes, you will,” Harry agreed, forcing his eyes open. They’d fallen shut somehow. He was staring at Draco from a distance that basically filled his vision with color, and it was amazing.
“Tell me what else you like.” Draco kept his hand going at the same pace, proving what he said about not wanting to tease Harry, but Harry was getting to the point where he wanted something else.
“To touch myself on the arse-oh-“
It usually took Harry some leaning and wriggling that broke the mood to reach around for himself, but of course Draco had two hands. And a look of absolute delight on his face, and heat.
“And then you keep on pulling and touching until you come?” Draco moved his fingers on Harry’s arse, this time making Harry arch towards him instead of away. “Or do you do something else?”
“Sometimes-sometimes I try as hard as I can to get a fingertip just a little way inside me-”
Draco pushed with one hand, a gentle, devious smile on his face that Harry abruptly lost sight of as he slammed his eyes shut and arched onto instead of away.
There was so much warmth that he honestly didn’t know what made him come, Draco’s finger or hand. Draco was whispering into his ear, but Harry couldn’t hold onto the words, either. He was drifting back to the ground in a haze, his chest aching with how hard he breathed. And his groin hurt, too, and honestly, he thought he’d pulled a muscle in his back.
“Do you know what, Harry?” Draco whispered to him.
If he tells me there’s a bloody pure-blood custom for this, I’m going to bloody kill him, Harry thought, his mind tumbling around so lazily that he couldn’t speak. He did manage a grunt, though.
“You look hot when you do that.”
Thank Merlin, no customs, Harry thought, and then fulfilled a custom of his own by dropping off into a very sound sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six.
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