Fic: Painted Colder (HP, H/D, R-NC17)
Title: Painted Colder
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rated: R to NC17
Warnings: Slash, ice cubes
Words: About 2,300
Notes: Inspired by the poem “Vodka” by Joel Brouwer. Written for a 'drabble' requested by spae who wanted “ice-cube play”. Beta'd by judas_denied. X-posted to the_dark_garden for quote prompt #204.
Summary: He is, sitting there across the round, chipped formica table, every cliche word for winter.
"The Stoli bottle's frost melts to brilliance where I press my
fingers. Evidence. Proof I'm here, drunk in your lamplit kitchen,
breathing up your rented air, no intention of leaving. Our lust
squats blunt as a brick on the table between us. We're low on
vocabulary. We're vodkaquiet. Vodkadeliquescent. Vodka doesn't
like theatrics: it walks into your midnight bedroom already
naked, slips in beside you, takes your shoulders in its icy hands
and shoves. Is that a burglar at the window? No, he lives with
me, actually. Well, let him in for Christ's sake, let's actually get this
over with."
Joel Brouwer (Vodka)
It's late, it's dark, and it's cold in Harry's flat. Harry's flat that everyone believes he lives in alone, but actually is also the sometimes habitat of Draco Malfoy as well. Draco Malfoy that everyone believes is dead.
People believe a lot of things that aren't true, Harry has discovered.
“You know, no one would believe me tomorrow if I told them that I spent the night getting drunk with Draco Malfoy at my kitchen table,” Harry says quietly.
Draco lifts one arched brow and shrugs. He takes an ice cube out of the bowl on the table and holds it with his finger and thumb while he sucks on it. He removes the ice from his mouth only long enough to drink the shot of vodka he poured a minute before, then immediately puts it back.
The dim light from the lamp over the kitchen counter is almost yellow and it casts strange shadows in the room. One would think that it would cast Draco's pale, sharp features into stark relief and somehow diminish his beauty, but it doesn't. He is, sitting there across the round, chipped formica table, every cliche word for winter.
“It's cold in here,” Harry says.
Draco nods and sits back, chewing the last of his ice cube.
Draco doesn't talk very much anymore. Or at least, he doesn't talk much to Harry. Not that they ever had what anyone would call conversations, but the difference is enough that Harry notices it.
“Say something,” Harry says.
Winter silver eyes locked with his, Draco picks up the chilled bottle of vodka, now less than half full, but still frosted, and fills his shot glass again. His fingers have left clear impressions on the cold glass and Harry reaches out to touch his own fingers to the same glass. Nothing.
“You're not cold,” Harry observes. “Just me.”
Draco smiles a little. He drinks his shot and takes another ice cube from the bowl. They've started to melt, even though the room feels like the inside of a meat cooler.
“I know,” Draco says, and the breaking of his silence is almost startling.
“Why?” Harry asks.
Draco licks his ice cube and gets up from the table. He goes around to Harry's side and moves between Harry and the table, throwing one leg over his thighs to sit in his lap, facing him. Draco slides his hands, both of them, under Harry's shirt and up. The cube of ice touches his belly button, runs shockingly cold up his sternum, then presses over one of his nipples and holds it there until the cold is nearly burning.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks.
Draco gives him a look and he can almost hear him saying Don't be stupid, Potter, and Harry really doesn't mind, especially when Draco moves the ice away from his nipple and slides it up his throat, pushing his shirt up and off as he does it. Smiling a little, Draco ducks his head to lick and nip at Harry's nipple. Harry gasps and Draco puts the ice cube to his lips, moving it back and forth along Harry's lower lip until it melts a bit and water trickles down Harry's chin.
Eyes fixed on Harry's, Draco puts the last sliver of the ice cube into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue. Harry watches him do it, then threads his fingers into the back of Draco's pale hair and pulls his head down to kiss him. Draco yields to it easily and Harry's tongue slides over his and they're both cold now, at least here.
Harry stands, lifting Draco up and shoving him half sprawling onto the kitchen table. The skin of Draco's shoulders make an obscene squeaking sound on the glossy wood surface and he hisses and pushes Harry back a little so he can sit up. Harry hesitates and starts to draw away, thinking Draco is refusing, perhaps even a little angry. Draco is neither and when Harry takes a step back, he hooks a finger in one of Harry's belt loops and pulls him forward again with a shake of his head and a knowing smile. He pulls his own shirt off and tosses it over Harry's shoulder without looking where it falls then reaches for his belt, but Harry's hands are already there, opening it with a jerk that makes Draco's breath catch.
Harry flicks his thumb over the button at the top of Draco's fly and Draco brushes his hands away to open his jeans himself. He gets them open and gets down from the table to push them off, the front of his body sliding down Harry's as he stands.
Harry opens his mouth to speak and Draco presses his fingers to his mouth to silence him. Holding Harry's gaze, Draco moves his hands between them and unfastens the fly of Harry's trousers. He grazes his fingernails down Harry's abdomen and around to his hips to push his pants down.
Harry's expression as he watches Draco is calculating and little confused. He catches Draco by surprise when he takes his hips in his hands and turns him around. Draco's heart races at how fast Harry changes from still and watching to aggressive and commanding, but not in fear. Or not all in fear. Not the bad kind of fear. It's fear that is more like anticipation, fear with a tang of want and desire.
Draco braces himself with his hands on the edge of the table and grinds his ass back against Harry's groin. Harry presses against him from behind and leans down, his chest along Draco's smooth back, and nips the side of his neck as he guides his cock inside and thrusts.
Surprised again, this time by the abruptness of the penetration, Draco hisses a curse between his teeth and tenses, fingers going white with their grip on the edge of the table. Harry licks the place where he'd bitten Draco moments before, more out of a carnal desire to taste than any real interest in soothing the hurt, but he stays like that and doesn't move.
After a few deep breaths and some time, Draco pushes back. Harry thrusts into the movement, his body still flush to Draco's back, and just jerks his hips, moving in deep, shallow strokes. Panting, Draco lets his head fall forward, his blond hair in his face, and rolls his hips in Harry's hands, catching and riding his erratic rhythm.
Harry nuzzles Draco's neck and murmurs his name in a question. Draco doesn't know what he's asking, but he turns his face toward Harry and kisses him and whatever question he was asking is either answered or forgotten.
With a lick and a quick nip of his teeth, Harry breaks the kiss and moves his mouth along the curve of Draco's shoulder to the nape of his neck, then slowly, deliberately, down his spine as far as he can go without withdrawing from the heat of his body. He places one last sucking kiss to the spot between Draco's shoulders, then reaches over him, into the bowl of ice on the table. It's been melted mostly to chill water, but Harry finds a cube that is still mostly there and places it against Draco's back over the love bite he's left there between his shoulder blades.
Draco whimpers and bites down on his bottom lip as Harry, still fucking him in that deep, reluctant to withdraw even for a moment way, slowly trails the cold, burning cold ice chip down the length of his spine until it's gone. Smiling a little at Draco's reaction, Harry follows the trail of water with the tips of his first two fingers, pressing in as he moves them up. A wave of gooseflesh runs up Draco's back and down his arms and he shivers.
Harry drops his head forward, resting his forehead against the back of Draco's shoulder. He closes his eyes for only a moment.
When Harry opens them, he's alone, sitting at the table in his chair. He's clothed and when he reaches out to dip his fingers into the bowl that held ice and cold water only an instant before, it's room temperature.
~~*~~
Two nights later... or maybe it's three...
It doesn't matter.
Not like it used to.
However long or short the time, it has passed and now there is a sharp tap, tap, tap on Harry's bedroom window, just like the first time. And he climbs from his bed and goes to peer out at Draco, crouched there on the fire escape looking in, just like the first time. And just like the first time, he opens the window and lets Draco inside.
“You left,” Harry says.
“No I didn't,” Draco whispers.
Harry wonders why he's whispering when there's no one in the apartment but them. “You didn't,” he repeats, lifting a brow in disbelief.
“No,” Draco says, “you melted away. That's all.”
“I...?”
“Yes.”
Draco walks by him to the bed, stripping out of his clothes as he goes so that he's naked when he reaches it, and climbs up to sit cross-legged in the center of the mattress, watching him.
Harry is only wearing soft trousers for sleeping in because he's only cold when Draco is there and Draco's been gone for a few days and nights. He takes them off and crawls across the bed to Draco, moving like he's stalking him, a wicked, playful smirk on his lips.
Draco smiles back at him and lays back on the bed as Harry moves over him. He meets Harry half-way and kisses him, sliding an arm around his neck and the other around his waist. Draco hums into Harry's mouth, the sound a soft vibration on their tongues and lips, then suddenly throws his weight to the side and reverses their positions.
Astride him, Draco leans down and swipes his tongue up Harry's throat to the tender underside of his chin. His soft white gold hair that has grown shaggy-long since the war slithers over Harry's skin and tickles his face. Harry lifts both hands and pushes his fingers through it, half sitting up to lick Draco back.
Laughing a little, the sound carrying a taint of chiding mockery, Draco curls his long fingers into Harry's shoulders and shoves him back down on the bed. He lets go of Harry's shoulder with one hand and moves it down to close his fingers around Harry's cock. He lightly tugs and Harry gasps and thrusts up into his hand, sliding over Draco's fingers.
Draco's very cold fingers.
“Cold again,” Harry says, hissing it out in a near whisper.
“I know,” Draco says.
Harry turns his face to the side and stares at the Dark Mark set in black in Draco's forearm. His fingers on Harry's shoulder are strangely cold and remind Harry of the twigs of naked trees, glazed and sparkled with hoarfrost.
“Is it because you're dead?” Harry asks, finally giving voice to a question he has wanted to ask since the first time. “You're dead and so I'm always cold when you're here?”
Draco quirks a brow and slides his thumb over the head of Harry's cock, through his precum. “What makes you think I'm the dead one here?”
Harry goes still. “They--”
“Who?”
Harry opens his mouth, the answer on the tip of his tongue before he realizes he doesn't know what the answer is.
Draco nods like he understands.
Harry shakes his head and shifts under him, toppling Draco off of him and rolling on the bed to move over him...
But he's alone again and it's not cold anymore and there is early morning light seeping through the window.
Harry sighs and slumps to the mattress. He wonders if maybe what Draco was saying was that he is the dead one. He, Harry, not Draco.
He tries to remember dying, but can't. Not surprising, really.
He thinks that maybe he should be a little more concerned about it than he is.
He wonders if Draco will come back and is almost positive that he will.
He closes his eyes and lets his breathing even out, ready for sleep, thinking that if this is death, then it isn't really all that bad. A bit colder, but nothing as bad as people believe.
People believe a lot of things that aren't true, Harry has discovered.
//finis//
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rated: R to NC17
Warnings: Slash, ice cubes
Words: About 2,300
Notes: Inspired by the poem “Vodka” by Joel Brouwer. Written for a 'drabble' requested by spae who wanted “ice-cube play”. Beta'd by judas_denied. X-posted to the_dark_garden for quote prompt #204.
Summary: He is, sitting there across the round, chipped formica table, every cliche word for winter.
"The Stoli bottle's frost melts to brilliance where I press my
fingers. Evidence. Proof I'm here, drunk in your lamplit kitchen,
breathing up your rented air, no intention of leaving. Our lust
squats blunt as a brick on the table between us. We're low on
vocabulary. We're vodkaquiet. Vodkadeliquescent. Vodka doesn't
like theatrics: it walks into your midnight bedroom already
naked, slips in beside you, takes your shoulders in its icy hands
and shoves. Is that a burglar at the window? No, he lives with
me, actually. Well, let him in for Christ's sake, let's actually get this
over with."
Joel Brouwer (Vodka)
It's late, it's dark, and it's cold in Harry's flat. Harry's flat that everyone believes he lives in alone, but actually is also the sometimes habitat of Draco Malfoy as well. Draco Malfoy that everyone believes is dead.
People believe a lot of things that aren't true, Harry has discovered.
“You know, no one would believe me tomorrow if I told them that I spent the night getting drunk with Draco Malfoy at my kitchen table,” Harry says quietly.
Draco lifts one arched brow and shrugs. He takes an ice cube out of the bowl on the table and holds it with his finger and thumb while he sucks on it. He removes the ice from his mouth only long enough to drink the shot of vodka he poured a minute before, then immediately puts it back.
The dim light from the lamp over the kitchen counter is almost yellow and it casts strange shadows in the room. One would think that it would cast Draco's pale, sharp features into stark relief and somehow diminish his beauty, but it doesn't. He is, sitting there across the round, chipped formica table, every cliche word for winter.
“It's cold in here,” Harry says.
Draco nods and sits back, chewing the last of his ice cube.
Draco doesn't talk very much anymore. Or at least, he doesn't talk much to Harry. Not that they ever had what anyone would call conversations, but the difference is enough that Harry notices it.
“Say something,” Harry says.
Winter silver eyes locked with his, Draco picks up the chilled bottle of vodka, now less than half full, but still frosted, and fills his shot glass again. His fingers have left clear impressions on the cold glass and Harry reaches out to touch his own fingers to the same glass. Nothing.
“You're not cold,” Harry observes. “Just me.”
Draco smiles a little. He drinks his shot and takes another ice cube from the bowl. They've started to melt, even though the room feels like the inside of a meat cooler.
“I know,” Draco says, and the breaking of his silence is almost startling.
“Why?” Harry asks.
Draco licks his ice cube and gets up from the table. He goes around to Harry's side and moves between Harry and the table, throwing one leg over his thighs to sit in his lap, facing him. Draco slides his hands, both of them, under Harry's shirt and up. The cube of ice touches his belly button, runs shockingly cold up his sternum, then presses over one of his nipples and holds it there until the cold is nearly burning.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks.
Draco gives him a look and he can almost hear him saying Don't be stupid, Potter, and Harry really doesn't mind, especially when Draco moves the ice away from his nipple and slides it up his throat, pushing his shirt up and off as he does it. Smiling a little, Draco ducks his head to lick and nip at Harry's nipple. Harry gasps and Draco puts the ice cube to his lips, moving it back and forth along Harry's lower lip until it melts a bit and water trickles down Harry's chin.
Eyes fixed on Harry's, Draco puts the last sliver of the ice cube into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue. Harry watches him do it, then threads his fingers into the back of Draco's pale hair and pulls his head down to kiss him. Draco yields to it easily and Harry's tongue slides over his and they're both cold now, at least here.
Harry stands, lifting Draco up and shoving him half sprawling onto the kitchen table. The skin of Draco's shoulders make an obscene squeaking sound on the glossy wood surface and he hisses and pushes Harry back a little so he can sit up. Harry hesitates and starts to draw away, thinking Draco is refusing, perhaps even a little angry. Draco is neither and when Harry takes a step back, he hooks a finger in one of Harry's belt loops and pulls him forward again with a shake of his head and a knowing smile. He pulls his own shirt off and tosses it over Harry's shoulder without looking where it falls then reaches for his belt, but Harry's hands are already there, opening it with a jerk that makes Draco's breath catch.
Harry flicks his thumb over the button at the top of Draco's fly and Draco brushes his hands away to open his jeans himself. He gets them open and gets down from the table to push them off, the front of his body sliding down Harry's as he stands.
Harry opens his mouth to speak and Draco presses his fingers to his mouth to silence him. Holding Harry's gaze, Draco moves his hands between them and unfastens the fly of Harry's trousers. He grazes his fingernails down Harry's abdomen and around to his hips to push his pants down.
Harry's expression as he watches Draco is calculating and little confused. He catches Draco by surprise when he takes his hips in his hands and turns him around. Draco's heart races at how fast Harry changes from still and watching to aggressive and commanding, but not in fear. Or not all in fear. Not the bad kind of fear. It's fear that is more like anticipation, fear with a tang of want and desire.
Draco braces himself with his hands on the edge of the table and grinds his ass back against Harry's groin. Harry presses against him from behind and leans down, his chest along Draco's smooth back, and nips the side of his neck as he guides his cock inside and thrusts.
Surprised again, this time by the abruptness of the penetration, Draco hisses a curse between his teeth and tenses, fingers going white with their grip on the edge of the table. Harry licks the place where he'd bitten Draco moments before, more out of a carnal desire to taste than any real interest in soothing the hurt, but he stays like that and doesn't move.
After a few deep breaths and some time, Draco pushes back. Harry thrusts into the movement, his body still flush to Draco's back, and just jerks his hips, moving in deep, shallow strokes. Panting, Draco lets his head fall forward, his blond hair in his face, and rolls his hips in Harry's hands, catching and riding his erratic rhythm.
Harry nuzzles Draco's neck and murmurs his name in a question. Draco doesn't know what he's asking, but he turns his face toward Harry and kisses him and whatever question he was asking is either answered or forgotten.
With a lick and a quick nip of his teeth, Harry breaks the kiss and moves his mouth along the curve of Draco's shoulder to the nape of his neck, then slowly, deliberately, down his spine as far as he can go without withdrawing from the heat of his body. He places one last sucking kiss to the spot between Draco's shoulders, then reaches over him, into the bowl of ice on the table. It's been melted mostly to chill water, but Harry finds a cube that is still mostly there and places it against Draco's back over the love bite he's left there between his shoulder blades.
Draco whimpers and bites down on his bottom lip as Harry, still fucking him in that deep, reluctant to withdraw even for a moment way, slowly trails the cold, burning cold ice chip down the length of his spine until it's gone. Smiling a little at Draco's reaction, Harry follows the trail of water with the tips of his first two fingers, pressing in as he moves them up. A wave of gooseflesh runs up Draco's back and down his arms and he shivers.
Harry drops his head forward, resting his forehead against the back of Draco's shoulder. He closes his eyes for only a moment.
When Harry opens them, he's alone, sitting at the table in his chair. He's clothed and when he reaches out to dip his fingers into the bowl that held ice and cold water only an instant before, it's room temperature.
~~*~~
Two nights later... or maybe it's three...
It doesn't matter.
Not like it used to.
However long or short the time, it has passed and now there is a sharp tap, tap, tap on Harry's bedroom window, just like the first time. And he climbs from his bed and goes to peer out at Draco, crouched there on the fire escape looking in, just like the first time. And just like the first time, he opens the window and lets Draco inside.
“You left,” Harry says.
“No I didn't,” Draco whispers.
Harry wonders why he's whispering when there's no one in the apartment but them. “You didn't,” he repeats, lifting a brow in disbelief.
“No,” Draco says, “you melted away. That's all.”
“I...?”
“Yes.”
Draco walks by him to the bed, stripping out of his clothes as he goes so that he's naked when he reaches it, and climbs up to sit cross-legged in the center of the mattress, watching him.
Harry is only wearing soft trousers for sleeping in because he's only cold when Draco is there and Draco's been gone for a few days and nights. He takes them off and crawls across the bed to Draco, moving like he's stalking him, a wicked, playful smirk on his lips.
Draco smiles back at him and lays back on the bed as Harry moves over him. He meets Harry half-way and kisses him, sliding an arm around his neck and the other around his waist. Draco hums into Harry's mouth, the sound a soft vibration on their tongues and lips, then suddenly throws his weight to the side and reverses their positions.
Astride him, Draco leans down and swipes his tongue up Harry's throat to the tender underside of his chin. His soft white gold hair that has grown shaggy-long since the war slithers over Harry's skin and tickles his face. Harry lifts both hands and pushes his fingers through it, half sitting up to lick Draco back.
Laughing a little, the sound carrying a taint of chiding mockery, Draco curls his long fingers into Harry's shoulders and shoves him back down on the bed. He lets go of Harry's shoulder with one hand and moves it down to close his fingers around Harry's cock. He lightly tugs and Harry gasps and thrusts up into his hand, sliding over Draco's fingers.
Draco's very cold fingers.
“Cold again,” Harry says, hissing it out in a near whisper.
“I know,” Draco says.
Harry turns his face to the side and stares at the Dark Mark set in black in Draco's forearm. His fingers on Harry's shoulder are strangely cold and remind Harry of the twigs of naked trees, glazed and sparkled with hoarfrost.
“Is it because you're dead?” Harry asks, finally giving voice to a question he has wanted to ask since the first time. “You're dead and so I'm always cold when you're here?”
Draco quirks a brow and slides his thumb over the head of Harry's cock, through his precum. “What makes you think I'm the dead one here?”
Harry goes still. “They--”
“Who?”
Harry opens his mouth, the answer on the tip of his tongue before he realizes he doesn't know what the answer is.
Draco nods like he understands.
Harry shakes his head and shifts under him, toppling Draco off of him and rolling on the bed to move over him...
But he's alone again and it's not cold anymore and there is early morning light seeping through the window.
Harry sighs and slumps to the mattress. He wonders if maybe what Draco was saying was that he is the dead one. He, Harry, not Draco.
He tries to remember dying, but can't. Not surprising, really.
He thinks that maybe he should be a little more concerned about it than he is.
He wonders if Draco will come back and is almost positive that he will.
He closes his eyes and lets his breathing even out, ready for sleep, thinking that if this is death, then it isn't really all that bad. A bit colder, but nothing as bad as people believe.
People believe a lot of things that aren't true, Harry has discovered.
//finis//