Chapter Thirty-One of 'Acts of Life'- Coping
Chapter Thirty.
Title: Acts of Life (31/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, eventual Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, some violence
Summary: That Harry returned Draco’s wand to him was only one small act in a life, one thing that he might have done or not done. But more acts succeed that one, and Harry and Draco find themselves sharing more and more of them.
Author’s Notes: Despite the angst warning, this story is more fluffy than anything else, and is episodic. It will be updated every Monday.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirty-One-Coping
Draco walked slowly into the Manor. He could feel Harry standing behind him, even though all he was doing was handing his cloak to a house-elf. Hardly a revolutionary action or one that Draco needed to be concerned about.
But Draco knew what he wanted, and he also knew that Harry sensed he wanted something and would remain there, in silent patience, until Draco actually made up his mind.
Draco turned around.
Harry cocked his head and studied him with calm eyes. “Are you all right, Draco?”
“You saved me tonight,” Draco said. He relaxed at the sound of his own voice. He sounded stronger than he’d thought he would. He had been afraid his voice would come out hollow and tinny, still scared, as if the disapproving eyes at the Ministry gala had followed them back home.
“I did,” Harry said. “But you’re the one who needs to decide how much attention you’re going to pay to that.” Harry’s own eyes were friendly but also considering, as if he thought Draco needed to sit down and eat something to get over a nasty shock.
Draco closed his own eyes for a second. He could do that. He could eat and drink and laugh and send Harry away, and Harry would accept it and never know that Draco had been considering doing…something else.
But then Draco would never know if he could have had what he wanted, either. There were disadvantages to giving in to fear, and this was one of them.
“Draco?”
“I want you to stay,” Draco said, opening his eyes a little. “Stay and eat with me, since we didn’t get to do a lot of that at the gala. And this way, I have the energy for what I want to do later.”
“Not more dancing?”
“Only if you want to use that name for it.” Draco tried to shrug and look casual, but he also knew that had failed when Harry stared at him in concern. “Fine. I-want you to make love to me, Harry. But I really do feel that I need a meal to eat first, before we start that kind of thing.”
Harry considered him, then smiled slowly. “I’d like to do that, too, Draco. But you’re right. I think something to eat before we do is a good idea.”
Still a little shaky, surprised but smiling, Draco turned and led the way into the kitchens.
*
Harry sipped from the steaming cup of tea the elves had promptly placed in front of him. It had a faint orange scent to it, and an orange taste, too. It was better than most of the teas that he had had in Malfoy Manor. He wondered if that was a coincidence or not, and then dismissed it.
He didn’t think the elves’ opinion on him and Draco sleeping together, even assuming they had an opinion, really needed to matter to him.
Draco kept giving Harry anxious glances and then turning away to gulp down his own scented tea. It had a faint smell of chocolate, from what Harry could tell from this side of the table. Well, the elves would have figured out a long time ago what Draco liked.
Harry took a small slice of cheese from the plate in the center of the table and cocked his head. “Are you all right, Draco? You do want this?”
Draco turned and stared at him, then nodded fiercely. “Of course I do! That isn’t what’s making me nervous.”
“What is, then?” Harry hoped that if something was really bothering Draco, they could settle it as soon as possible.
“Still the shakiness from the gala tonight.” Draco toyed with his own piece of cheese, then ate it in two sudden bites. Harry thought that was only a means of distracting himself from the answers he was going to have to give, and sure enough, Draco remained silent for another minute before he spoke up. “And this feels so important.”
“If it doesn’t go well,” Harry whispered to him, feeling that he had to do his best to reassure Draco, “that’s okay. We can try again.”
Draco opened his mouth and then sat back with a slightly stunned expression. “We can, can’t we?” he asked. “That somehow escaped me. It-our lives don’t end, and we don’t walk away from each other, if it’s not right the first time. I kept forgetting that.”
“Don’t,” Harry said, and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “I don’t want to make this upsetting or frightening for you, Draco. I want it to be a source of joy. Like dancing, and orange-scented tea.”
He didn’t know what made him bring the second one up, when he wasn’t thinking much about his tea anymore, but it seemed to have done the trick. Draco’s eyes crinkled, and he leaned back in his chair and stroked Harry’s thumb with his.
“Then I suppose you’ll want to get on with it as soon as possible.”
“Anticipation has its virtues, too.”
And then Draco really relaxed, and they spent the rest of their time in the kitchen talking quietly and sipping from each other’s teacups as well as their own. Harry felt as though all the muscles under his skin were melted butter by the time that Draco stood up and invited him towards the stairs with a single twitch of his head.
*
It was so easy between them. So slow.
Draco hadn’t expected that, really, but now that he thought about it, he didn’t know why not. He had danced easily with Harry simply by telling Harry to watch him, when it ought to have taken more effort, especially since Harry had been so bad at it before. And he had recovered from the assassination attempt at the gala enough to go on enjoying himself.
And he and Harry weren’t strangers to each other, by now. They had touched each other enough to know the places that made their bodies sigh and shiver. Draco lay down on the bed that Harry took him to, his own, with a lazy murmur of enjoyment, and then stretched his limbs out to the sides and closed his eyes.
As though they had discussed this, Harry was able to work out what Draco wanted. He drew off Draco’s clothes with gentle hands, and spent a few minutes after each limb was freed stroking and massaging them. By the time Draco’s robes were off completely, he didn’t think he’d ever felt so good.
That was only the start, too, as a quick brush of Harry’s hand over his arse promised. Draco opened his eyes and smiled lazily, dazedly, at him. Harry smiled back and then went into the bathroom attached to Draco’s suite.
He came back out with a small glass jar of lube. Draco knew he must have conjured the lube, because Draco’s bathroom had nothing like it, but he didn’t know about the jar. It seemed Harry hadn’t wanted to do either in front of Draco, because he thought it might break the mood or something.
That’s oddly sweet.
Draco didn’t tell him so. He simply rolled over and let his feet relax towards the end of the bed again. Harry sat down between his spread legs and spent a few minutes adjusting: spreading the sheets flat, sliding a pillow under Draco, and stroking his legs some more. Even when he had Draco kneel up, the mood didn’t break, though. Harry probably could have summoned toys in front of him and it wouldn’t have.
Draco didn’t think he would mind toys someday, if Harry wanted to try them, but for this first time, he wanted to feel only Harry. Nothing else.
Harry’s fingers slipped up and down his arse, the lube easing the way. Draco closed his eyes and spread his legs further, inviting. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine anyone else he would have wanted to share this with.
Images of other paths briefly flickered in his head. Maybe he could have been with Pansy, or Astoria Greengrass, whom his mother had once suggested as a potential wife. Or one of his male friends from Slytherin, if he had decided that he was never going to want to sleep with a woman after all.
But the images were all soft and insubstantial, even softer than the motion of Harry’s fingers across his arse, and the way that one of them glided into his hole.
Draco spread his legs more when he thought it would help, and felt a gentling motion on his bottom in return. Draco turned his head into the pillow and yawned. Briefly, his mind offered the vision of him falling asleep like this, and he hoped he didn’t. He would be so humiliated; he didn’t know how he’d face Harry again.
But that was only a brief flicker, and there was no sign it would actually happen. Instead, Harry’s fingers penetrated him, and Draco felt himself climbing more and more back into awareness. But it wasn’t an awareness tinged with fear and fatalism, the way it had been right after David cast that curse at him during the gala. This was-still soft. Draco opened his eyes and felt as though his heartbeat was rocking him on the bed.
Then Harry whispered, “Do you think you’re ready?”
Draco didn’t need to ask what for. He nodded and leaned back with his head. Once again, Harry understood what he wanted without needing to discuss it with him. He leaned down and kissed Draco.
When he sat back, the whole bed seemed to dip beneath him. Draco had imagined holding his breath when it came to this, but the melting state of his body wouldn’t let him. He simply let his head fall forwards, onto his hands, accepting and welcoming, and his breathing was soft and steady and slow, everything it should be.
And then Harry slid in.
*
Harry didn’t know what he’d expected. Some kind of grunt of pain from Draco? Some sort of panic once he was actually in the position he wanted to be in? Some sign that he wasn’t welcome and he should leave now?
But he got none of those. Instead, Draco went on melting and sighing into the bed, with no sign this was paining him, and Harry went on thrusting, holding himself with a hand in the middle of Draco’s back, closing his eyes as the warmth washed through him in soothing waves.
The way they slept together, or made love, or fucked, or whatever Harry was inclined to call it at the moment-and he wanted to call it different things as the different waves traveled through him-was wonderful. Harry did find out later that he’d left bruises on Draco’s hips where he held him, and that his hands ached where they were driven into the cushions and held there. But that was a small price to pay to know that he was causing Draco so much pleasure.
And himself. The pleasure was more intense for him, dancing and spiraling, radiating up and down his spine, startling a thick grunt out of his mouth when he came. Draco had already come, Harry realized when he slid a hand under Draco to check.
He felt a bit bad for not noticing. He kissed the nape of Draco’s neck when he pulled out, and Draco grunted a little in turn and looked up at him with exhausted adoration. He made a soft smacking noise with his lips, and Harry knew what he wanted. He bent down and kissed Draco on the mouth.
“You’re wonderful at this,” Draco said in a drowsy voice. “I suppose I should have known you would be. You’re so good at everything.”
“Not dancing. I’m only good at that because you taught me.”
“You still made a lot fewer mistakes than I would have thought you would.” Draco rolled his head slowly, and Harry listened, but didn’t hear anything crack or pop in his neck, the way he usually would after a motion like that. Draco’s neck still seemed relaxed. “You’re good at this. Don’t worry, someday I’ll find something you aren’t good at, and that will be my revenge.”
Harry snorted and slid slowly out of Draco. He grimaced a little at the mess that resulted, but drew his wand. A flick, and it was gone. Then he tugged gently at Draco. “Come on, turn over and let me clean you.”
Draco did, the drowsy smile still on his face. Harry touched his chest and throat and shoulder several times before he could bring himself to actually cast the Cleaning Charm and disturb that expression. “I love you like this.”
“Just like this?”
Draco’s voice was teasing, but it was obvious what he wanted to say. Harry slowly nodded and whispered, “Always.”
Draco considered him as gravely as if there was a problem with that for a minute-maybe the way Harry had said it-before he nodded and said softly, “Good. The same.” And he reared himself up for another kiss, and Harry got lost in it, utterly and positively lost.
Chapter Thirty-Two.
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