Fic: Hiding in Plain Sight (Neville/Draco) - part 1/2
So reveals are finally up for hp_yule_balls! I finally learned the name of my wonderful giftee. khasael wrote me an absolutely gorgeous Harry/Draco just the way I like it: no angst, plenty of humour, ridiculous misunderstandings and a hilariously paranoid Harry (and of course hot sex!). Go check it out! Are you still here? Why? Go, go, go!
So you came back again? (Did you give khasael some love?) Good, because I'm finally getting round to posting my hp_yule_balls submission, my very first established relationship fic! And possibly the most angst I have ever written! I know you angst-queens will scoff at my light-weight angst (you know who you are), but for me this constitutes pretty heavy angst. Enough talking.
Author: mayfly_78
Title: Hiding In Plain Sight
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Neville/Draco
Summary: Can a love remain hidden? Do the interfering women of the family always know best?
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, meddling mothers, angst, and then some angst
Word Count: 14.400
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Author's Notes: Written for paddynmoon for 2010's hp_yule_balls exchange. Lots and lots of hugs and heartfelt thanks must go to my most patient and marvellous beta raisinous_fiend, for not only correcting my atrocious grammar, but for also being full of brilliant ideas and much needed pointers.
Hiding In Plain Sight
i. boys will be boys
The sun gently slants into the room from the gap in the thick curtains, and a subdued birdsong softly wafts in from outside. Neville Longbottom stretches himself, cracks open an eye and scratches his belly. There is an arm slung possessively over his torso, the hand curled around his bicep - grip firm even in sleep, - and a long slender leg entwined around his. A pleasant warm feeling grows in his chest, and a soft smile plays on his lips. He turns around to see soft pale blond hair fanned out on his pillow, a hint of a pointy nose and chin peeking through.
Neville doesn't want to wake his slumbering partner. He wants to lie like this for a while longer and enjoy the quiet, pleasant morning and welcome company in his bed. He wants to reminisce about the previous night and the sensation of his sleeping companion's body under him, over him, around him; his clever tongue slick and warm in Neville's eager mouth; his groping, demanding hands roaming all over Neville, grabbing tightly, refusing to let go; his long lean legs wrapping around Neville, holding him close, trapping him exactly where he wants to be, just as he opens himself up completely to Neville and welcomes him into his tight, hot, exquisite body. And Neville falls, lets himself be sucked in, devoured by him and devouring in turn, not wanting anyone or anything more in the world, knowing that this is right, this is where he belongs forever and ever.
Neville feels his blood stir in his veins; his member begins to harden, the ghost of the memory of the night before still imprinted on it. His bed-mate sniffles and wriggles, his grasp around Neville's bicep tightening, almost as though he read his thoughts. Neville doesn't want to wake him and break this precious comfortable moment, but he sees no alternative. He rolls onto his side to face his prone lover and lifts his arm, unsurprised when the grip on it never slackens. Tenderly, he smoothes the bright, soft hair away from his face to reveal in a rare moment of quietude a sight that is both familiar and precious: precise blond brows; closed eyelids, the pale lashes almost invisible; a high sharp cheekbone that Neville lovingly caresses; an upturned pointy nose that remains haughty even in repose; thin, pale pink lips, their shape a perfect bow; a regal, precise chin joining to a razor sharp jawline that Neville diffidently lets his fingers trail along, secure in the knowledge he won't get cut; and a rarely seen, barely visible spattering of blond stubble.
Neville cups the sleeping man's cheek. The rough, almost sandpapery, stubble feels strange and foreign. He gently shakes the man. "Draco," he says. "Draco, wake up."
Draco whines and buries his face in the pillow. "Dun wanna," he mumbles petulantly. "T'early."
Neville smiles fondly and strokes his hand down the revealed bare back, his palm slowly caressing each bump of every prominent vertebra. Draco arches into the touch and lets out a pleased sigh.
"You can stay in bed if you want, as long as you do remember that Gran returns today from her trip. She's bound to pop in and visit bright and early to make sure I haven't degenerated into a lazy layabout while she's away," Neville informs Draco matter-of-factly. "We could always explain to her what you're doing in my bed. I'm sure she'd understand."
"And inform my mother forthwith," Draco retorts sharply, suddenly wide awake and all dangerous angles and prickly defensiveness once again. Neville sighs, already missing the soft, accommodating Draco.
Draco jumps out of the warm bed into the cold room, his glorious alabaster nudity suddenly revealed, and stalks to the adjoining bathroom.
"Your room is bloody freezing," he grumbles over his shoulder as he leaves. "Trust you to wake up at the crack of dawn to ogle my fine form like a lovestruck Hufflepuff, but to completely forget to cast a warming charm on your bloody room!"
The calm lazy morning spell is completely broken now his difficult and irascible lover is awake. Neville grins nonetheless and reaches for his wand, casting a heating charm over the room, lighting a fire in the hearth for good measure, and flinging the curtains open to let the cool morning light in. He can hear the sound of the shower turning off as he gets out of bed and wraps his plaid dressing gown round himself.
Draco strides out the bathroom, bright-eyed and clean-shaven, hair perfectly combed once more, and a towel loosely slung round his waist. He catches a glimpse of Neville's dressing gown and wrinkles his nose in distaste, as he has done every time he has seen it in the past three years. Flinging the damp towel onto Neville's unmade bed, he swiftly picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and gets dressed.
Neville leans casually against the fireplace as he watches his whirlwind lover get ready to leave. He almost misses him already.
"I'll leave you to greet your gran and get home then," Draco says as he walks towards Neville. "Merlin only knows what I'll do with myself now you woke me at this unwizardly hour on a Sunday. You Lancashire folk are ridiculously morning people," he gripes as he smoothes down the lapels of Neville's unfashionable dressing gown. "We're still on for tomorrow after Auror practice, right?"
Neville nods his agreement, and Draco leans forward to give him a quick peck on the lips. Neville, not one to lose a chance, slips his hand behind Draco's neck to keep him in place and deepens the kiss. Draco quickly acquiesces, his mouth obligingly opening and his palms spreading to rest against Neville's sturdier form, a deep moan reverberating through his body.
Once they are both breathless, they pull apart, cheeks flushed. They gently pant into each other’s mouths, their breaths intermingling.
Neville smoothes back Draco's hair. "Good morning," he tells him.
Draco smirks and gently untangles himself from Neville's embrace.
"I love you, you know," Neville tells him suddenly.
For a split second, Draco looks vulnerable and lost, his grey eyes a bit too wide and soft, just like he does every time Neville says the same thing. However, he quickly composes his features to answer Neville sassily. 'Well you would, wouldn't you?" Without another word, he Apparates away.
Neville slumps against the mantle and sighs. It's the same every time. He is almost certain Draco returns his feelings, but it would be nice if Draco told him, just once. Slowly, he gets ready for breakfast and his grandmother's imminent arrival. He would never tell Draco, but he had severely hoped Draco would agree to stay for breakfast. After two years of secrecy and sneaking around, Neville would dearly like to finally come clean about his relationship. All this hiding and subterfuge chafes. It makes him feel dirty and underhand. But it's a small price for having Draco. Neville would gladly put up with all manner of unpleasantness to keep Draco.
It might only be three years since the beginning of their tentative - at first - friendship, and two since they've become lovers, but Draco has become as necessary to Neville as breathing and gardening. He can no more imagine his life without the prickly, snarky blond than he can without his beloved plants and greenhouse.
With that final thought, Neville makes his way down to the kitchen for breakfast.
~ o ~
The morning is dull and chilly, yet it's reasonably warm in the conservatory as Narcissa Malfoy delicately prunes the gardenias. With her husband incarcerated, and her son either at Auror practice (wasn't that a surprise!) or else asleep, Narcissa's mornings are usually calm and introspective. She likes tending to her plants, finding it strangely pleasant and fulfilling.
Coming across a bug on her lovely Butterfly Bushes, she quickly vanishes it with an efficient flick of her wand and a moue of distaste. Narcissa doesn't like to acknowledge it, but whenever she's displeased, she wrinkles her nose just like her son.
A sharp tapping at one of the large windows interrupts Narcissa's absentminded humming. An elf pops into the room to let the owl in. It flies around the room, wings barely skimming the taller plants, and decides upon the large table that holds Narcissa's watering can. Narcissa steps towards the table, laying her secateurs down and smoothly removing her gardening gloves. The elf helpfully appears at her side, holding a bowl of owl treats and a letter opener.
Narcissa leaves the owl to peck at the treats as she removes and slices open the package it bore her. She finds herself with a pair of her son's soiled undergarments in her hands. Narcissa doesn't know whether to laugh or sigh. She settles for rolling her eyes as she holds up the well-cut silk garment. It has a large stain of obvious provenance on the front and the Malfoy crest embroidered on the waistband. She calls for an elf to dispose of the dirty item and turns to the letter than accompanies the package. Somehow, its contents aren't as surprising as they should be.
Lancashire, 5th of November 2001
Mrs Narcissa Malfoy née Black,
Please find enclosed an item that should belong to your son.
In light of said item, and the discovery of it within my own home - the kitchen, to be precise, - I find that it is not prudent, nor feasible even, to ignore the erumpent in the room, to wit, you son's and my grandson's relationship, any longer.
I'm confident you find the current state of affairs just as vexing as I do. We can sit back and leave the young to their own devices no more.
If you are in agreement with me upon this matter, I would like to invite you to Longbottom Estate for afternoon tea at six o'clock this evening to discuss the subject.
Augusta Longbottom
Narcissa lays down the letter, knowing that it has been a long time coming. The fact she had anticipated this event does not make it any easier to face the fact she has no choice but to meet the Longbottom harridan.
Narcissa is forced to admit that Augusta Longbottom will most probably become a permanent fixture in her future. She sighs the long-suffering sigh of the doting mother. She knows she will put up with all sort of adversity and unpleasantness for the sake of her son and his happiness. She just wishes sometimes that he would not make it so hard. Dear Draco might believe himself to be a master of subterfuge and deceit - pretty much like his dear father Lucius also did, - but the cruel truth is that to anyone who isn't a naive infant, or a Gryffindor, he's as good as an open book.
Narcissa knew the exact moment Draco and young Neville transformed from friends into lovers. Just as she knows the depth and nature of Draco's feelings for his paramour, possibly even better than he himself does. For too long she has pretended ignorance. Augusta is right; it's time to take action.
Narcissa sends an affirmative reply with the owl and leaves the conservatory. She no longer feels the inclination to tend to her plants. She has a meeting to prepare for.
~ o ~
Augusta Longbottom looks at the antique clock sitting on the mantlepiece as the minute hand ticks over to show the time as two minutes past six. She should have known that somebody like Narcissa Malfoy would not be punctual.
Augusta barely finishes her thought when she hears the whoosh of the Floo from the anteroom. Her back stiffens, and her features take on her habitual stern appearance as Nenny shows in the guest.
Narcissa is wearing a simple blue robe that manages to highlight her beauty more than any fancy dress robes could, and a deceptively friendly and charming smile. She glides towards Augusta, her hand held out. "Augusta, my dear," she says. "What a pleasure it is! I must thank you for the lovely invitation."
Augusta rises and clasps Narcissa's delicate, yet firm, hand briefly before motioning to her to take a seat. The blonde sits on the simple antique sofa, elegantly smoothing out her skirts. "I love what you've done with the house," she says. "I do find the country style so delightfully charming."
Augusta knows when she's being urbanely snubbed, but she doesn't deign to rise to the bait. She satisfies herself instead with sipping her tea and smiling politely.
"And you must show me the grounds," Narcissa continues. "Darling Draco has told me what a remarkable prodigy your Neville is with flora of all kind. He insists that Neville's greenhouse is a wonder to behold - you will excuse my son's fondness of hyperbole, I’m sure, - and I'm positive the grounds must be just as delightful."
Augusta is not fooled by Narcissa's delicate, fine-boned beauty and inane prattle. She is well aware of the shrewd intelligence that glints in the wide baby blue eyes opposite her, as well as the razor-sharp cunning intellect that hides underneath the expertly coiffed blond hair. Many have underestimated Narcissa Malfoy - not least of all her own husband - to their detriment. Augusta is not one of them.
Augusta can easily understand the aesthetic reasons behind young Neville's infatuation with the Malfoy boy. Looking at Narcissa's beautiful figure, she is once more reminded that the Malfoys, and the Blacks even more so, were always a handsome family.
Whatever one might think of young Draco's morals or character, one certainly can't deny that, despite his sharp angles and almost waifish slenderness, he's a striking young man. She sincerely hopes that he inherited at least half of his mother's keen intellect, because he seems sadly lacking in her unparalleled talent at deception and discretion. Having said that, Augusta is rather pleased with Draco's distinctly un-Slytherin inability to prevent his expressions from betraying his true feelings, and his rather amusing predilection for Gryffindor rashness and over-emotionality. Augusta doesn't like to contemplate Neville's chances if he rather found himself enamoured of someone as inscrutable and unscrupulous as Narcissa Malfoy.
"Young Neville would like nothing more that to give you the tour of the grounds and the greenhouse," Augusta says, interrupting Narcissa's polite small-talk and her own musings. "Unfortunately, he is not home at the moment, as you well know. He is with your son. They have gone fishing." The last bit comes out rather sardonic, even for Augusta.
Narcissa raises a delicately arched brow caustically, and they both share a silent moment of wry amusement with their progeny. At that moment, Augusta feels a strong kinship with the elegant cold beauty sitting opposite her. It suddenly looks like it won't be that much of a hardship to work with her to sort things out.
"I trust my package wasn't a complete surprise," Augusta says drily, bringing them to the matter at hand.
Narcissa smirks in response. "I should have been expecting a parcel of that nature a lot sooner," she answers with a laugh. "My darling Draco was always such a messy, forgetful boy. In your kitchen, you say?"
Augusta cracks a smile, amused despite herself. "Under the sturdy oak table," she retorts. "It was really quite inconsiderate of them. Especially seeing as Neville possesses his own home."
"Oh dear! It's hard to imagine my baby boy all grown up and quite so frisky!" Narcissa hides her mouth behind her hand to stifle a giggle. Her eyes shine with mirth.
"Quite," Augusta responds, and it doesn't come out as stern as it should. "And to think they believe they have us fooled!" she exclaims, not a little affronted.
"Yes, poor dears," Narcissa agrees. "They are making rather a hash of keeping it secret."
"It's plainly ridiculous," Augusta says. "We can't be expected to let this sorry state of affairs continue."
"I quite agree." Narcissa nods. "We have put up with this stupidity for long enough."
"It's certainly not like my Neville to resort to all this distasteful lying and deception," Augusta continues.
Narcissa lets out a soft peal of laughter. "Of course not," she agrees. "Dear Neville is far too honest and straightforward. It's part of his charm. I'm afraid that we shall have to lay the blame fully on my Draco's shoulders. He's such a manipulative, conniving little snake who's used to getting his own way, bless his devious little heart." Narcissa gets a proud, fond look on her face with the last pronouncement, and Augusta feels a moment of trepidation for what she's letting her grandson get himself into. She gives Narcissa a stern, meaningful stare, and the blonde witch continues.
"Regrettably, he is also somewhat of a coward who will try to hide from things as long as he can." Narcissa states the last without an ounce of shame, to Augusta's profound disapproval. "As such, it would be more efficacious to concentrate on forcing my son to relent. He's a stubborn soul, who wouldn't think twice to cut off his nose to spite his face." Narcissa once more looks inexplicably fond of her contrary progeny. "Forcing him might easily backfire, so it must seem as if it was his idea to make a clean breast of it and finally desist from this childish hiding.
"I shall try and bully him into marrying a girl of my choice. There's nothing like pushing a young man one way to succeed in making him go another. Before we know it, Draco should be flying into your Neville's arms and declaring his affections for all the world to hear."
Augusta smiles, satisfied. It's a tactic with plenty of merit. She knew that involving Narcissa Malfoy was the right thing to do. "Your plan sounds like a sound one," she says approvingly. "It has the added bonus of making Neville jealous. And if I know Gryffindor males, jealousy never fails to get them riled up and ready to take action."
Having settled their plan of action to their satisfaction, the two women sit back to enjoy their well-earned tea. Narcissa segues effortlessly from talk of her son to polite chit chat and juicy gossip, the latter of which gives Augusta the chance to make not a few pithy cutting remarks of her own about common acquaintances.
Once Narcissa Malfoy takes her leave, Augusta takes a moment to sit back and gaze out the window at the rolling hills and verdant countryside. Young Neville, she thinks, you better be sure this is what you truly want.
ii. laying out the trap
"There you are!" Narcissa exclaims, relieved. "I was afraid you’d decided not to come home for dinner after all."
Draco raises one pale eyebrow, and gives his mother a long shrewd look. "I said I’d be home by five today. I’m barely a quarter of an hour late." He gives his mother another suspicious look before continuing. "Mother, have you got anything planned?" he asks as sternly as any son can dare be stern to a mother like Narcissa.
Narcissa simply raises a delicate eyebrow in return - showing her son how it really is done to maximum effect - and Draco blushes, chastened.
Draco turns to leave to prepare for dinner, and Narcissa chooses that moment to speak. "Do wear something nice, dear," she says. "We have guests. Dinner will be served at half past six."
Draco turns around to shoot her an accusatory look. He finds his mother calmly working on her needlepoint, the picture of innocence. With a sigh, he leaves.
Narcissa smiles to herself, satisfied, once she is alone again. Let the games begin, she thinks.
*
At half past six, they are all seated at the dinner table as the house elves appear with their soup. Draco, who dutifully obeyed his mother’s request and dressed in one of his more flattering dress robes, sits quietly sulking. He has been sulking from the moment their guests arrived.
Thankfully, Draco looks rather fetching when pouting. At least Asteria Greengrass seems to think so, if the coy little glances she keeps giving him are anything to go by.
Calliope Greengrass, on the other hand, after giving Draco a critical once-over, is focusing all her attention on Narcissa. They are old acquaintances, after all, and they both know very well what this dinner is about.
Calliope was always a woman after Narcissa’s own heart. She will be sorry to disappoint her, but her daughter is the best candidate for the job. Asteria is beautiful, sweet, timid, fragile looking and soft spoken. She is everything Narcissa would have chosen in a daughter-in-law. And she is the complete opposite of Neville Longbottom, despite their misleading similarities.
"I hear Draco has enrolled in the Auror program," Calliope says. "An interesting choice of profession. I don’t believe there is any history of Aurors in the Malfoy family."
Narcissa smiles at Calliope as she sips the last of her soup. "No. Draco will be the first Auror in the family. We are very proud of him; it is a very noble calling. Did you know that Harry Potter is in the Auror program too? He shares classes with Draco."
Narcissa is pleased to see Calliope’s eyes widen in surprise and reluctant respect. "Are you really in the same classes as Harry Potter?" she asks Draco eagerly.
Draco pretends to look bored and nonchalant as he lets an elf remove his empty soup bowl and replace it with the main course. "Yes, we are in the same year of training," he answers. "Sometimes after classes we go out for drinks together," he adds, almost as an afterthought. Narcissa knows, though, that Draco is fiercely proud of his acquaintance with Potter, despite the pains he takes at hiding it.
Calliope looks impressed, and Asteria’s shy looks become longer and more frequent. Draco pretends to be deeply interested in his meal.
The meal progresses smoothly. Narcissa and Calliope catch up on the latest gossip and news, all the while surreptitiously praising their children. Asteria and Draco remain for the most part silent, as their mothers expected they would.
Once dessert has been enjoyed, the group adjourns to the sitting room for coffee.
"I must thank you for a most lovely meal," Calliope compliments. Narcissa murmurs her thanks, and both mothers share a warm, meaningful look.
"I remember what exceptional gardens Malfoy Manor always had!" Calliope exclaims loudly. "Do they remain as beautiful as I remember?"
Narcissa doesn’t miss the fact that Asteria’s interest has been peaked. "Even more," she answers. "We have done extensive remodelling. The result is slightly more modern, but exceptionally elegant and pleasing nonetheless."
Calliope looks at her daughter’s eager face and lets a pleased smile slip. "My Asteria is most enamoured of gardens, aren’t you dear?" she says, and her daughter nods shyly in reply. "She keeps abreast of all the latest landscaping trends."
"Why then, she should without a question see the gardens!" Narcissa exclaims, pleased that things are going exactly to plan. "Draco would only be too happy to give her the grand tour. My Draco also has a bit more than a passing interest in gardening. He helped me with the remodelling, you know."
Narcissa turns to look at her horrified son. "Draco, be a dear why don’t you, and give Asteria a tour of the gardens. Show her all the changes we have made."
Asteria looks excited and eager, but Draco is less than pleased with the turn of events. "Now?" he asks, sounding a bit desperate. "The sun has long set. I doubt Asteria would enjoy traipsing through the gardens in the dark."
Narcissa almost pities her son as he grasps at straws. "Pish," she says. "A good Lumos will serve you perfectly fine. Besides, it’s a full moon tonight. You might not even need that. The new rose garden will look absolutely divine under the light of the full moon."
"Yes, it should be frightfully romantic," Calliope adds, a bit too obviously.
Draco sighs and acquiesces with the air of a man walking to the gallows. Asteria smiles brilliantly, her eyes bright with anticipation. Narcissa can’t help but like the quiet girl. She sincerely hopes she doesn’t make the mistake of becoming too fond of her son.
Draco gives his mother one last angry and betrayed look before plastering on a polite smile and gallantly leading Asteria out the room.
The two mothers share a content smile.
"Brandy?" Narcissa asks.
"I don’t mind if I do," Calliope answers as she sits back, satisfied.
~ o ~
Augusta sips at her strong black tea as she turns the page of the day’s Daily Prophet to peruse the gossip section.
On the other side of the table, Neville is busy slathering marmalade on his toast.
The article Augusta has been looking for takes pride of place on the page. She hides her satisfied smirk behind the paper as she skims through it. Narcissa Malfoy truly is just as good and efficient as she said she was.
Augusta schools her features into bland disinterest and lowers the paper. She looks at her grandson, tall and sturdy as all good Lancashire folk are, as he innocently munches on his toast.
"This is interesting news," she says. "Did you know about your friend?"
Neville turns big, brown, guileless eyes to her. "Hmm?" he asks, still sleepy. "What friend? Do I know what?"
"The young Malfoy boy," she answers.
Neville’s interest is immediately peaked, and he looks more awake already.
"It says here that he has been seen a number of times in the company of Asteria Greengrass. Sweet girl; I’m not very fond of her mother, though." She adds the last as an aside.
Neville scrunches his brow and looks perplexed.
"It is rumoured that he is courting her," Augusta continues, and can’t help but be pained by the wide-eyed look of disbelief and hurt Neville openly sports. Once more, she questions the prudence of letting him get involved with a family of consummate Slytherins.
"You know," she says, nailing the final nail in the coffin, "I think your young friend has the right idea about it. Don’t you think it’s about time you got a move on it too? Only yesterday I was having tea with Mrs Abbott. She has the loveliest daughter."
"Gran, please." Neville’s voice is rough and has a slight quiver to it as he interrupts her. She lets his rudeness pass, just this once, because she has amply made her point.
"If and when I decide to get married, I am perfectly capable of finding my own wife." He stares at his toast angrily, and takes a needlessly vicious bite out of it.
Neville rapidly decimates the piece of toast in his hand, then sits staring at the remaining one on his plate for a lengthy moment before roughly pushing it away. "I have to get to the greenhouse. I have work to do," he says gruffly. He doesn’t look at his grandmother as he stomps out the room.
Augusta lays down the paper and finishes off her tea. She hopes her grandson will understand that it was all done for his own good.
~ o ~
Neville exits the Floo into his living room, his blood thrumming violently in his veins. His skin feels too tight for his body; there’s tension growing in his muscles and his tightly hunched back, urging him to do something.
Draco steps out the Floo behind him, graceful and nonchalant, completely oblivious to the churning in Neville’s gut and the buzzing growing in his head. He gives Neville a saucy sidelong look and climbs the narrow wooden staircase to the bedroom, an exaggerated swing to his hips.
Neville watches him go, eyes trained on the long legs and round pert bottom he never tires of watching. He wants to growl in frustration. Even in his irritation and anger, the blond doesn’t fail to arouse him.
Neville bites his lip and remembers the cause of his overwhelming frustration. The evening had been a pleasant one, just like most Friday evenings they spent together. They saw a wizarding play Draco had been keen on, and finished the night with drinks at a friendly pub.
Just like all the other times they had been out together, they had a comfortable, agreeable, friendly time. Friendly, because that is what they are in the eyes of the world: friends. Unlikely and surprising friends, but friends nonetheless. Friends who fuck each other in private, Neville adds wryly. Who kiss each other, sleep together, love each other.
Neville clenches his fist in frustration. Now, more than ever, he wonders if the last is true. On the way to the pub Neville tried to slip his hand into Draco’s. Draco shied away as if burnt, giving him a warning look. Neville was strung and hurt. So much so, that the moment they sat down with their drinks, he asked about Asteria. Not bothering to hide the jealousy in his voice, he asked Draco if it was true that he had been out with her. His throat tight, he asked if he had kissed her, if he had fucked her. He almost asked if he was going to marry her.
Draco’s dismissive laughter, and the light-hearted way he answered, made Neville’s blood boil. "Don’t be silly," he said. "You know I have no interest in women. I’m only taking Asteria out to make Mother happy."
Neville wants to believe him, he really does, but Draco’s not well known for his candidness. And besides, Neville thinks grimly, Draco would do a lot to please his mother, so would it really be too big a stretch for him to marry Greengrass to please her? He has never promised Neville anything, after all. He has never even told Neville he loves him.
"Neville, aren’t you going to join me?" Draco’s voice interrupts his dark thoughts. He looks at Draco to watch him disappear into his bedroom with a cheeky grin and a look full of promises.
Jealousy and desire and need surge once more in Neville’s blood. He desperately wants Draco. He wants him more than he has ever wanted anything else. Neville runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time, suddenly eager to get closer to his lover.
Bursting into his room, he finds the blond already disrobed and artfully spread out on his bed in nothing but his fine silk underwear. Draco gives Neville a sultry calculating look, and Neville all but rips his robes off in his haste.
He falls on Draco and kisses him with a wildness and desperation he rarely exhibits. His hands roam over the pale skin and grasp possessively at whatever body parts he manages to get a grip on. Predictably, Draco moans delightedly, and kisses back just as aggressively, twining his long limbs around Neville’s sturdy frame, and pulling him so close he can hardly breathe.
This is exactly what Neville wants. He wants to leave his impression indelibly stamped upon Draco’s body, so that Draco will never forget or get over him, the way Neville never will. He pushes his tongue deep into Draco’s hot mouth and rubs it along Draco’s clever one. He wants to feast on Draco’s taste, knowing he will never get enough of it. He wants to leave his own taste imprinted forever on his lover’s taste buds.
Draco pulls back to gasp for breath, and Neville takes the chance to suck on the underside of his sharp jawline, making sure to leave a mark. The blond threads his finger through Neville’s thick hair, caressing his scalp and pushing him close. "More," he breathes.
Incapable of not doing what Draco asks, Neville moves his mouth lower, trailing wet kisses down his long throat, until he reaches his protruding adam’s apple. Draco trembles under him and grips Neville’s hair tight enough to be painful. Encouraged, Neville sucks on the delicate protrusion. Softly first, then stronger, as Draco’s moans become so loud they turn into a long, drawn out wail.
When Neville lifts his head, there’s a livid red bruise where his mouth was, and Draco has his eyes closed as he softly pants in arousal. Neville gently moves his large, coarse hand down the softly trembling body beneath him. He lightly pinches the tiny pink nipples and gets a groan of appreciation, so he pinches them again harder, to Draco’s obvious enjoyment. Neville smoothes his palms down the protruding ribs and defined stomach muscles, and gently tickles the trembling flat belly. Draco giggles and shies away in response.
Neville quickly moves on, and pulls down Draco's expensive underwear to reveal a thatch of wiry dark blond curls, a hard glistening pink cock that makes Neville’s mouth water, and a pair of perfect long lean legs. Draco opens his eyes, and looks critically at Neville.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he manages to rasp. "Take your hideous underwear off, and come and ravish me!" He lets his pale thighs fall open in blatant display, and lifts a challenging eyebrow.
Not needing to be told twice, Neville discards his sensible cotton underthings as fast as he’s able, and falls on Draco once more. It never even crosses his mind not to obey the implicit command. He aligns their bodies and grinds forcefully against Draco as he captures his mouth in a passionate sloppy kiss once more.
He loves the feel of Draco’s slim body under his, as smooth as satin, as hard and unyielding as alabaster. For an interminable amount of time they move together, and Neville gets lost in the feel, the taste, the smell of Draco.
Draco grasps Neville’s buttocks in a punishing grip, pulling him impossibly close. "More," he gasps, hissing his demand hotly in Neville’s ear.
And Neville wants to give him more. He wants to give him whatever he asks for, he wants to give him everything. And suddenly, just like that, it all returns: Neville’s burning jealousy over the witch Draco is going out with, his cold anxiety over the very real chance he might lose him, his overwhelming need to keep him close and never let him get away.
Suddenly, Neville wants to possess Draco as fully as he can. He wants to burn his brand into Draco’s skin, so that Draco can never forget that he belongs to him, that they belong together.
Neville moves down Draco’s body, leaving a path of hot kisses and sharp bites in his wake. He spends long moments mouthing Draco’s small nipples, alternately sucking on them and biting them, as Draco holds him close, his hands once more buried in Neville’s hair, and murmurs his approval. Neville isn’t satisfied until the delicate nubs are puffy and lividly red. He presses a thumb into one of the abused nubs, pushing hard, and is rewarded by a sharp yelp and a long drawn out "yesss".
Before Draco can ask for more again, Neville returns to his task, moving once more down the supine body. He takes great pleasure in licking along the grooves of Draco’s sharp ribs and lapping at his quivering belly, until Draco can take it no longer and tries ineffectually to push him away.
Neville takes the hint and nuzzles Draco’s damp blond curls before licking a broad stripe up his pink cock. Draco lets out a heartfelt sigh. "Good boy," he mumbles. Neville reciprocates with a sharp nip that makes Draco yelp and leak even more precome.
He spends a lingering minute licking and sucking at the familiar cock and running his tongue over the hard balls. Draco moans and sighs and urges Neville on, but before long, it’s not enough for Neville. He wants more.
He pulls back, and Draco whines at the loss, opening questioning dazed grey eyes. "Turn over," Neville says roughly, the commanding tone feeling strange on his tongue, yet tripping off so naturally.
A shiver of arousal ripples through Draco’s body upon hearing the command, and his eyes widen in pleasure. "Yess," he hisses, the lust and willingness in his voice coiling around Neville, and turns over to lie on his stomach.
Neville strokes his hands slowly down the revealed back, until he reaches Draco’s impossibly pert backside. He grips it tightly, and Draco wriggles in anticipation. Pulling the cheeks roughly apart, Neville eyes the tiny wrinkled opening that flutters under his gaze, and comes to a decision.
Draco whines and writhes, and surreptitiously tries to slither a hand under himself to touch his cock.
"Stop," Neville orders, in that foreign commanding tone that seems to actually make Draco obey. "No touching."
Draco freezes, holding himself statue-still. His panting breaths resonate around the room, egging Neville on.
Neville bends over Draco, and grasps his hands. He brings them above Draco’s head until they reach the wrought iron headboard. Slowly, but firmly, Neville curls Draco’s long fingers till they are securely gripping two of the sturdy perpendicular bars.
"Keep them there," Neville commands, and Draco whimpers, even as he eagerly nods his head in acquiescence.
Draco looks lovely like this; his cheek pressed against the cushion, biting his lower lip, eyes shut tight. The cords on his wiry arms stand out as he tightly grips the headboard, and the muscles of his back are bunched. Sometimes Neville can’t help but wonder at how appealing his lover is, and he has to stop to catch his breath and bless his luck.
Taking hold of Draco’s slim hips, Neville pulls them up to make him kneel, arse in the air. He pulls the bony knees apart, widening his stance, and letting his cock and balls hang free. Deliberately, he pushes Draco’s shoulders back down, until his chest is touching the bed, and his back is arched in an impossible bow.
Neville sits back, and looks at his handiwork, and almost chokes on his tongue. Draco is beautifully vulnerable, and fully on display, his little pucker peeking out between the taut globes of his buttocks, and his leaking cock and swollen balls swinging underneath. Neville is so fervently turned on, he fears all it will take is just one touch for him to explode and empty himself all over Draco’s gorgeously prostrate form. That thought alone makes his cock jump dangerously, and he is forced to grip his balls tightly and take a couple of deep breaths to bring himself back under control.
As he looks at Draco, he notices that a fine tremble is racking his body, and he is near hyperventilating from overexcitement. Worried, Neville soothingly strokes his back and the tense muscles of his thighs, trying to calm him. "Shh…" he murmurs comfortingly. "Shh… It’s all right."
Neville hardly knows how he got in this position, calming an oddly submissive and vulnerable Draco. Draco always gives himself freely to Neville during their lovemaking, opening himself up in a way he never does any other time. But they have never gone this far before, even though Draco often hints at it. For the first time, Draco is not snapping orders, or petulantly demanding satisfaction, but rather is meekly waiting for Neville to act. And for the first time, Neville knows exactly what to do.
Eventually Draco is calm enough, and he begins to wriggle impatiently under Neville’s gentle ministrations. Neville continues to caress his smooth thighs as he begins laying kisses, first on Draco’s right buttock, and then his left. He bites the tender skin where they meet his lean thighs, and worries it with his teeth until the blood rises to the surface.
In between Draco’s moans, Neville can make out garbled words like "more" and "just like that". They spur him on as he nuzzles Draco’s damp crack with his nose, and licks his balls. Soon, however, he tires of them, and moves on to lapping at Draco’s exposed valley.
Once the hot valley is sopping wet with his saliva, Neville makes a point of his tongue and begins teasing Draco’s delicate furled pucker. Draco is no longer capable of articulating words as his moans grow ever more high-pitched and desperate. Neville stabs his tongue inside the grasping hole a couple of times before retreating and sitting back.
Draco sobs and whines his displeasure at Neville’s pause. Neville gets a speculative gleam in his eye; obviously Draco still hasn't understood who is in charge. He smacks the shapely bottom sharply, and is unsurprised to see Draco’s cock jump and leak a large dollop of precome, even as the blond yelps. The sheet under Draco is sodden with his leaking, and Neville is pleased to get it even stickier as he rains a couple more sharp smacks on the blond’s accepting backside.
When Neville stops, Draco’s bottom is tinged a pretty shade of pink, and he is harder than Neville has ever seen him. Neville strokes the heated skin. "You liked that, didn’t you?" he asks huskily.
"Yes," Draco mewls, and pushes his bottom against Neville’s hand, asking for more.
Neville would like to see Asteria bloody Greengrass make Draco come apart like this!
He leans over the side of the bed and fumbles in the drawer of the bedside table for the lube. The whole time, he feels Draco’s scorching, eager gaze on him.
He quickly, but thoroughly, prepares Draco, not sparing the slick salve. Draco eagerly pushes back against Neville’s thick fingers, trying to take him as deep as he can. Once Draco is nice and slick and loose, Neville slathers more on his long neglected cock and tosses the pot away.
"Brace yourself," he warns Draco, and slides into him in one long powerful thrust.
Draco’s knuckles grow white as he grips the headboard, and his long drawn out "yesss" degenerates into a high-pitched cry.
Once he is fully seated with Draco squirming under him, impatient once more, Neville carefully pulls all the way out, before pushing back in again. He repeats the motions in a smooth rhythm, and each time, Draco pushes back against him, trying to open up as much as possible to the intrusion, all the while loudly crying out his pleasure.
Eventually, Draco finds his voice again. "More," he gasps in abandon. "More! Harder. Ungh… Neville!"
Neville feels quite unlike himself, as he grips Draco’s hips tightly in response, and starts up a hard, punishing rhythm. He pounds into the other man so hard and fast, the bed rattles against the wall, and he fears he might actually hurt him.
Neville doesn’t know what has come over him, he almost scares himself with his intensity and violence. But all he can think is how much he wants and needs Draco, and how important it is to make the other man understand his all-consuming need.
Through it all, the room echoes with Draco’s loud, ecstatic cries and his endless nonsensical litany of "yes" and "more", and even more thrilling to the other man’s ears, "Neville".
It cannot go on forever, and in the end, Draco lets out a loud, keening, ear-splitting screech and comes and comes, soaking the sheets under him. His hole pulses and tightens impossibly around Neville, forcing Neville’s own orgasm to follow. And it does, forcefully and inexorably.
After Neville finishes emptying himself into Draco’s willing body, they both collapse into a sweaty, exhausted heap, aftershocks from their orgasms still shooting through them.
Neville tenderly pulls Draco closer, and, unable to fight the exhaustion that overcomes them, they both give in and doze off.
When Neville wakes again, he finds the covers pulled up over his naked body, a fire burning in the hearth, and Draco gazing at him with glittering eyes.
"That was brilliant!" Draco exclaims. "You were so forceful and dominating!" A pleasurable shiver goes through Draco as he briefly closes his eyes at the remembrance. "I knew it would be good. I knew you would be good."
Neville blushes at the compliment, and feels suddenly inexplicably shy.
"So what came over you tonight?" Draco asks curiously, and Neville averts his gaze.
"You were still jealous, weren’t you?" Draco crows, understanding dawning. "I shall keep it in mind," he adds, amused. "That all it takes to get the best fucking of my life is to make you jealous."
"Draco, please," Neville begs, wanting to just let it go.
Draco sighs and cuddles up to Neville, laying his head on Neville’s chest, and combing his fingers through the sparse hairs there.
"As much as it pains me to say it," he says, "you really have no reason to be jealous. There is no one like you. There never could be." Draco gently kisses the skin above Neville’s heart, and lies back down to sleep.
Neville lies awake for a long time after, his arms wrapped around Draco’s slumbering form. He thinks about the night that just passed, he thinks about his doubts, and he thinks about Draco’s last words. He hopes to Merlin that they mean what he thinks they do.
part 2
So you came back again? (Did you give khasael some love?) Good, because I'm finally getting round to posting my hp_yule_balls submission, my very first established relationship fic! And possibly the most angst I have ever written! I know you angst-queens will scoff at my light-weight angst (you know who you are), but for me this constitutes pretty heavy angst. Enough talking.
Author: mayfly_78
Title: Hiding In Plain Sight
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Neville/Draco
Summary: Can a love remain hidden? Do the interfering women of the family always know best?
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, meddling mothers, angst, and then some angst
Word Count: 14.400
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Author's Notes: Written for paddynmoon for 2010's hp_yule_balls exchange. Lots and lots of hugs and heartfelt thanks must go to my most patient and marvellous beta raisinous_fiend, for not only correcting my atrocious grammar, but for also being full of brilliant ideas and much needed pointers.
Hiding In Plain Sight
i. boys will be boys
The sun gently slants into the room from the gap in the thick curtains, and a subdued birdsong softly wafts in from outside. Neville Longbottom stretches himself, cracks open an eye and scratches his belly. There is an arm slung possessively over his torso, the hand curled around his bicep - grip firm even in sleep, - and a long slender leg entwined around his. A pleasant warm feeling grows in his chest, and a soft smile plays on his lips. He turns around to see soft pale blond hair fanned out on his pillow, a hint of a pointy nose and chin peeking through.
Neville doesn't want to wake his slumbering partner. He wants to lie like this for a while longer and enjoy the quiet, pleasant morning and welcome company in his bed. He wants to reminisce about the previous night and the sensation of his sleeping companion's body under him, over him, around him; his clever tongue slick and warm in Neville's eager mouth; his groping, demanding hands roaming all over Neville, grabbing tightly, refusing to let go; his long lean legs wrapping around Neville, holding him close, trapping him exactly where he wants to be, just as he opens himself up completely to Neville and welcomes him into his tight, hot, exquisite body. And Neville falls, lets himself be sucked in, devoured by him and devouring in turn, not wanting anyone or anything more in the world, knowing that this is right, this is where he belongs forever and ever.
Neville feels his blood stir in his veins; his member begins to harden, the ghost of the memory of the night before still imprinted on it. His bed-mate sniffles and wriggles, his grasp around Neville's bicep tightening, almost as though he read his thoughts. Neville doesn't want to wake him and break this precious comfortable moment, but he sees no alternative. He rolls onto his side to face his prone lover and lifts his arm, unsurprised when the grip on it never slackens. Tenderly, he smoothes the bright, soft hair away from his face to reveal in a rare moment of quietude a sight that is both familiar and precious: precise blond brows; closed eyelids, the pale lashes almost invisible; a high sharp cheekbone that Neville lovingly caresses; an upturned pointy nose that remains haughty even in repose; thin, pale pink lips, their shape a perfect bow; a regal, precise chin joining to a razor sharp jawline that Neville diffidently lets his fingers trail along, secure in the knowledge he won't get cut; and a rarely seen, barely visible spattering of blond stubble.
Neville cups the sleeping man's cheek. The rough, almost sandpapery, stubble feels strange and foreign. He gently shakes the man. "Draco," he says. "Draco, wake up."
Draco whines and buries his face in the pillow. "Dun wanna," he mumbles petulantly. "T'early."
Neville smiles fondly and strokes his hand down the revealed bare back, his palm slowly caressing each bump of every prominent vertebra. Draco arches into the touch and lets out a pleased sigh.
"You can stay in bed if you want, as long as you do remember that Gran returns today from her trip. She's bound to pop in and visit bright and early to make sure I haven't degenerated into a lazy layabout while she's away," Neville informs Draco matter-of-factly. "We could always explain to her what you're doing in my bed. I'm sure she'd understand."
"And inform my mother forthwith," Draco retorts sharply, suddenly wide awake and all dangerous angles and prickly defensiveness once again. Neville sighs, already missing the soft, accommodating Draco.
Draco jumps out of the warm bed into the cold room, his glorious alabaster nudity suddenly revealed, and stalks to the adjoining bathroom.
"Your room is bloody freezing," he grumbles over his shoulder as he leaves. "Trust you to wake up at the crack of dawn to ogle my fine form like a lovestruck Hufflepuff, but to completely forget to cast a warming charm on your bloody room!"
The calm lazy morning spell is completely broken now his difficult and irascible lover is awake. Neville grins nonetheless and reaches for his wand, casting a heating charm over the room, lighting a fire in the hearth for good measure, and flinging the curtains open to let the cool morning light in. He can hear the sound of the shower turning off as he gets out of bed and wraps his plaid dressing gown round himself.
Draco strides out the bathroom, bright-eyed and clean-shaven, hair perfectly combed once more, and a towel loosely slung round his waist. He catches a glimpse of Neville's dressing gown and wrinkles his nose in distaste, as he has done every time he has seen it in the past three years. Flinging the damp towel onto Neville's unmade bed, he swiftly picks up his discarded clothes from the floor and gets dressed.
Neville leans casually against the fireplace as he watches his whirlwind lover get ready to leave. He almost misses him already.
"I'll leave you to greet your gran and get home then," Draco says as he walks towards Neville. "Merlin only knows what I'll do with myself now you woke me at this unwizardly hour on a Sunday. You Lancashire folk are ridiculously morning people," he gripes as he smoothes down the lapels of Neville's unfashionable dressing gown. "We're still on for tomorrow after Auror practice, right?"
Neville nods his agreement, and Draco leans forward to give him a quick peck on the lips. Neville, not one to lose a chance, slips his hand behind Draco's neck to keep him in place and deepens the kiss. Draco quickly acquiesces, his mouth obligingly opening and his palms spreading to rest against Neville's sturdier form, a deep moan reverberating through his body.
Once they are both breathless, they pull apart, cheeks flushed. They gently pant into each other’s mouths, their breaths intermingling.
Neville smoothes back Draco's hair. "Good morning," he tells him.
Draco smirks and gently untangles himself from Neville's embrace.
"I love you, you know," Neville tells him suddenly.
For a split second, Draco looks vulnerable and lost, his grey eyes a bit too wide and soft, just like he does every time Neville says the same thing. However, he quickly composes his features to answer Neville sassily. 'Well you would, wouldn't you?" Without another word, he Apparates away.
Neville slumps against the mantle and sighs. It's the same every time. He is almost certain Draco returns his feelings, but it would be nice if Draco told him, just once. Slowly, he gets ready for breakfast and his grandmother's imminent arrival. He would never tell Draco, but he had severely hoped Draco would agree to stay for breakfast. After two years of secrecy and sneaking around, Neville would dearly like to finally come clean about his relationship. All this hiding and subterfuge chafes. It makes him feel dirty and underhand. But it's a small price for having Draco. Neville would gladly put up with all manner of unpleasantness to keep Draco.
It might only be three years since the beginning of their tentative - at first - friendship, and two since they've become lovers, but Draco has become as necessary to Neville as breathing and gardening. He can no more imagine his life without the prickly, snarky blond than he can without his beloved plants and greenhouse.
With that final thought, Neville makes his way down to the kitchen for breakfast.
~ o ~
The morning is dull and chilly, yet it's reasonably warm in the conservatory as Narcissa Malfoy delicately prunes the gardenias. With her husband incarcerated, and her son either at Auror practice (wasn't that a surprise!) or else asleep, Narcissa's mornings are usually calm and introspective. She likes tending to her plants, finding it strangely pleasant and fulfilling.
Coming across a bug on her lovely Butterfly Bushes, she quickly vanishes it with an efficient flick of her wand and a moue of distaste. Narcissa doesn't like to acknowledge it, but whenever she's displeased, she wrinkles her nose just like her son.
A sharp tapping at one of the large windows interrupts Narcissa's absentminded humming. An elf pops into the room to let the owl in. It flies around the room, wings barely skimming the taller plants, and decides upon the large table that holds Narcissa's watering can. Narcissa steps towards the table, laying her secateurs down and smoothly removing her gardening gloves. The elf helpfully appears at her side, holding a bowl of owl treats and a letter opener.
Narcissa leaves the owl to peck at the treats as she removes and slices open the package it bore her. She finds herself with a pair of her son's soiled undergarments in her hands. Narcissa doesn't know whether to laugh or sigh. She settles for rolling her eyes as she holds up the well-cut silk garment. It has a large stain of obvious provenance on the front and the Malfoy crest embroidered on the waistband. She calls for an elf to dispose of the dirty item and turns to the letter than accompanies the package. Somehow, its contents aren't as surprising as they should be.
Lancashire, 5th of November 2001
Mrs Narcissa Malfoy née Black,
Please find enclosed an item that should belong to your son.
In light of said item, and the discovery of it within my own home - the kitchen, to be precise, - I find that it is not prudent, nor feasible even, to ignore the erumpent in the room, to wit, you son's and my grandson's relationship, any longer.
I'm confident you find the current state of affairs just as vexing as I do. We can sit back and leave the young to their own devices no more.
If you are in agreement with me upon this matter, I would like to invite you to Longbottom Estate for afternoon tea at six o'clock this evening to discuss the subject.
Augusta Longbottom
Narcissa lays down the letter, knowing that it has been a long time coming. The fact she had anticipated this event does not make it any easier to face the fact she has no choice but to meet the Longbottom harridan.
Narcissa is forced to admit that Augusta Longbottom will most probably become a permanent fixture in her future. She sighs the long-suffering sigh of the doting mother. She knows she will put up with all sort of adversity and unpleasantness for the sake of her son and his happiness. She just wishes sometimes that he would not make it so hard. Dear Draco might believe himself to be a master of subterfuge and deceit - pretty much like his dear father Lucius also did, - but the cruel truth is that to anyone who isn't a naive infant, or a Gryffindor, he's as good as an open book.
Narcissa knew the exact moment Draco and young Neville transformed from friends into lovers. Just as she knows the depth and nature of Draco's feelings for his paramour, possibly even better than he himself does. For too long she has pretended ignorance. Augusta is right; it's time to take action.
Narcissa sends an affirmative reply with the owl and leaves the conservatory. She no longer feels the inclination to tend to her plants. She has a meeting to prepare for.
~ o ~
Augusta Longbottom looks at the antique clock sitting on the mantlepiece as the minute hand ticks over to show the time as two minutes past six. She should have known that somebody like Narcissa Malfoy would not be punctual.
Augusta barely finishes her thought when she hears the whoosh of the Floo from the anteroom. Her back stiffens, and her features take on her habitual stern appearance as Nenny shows in the guest.
Narcissa is wearing a simple blue robe that manages to highlight her beauty more than any fancy dress robes could, and a deceptively friendly and charming smile. She glides towards Augusta, her hand held out. "Augusta, my dear," she says. "What a pleasure it is! I must thank you for the lovely invitation."
Augusta rises and clasps Narcissa's delicate, yet firm, hand briefly before motioning to her to take a seat. The blonde sits on the simple antique sofa, elegantly smoothing out her skirts. "I love what you've done with the house," she says. "I do find the country style so delightfully charming."
Augusta knows when she's being urbanely snubbed, but she doesn't deign to rise to the bait. She satisfies herself instead with sipping her tea and smiling politely.
"And you must show me the grounds," Narcissa continues. "Darling Draco has told me what a remarkable prodigy your Neville is with flora of all kind. He insists that Neville's greenhouse is a wonder to behold - you will excuse my son's fondness of hyperbole, I’m sure, - and I'm positive the grounds must be just as delightful."
Augusta is not fooled by Narcissa's delicate, fine-boned beauty and inane prattle. She is well aware of the shrewd intelligence that glints in the wide baby blue eyes opposite her, as well as the razor-sharp cunning intellect that hides underneath the expertly coiffed blond hair. Many have underestimated Narcissa Malfoy - not least of all her own husband - to their detriment. Augusta is not one of them.
Augusta can easily understand the aesthetic reasons behind young Neville's infatuation with the Malfoy boy. Looking at Narcissa's beautiful figure, she is once more reminded that the Malfoys, and the Blacks even more so, were always a handsome family.
Whatever one might think of young Draco's morals or character, one certainly can't deny that, despite his sharp angles and almost waifish slenderness, he's a striking young man. She sincerely hopes that he inherited at least half of his mother's keen intellect, because he seems sadly lacking in her unparalleled talent at deception and discretion. Having said that, Augusta is rather pleased with Draco's distinctly un-Slytherin inability to prevent his expressions from betraying his true feelings, and his rather amusing predilection for Gryffindor rashness and over-emotionality. Augusta doesn't like to contemplate Neville's chances if he rather found himself enamoured of someone as inscrutable and unscrupulous as Narcissa Malfoy.
"Young Neville would like nothing more that to give you the tour of the grounds and the greenhouse," Augusta says, interrupting Narcissa's polite small-talk and her own musings. "Unfortunately, he is not home at the moment, as you well know. He is with your son. They have gone fishing." The last bit comes out rather sardonic, even for Augusta.
Narcissa raises a delicately arched brow caustically, and they both share a silent moment of wry amusement with their progeny. At that moment, Augusta feels a strong kinship with the elegant cold beauty sitting opposite her. It suddenly looks like it won't be that much of a hardship to work with her to sort things out.
"I trust my package wasn't a complete surprise," Augusta says drily, bringing them to the matter at hand.
Narcissa smirks in response. "I should have been expecting a parcel of that nature a lot sooner," she answers with a laugh. "My darling Draco was always such a messy, forgetful boy. In your kitchen, you say?"
Augusta cracks a smile, amused despite herself. "Under the sturdy oak table," she retorts. "It was really quite inconsiderate of them. Especially seeing as Neville possesses his own home."
"Oh dear! It's hard to imagine my baby boy all grown up and quite so frisky!" Narcissa hides her mouth behind her hand to stifle a giggle. Her eyes shine with mirth.
"Quite," Augusta responds, and it doesn't come out as stern as it should. "And to think they believe they have us fooled!" she exclaims, not a little affronted.
"Yes, poor dears," Narcissa agrees. "They are making rather a hash of keeping it secret."
"It's plainly ridiculous," Augusta says. "We can't be expected to let this sorry state of affairs continue."
"I quite agree." Narcissa nods. "We have put up with this stupidity for long enough."
"It's certainly not like my Neville to resort to all this distasteful lying and deception," Augusta continues.
Narcissa lets out a soft peal of laughter. "Of course not," she agrees. "Dear Neville is far too honest and straightforward. It's part of his charm. I'm afraid that we shall have to lay the blame fully on my Draco's shoulders. He's such a manipulative, conniving little snake who's used to getting his own way, bless his devious little heart." Narcissa gets a proud, fond look on her face with the last pronouncement, and Augusta feels a moment of trepidation for what she's letting her grandson get himself into. She gives Narcissa a stern, meaningful stare, and the blonde witch continues.
"Regrettably, he is also somewhat of a coward who will try to hide from things as long as he can." Narcissa states the last without an ounce of shame, to Augusta's profound disapproval. "As such, it would be more efficacious to concentrate on forcing my son to relent. He's a stubborn soul, who wouldn't think twice to cut off his nose to spite his face." Narcissa once more looks inexplicably fond of her contrary progeny. "Forcing him might easily backfire, so it must seem as if it was his idea to make a clean breast of it and finally desist from this childish hiding.
"I shall try and bully him into marrying a girl of my choice. There's nothing like pushing a young man one way to succeed in making him go another. Before we know it, Draco should be flying into your Neville's arms and declaring his affections for all the world to hear."
Augusta smiles, satisfied. It's a tactic with plenty of merit. She knew that involving Narcissa Malfoy was the right thing to do. "Your plan sounds like a sound one," she says approvingly. "It has the added bonus of making Neville jealous. And if I know Gryffindor males, jealousy never fails to get them riled up and ready to take action."
Having settled their plan of action to their satisfaction, the two women sit back to enjoy their well-earned tea. Narcissa segues effortlessly from talk of her son to polite chit chat and juicy gossip, the latter of which gives Augusta the chance to make not a few pithy cutting remarks of her own about common acquaintances.
Once Narcissa Malfoy takes her leave, Augusta takes a moment to sit back and gaze out the window at the rolling hills and verdant countryside. Young Neville, she thinks, you better be sure this is what you truly want.
ii. laying out the trap
"There you are!" Narcissa exclaims, relieved. "I was afraid you’d decided not to come home for dinner after all."
Draco raises one pale eyebrow, and gives his mother a long shrewd look. "I said I’d be home by five today. I’m barely a quarter of an hour late." He gives his mother another suspicious look before continuing. "Mother, have you got anything planned?" he asks as sternly as any son can dare be stern to a mother like Narcissa.
Narcissa simply raises a delicate eyebrow in return - showing her son how it really is done to maximum effect - and Draco blushes, chastened.
Draco turns to leave to prepare for dinner, and Narcissa chooses that moment to speak. "Do wear something nice, dear," she says. "We have guests. Dinner will be served at half past six."
Draco turns around to shoot her an accusatory look. He finds his mother calmly working on her needlepoint, the picture of innocence. With a sigh, he leaves.
Narcissa smiles to herself, satisfied, once she is alone again. Let the games begin, she thinks.
*
At half past six, they are all seated at the dinner table as the house elves appear with their soup. Draco, who dutifully obeyed his mother’s request and dressed in one of his more flattering dress robes, sits quietly sulking. He has been sulking from the moment their guests arrived.
Thankfully, Draco looks rather fetching when pouting. At least Asteria Greengrass seems to think so, if the coy little glances she keeps giving him are anything to go by.
Calliope Greengrass, on the other hand, after giving Draco a critical once-over, is focusing all her attention on Narcissa. They are old acquaintances, after all, and they both know very well what this dinner is about.
Calliope was always a woman after Narcissa’s own heart. She will be sorry to disappoint her, but her daughter is the best candidate for the job. Asteria is beautiful, sweet, timid, fragile looking and soft spoken. She is everything Narcissa would have chosen in a daughter-in-law. And she is the complete opposite of Neville Longbottom, despite their misleading similarities.
"I hear Draco has enrolled in the Auror program," Calliope says. "An interesting choice of profession. I don’t believe there is any history of Aurors in the Malfoy family."
Narcissa smiles at Calliope as she sips the last of her soup. "No. Draco will be the first Auror in the family. We are very proud of him; it is a very noble calling. Did you know that Harry Potter is in the Auror program too? He shares classes with Draco."
Narcissa is pleased to see Calliope’s eyes widen in surprise and reluctant respect. "Are you really in the same classes as Harry Potter?" she asks Draco eagerly.
Draco pretends to look bored and nonchalant as he lets an elf remove his empty soup bowl and replace it with the main course. "Yes, we are in the same year of training," he answers. "Sometimes after classes we go out for drinks together," he adds, almost as an afterthought. Narcissa knows, though, that Draco is fiercely proud of his acquaintance with Potter, despite the pains he takes at hiding it.
Calliope looks impressed, and Asteria’s shy looks become longer and more frequent. Draco pretends to be deeply interested in his meal.
The meal progresses smoothly. Narcissa and Calliope catch up on the latest gossip and news, all the while surreptitiously praising their children. Asteria and Draco remain for the most part silent, as their mothers expected they would.
Once dessert has been enjoyed, the group adjourns to the sitting room for coffee.
"I must thank you for a most lovely meal," Calliope compliments. Narcissa murmurs her thanks, and both mothers share a warm, meaningful look.
"I remember what exceptional gardens Malfoy Manor always had!" Calliope exclaims loudly. "Do they remain as beautiful as I remember?"
Narcissa doesn’t miss the fact that Asteria’s interest has been peaked. "Even more," she answers. "We have done extensive remodelling. The result is slightly more modern, but exceptionally elegant and pleasing nonetheless."
Calliope looks at her daughter’s eager face and lets a pleased smile slip. "My Asteria is most enamoured of gardens, aren’t you dear?" she says, and her daughter nods shyly in reply. "She keeps abreast of all the latest landscaping trends."
"Why then, she should without a question see the gardens!" Narcissa exclaims, pleased that things are going exactly to plan. "Draco would only be too happy to give her the grand tour. My Draco also has a bit more than a passing interest in gardening. He helped me with the remodelling, you know."
Narcissa turns to look at her horrified son. "Draco, be a dear why don’t you, and give Asteria a tour of the gardens. Show her all the changes we have made."
Asteria looks excited and eager, but Draco is less than pleased with the turn of events. "Now?" he asks, sounding a bit desperate. "The sun has long set. I doubt Asteria would enjoy traipsing through the gardens in the dark."
Narcissa almost pities her son as he grasps at straws. "Pish," she says. "A good Lumos will serve you perfectly fine. Besides, it’s a full moon tonight. You might not even need that. The new rose garden will look absolutely divine under the light of the full moon."
"Yes, it should be frightfully romantic," Calliope adds, a bit too obviously.
Draco sighs and acquiesces with the air of a man walking to the gallows. Asteria smiles brilliantly, her eyes bright with anticipation. Narcissa can’t help but like the quiet girl. She sincerely hopes she doesn’t make the mistake of becoming too fond of her son.
Draco gives his mother one last angry and betrayed look before plastering on a polite smile and gallantly leading Asteria out the room.
The two mothers share a content smile.
"Brandy?" Narcissa asks.
"I don’t mind if I do," Calliope answers as she sits back, satisfied.
~ o ~
Augusta sips at her strong black tea as she turns the page of the day’s Daily Prophet to peruse the gossip section.
On the other side of the table, Neville is busy slathering marmalade on his toast.
The article Augusta has been looking for takes pride of place on the page. She hides her satisfied smirk behind the paper as she skims through it. Narcissa Malfoy truly is just as good and efficient as she said she was.
Augusta schools her features into bland disinterest and lowers the paper. She looks at her grandson, tall and sturdy as all good Lancashire folk are, as he innocently munches on his toast.
"This is interesting news," she says. "Did you know about your friend?"
Neville turns big, brown, guileless eyes to her. "Hmm?" he asks, still sleepy. "What friend? Do I know what?"
"The young Malfoy boy," she answers.
Neville’s interest is immediately peaked, and he looks more awake already.
"It says here that he has been seen a number of times in the company of Asteria Greengrass. Sweet girl; I’m not very fond of her mother, though." She adds the last as an aside.
Neville scrunches his brow and looks perplexed.
"It is rumoured that he is courting her," Augusta continues, and can’t help but be pained by the wide-eyed look of disbelief and hurt Neville openly sports. Once more, she questions the prudence of letting him get involved with a family of consummate Slytherins.
"You know," she says, nailing the final nail in the coffin, "I think your young friend has the right idea about it. Don’t you think it’s about time you got a move on it too? Only yesterday I was having tea with Mrs Abbott. She has the loveliest daughter."
"Gran, please." Neville’s voice is rough and has a slight quiver to it as he interrupts her. She lets his rudeness pass, just this once, because she has amply made her point.
"If and when I decide to get married, I am perfectly capable of finding my own wife." He stares at his toast angrily, and takes a needlessly vicious bite out of it.
Neville rapidly decimates the piece of toast in his hand, then sits staring at the remaining one on his plate for a lengthy moment before roughly pushing it away. "I have to get to the greenhouse. I have work to do," he says gruffly. He doesn’t look at his grandmother as he stomps out the room.
Augusta lays down the paper and finishes off her tea. She hopes her grandson will understand that it was all done for his own good.
~ o ~
Neville exits the Floo into his living room, his blood thrumming violently in his veins. His skin feels too tight for his body; there’s tension growing in his muscles and his tightly hunched back, urging him to do something.
Draco steps out the Floo behind him, graceful and nonchalant, completely oblivious to the churning in Neville’s gut and the buzzing growing in his head. He gives Neville a saucy sidelong look and climbs the narrow wooden staircase to the bedroom, an exaggerated swing to his hips.
Neville watches him go, eyes trained on the long legs and round pert bottom he never tires of watching. He wants to growl in frustration. Even in his irritation and anger, the blond doesn’t fail to arouse him.
Neville bites his lip and remembers the cause of his overwhelming frustration. The evening had been a pleasant one, just like most Friday evenings they spent together. They saw a wizarding play Draco had been keen on, and finished the night with drinks at a friendly pub.
Just like all the other times they had been out together, they had a comfortable, agreeable, friendly time. Friendly, because that is what they are in the eyes of the world: friends. Unlikely and surprising friends, but friends nonetheless. Friends who fuck each other in private, Neville adds wryly. Who kiss each other, sleep together, love each other.
Neville clenches his fist in frustration. Now, more than ever, he wonders if the last is true. On the way to the pub Neville tried to slip his hand into Draco’s. Draco shied away as if burnt, giving him a warning look. Neville was strung and hurt. So much so, that the moment they sat down with their drinks, he asked about Asteria. Not bothering to hide the jealousy in his voice, he asked Draco if it was true that he had been out with her. His throat tight, he asked if he had kissed her, if he had fucked her. He almost asked if he was going to marry her.
Draco’s dismissive laughter, and the light-hearted way he answered, made Neville’s blood boil. "Don’t be silly," he said. "You know I have no interest in women. I’m only taking Asteria out to make Mother happy."
Neville wants to believe him, he really does, but Draco’s not well known for his candidness. And besides, Neville thinks grimly, Draco would do a lot to please his mother, so would it really be too big a stretch for him to marry Greengrass to please her? He has never promised Neville anything, after all. He has never even told Neville he loves him.
"Neville, aren’t you going to join me?" Draco’s voice interrupts his dark thoughts. He looks at Draco to watch him disappear into his bedroom with a cheeky grin and a look full of promises.
Jealousy and desire and need surge once more in Neville’s blood. He desperately wants Draco. He wants him more than he has ever wanted anything else. Neville runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time, suddenly eager to get closer to his lover.
Bursting into his room, he finds the blond already disrobed and artfully spread out on his bed in nothing but his fine silk underwear. Draco gives Neville a sultry calculating look, and Neville all but rips his robes off in his haste.
He falls on Draco and kisses him with a wildness and desperation he rarely exhibits. His hands roam over the pale skin and grasp possessively at whatever body parts he manages to get a grip on. Predictably, Draco moans delightedly, and kisses back just as aggressively, twining his long limbs around Neville’s sturdy frame, and pulling him so close he can hardly breathe.
This is exactly what Neville wants. He wants to leave his impression indelibly stamped upon Draco’s body, so that Draco will never forget or get over him, the way Neville never will. He pushes his tongue deep into Draco’s hot mouth and rubs it along Draco’s clever one. He wants to feast on Draco’s taste, knowing he will never get enough of it. He wants to leave his own taste imprinted forever on his lover’s taste buds.
Draco pulls back to gasp for breath, and Neville takes the chance to suck on the underside of his sharp jawline, making sure to leave a mark. The blond threads his finger through Neville’s thick hair, caressing his scalp and pushing him close. "More," he breathes.
Incapable of not doing what Draco asks, Neville moves his mouth lower, trailing wet kisses down his long throat, until he reaches his protruding adam’s apple. Draco trembles under him and grips Neville’s hair tight enough to be painful. Encouraged, Neville sucks on the delicate protrusion. Softly first, then stronger, as Draco’s moans become so loud they turn into a long, drawn out wail.
When Neville lifts his head, there’s a livid red bruise where his mouth was, and Draco has his eyes closed as he softly pants in arousal. Neville gently moves his large, coarse hand down the softly trembling body beneath him. He lightly pinches the tiny pink nipples and gets a groan of appreciation, so he pinches them again harder, to Draco’s obvious enjoyment. Neville smoothes his palms down the protruding ribs and defined stomach muscles, and gently tickles the trembling flat belly. Draco giggles and shies away in response.
Neville quickly moves on, and pulls down Draco's expensive underwear to reveal a thatch of wiry dark blond curls, a hard glistening pink cock that makes Neville’s mouth water, and a pair of perfect long lean legs. Draco opens his eyes, and looks critically at Neville.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he manages to rasp. "Take your hideous underwear off, and come and ravish me!" He lets his pale thighs fall open in blatant display, and lifts a challenging eyebrow.
Not needing to be told twice, Neville discards his sensible cotton underthings as fast as he’s able, and falls on Draco once more. It never even crosses his mind not to obey the implicit command. He aligns their bodies and grinds forcefully against Draco as he captures his mouth in a passionate sloppy kiss once more.
He loves the feel of Draco’s slim body under his, as smooth as satin, as hard and unyielding as alabaster. For an interminable amount of time they move together, and Neville gets lost in the feel, the taste, the smell of Draco.
Draco grasps Neville’s buttocks in a punishing grip, pulling him impossibly close. "More," he gasps, hissing his demand hotly in Neville’s ear.
And Neville wants to give him more. He wants to give him whatever he asks for, he wants to give him everything. And suddenly, just like that, it all returns: Neville’s burning jealousy over the witch Draco is going out with, his cold anxiety over the very real chance he might lose him, his overwhelming need to keep him close and never let him get away.
Suddenly, Neville wants to possess Draco as fully as he can. He wants to burn his brand into Draco’s skin, so that Draco can never forget that he belongs to him, that they belong together.
Neville moves down Draco’s body, leaving a path of hot kisses and sharp bites in his wake. He spends long moments mouthing Draco’s small nipples, alternately sucking on them and biting them, as Draco holds him close, his hands once more buried in Neville’s hair, and murmurs his approval. Neville isn’t satisfied until the delicate nubs are puffy and lividly red. He presses a thumb into one of the abused nubs, pushing hard, and is rewarded by a sharp yelp and a long drawn out "yesss".
Before Draco can ask for more again, Neville returns to his task, moving once more down the supine body. He takes great pleasure in licking along the grooves of Draco’s sharp ribs and lapping at his quivering belly, until Draco can take it no longer and tries ineffectually to push him away.
Neville takes the hint and nuzzles Draco’s damp blond curls before licking a broad stripe up his pink cock. Draco lets out a heartfelt sigh. "Good boy," he mumbles. Neville reciprocates with a sharp nip that makes Draco yelp and leak even more precome.
He spends a lingering minute licking and sucking at the familiar cock and running his tongue over the hard balls. Draco moans and sighs and urges Neville on, but before long, it’s not enough for Neville. He wants more.
He pulls back, and Draco whines at the loss, opening questioning dazed grey eyes. "Turn over," Neville says roughly, the commanding tone feeling strange on his tongue, yet tripping off so naturally.
A shiver of arousal ripples through Draco’s body upon hearing the command, and his eyes widen in pleasure. "Yess," he hisses, the lust and willingness in his voice coiling around Neville, and turns over to lie on his stomach.
Neville strokes his hands slowly down the revealed back, until he reaches Draco’s impossibly pert backside. He grips it tightly, and Draco wriggles in anticipation. Pulling the cheeks roughly apart, Neville eyes the tiny wrinkled opening that flutters under his gaze, and comes to a decision.
Draco whines and writhes, and surreptitiously tries to slither a hand under himself to touch his cock.
"Stop," Neville orders, in that foreign commanding tone that seems to actually make Draco obey. "No touching."
Draco freezes, holding himself statue-still. His panting breaths resonate around the room, egging Neville on.
Neville bends over Draco, and grasps his hands. He brings them above Draco’s head until they reach the wrought iron headboard. Slowly, but firmly, Neville curls Draco’s long fingers till they are securely gripping two of the sturdy perpendicular bars.
"Keep them there," Neville commands, and Draco whimpers, even as he eagerly nods his head in acquiescence.
Draco looks lovely like this; his cheek pressed against the cushion, biting his lower lip, eyes shut tight. The cords on his wiry arms stand out as he tightly grips the headboard, and the muscles of his back are bunched. Sometimes Neville can’t help but wonder at how appealing his lover is, and he has to stop to catch his breath and bless his luck.
Taking hold of Draco’s slim hips, Neville pulls them up to make him kneel, arse in the air. He pulls the bony knees apart, widening his stance, and letting his cock and balls hang free. Deliberately, he pushes Draco’s shoulders back down, until his chest is touching the bed, and his back is arched in an impossible bow.
Neville sits back, and looks at his handiwork, and almost chokes on his tongue. Draco is beautifully vulnerable, and fully on display, his little pucker peeking out between the taut globes of his buttocks, and his leaking cock and swollen balls swinging underneath. Neville is so fervently turned on, he fears all it will take is just one touch for him to explode and empty himself all over Draco’s gorgeously prostrate form. That thought alone makes his cock jump dangerously, and he is forced to grip his balls tightly and take a couple of deep breaths to bring himself back under control.
As he looks at Draco, he notices that a fine tremble is racking his body, and he is near hyperventilating from overexcitement. Worried, Neville soothingly strokes his back and the tense muscles of his thighs, trying to calm him. "Shh…" he murmurs comfortingly. "Shh… It’s all right."
Neville hardly knows how he got in this position, calming an oddly submissive and vulnerable Draco. Draco always gives himself freely to Neville during their lovemaking, opening himself up in a way he never does any other time. But they have never gone this far before, even though Draco often hints at it. For the first time, Draco is not snapping orders, or petulantly demanding satisfaction, but rather is meekly waiting for Neville to act. And for the first time, Neville knows exactly what to do.
Eventually Draco is calm enough, and he begins to wriggle impatiently under Neville’s gentle ministrations. Neville continues to caress his smooth thighs as he begins laying kisses, first on Draco’s right buttock, and then his left. He bites the tender skin where they meet his lean thighs, and worries it with his teeth until the blood rises to the surface.
In between Draco’s moans, Neville can make out garbled words like "more" and "just like that". They spur him on as he nuzzles Draco’s damp crack with his nose, and licks his balls. Soon, however, he tires of them, and moves on to lapping at Draco’s exposed valley.
Once the hot valley is sopping wet with his saliva, Neville makes a point of his tongue and begins teasing Draco’s delicate furled pucker. Draco is no longer capable of articulating words as his moans grow ever more high-pitched and desperate. Neville stabs his tongue inside the grasping hole a couple of times before retreating and sitting back.
Draco sobs and whines his displeasure at Neville’s pause. Neville gets a speculative gleam in his eye; obviously Draco still hasn't understood who is in charge. He smacks the shapely bottom sharply, and is unsurprised to see Draco’s cock jump and leak a large dollop of precome, even as the blond yelps. The sheet under Draco is sodden with his leaking, and Neville is pleased to get it even stickier as he rains a couple more sharp smacks on the blond’s accepting backside.
When Neville stops, Draco’s bottom is tinged a pretty shade of pink, and he is harder than Neville has ever seen him. Neville strokes the heated skin. "You liked that, didn’t you?" he asks huskily.
"Yes," Draco mewls, and pushes his bottom against Neville’s hand, asking for more.
Neville would like to see Asteria bloody Greengrass make Draco come apart like this!
He leans over the side of the bed and fumbles in the drawer of the bedside table for the lube. The whole time, he feels Draco’s scorching, eager gaze on him.
He quickly, but thoroughly, prepares Draco, not sparing the slick salve. Draco eagerly pushes back against Neville’s thick fingers, trying to take him as deep as he can. Once Draco is nice and slick and loose, Neville slathers more on his long neglected cock and tosses the pot away.
"Brace yourself," he warns Draco, and slides into him in one long powerful thrust.
Draco’s knuckles grow white as he grips the headboard, and his long drawn out "yesss" degenerates into a high-pitched cry.
Once he is fully seated with Draco squirming under him, impatient once more, Neville carefully pulls all the way out, before pushing back in again. He repeats the motions in a smooth rhythm, and each time, Draco pushes back against him, trying to open up as much as possible to the intrusion, all the while loudly crying out his pleasure.
Eventually, Draco finds his voice again. "More," he gasps in abandon. "More! Harder. Ungh… Neville!"
Neville feels quite unlike himself, as he grips Draco’s hips tightly in response, and starts up a hard, punishing rhythm. He pounds into the other man so hard and fast, the bed rattles against the wall, and he fears he might actually hurt him.
Neville doesn’t know what has come over him, he almost scares himself with his intensity and violence. But all he can think is how much he wants and needs Draco, and how important it is to make the other man understand his all-consuming need.
Through it all, the room echoes with Draco’s loud, ecstatic cries and his endless nonsensical litany of "yes" and "more", and even more thrilling to the other man’s ears, "Neville".
It cannot go on forever, and in the end, Draco lets out a loud, keening, ear-splitting screech and comes and comes, soaking the sheets under him. His hole pulses and tightens impossibly around Neville, forcing Neville’s own orgasm to follow. And it does, forcefully and inexorably.
After Neville finishes emptying himself into Draco’s willing body, they both collapse into a sweaty, exhausted heap, aftershocks from their orgasms still shooting through them.
Neville tenderly pulls Draco closer, and, unable to fight the exhaustion that overcomes them, they both give in and doze off.
When Neville wakes again, he finds the covers pulled up over his naked body, a fire burning in the hearth, and Draco gazing at him with glittering eyes.
"That was brilliant!" Draco exclaims. "You were so forceful and dominating!" A pleasurable shiver goes through Draco as he briefly closes his eyes at the remembrance. "I knew it would be good. I knew you would be good."
Neville blushes at the compliment, and feels suddenly inexplicably shy.
"So what came over you tonight?" Draco asks curiously, and Neville averts his gaze.
"You were still jealous, weren’t you?" Draco crows, understanding dawning. "I shall keep it in mind," he adds, amused. "That all it takes to get the best fucking of my life is to make you jealous."
"Draco, please," Neville begs, wanting to just let it go.
Draco sighs and cuddles up to Neville, laying his head on Neville’s chest, and combing his fingers through the sparse hairs there.
"As much as it pains me to say it," he says, "you really have no reason to be jealous. There is no one like you. There never could be." Draco gently kisses the skin above Neville’s heart, and lies back down to sleep.
Neville lies awake for a long time after, his arms wrapped around Draco’s slumbering form. He thinks about the night that just passed, he thinks about his doubts, and he thinks about Draco’s last words. He hopes to Merlin that they mean what he thinks they do.
part 2