Fic - "Finding Fritz" - HP/DM (NC17) Part 1
Author: winnett
Title: Finding Fritz
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco (background Ron/Hermione)
Summary: Harry needed a Hero. Draco Malfoy would prove he was just the wizard for the job.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): boy sex! Oh, is that a warning?
Epilogue compliant? EWE
Word Count: ~12,000
Author's Notes: Written for alovelycupoftea for HD Hols 2009. Tea, I hope you enjoy this story. I was so pleased to get you as a recipient and I hope I fulfilled some of what you were hoping for. I apologise for every Americanism you might come across. I tried! Thanks so much to my betas: rickey_a, megyal, ebethfic, sesheta_66, marguerite_26 and KF. I am a raw onion without you.
You’ve Got Him Right Where You Want Him
Draco discovered that Harry liked to be bit. Praising him with nips, smoothing over the hurt with brushes of lips and dashes of tongue, Draco claimed him, marked the man as his.
Harry's hand slipped into Draco's trousers, grabbing at his cock that grew harder than iron. Draco pressed his forehead against Harry's scorching skin, cementing together their mirrored need. A need fuelled by several shots of rum. At the awkward angle, Harry fumbled clumsily and that was perhaps the only thing that kept Draco from filling his pants like a virgin boy on his first exploration with a girl. Luckily, he'd bypassed girls.
But Harry hadn't, and from their deepening friendship, Draco had gleaned that Harry had just started his explorations into the masculine territory. He'd have to take this slow.
Fuck. Who was he kidding? He couldn't take this slow.
Clothing stripped and tossed, their sweaty bodies writhed together; an icing of kisses sweetened Harry's skin. Draco, lips attached to the soft spot below Harry's navel, decided to make his move.
Lube at the ready, he pressed one finger gently against Harry's perineum.
"Hey," Harry said, pushing up on his elbows to stare down at Draco. Through his pale fringe, Draco looked up from nuzzling against the thatch at Harry's groin. "What--?" Harry looked like a fucking wet dream, lips parted, eyes filmed over with horny anticipation, but if Draco really looked at him, he also saw someone going off instinct, someone a bit out of his element.
"Harry," Draco began, the words pressed through his throat, constricted with boyhood eagerness. "Trust me." Damn, if he didn't sound like a pervert.
Harry blinked at him, then licked his lips.
Draco's cock pulsed. "Do you trust me?"
Eyes wide, Harry raised his chin, then nodded once, slowly, uncertainly.
An age later, three greased fingers deep into the man, Draco knew that once inside Harry, there'd be no more slowly and no more gently.
Harry, arse up, head hung low between his shoulders, swayed his back like a wishbone about to snap.
"Harry. Okay?"
Fucking Heaven and Hell, that was where Draco balanced now. Between bliss and torment. His fingers buried within Harry's virgin arse, his own cock bared and glistening and so ready. He'd waited for so long, so fucking long.
"Harry?" But he wouldn't continue if Harry told him no.
"Ngh."
Draco pondered on that for exactly two seconds, then, taking it for assent, pulled out his fingers and moved to replace them with his erection. He looked down, watching as the head of his cock pressed against that loosened twist of muscle. He swallowed his own groan before it slipped from his lips.
Ultimately, as Draco hovered, poised over Harry, inches from driving in, he wished he could see the other man's face, but Harry buried his head in the bed sheets, his hands grasping onto them like a nervous maiden. Harry ground out something not quite satisfying from between clenched teeth, but it wasn't any last minute "maybe this isn't such a good idea," and Draco didn't know what he would have done if it had been.
And then, one thrust later, he was engulfed by Harry's heat. Though trying to be gentle, the part of Draco's brain that thought "take your time" and "go slow" was a small, pixie-sized portion. His cock was buried in Harry's arse. His pristine, untouched, virgin arse. Draco's brain limped along in utter disbelief. And awe.
Harry's inner walls were smooth, perfect. Draco held onto Harry's hips so hard, there would be bruises, but Draco could only think of his cock, in Harry's arse, where it should never, ever leave.
Once fully sheathed, Draco leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the small of Harry's back. Small spasms fluttered through Harry's body and Draco kissed him. Once, twice, a thousand times he kissed him over the soft skin covering the base of his spine.
"Har--?" Draco swallowed and tried again. "Harry? Is this okay?"
And what if it wasn't? What if Harry said no? Stop? Draco's heart thundered.
Draco pulled out, a short slide, and pulsed his cock once. Harry huffed, a sharp exhale. Draco tilted his hips and tried again. Just once, a sharp thrust.
"Ah." It could have been a moan of pleasure.
"Harry?" Draco thrust again. "You okay?"
Below him Harry inhaled deeply, slowly released the breath. "Uh, you can go on." Harry's voice was unsteady, but filled with enough heat that Draco felt something within him uncoil.
He planted one final kiss on the curve of Harry's back. "Okay."
To their right, the December moon's eerie light shimmered through the window, catching the sheen of sweat covering every inch of Harry's body. As Draco pulled out, the head of his cock still anchored within Harry, and pressed in again, Harry arched his back, tilting his hips to receive Draco, welcoming, wanting. Fuck. Harry moaned in real life like he had in every one of Draco's wet dreams.
And the only words left said were prayers of more and Draco's mantra of 'wanted you, wanted you' over and over into the night.
The Wrath Of The Morning After
At the crown of dawn, Harry thought about what he'd done. A relentless ache took up residence in his arse and bite marks dotted his chest like tropical islands in a narrow sea. His ear throbbed.
He stared down at Draco, his long body, the paleness of his skin. He practically glowed in the early light, like some cocky, ethereal devil. Harry's mouth buzzed with numbness from their kisses and he lifted his fingers to trace his lower lip where Draco had bit him. Marked him. Branded him straight to the centre of his core.
He couldn't deal with this.
Gingerly, because his arse hurt like hell, Harry crawled out from under the sheets, most likely a lost cause that even the house elves couldn't launder. The air pulled goosebumps up along his skin. Draco, sprawled in the centre of the bed, looked like a Monet. A masterpiece.
Turning his back to the bed, Harry tugged on his trousers, then his shirt, and without another glance, he left the inn's room for the Floo.
Once home, that pit in his gut widened into a black hole. He'd let Draco Malfoy fuck him up the arse. Really. No frottage, no mutual wank. Harry was truly and wholly fucked up the arse. He grabbed a hangover potion and downed it in one go, shuddering at the rancid taste. He should not have drunk that last shot. Or maybe the point of no return had been the shot before that. If he'd been sober, Harry would never have rolled over and took it up the arse. He was stronger than that, wasn't he? He was a hero! He had saved the world from a mad man.
Harry snorted. He'd never used that as an excuse before, and he wasn't about to convince himself that it meant anything now. He just wanted to get along, do his job caring for the animals at the shop.
As he climbed wearily into the shower, he thought about how last night had even happened. He ratcheted the dial on the side of the tap to dragonfire and the heat soaked into the muscles of his back, stinging the bruises lining his chest. He'd been pleased to see Draco at the Stumbling Leprechaun last night. It had taken time, but Harry got to know him, and his snooty self-absorbed attitude had mellowed with time. Sure, Draco still didn't raise high the sceptre of modesty or humility, but he wasn't a bad type, either. Then Ron and Hermione left, and then Ginny, and only he and Draco had remained. Drinking far too much.
Harry's hands halted in mid-scrub.
Draco had got him drunk on purpose. Every ache in his arse told Harry that that had to be true.
He pressed his hands and forehead to the tiled wall of the shower. Shit. Years would pass before he ever lived this down. Maybe Draco would be kind, and only hint at blackmail when Harry pushed his limits; the man had mellowed.
He finished his shower, running his hands over his entire body, touching each bruise, brushing against his cock that twinged with the memory of last night.
Harry looked down and muttered, "At least you have no regrets."
It twinged again.
Maybe, just maybe, this would be a secret Draco would keep.
He pulled on trousers and robes, grabbed his bag, and Apparated to Shepfield Alley, a small wizarding section in northern London. Since the fall of Voldemort and the rebuilding of Diagon Alley, a recent Council decision stated wizarding London had kept all its dragon livers in one cauldron and set forth plans to diversify. Shepfield Alley was one of the first developments of the plan.
Mimicking a modern Muggle shopping complex, Shepfield rose four stories high and shimmered inside like the Hope Diamond. All glass and chrome, Harry found it a bit too sterile, but the job, he loved. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned warehouse, a splatter of graffiti charmed as an anti-Muggle ward.
He'd done the Auror thing, like everyone had expected. He and Ron, and amazingly, Draco. Ron dropped out first to help George at WWW. After five years Harry decided fulfilling other people's expectations didn't fulfil his own, and he began working at Muggle animal shelters. Soon after that he began his own re-homing centre in shop-space he'd purchased in Shepfield Alley. Draco was the only one left at the Ministry. Draco had always insisted he wanted to make up for past mistakes, prove himself to everyone who sneered at the Malfoy name, spat at his white-blond hair. They didn't spit anymore. Draco was the 'respectable' one of the three now.
Wasn't that a laugh?
And maybe it was due to the utter hell that was Auror training, maybe it was all because Draco was a persistent little wanker who'd always followed Harry and Ron to the Stumbling Leprechaun with the other trainees. Maybe it was just time. But eventually, over the years, they'd all become friends.
With a crack, Harry popped onto the street before Potter's Pets. An ersatz dragon puppet tumbled playfully along the overhanging sign above the storefront, puffing out little wisps of smoke as its snaky body entwined around the letters. Every so often it would flutter its silvery set of wings, then once again scurry around the letters. It especially liked hanging from the loops of the Ps. With a glance up at the shopping centre's ceiling Harry could tell the day would be sunny. Some days the magic would call for rain, and Harry really hated it when it rained in Shepfield; they still had bugs in the gutter charms. Once, seven months ago in May, it rained for three days and flooded the alleys between shops. Harry's charms kept the water from entering the shop, but the rain had also kept most shoppers from stopping by.
At least his waterhorse had had fun.
With a tap of his wand, the door opened.
"Fritz!" he called out. On his trek from door to counter, he scanned the display cages and talked to each and every one of the pets.
"Hey Lilac, need a new chew?" The guinea pig whooped at him, running in circles within her cage near the Floo. "Snoogles! What a good boy." The crup wiggled his entire body, tongue lolling with an eager desire to lick. Harry slipped his hand over the canine's body and earned a coat of slobber. He ruffled the feathers of a mina, scritched a cat behind her ears and hissed at an emerald tree boa that grouched at Harry due to a recent shedding. Typically, the five-yard stroll took him fifteen minutes.
He dropped his messenger sack behind the counter, turned the ancient till on and called out again. "Fritz, come on out." He scanned the air, prepared for the pounce, but he didn't see the little dragon, the model for the store's sign, anywhere. Last night Fritz had stubbornly refused to Apparate home with him and Harry had let him stay at the shop to play with the other animals. His house always seemed too quiet whenever Fritz didn't come home with him.
"Fritz?" Leaving the front, he pushed through the swinging doors to the back of the pet shop. They swung open and closed like an off-balance rocking horse as Harry called out again. "Fritz?" The other animals back there, recent acquisitions in quarantine, all chittered at him in greeting. He'd always had a knack with animals; they seemed to understand each other.
With the morning feeding pending, they howled at him, but Harry, usually quite ready to fulfil the animals' needs, searched closets and bins and other cages hunting for his ersatz dragon.
Instead, by the back door, he found a note.
The note was written on white Muggle paper and the words had been cut out from various papers; some of the letters hovered or wiggled, some of them were stagnant. Harry read it once, his heart sinking so low all other pains were forgotten. He read it again and wondered when the fuck people were going to leave him alone.
Harry Potter. The Dragon will be Returned to You by Solstice If You Follow Our Instructions. Will be in Contact.
They'd kidnapped Fritz. They kidnapped the only ersatz dragon in existence, Harry's only pet, just to play fucking games with him.
Ripping the note from the wall, Harry slumped down onto the nearest stool, the ache in his arse another reminder of something else terrible that had recently happened to him. What a day. He wished that he'd read his horoscope yesterday, it might have given him a clue, told him to stay the hell home, avoid blondes, stick close to the work-place. Protect those that he loved.
He didn't know what he was going to do.
Help Me Draco-Wan, You're My Only Hope
"Go to the MLE, the Aurors. Don't just sit there, Harry." Ron closed the last cage with a flick of the wand. With everyone cleaned, fed and watered, Ron washed his hands and looked down at Harry, who had been mired in misery on the stool, staring at the note.
"This isn't a case of a dark wizard or anything. It's just a dragon," Harry said with such cynicism, that Ron was three steps away from shaking him out of his wallow of gloom. He'd left Harry in good spirits last night, chatting with Draco at the pub. Why he hadn't called the Auror first, Ron didn't know.
"Call Draco." Harry's head shot up, for once not mesmerised by the ransom note. Was it a ransom note? It didn’t demand anything. "He'll pass it on to someone competent in MLE. What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry definitely had a squirrelly look about him; then his gaze lowered and he refused to look at Ron, or that damned slip of paper.
"Spill it," Ron said, hands on hips in what he hoped didn't look too much like Hermione. But the pose had always worked on him, so he trusted it would work its charm on his best friend.
Harry's head dropped into his hands, the note crushed up in one fist, and he mumbled something that sounded like debt and tight.
"What?"
Then, more slowly, Harry mumbled, "I slept with Draco last night."
The air about Harry gathered thick like a storm; even the animals had grown silent. "Excuse me?" Ron asked, certain he'd misinterpreted even worse the second time.
Harry lifted his head in slow motion; shock, a little panic, and worry vied for dominance of his expression. "Last night, Draco and I went to an inn, got a room, and fucked." Harry tossed him a self-deprecating smile. Then he looked away again, swallowed, then looked somewhere else.
"So, was it any good?" Ron asked.
Harry's gaze zeroed right on him, and narrowed. "That's not what you're supposed to say. You're supposed to say 'Oh Harry, that's terrible. I'm sure if you avoid the prat, you'll never have to see him again.'"
Ron nodded. "Oh Harry, that's terrible," he mimicked, then, "So, it wasn't any good. Bugger."
Harry threw a squeaky chew toy at Ron's head, which he easily ducked. Working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes really toned those reflexes.
Harry sat up straighter on the stool, schooled his features in a totally unbelievable way and said, "That isn't why I called you here, Ron. I need someone to help me find Fritz. He'd be all lost without me." To Ron, Harry sounded more lost without Fritz than Fritz would probably ever be without him.
"Then, call Draco. If you'd quit being a pillock, you'd realise he is your best choice. Here, I'll do it for you." Ron twisted on his toe and sprinted for the Floo, locking Harry in the back room with a flick of his wand as he tossed in the Powder and called up the Auror division. By the time Harry had charmed the lock open and hurled some great one-liners at Ron-he would have to remember them later for George-someone had already run off to retrieve Draco.
"Harry, I don't think an elephant would fit up there. Just-" he turned and looked at his friend, pale and frantic, "let me do the talking." Harry stared at him, and finally he sighed, nodded and went to sit on the stool behind the counter. A few people walked past the store front, staring at the large Closed sign. One boy in a short blue cloak pressed his face to the glass, squishing his nose flat. Lilac whooped for attention.
"Hello, Ron. What can I do for you?"
Ron turned to the Floo and nodded at Draco's glowing face. "Oi, get over here and help Harry."
At the edge of his vision, Ron saw Harry's head drop to the countertop.
"Oh?" Draco said, his eyebrow arched in the green dancing flames of the Floo. "And what does Harry need help with?"
In an instant Harry appeared by Ron's side. "My Fritz-My ersatz dragon, he's been kidnapped." Ron studied Harry, the rigid set to his shoulders, the furrow between his brows. He turned back to Draco to see a small hint of a smile, a real smile, which caused Ron to blink.
"Fritz was stolen?" Draco said with honest concern. "I'm coming through."
Harry stepped from the Floo, and Ron realigned himself to stand next to him. Under his breath Ron said, "Well now, looks like you get the special treatment." Draco's body pulled from the flames as he spun through the Floo's boundary. "Big bad Malfoy drops everything for your little lost dragon."
Fully crossed, Draco said, "What was that?"
Ron smiled. "Oh, nothing." He waved his hand to brush the question aside. "Thanks for coming over." Ron's grin brightened, and Draco's gaze flittered from Ron to Harry. Harry wordlessly held out the note.
"This is what they left," Harry said, he voice strangely flat.
Draco reached out for the paper, paused, then took it from Harry's feeble grip. It had been crumpled in one corner, the tacked on letters pulling free in places from the Muggle paste. Draco held it tightly between a forefinger and thumb and read the threat. His eyebrows rose, his lips pursed and Harry stared at him, hope sparkling within the green of his eyes.
"Well," Draco said. "I'll have to take the note in to have it analysed." He set the note down on the counter and cast a stasis spell on it. "I'd like a look around."
Harry nodded. "Should I--?" Harry looked as adrift now as he did at forced Ministry functions. Ron shook his head with amusement.
"Why don't you tell me what you found different about the place this morning; show me where Fritz is kept, the note's location…" Draco finished with a nod that got Harry walking. As Harry slipped into the back room, Draco glanced at Ron. Ron grinned.
"So, you know about last night," Draco said, his smile perfunctory.
Ron made a noise between a snort and a chuckle. "Of course. Apparently it wasn't all that." Ron's smirk grew.
Draco blinked, then his own smirk made an appearance, haughty and oozing with inflated confidence. "Oh, it certainly was all that. He'll be ringing my Floo in less than a week."
Ron couldn't help himself. "Think a lot about yourself?"
"Well," Draco cut Ron off before he could say anything else, standing tall, chin lifted, "There's certainly a lot to think about." Then he turned and followed Harry into the back room.
Avoiding the Unavoidable
"Ron!" Harry knelt by the foot of the Floo. "Ron!" he called again. Finally, dressed in a yellow dressing gown covered in flapping books, Ron popped his head and shoulders into the Floo.
"Harry, it's two bloody o'clock in the morning. What the fuck do you want?" Ron's hair clung to the side of his head like frightened bird, and he was blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"I got another letter." Harry fluttered a paper between himself and the Floo. It crinkled in protest. "Another note…about Fritz. I found it taped to my door. It--"
"Harry."
"It says-"
"Harry!"
Harry stopped talking and peered at Ron's face in the green flames. "Why are you telling me? Go tell Draco."
Harry swallowed. He hoped he wouldn't have to bring Draco into this. Not like Draco had helped last time. Maybe he could convince Ron to call Hermione home from her conference. Harry remained staunchly silent, trying to come up with a plausible reason for why he hadn't contacted Draco. "Uh-"
Ron scratched the side of his head, then yawned. "Listen, mate. Didn't Draco say he would find the pet-nabber?" He smacked his lips as another yawn subsided. Harry's shoulders slumped and he nodded. "Then call him." Ron cut the connection.
Everything settled into an eerie quiet. Outside on the street a car drove by and Harry wondered who would be up at this hour of their own volition. Fritz, a diminutive tornado of action, always made his flat feel like a home. Now Harry felt jittery and alone.
Should he call Draco? Sure, everything had hummed with awkward tension when he'd investigated the shop, but Draco did promise to help and Hermione was unreachable. Harry had already tried summoning the dragon, and then casting a Point Me spell. He'd contacted other pet purveyors and local veterinarians, and none of them had seen Fritz. Someone out there had him. Poor Fritz, the only one of his kind in the hands of ruthless thieves.
You Need A Hero; Baby, I'll Be Your Superman
It was three in the morning, and Draco had been swept up in one of those dreams where he'd done more against the Dark Lord, stood up against the Carrows, and had not been a bloody coward, striving only to save his family and his own arse. It was the kind of dream where he'd listened to Dumbledore, and there'd been a use for him. Where he hadn't merely been baggage.
"Merlin, fuck me," he grumbled. He pulled on his dressing gown, wispy traces of the dream still swirling through his mind like mist. The Floo bell chimed again. He had more than half a mind to just silence the damned thing, but it could be an emergency, and Draco had promised he'd never be mere baggage again.
"What?" Not his most gracious, but it was three in the bloody morning.
Harry's face popped into the fire. "Draco, I'm sorry for waking you, it's just that I got another note, and you did say you would help, and I don't know what else to do. I couldn't wait 'till morning." There was a slight pause for breath, then, "They want me to steal the Sword of Gryffindor, and they still have Fritz and I can't give them the sword. As the Auror on the case, I was hoping you could help me figure out what to do." Harry's fevered speech trailed off into something desperate and small.
"Stand back, I'll come through." And just like that he twirled through to Harry's flat, taking on the semblance of night in his deep blue dressing gown, hair not quite perfect, but that was fine because spread out at his feet was another opportunity to help someone. And more than just someone, but Harry.
Face red, Harry froze as Draco appeared in his home, his previous babble gone and washed away by a sea of apprehension. "I'm sorry for bothering you so early," he mumbled. Ever since the war something about Harry had drawn Draco in like a bee to a brightly coloured flower. Harry always smiled, laughed, had fun with his friends. That inner well of joy attracted Draco-the joy and that fucking amazing arse. But now, this Harry was lost, a little afraid-oh, not for himself. Harry Potter never feared for himself, damned martyr. No, he was afraid for a pet. A manufactured pet created by the Weasley's, a trick never to be reproduced. And Draco hated to see Harry Potter afraid.
"It's no problem," Draco said.
They stood there, moments ticking by in the silence of Harry's flat. Slowly, as if against the pull of gravity's tightest hold, Harry lifted his arm and held out the note.
Harry Potter: Retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor. Will Contact You with Drop Off Location.
It was done up in the same manner as the previous note: pasted letters from magazines on Muggle manufactured paper. A flap of sellotape sticking up from the top.
From the last note, they had already traced where the letters had come from. The H that made up Harry had come from the Daily Prophet's headline of "Harpies Defeat United in Landslide Match." The S from Solstice was clipped from a Harper's Magazine ad. The paper was nothing fancy, either. Something straight from Tescos. Same with the glue. And the damned thing had no fingerprints, no DNA, no magical signature, either. It had been a dead end.
Now another note, and while Draco would send it through the same paces as he had the first, he had a feeling he wouldn't find anything on this one, either. But still, he had to try.
"I'll send this through to the forensics division," Draco said while staring at the decorated paper held gently in his hands.
"Thanks." Harry didn't sound like he expected anything either. A frown settled on his lips that Draco wanted to kiss away. He took a step towards Harry, then another. Harry's lips grew slack and his chest expanded with a sharp inhale. But he didn't retreat.
"Draco-" was all Harry said, and within that one word brooded a warning and a need.
"I could console you," Draco said with a smirk, keeping his hands to his sides even though he wanted nothing more than to have them all over Harry's body, rubbing, feeling, tearing off clothing. "Take your mind off this tragedy." He'd meant it to sound light, but it came out much too sincere.
Harry's hand, balled into a fist, tightened against his belly. It looked about ready to claw out his guts, he was so strung with tension. With another few steps Draco stood within reach of Harry, dropped the note onto a nearby table, and still Harry did nothing but watch him. As Draco brushed his fingers against Harry's hand, it immediately unfurled. Wrapping their fingers together, Draco lifted the man's hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle.
Harry's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, as if coping with his own unexpected desires. Draco could read it all there, plain as the note demanding the Founder's artefact.
Harry was far more priceless than the artefact.
Draco hovered near Harry, then, as if in slow motion, he leaned forward and kissed away the worry. "It's okay." He rested his hand on Harry's bicep, brushed it along the length of his arm, down past his elbow, entwining their fingers.
Harry squeezed.
"May I?" Draco asked. Harry wanted him. He knew it. Harry, so fucking gorgeous, wanted him.
In response, Harry whined, lifting his chin in obvious permission. Draco made short work of buttons and belts, taking what was so freely offered.
A Lifetime Of Misspent Youth
How had he landed in this situation again? Harry lay in bed, his own bed, and squeezed his arse. The pain had returned. Not as bad as a few days ago, but still. Was he a pillow biter? A bottom? The passive one? The girl of the-what was this, a relationship? If you were friends with the guy and fucked him twice, was that a relationship? Was he just a hole that Draco used for gratification?
He'd never even topped before. Would he be typecast now, never to break out of this role he'd somehow trapped himself in?
He only longed for a quiet life, away from urgent deeds like bad guy slaying, world saving, kitten rescuing. Well, he didn't so much mind rescuing the kittens. Though he preferred puppies.
He flung an arm over his eyes. The morning light lingered hours away, but he still wanted to hide from the world.
This was one of those moments of leaping without looking, and he'd found himself trapped in the bottom of a very deep chasm without any apparent escape. He couldn't even blame it on being drunk.
The thing was, he'd liked it. Both times. About blacked out the second time, he'd come so hard. While the idea of having a cock up his arse felt alien, putting the concept into action proved brilliant. But he wasn't the submissive one. He wouldn't let Draco tell him what to do. He'd demand, next time, that he got to fuck Draco.
Next time.
Harry groaned, his cock swelling the tiniest bit.
Next time.
He rolled over in bed and stared at Draco's face, his pointy nose, that fine blond hair. He was a handsome man, aristocratic, with fine lines around his eyes that proved he smiled often. The man was so different from the boy. Harry reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Draco's lashes, and Draco shifted, turning to Harry's touch.
Harry's chest warmed.
Finding Fritz Part II
Title: Finding Fritz
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco (background Ron/Hermione)
Summary: Harry needed a Hero. Draco Malfoy would prove he was just the wizard for the job.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): boy sex! Oh, is that a warning?
Epilogue compliant? EWE
Word Count: ~12,000
Author's Notes: Written for alovelycupoftea for HD Hols 2009. Tea, I hope you enjoy this story. I was so pleased to get you as a recipient and I hope I fulfilled some of what you were hoping for. I apologise for every Americanism you might come across. I tried! Thanks so much to my betas: rickey_a, megyal, ebethfic, sesheta_66, marguerite_26 and KF. I am a raw onion without you.
You’ve Got Him Right Where You Want Him
Draco discovered that Harry liked to be bit. Praising him with nips, smoothing over the hurt with brushes of lips and dashes of tongue, Draco claimed him, marked the man as his.
Harry's hand slipped into Draco's trousers, grabbing at his cock that grew harder than iron. Draco pressed his forehead against Harry's scorching skin, cementing together their mirrored need. A need fuelled by several shots of rum. At the awkward angle, Harry fumbled clumsily and that was perhaps the only thing that kept Draco from filling his pants like a virgin boy on his first exploration with a girl. Luckily, he'd bypassed girls.
But Harry hadn't, and from their deepening friendship, Draco had gleaned that Harry had just started his explorations into the masculine territory. He'd have to take this slow.
Fuck. Who was he kidding? He couldn't take this slow.
Clothing stripped and tossed, their sweaty bodies writhed together; an icing of kisses sweetened Harry's skin. Draco, lips attached to the soft spot below Harry's navel, decided to make his move.
Lube at the ready, he pressed one finger gently against Harry's perineum.
"Hey," Harry said, pushing up on his elbows to stare down at Draco. Through his pale fringe, Draco looked up from nuzzling against the thatch at Harry's groin. "What--?" Harry looked like a fucking wet dream, lips parted, eyes filmed over with horny anticipation, but if Draco really looked at him, he also saw someone going off instinct, someone a bit out of his element.
"Harry," Draco began, the words pressed through his throat, constricted with boyhood eagerness. "Trust me." Damn, if he didn't sound like a pervert.
Harry blinked at him, then licked his lips.
Draco's cock pulsed. "Do you trust me?"
Eyes wide, Harry raised his chin, then nodded once, slowly, uncertainly.
An age later, three greased fingers deep into the man, Draco knew that once inside Harry, there'd be no more slowly and no more gently.
Harry, arse up, head hung low between his shoulders, swayed his back like a wishbone about to snap.
"Harry. Okay?"
Fucking Heaven and Hell, that was where Draco balanced now. Between bliss and torment. His fingers buried within Harry's virgin arse, his own cock bared and glistening and so ready. He'd waited for so long, so fucking long.
"Harry?" But he wouldn't continue if Harry told him no.
"Ngh."
Draco pondered on that for exactly two seconds, then, taking it for assent, pulled out his fingers and moved to replace them with his erection. He looked down, watching as the head of his cock pressed against that loosened twist of muscle. He swallowed his own groan before it slipped from his lips.
Ultimately, as Draco hovered, poised over Harry, inches from driving in, he wished he could see the other man's face, but Harry buried his head in the bed sheets, his hands grasping onto them like a nervous maiden. Harry ground out something not quite satisfying from between clenched teeth, but it wasn't any last minute "maybe this isn't such a good idea," and Draco didn't know what he would have done if it had been.
And then, one thrust later, he was engulfed by Harry's heat. Though trying to be gentle, the part of Draco's brain that thought "take your time" and "go slow" was a small, pixie-sized portion. His cock was buried in Harry's arse. His pristine, untouched, virgin arse. Draco's brain limped along in utter disbelief. And awe.
Harry's inner walls were smooth, perfect. Draco held onto Harry's hips so hard, there would be bruises, but Draco could only think of his cock, in Harry's arse, where it should never, ever leave.
Once fully sheathed, Draco leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the small of Harry's back. Small spasms fluttered through Harry's body and Draco kissed him. Once, twice, a thousand times he kissed him over the soft skin covering the base of his spine.
"Har--?" Draco swallowed and tried again. "Harry? Is this okay?"
And what if it wasn't? What if Harry said no? Stop? Draco's heart thundered.
Draco pulled out, a short slide, and pulsed his cock once. Harry huffed, a sharp exhale. Draco tilted his hips and tried again. Just once, a sharp thrust.
"Ah." It could have been a moan of pleasure.
"Harry?" Draco thrust again. "You okay?"
Below him Harry inhaled deeply, slowly released the breath. "Uh, you can go on." Harry's voice was unsteady, but filled with enough heat that Draco felt something within him uncoil.
He planted one final kiss on the curve of Harry's back. "Okay."
To their right, the December moon's eerie light shimmered through the window, catching the sheen of sweat covering every inch of Harry's body. As Draco pulled out, the head of his cock still anchored within Harry, and pressed in again, Harry arched his back, tilting his hips to receive Draco, welcoming, wanting. Fuck. Harry moaned in real life like he had in every one of Draco's wet dreams.
And the only words left said were prayers of more and Draco's mantra of 'wanted you, wanted you' over and over into the night.
The Wrath Of The Morning After
At the crown of dawn, Harry thought about what he'd done. A relentless ache took up residence in his arse and bite marks dotted his chest like tropical islands in a narrow sea. His ear throbbed.
He stared down at Draco, his long body, the paleness of his skin. He practically glowed in the early light, like some cocky, ethereal devil. Harry's mouth buzzed with numbness from their kisses and he lifted his fingers to trace his lower lip where Draco had bit him. Marked him. Branded him straight to the centre of his core.
He couldn't deal with this.
Gingerly, because his arse hurt like hell, Harry crawled out from under the sheets, most likely a lost cause that even the house elves couldn't launder. The air pulled goosebumps up along his skin. Draco, sprawled in the centre of the bed, looked like a Monet. A masterpiece.
Turning his back to the bed, Harry tugged on his trousers, then his shirt, and without another glance, he left the inn's room for the Floo.
Once home, that pit in his gut widened into a black hole. He'd let Draco Malfoy fuck him up the arse. Really. No frottage, no mutual wank. Harry was truly and wholly fucked up the arse. He grabbed a hangover potion and downed it in one go, shuddering at the rancid taste. He should not have drunk that last shot. Or maybe the point of no return had been the shot before that. If he'd been sober, Harry would never have rolled over and took it up the arse. He was stronger than that, wasn't he? He was a hero! He had saved the world from a mad man.
Harry snorted. He'd never used that as an excuse before, and he wasn't about to convince himself that it meant anything now. He just wanted to get along, do his job caring for the animals at the shop.
As he climbed wearily into the shower, he thought about how last night had even happened. He ratcheted the dial on the side of the tap to dragonfire and the heat soaked into the muscles of his back, stinging the bruises lining his chest. He'd been pleased to see Draco at the Stumbling Leprechaun last night. It had taken time, but Harry got to know him, and his snooty self-absorbed attitude had mellowed with time. Sure, Draco still didn't raise high the sceptre of modesty or humility, but he wasn't a bad type, either. Then Ron and Hermione left, and then Ginny, and only he and Draco had remained. Drinking far too much.
Harry's hands halted in mid-scrub.
Draco had got him drunk on purpose. Every ache in his arse told Harry that that had to be true.
He pressed his hands and forehead to the tiled wall of the shower. Shit. Years would pass before he ever lived this down. Maybe Draco would be kind, and only hint at blackmail when Harry pushed his limits; the man had mellowed.
He finished his shower, running his hands over his entire body, touching each bruise, brushing against his cock that twinged with the memory of last night.
Harry looked down and muttered, "At least you have no regrets."
It twinged again.
Maybe, just maybe, this would be a secret Draco would keep.
He pulled on trousers and robes, grabbed his bag, and Apparated to Shepfield Alley, a small wizarding section in northern London. Since the fall of Voldemort and the rebuilding of Diagon Alley, a recent Council decision stated wizarding London had kept all its dragon livers in one cauldron and set forth plans to diversify. Shepfield Alley was one of the first developments of the plan.
Mimicking a modern Muggle shopping complex, Shepfield rose four stories high and shimmered inside like the Hope Diamond. All glass and chrome, Harry found it a bit too sterile, but the job, he loved. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned warehouse, a splatter of graffiti charmed as an anti-Muggle ward.
He'd done the Auror thing, like everyone had expected. He and Ron, and amazingly, Draco. Ron dropped out first to help George at WWW. After five years Harry decided fulfilling other people's expectations didn't fulfil his own, and he began working at Muggle animal shelters. Soon after that he began his own re-homing centre in shop-space he'd purchased in Shepfield Alley. Draco was the only one left at the Ministry. Draco had always insisted he wanted to make up for past mistakes, prove himself to everyone who sneered at the Malfoy name, spat at his white-blond hair. They didn't spit anymore. Draco was the 'respectable' one of the three now.
Wasn't that a laugh?
And maybe it was due to the utter hell that was Auror training, maybe it was all because Draco was a persistent little wanker who'd always followed Harry and Ron to the Stumbling Leprechaun with the other trainees. Maybe it was just time. But eventually, over the years, they'd all become friends.
With a crack, Harry popped onto the street before Potter's Pets. An ersatz dragon puppet tumbled playfully along the overhanging sign above the storefront, puffing out little wisps of smoke as its snaky body entwined around the letters. Every so often it would flutter its silvery set of wings, then once again scurry around the letters. It especially liked hanging from the loops of the Ps. With a glance up at the shopping centre's ceiling Harry could tell the day would be sunny. Some days the magic would call for rain, and Harry really hated it when it rained in Shepfield; they still had bugs in the gutter charms. Once, seven months ago in May, it rained for three days and flooded the alleys between shops. Harry's charms kept the water from entering the shop, but the rain had also kept most shoppers from stopping by.
At least his waterhorse had had fun.
With a tap of his wand, the door opened.
"Fritz!" he called out. On his trek from door to counter, he scanned the display cages and talked to each and every one of the pets.
"Hey Lilac, need a new chew?" The guinea pig whooped at him, running in circles within her cage near the Floo. "Snoogles! What a good boy." The crup wiggled his entire body, tongue lolling with an eager desire to lick. Harry slipped his hand over the canine's body and earned a coat of slobber. He ruffled the feathers of a mina, scritched a cat behind her ears and hissed at an emerald tree boa that grouched at Harry due to a recent shedding. Typically, the five-yard stroll took him fifteen minutes.
He dropped his messenger sack behind the counter, turned the ancient till on and called out again. "Fritz, come on out." He scanned the air, prepared for the pounce, but he didn't see the little dragon, the model for the store's sign, anywhere. Last night Fritz had stubbornly refused to Apparate home with him and Harry had let him stay at the shop to play with the other animals. His house always seemed too quiet whenever Fritz didn't come home with him.
"Fritz?" Leaving the front, he pushed through the swinging doors to the back of the pet shop. They swung open and closed like an off-balance rocking horse as Harry called out again. "Fritz?" The other animals back there, recent acquisitions in quarantine, all chittered at him in greeting. He'd always had a knack with animals; they seemed to understand each other.
With the morning feeding pending, they howled at him, but Harry, usually quite ready to fulfil the animals' needs, searched closets and bins and other cages hunting for his ersatz dragon.
Instead, by the back door, he found a note.
The note was written on white Muggle paper and the words had been cut out from various papers; some of the letters hovered or wiggled, some of them were stagnant. Harry read it once, his heart sinking so low all other pains were forgotten. He read it again and wondered when the fuck people were going to leave him alone.
Harry Potter. The Dragon will be Returned to You by Solstice If You Follow Our Instructions. Will be in Contact.
They'd kidnapped Fritz. They kidnapped the only ersatz dragon in existence, Harry's only pet, just to play fucking games with him.
Ripping the note from the wall, Harry slumped down onto the nearest stool, the ache in his arse another reminder of something else terrible that had recently happened to him. What a day. He wished that he'd read his horoscope yesterday, it might have given him a clue, told him to stay the hell home, avoid blondes, stick close to the work-place. Protect those that he loved.
He didn't know what he was going to do.
Help Me Draco-Wan, You're My Only Hope
"Go to the MLE, the Aurors. Don't just sit there, Harry." Ron closed the last cage with a flick of the wand. With everyone cleaned, fed and watered, Ron washed his hands and looked down at Harry, who had been mired in misery on the stool, staring at the note.
"This isn't a case of a dark wizard or anything. It's just a dragon," Harry said with such cynicism, that Ron was three steps away from shaking him out of his wallow of gloom. He'd left Harry in good spirits last night, chatting with Draco at the pub. Why he hadn't called the Auror first, Ron didn't know.
"Call Draco." Harry's head shot up, for once not mesmerised by the ransom note. Was it a ransom note? It didn’t demand anything. "He'll pass it on to someone competent in MLE. What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry definitely had a squirrelly look about him; then his gaze lowered and he refused to look at Ron, or that damned slip of paper.
"Spill it," Ron said, hands on hips in what he hoped didn't look too much like Hermione. But the pose had always worked on him, so he trusted it would work its charm on his best friend.
Harry's head dropped into his hands, the note crushed up in one fist, and he mumbled something that sounded like debt and tight.
"What?"
Then, more slowly, Harry mumbled, "I slept with Draco last night."
The air about Harry gathered thick like a storm; even the animals had grown silent. "Excuse me?" Ron asked, certain he'd misinterpreted even worse the second time.
Harry lifted his head in slow motion; shock, a little panic, and worry vied for dominance of his expression. "Last night, Draco and I went to an inn, got a room, and fucked." Harry tossed him a self-deprecating smile. Then he looked away again, swallowed, then looked somewhere else.
"So, was it any good?" Ron asked.
Harry's gaze zeroed right on him, and narrowed. "That's not what you're supposed to say. You're supposed to say 'Oh Harry, that's terrible. I'm sure if you avoid the prat, you'll never have to see him again.'"
Ron nodded. "Oh Harry, that's terrible," he mimicked, then, "So, it wasn't any good. Bugger."
Harry threw a squeaky chew toy at Ron's head, which he easily ducked. Working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes really toned those reflexes.
Harry sat up straighter on the stool, schooled his features in a totally unbelievable way and said, "That isn't why I called you here, Ron. I need someone to help me find Fritz. He'd be all lost without me." To Ron, Harry sounded more lost without Fritz than Fritz would probably ever be without him.
"Then, call Draco. If you'd quit being a pillock, you'd realise he is your best choice. Here, I'll do it for you." Ron twisted on his toe and sprinted for the Floo, locking Harry in the back room with a flick of his wand as he tossed in the Powder and called up the Auror division. By the time Harry had charmed the lock open and hurled some great one-liners at Ron-he would have to remember them later for George-someone had already run off to retrieve Draco.
"Harry, I don't think an elephant would fit up there. Just-" he turned and looked at his friend, pale and frantic, "let me do the talking." Harry stared at him, and finally he sighed, nodded and went to sit on the stool behind the counter. A few people walked past the store front, staring at the large Closed sign. One boy in a short blue cloak pressed his face to the glass, squishing his nose flat. Lilac whooped for attention.
"Hello, Ron. What can I do for you?"
Ron turned to the Floo and nodded at Draco's glowing face. "Oi, get over here and help Harry."
At the edge of his vision, Ron saw Harry's head drop to the countertop.
"Oh?" Draco said, his eyebrow arched in the green dancing flames of the Floo. "And what does Harry need help with?"
In an instant Harry appeared by Ron's side. "My Fritz-My ersatz dragon, he's been kidnapped." Ron studied Harry, the rigid set to his shoulders, the furrow between his brows. He turned back to Draco to see a small hint of a smile, a real smile, which caused Ron to blink.
"Fritz was stolen?" Draco said with honest concern. "I'm coming through."
Harry stepped from the Floo, and Ron realigned himself to stand next to him. Under his breath Ron said, "Well now, looks like you get the special treatment." Draco's body pulled from the flames as he spun through the Floo's boundary. "Big bad Malfoy drops everything for your little lost dragon."
Fully crossed, Draco said, "What was that?"
Ron smiled. "Oh, nothing." He waved his hand to brush the question aside. "Thanks for coming over." Ron's grin brightened, and Draco's gaze flittered from Ron to Harry. Harry wordlessly held out the note.
"This is what they left," Harry said, he voice strangely flat.
Draco reached out for the paper, paused, then took it from Harry's feeble grip. It had been crumpled in one corner, the tacked on letters pulling free in places from the Muggle paste. Draco held it tightly between a forefinger and thumb and read the threat. His eyebrows rose, his lips pursed and Harry stared at him, hope sparkling within the green of his eyes.
"Well," Draco said. "I'll have to take the note in to have it analysed." He set the note down on the counter and cast a stasis spell on it. "I'd like a look around."
Harry nodded. "Should I--?" Harry looked as adrift now as he did at forced Ministry functions. Ron shook his head with amusement.
"Why don't you tell me what you found different about the place this morning; show me where Fritz is kept, the note's location…" Draco finished with a nod that got Harry walking. As Harry slipped into the back room, Draco glanced at Ron. Ron grinned.
"So, you know about last night," Draco said, his smile perfunctory.
Ron made a noise between a snort and a chuckle. "Of course. Apparently it wasn't all that." Ron's smirk grew.
Draco blinked, then his own smirk made an appearance, haughty and oozing with inflated confidence. "Oh, it certainly was all that. He'll be ringing my Floo in less than a week."
Ron couldn't help himself. "Think a lot about yourself?"
"Well," Draco cut Ron off before he could say anything else, standing tall, chin lifted, "There's certainly a lot to think about." Then he turned and followed Harry into the back room.
Avoiding the Unavoidable
"Ron!" Harry knelt by the foot of the Floo. "Ron!" he called again. Finally, dressed in a yellow dressing gown covered in flapping books, Ron popped his head and shoulders into the Floo.
"Harry, it's two bloody o'clock in the morning. What the fuck do you want?" Ron's hair clung to the side of his head like frightened bird, and he was blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"I got another letter." Harry fluttered a paper between himself and the Floo. It crinkled in protest. "Another note…about Fritz. I found it taped to my door. It--"
"Harry."
"It says-"
"Harry!"
Harry stopped talking and peered at Ron's face in the green flames. "Why are you telling me? Go tell Draco."
Harry swallowed. He hoped he wouldn't have to bring Draco into this. Not like Draco had helped last time. Maybe he could convince Ron to call Hermione home from her conference. Harry remained staunchly silent, trying to come up with a plausible reason for why he hadn't contacted Draco. "Uh-"
Ron scratched the side of his head, then yawned. "Listen, mate. Didn't Draco say he would find the pet-nabber?" He smacked his lips as another yawn subsided. Harry's shoulders slumped and he nodded. "Then call him." Ron cut the connection.
Everything settled into an eerie quiet. Outside on the street a car drove by and Harry wondered who would be up at this hour of their own volition. Fritz, a diminutive tornado of action, always made his flat feel like a home. Now Harry felt jittery and alone.
Should he call Draco? Sure, everything had hummed with awkward tension when he'd investigated the shop, but Draco did promise to help and Hermione was unreachable. Harry had already tried summoning the dragon, and then casting a Point Me spell. He'd contacted other pet purveyors and local veterinarians, and none of them had seen Fritz. Someone out there had him. Poor Fritz, the only one of his kind in the hands of ruthless thieves.
You Need A Hero; Baby, I'll Be Your Superman
It was three in the morning, and Draco had been swept up in one of those dreams where he'd done more against the Dark Lord, stood up against the Carrows, and had not been a bloody coward, striving only to save his family and his own arse. It was the kind of dream where he'd listened to Dumbledore, and there'd been a use for him. Where he hadn't merely been baggage.
"Merlin, fuck me," he grumbled. He pulled on his dressing gown, wispy traces of the dream still swirling through his mind like mist. The Floo bell chimed again. He had more than half a mind to just silence the damned thing, but it could be an emergency, and Draco had promised he'd never be mere baggage again.
"What?" Not his most gracious, but it was three in the bloody morning.
Harry's face popped into the fire. "Draco, I'm sorry for waking you, it's just that I got another note, and you did say you would help, and I don't know what else to do. I couldn't wait 'till morning." There was a slight pause for breath, then, "They want me to steal the Sword of Gryffindor, and they still have Fritz and I can't give them the sword. As the Auror on the case, I was hoping you could help me figure out what to do." Harry's fevered speech trailed off into something desperate and small.
"Stand back, I'll come through." And just like that he twirled through to Harry's flat, taking on the semblance of night in his deep blue dressing gown, hair not quite perfect, but that was fine because spread out at his feet was another opportunity to help someone. And more than just someone, but Harry.
Face red, Harry froze as Draco appeared in his home, his previous babble gone and washed away by a sea of apprehension. "I'm sorry for bothering you so early," he mumbled. Ever since the war something about Harry had drawn Draco in like a bee to a brightly coloured flower. Harry always smiled, laughed, had fun with his friends. That inner well of joy attracted Draco-the joy and that fucking amazing arse. But now, this Harry was lost, a little afraid-oh, not for himself. Harry Potter never feared for himself, damned martyr. No, he was afraid for a pet. A manufactured pet created by the Weasley's, a trick never to be reproduced. And Draco hated to see Harry Potter afraid.
"It's no problem," Draco said.
They stood there, moments ticking by in the silence of Harry's flat. Slowly, as if against the pull of gravity's tightest hold, Harry lifted his arm and held out the note.
Harry Potter: Retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor. Will Contact You with Drop Off Location.
It was done up in the same manner as the previous note: pasted letters from magazines on Muggle manufactured paper. A flap of sellotape sticking up from the top.
From the last note, they had already traced where the letters had come from. The H that made up Harry had come from the Daily Prophet's headline of "Harpies Defeat United in Landslide Match." The S from Solstice was clipped from a Harper's Magazine ad. The paper was nothing fancy, either. Something straight from Tescos. Same with the glue. And the damned thing had no fingerprints, no DNA, no magical signature, either. It had been a dead end.
Now another note, and while Draco would send it through the same paces as he had the first, he had a feeling he wouldn't find anything on this one, either. But still, he had to try.
"I'll send this through to the forensics division," Draco said while staring at the decorated paper held gently in his hands.
"Thanks." Harry didn't sound like he expected anything either. A frown settled on his lips that Draco wanted to kiss away. He took a step towards Harry, then another. Harry's lips grew slack and his chest expanded with a sharp inhale. But he didn't retreat.
"Draco-" was all Harry said, and within that one word brooded a warning and a need.
"I could console you," Draco said with a smirk, keeping his hands to his sides even though he wanted nothing more than to have them all over Harry's body, rubbing, feeling, tearing off clothing. "Take your mind off this tragedy." He'd meant it to sound light, but it came out much too sincere.
Harry's hand, balled into a fist, tightened against his belly. It looked about ready to claw out his guts, he was so strung with tension. With another few steps Draco stood within reach of Harry, dropped the note onto a nearby table, and still Harry did nothing but watch him. As Draco brushed his fingers against Harry's hand, it immediately unfurled. Wrapping their fingers together, Draco lifted the man's hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle.
Harry's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, as if coping with his own unexpected desires. Draco could read it all there, plain as the note demanding the Founder's artefact.
Harry was far more priceless than the artefact.
Draco hovered near Harry, then, as if in slow motion, he leaned forward and kissed away the worry. "It's okay." He rested his hand on Harry's bicep, brushed it along the length of his arm, down past his elbow, entwining their fingers.
Harry squeezed.
"May I?" Draco asked. Harry wanted him. He knew it. Harry, so fucking gorgeous, wanted him.
In response, Harry whined, lifting his chin in obvious permission. Draco made short work of buttons and belts, taking what was so freely offered.
A Lifetime Of Misspent Youth
How had he landed in this situation again? Harry lay in bed, his own bed, and squeezed his arse. The pain had returned. Not as bad as a few days ago, but still. Was he a pillow biter? A bottom? The passive one? The girl of the-what was this, a relationship? If you were friends with the guy and fucked him twice, was that a relationship? Was he just a hole that Draco used for gratification?
He'd never even topped before. Would he be typecast now, never to break out of this role he'd somehow trapped himself in?
He only longed for a quiet life, away from urgent deeds like bad guy slaying, world saving, kitten rescuing. Well, he didn't so much mind rescuing the kittens. Though he preferred puppies.
He flung an arm over his eyes. The morning light lingered hours away, but he still wanted to hide from the world.
This was one of those moments of leaping without looking, and he'd found himself trapped in the bottom of a very deep chasm without any apparent escape. He couldn't even blame it on being drunk.
The thing was, he'd liked it. Both times. About blacked out the second time, he'd come so hard. While the idea of having a cock up his arse felt alien, putting the concept into action proved brilliant. But he wasn't the submissive one. He wouldn't let Draco tell him what to do. He'd demand, next time, that he got to fuck Draco.
Next time.
Harry groaned, his cock swelling the tiniest bit.
Next time.
He rolled over in bed and stared at Draco's face, his pointy nose, that fine blond hair. He was a handsome man, aristocratic, with fine lines around his eyes that proved he smiled often. The man was so different from the boy. Harry reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Draco's lashes, and Draco shifted, turning to Harry's touch.
Harry's chest warmed.
Finding Fritz Part II