[hp] doppelganger
Sorenson's hands are cracked and calloused, browner still than Draco's, although the difference is not quite as startling as when he first arrived in London.
"Your tan is fading," Draco murmurs, sweeping his own pale fingers along Sorry's collarbone, pristine, unscarred skin that pulses white when Draco digs his fingers in.
"Bugger-all sunshine in this wretched country--ah," Sorry's grumble becomes a gasp when Draco slides his hand around Sorry's neck, and his knuckles, cold with his rings, brush across Sorry's cock.
Draco waits until Sorenson is biting his bottom lip before he presses the heel of his hand harder. "I like this wretched country, ingrate colonial," he hisses, and puts his hand over Sorry's mouth while he strokes him, because if there's one thing that Draco can't stand, it's whining about the weather.
**
Poppy had flicked past him with a mutter of "More faux-relatives, Draco?" when Sorenson Carlisle had pushed open the door.
"Manor's mine," Draco said curtly, without even looking up. "Bugger off." Enough long-lost cousins had turned up on Ollivander's doorstep over the last four years for Draco to have no compunctions about dismissing them immediately.
"I'm sorry?" had been the query, in a rising inflection that betrayed the Antipodes, and, Draco was to discover, the speaker's name. "I wanted to talk to someone about a wand."
Draco looked up from his book and shoved his glasses back on his nose. "Hmm. Thought you were... never mind." He peered, startled as he focussed on the stranger's features, eerily similar to his own. Except, well, taller and suntanned, and possibly not short-sighted. "Fuck me, you're not. Not a Malfoy?"
The stranger looked askew at him. "I don't really know what you're talking about."
Draco straightened up and smiled. "Neither do I, most days. How can I help you?"
**
"So," Draco slurred a little, "no wands, no formal education, no Ministry, no wizarding community to speak of, yet," he switched to counting on his other hand, "you're a wizard, nonetheless."
They were in the pub across from Ollivander's. "Witch," Sorry smiled at him, and it was a slow smile, underneath his eyelashes, and Draco was more than a little perturbed at this man, who looked pretty much exactly like him, eyeing Draco up with Draco's own expressions. "I was meant to be a girl. Apparently I'm a freak of nature--freak of magic, so my grandmother says."
"But you didn't." Learn, Draco wanted to say, and he'd not had so many beers that he'd be rude, but he'd been fascinated that Sorry didn't need to utter spells when he wanted to retrieve his scarf from the hook. "You don't need... accessories," he finished lamely, waving his wand hand ineffectually in the air.
"I want a wand, don't I?" Sorry raised his eyebrows as he shrugged on his jacket.
**
It normally takes him at least a week to handmake a new wand, but Draco doubles the time unnecessarily, and shamelessly flirts with Sorenson Carlisle, who appears pretty much immune to any amount of Malfoy charm.
Sorry's wand is all but finished; Draco only has to wait for Poppy to cut the andalusite for the tip, when Draco bumps, literally, into Sorry in Flourish & Blotts. In the Gardening section, of all places.
Draco has any number of bad puns on the tip of his tongue when Sorry curls his hand around the back of Draco's neck, and they all fly out of his head.
"Hello," Draco says softly, trying not to stretch back into Sorry's fingers, which are scritching under his collar like Draco is a kitten. Sorry is wearing a jade carving on a leather thong, and Draco pulls the necklace into his palm, rubbing his thumb over the smooth, furling surfaces. He pulls Sorry as well, pulls him down to his level and kisses him hard, and kisses him with his hands bunched in Sorry's hair, and kisses him until he feels like he's as tall as Sorry is, because that irritates him.
Then he kisses him once more, and lets him go, and to Draco's delight Sorry stammers when he's flushed.
"W-w-want to--" Sorry begins, and Draco is fixated on his lips, how red they are, but he interrupts.
"--what the fuck do you think?" Draco laughs.
**
Draco doesn't dwell too much on how Sorry jolts when Draco rings his hands around his neck, because Draco likes the feel of Sorry's pulse there, naked and yammering. It doesn't take much to get Sorry compliant and needy, and Draco's mouth waters at the clench of Sorry's fingers in Draco's sheets, breathing erratically underneath him.
It's quick the first time, no matter how Draco tries to slow himself, but Sorry is slippery and frantic around him, and there is no small narcissistic element when Draco wrenches his hands full of Sorry's blonde hair, coming and apologising and laughing all at the same time.
**
The Changeover by Margaret Mahy is a febulous book that is as rich in magic as the Potterverse and I demand you all go read it right now. I have had a crush on Sorry ever since I was nine, or whenever it was that I read it.