Chapter Nine of 'The Auror Method'- The Consequences of Yielding
Chapter Eight.
Title: The Auror Method (9/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco (mostly pre-slash), mentions of past Draco/others
Warnings: Manipulation, slight angst, slight violence
Rating: R
Summary: Draco has constructed the perfect cover for his activities as a con-man specializing in thefts from a distance: Draco Malfoy, the redeemed Death Eater and Recluse of Malfoy Manor. But now there’s evidence that some people are onto him, and as a consequence of the death threats issued to him, he gets an assigned Auror guard. Maybe Harry Potter, their leader, could be a problem when it comes to Draco’s latest con. Although how could he, when he’s getting all distracted by Draco’s fluttering eyelashes?
Author’s Notes: This is a mostly humorous story that will probably be between twelve and fifteen chapters.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Nine-The Consequences of Yielding
Potter had Draco on his bed, which made Draco grateful for a single moment because it meant that he didn’t have to worry about which direction his leg was splaying or how to maintain the bad knee of his persona in a moment of passion.
And then Potter pulled Draco's shirt off with a skin-burning whoosh and kissed him again, and Draco lost his focus, lost everything but what was happening.
Potter kissed him on the lips, on the chin, on the neck, letting his beard stubble rasp Draco’s skin. Draco shivered in delight and grabbed Potter’s hair. Potter gave a quiet grunt. Draco raised his eyebrows, wondering how many of his own reactions he had been controlling before, refusing to let Draco see them for some reason.
Then the thoughts blew away again, and Potter rolled him around so that he was on top of Draco, lightly but firmly pressing him into the bed, slipping his hands under Draco’s arse to cup and squeeze his cheeks.
“You move fast when you make up your mind,” Draco whispered to him, and hooked an arm around his neck to pull him close for a kiss.
Potter’s eyes flared open. “We can stop if you want,” he offered, and shifted his knees for a second like he was going to get up.
“Never,” Draco said, and rolled him a little to the side-not that he didn’t like Potter on top of him, but what he could reach this way was limited. He undid Potter’s own robes, and pushed them back to get his hands under the shirt.
“Ah,” said Potter, a simple sound of pleasure, and bowed his head and extended his arms so Draco could get his shirt off more easily. His eyes were bright and soft, and he was kissing Draco again a moment later, his chest and shoulders this time, as though having bare skin there himself was enough to make him want to kiss it on someone else. Draco’s eyes crossed when Potter found his nipple and sucked it.
“Come on, come on,” Draco found himself chanting under his breath, without knowing why he was chanting it, and he let his legs fall open and looked up at Potter expectantly.
Potter nodded as if in response to an imperative, and then tugged Draco’s trousers and pants off with the same motion. He was shedding his with little kicks, so practiced that it was enough to make Draco wonder how often he had done this.
That thought brought up emotions he didn’t want to feel. He kissed Potter on the mouth to distract himself, and Potter bent down and they did some serious snogging for a minute before Potter went back to undressing him.
“You want to fuck me?” Draco offered breathlessly. It wasn’t an offer that he made a lot, but Potter’s hands were confident and expert, and Draco thought he would not only escape pain but get a lot of pleasure out of the deal as well.
Potter closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them and shook his head. “No. I just want to see you completely bare.”
His bloody conscience.
Draco smiled, a thin, twisting serpent of a smile that he made as seductive as he knew how, and spread his legs some more. “Whatever you need to get you in the mood,” he whispered. “I want you any way I can have you.”
That made Potter hesitate and give him an anguished look. Draco gave him nothing back except a mouth full of teeth, and then of tongue when Potter kept lying there and Draco had to kiss him again to get the show back on the road.
Luckily, Potter’s hands were more than skilled enough to position Draco how he wanted him, which was lying on the bed with his legs fully spread, enough that they ached a little. Draco tilted his head back and sighed dramatically as Potter began to suck him. That reduced a little of the arousal that was almost pain in his cock.
But only until he looked down and saw Potter’s black head bobbing between his legs, his cheeks and jaw narrow with determination. Determination to get me off, Draco knew. And not lose his heart at the same time.
Draco reached out and gripped Potter’s hair, and this time there was no doubt about it. Potter moved a little towards his hand and moaned, something that made Draco’s mind sheet red with pleasure and his hips arch before he thought about it.
When he recovered enough that he could think about something other than what was happening between his legs, he twisted about and hooked his thighs tight around Potter’s neck. Potter stopped moving right away. Maybe that was down to Auror instincts, too; Draco didn’t know.
“You like having your hair pulled,” Draco whispered, keeping his voice deep and dark, the way he knew some of his other lovers liked it. “Maybe someone else doesn’t. Maybe someone found out and didn’t like it, because it didn’t fit their image of the perfect hero in bed with them. But I don’t need you to be a perfect hero.” And he sank both hands deep this time, and shoved Potter’s head back onto his dick.
Potter gave a noise that might have been a sob, and went back to licking and sucking. Draco let his head flop back, but never let the strength in his hands falter. He yanked Potter from side to side, and drew him down punishingly hard when the motion of his tongue lapsed. Maybe he was stopping to breathe. Draco didn’t know. He did know that Potter was more than strong enough as both a wizard and a fighter to pull back and free himself if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He kept himself there and let himself be kept there, and his fingers were digging hard enough into Draco’s thigh that Draco knew they would leave red marks at the very least, if not actual fingerprints.
“You like this,” Draco whispered again. It was the only thing that would come out of his mouth when he was squirming on the bed and lifting his hips and trying not to let himself come. “Really like it. You want it. You want me to do this,” he repeated, almost mindless, knowing he was mindless, and dragged his nails up Potter’s scalp.
Potter jolted and sucked harder than ever, so hard that he was coughing a moment later. Draco didn’t care about that, because he was coming. The wash through him was so sudden and so intense that he didn’t have any time to warn Potter. Maybe that didn’t matter anyway, because Potter kept up with him, swallowing almost convulsively.
In the end, Draco let his head fall back and his eyes close. He was vulnerable, for the moment, but the trembling and weakness in his limbs was delicious. He stroked Potter’s head, a little puzzled that Potter didn’t immediately move up beside him and demand that Draco suck him, but pleased with it, too. Maybe it meant Potter was still recovering from what he had just done, in a good way, without indulging his insecurities.
Then Potter did stir, and Draco reached down and casually wound a finger in a piece of hair when Potter tried to move away.
“What do you want?” Draco whispered. “My hand, or my mouth?”
Potter shook his head. He was looking at the floor. Draco frowned. It would be irritating if the insecurities reared their heads now, when Potter had just got Draco off.
“You must want something,” said Draco, and he really didn’t care if his voice was petulant. He thought his persona might be more petulant about not having a chance to satisfy his lover than his real self, actually. His persona was timid and generous and would be hesitant about sharing himself with someone on a case. He yanked at Potter’s head again. “Come on. What is it?”
Potter turned to face him, and Draco understood then. His face was bright red as he bit his lip, his eyes overbright, the face of someone who was sated and thought he shouldn’t be.
“You don’t need to do anything,” Potter whispered, and then shook his head as if the wording of his own response disgusted him. “I-I got off.”
From me pulling his hair?
That was it. It had to be it. And it made Draco hungrier than he had been, though not so much for the taste of Potter’s skin or mouth as just for him, to be able to hold him and not have him pull away.
He drew Potter down on the bed again, ignoring the way Potter thrust a hand against his chest as if he wanted to be free. He kissed Potter, languidly, and persistently, until Potter stopped flailing his tongue around and began to kiss back. Draco kissed until his lips were numb, and then rolled and pulled Potter over with him, slipping a hand down to the prominent wet patch on Potter’s groin.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of that,” he whispered, because his lips were stinging now instead of numb and he could. “Who told you that you ought to be ashamed of that? Who made you not want to talk about it?”
Potter twitched his head against Draco’s chest. It took Draco a second to realize that Potter wasn’t pulling away, that he was shaking his head instead. “It doesn’t matter,” Potter said. “Really,” he added, when Draco made a little strangled sound of his own. “I have these stupid ideas that have nothing to do with you.”
But I want them to have to do with me. And Draco did. He reached out and swept a restless hand up and down Potter’s arms. “But it seems you were just so embarrassed. I think it’s-” He spent a moment debating the word, and then finished up with, “It makes me burn.”
“Really?”
The way Potter twisted his head made Draco sure he was right, and someone had told Potter that the way he liked to have his hair pulled was weird. “Yes,” he whispered, and kissed him again, drowning the words with the hot taste of his tongue in Potter’s mouth. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to get you off in other ways,” he added, when he finally pulled back. “But it makes me hot to know that you came from that. I made you come.”
Potter looked like Potter again, or the determined Auror that Draco had come to know, as he raised himself on his elbows and looked down at Draco. “You ought to be careful what you wish for, Malfoy. It sounds like you’re claiming an authority over me that you don’t have.”
“An authority I can’t have,” Draco agreed, remembering the timid way that his other self had approached Potter. “But I still want it.” He once again kissed Potter, hoping that one or the other of them would stir back to life.
He was still limp when Potter drew back from the kiss, though. “It’s sweet of you to talk that way, but I still failed you,” he whispered, holding his hand against Draco’s lips when Draco tried to protest. “Falling asleep like that.” His face was so red, and Draco thought it was with more than the fire brewed between them.
“You couldn’t help it,” Draco said. “It was a sleep curse.” He had no doubt of that. The goblins wouldn’t have risked sending in their magic unless they’d also taken care of Potter, since he’d already proved that he understood their magic and knew how to counteract it.
Potter buried his flushed face in Draco’s shoulder and muttered something that sounded like, “You’re being awfully forgiving.”
“I lived,” said Draco, and tightened his hold on Potter’s hair again. It was simply so fascinating to have something that he could do and Potter would melt, like that. Draco could envision other people doing that, but not Harry Potter. Then again, Potter had been a surprise from pretty much the moment he walked into the Manor. “You’re the only one who can actually recognize these spells and defend me from them. I forgive you or I don’t live.”
“Right,” said Potter, and it seemed that he sighed it out. He followed Draco’s tug on his hair a second later, and gave him a direct look. “I’m not going to get it up again tonight. I’m not some monster of stamina.”
“You’re full of stamina in other ways,” said Draco, and looked into Potter’s eyes as he kissed his nose. “You’ve been a fighter and a healer and a lover all in the same space of an hour.”
Potter’s return smile was unhappy, and Draco made soothing noises and touched the back of his neck while inwardly rolling his eyes. He already sucked me off. He’ll sleep with me tomorrow. I fail to see why he’s still upset about it.
“Go to sleep,” said Potter softly, and rolled towards the edge of the bed. “I’ll-clean up, and then keep watch some more.”
“Oh, no,” said Draco, and dragged Potter close again, ignoring the way his breath stuttered in surprise. “Goblins can’t attack right away again with a spell that powerful, can they?”
Potter paused. “How did you know that?”
Draco shrugged. “I noticed the length of time between this spell and the last one that pierced the wards. I think they would have sent another one after me if they could have, but they didn’t, which suggests to me that they can’t. Am I right?”
Potter gave him such a careful, patient stare that Draco wondered if Potter was waiting for him to confess to greater knowledge than he had. But Draco would never do something like that, so he only widened his eyes and waited.
“Yes.” Potter gave in with the word at last, and leaned his head down next to Draco’s. “They have to prepare rituals-or, well, we would understand them as rituals. They are spells, but they take a long time to cast. And they have to bring up new chanters to replace the ones who get tired and have to stop, and do all sorts of, oh, complicated things. So there won’t be another attack tonight from that direction.”
“Then you can rest with me,” Draco told him, and put a possessive hand in the middle of Potter’s sweat-slick back.
“It doesn’t mean that an attack won’t come from another direction, though.” Potter shifted restlessly against him. “And I already failed you once.”
Draco could still feel the heat against his cheek from where Potter flushed, and shook his head so that Potter’s head moved back and forth with his. He really was embarrassed about not waking up the minute the curse erupted into the room. “It’s all right, Potter. I understand. And you can stay here and rest with me.” He lowered his voice into a return of the scared little squeak that the man he pretended to be would give. “Please? I don’t want to be alone in this bed.”
Potter gave in, of course, the way Draco had known he’d have to. And it did feel good to drift off with Potter’s arms lapping languid around him, and Potter’s breath slowly settling with his, merging with his, so that it took an effort of will for Draco to suspend himself over the dark drop into sleep without actually falling.
But he managed it, and there was no sign that Potter noticed when Draco slowly slid his hand beneath the pillow, grasped his wand, and brought it out. Nor, despite the sensitivity of his scalp, did he stir when Draco rested the wand beside his ear.
“Somnio,” Draco whispered, and listened as Potter’s breathing became even deeper, steadier. He shook his head, smiling. Potter had exhausted himself putting Draco to sleep, and interviewing with his boss through the fire, and catching Greengrass-Rosier, and saving Draco, and having sex. He deserved to have a good night’s rest.
And the best thing was, as long as Draco was quick, there was no reason for him to suspect that there had been a spell at all. He could wake up in Draco’s arms and think it was a combination of satisfied desire and real need that had driven him into slumber.
Draco edged softly out from beneath Potter and stood up, stretching. Then he gathered his clothes, and made sure to fake a limp on the way out of his rooms and towards the stairs, on the off-chance that Potter had resisted the spell.
He had a potentially traitorous half-goblin to contact.
Chapter Ten.
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