Author:
![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
furiosityRating: NC-17Canon: post-HBP. Spoilers.
Length: 3,200 words.
Scenario: I promise to make tonight entirely about you.
Summary: He smiles a little; at least he can't hear himself think. Suddenly the nameless boy is gone, just like that. He opens his eyes, his knees buckle, and then he hopes to wake up -- because it's too unfair to be having dreams like these. After the war, Harry and Draco aren't quite all there.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Notes: Most of this was written prior to HBP but I tweaked it a bit to make it compatible, so -- possible mild spoilers. A million thanks to
visual_icon for the beta. ♥Crossed
It is almost the end of the war, they say.
The last of the Death Eaters are being hunted down and apprehended, they say. Draco waits in the basement of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He looks around at the bare walls, remembering when he'd been brought here, cold and shaking, by Harry Potter. He'd been near death from starvation and dehydration. Harry had thrown him down on the cold stone floor and stood over him; a scene worthy of the storybooks he'd read as a child. Except Draco had never thought that he would be the villain of his own storybook.
His Dark Mark has faded almost completely now, but the memories never will. Harry walks in from upstairs, dressed to go out. His face is set in a grim mask of determination -- he's been like this ever since Ginny Weasley's dead body was found six months ago.
The ground shakes.
Draco has time to look up at Harry, a question on his lips, and then everything goes dark.
When he wakes up, it is dark. He can feel something warm next to him: Harry. Draco moves closer and sleeps.
When he wakes up again, there is light streaming down through a crack in an unfamiliar, low ceiling.
"What happened?" asks Draco. He sits up and hits his head on something solid.
"Earthquake," says Harry. "We're buried here, you know. My wand broke, and I can't find yours."
Draco reaches into his pocket but finds nothing. "My wand was on the table," he says, feeling suddenly like he's failed Harry.
They manage to clear away a lot of the rubble so that there is enough room for both of them to lie down. A cupboard lies on its side, its contents strewn all over the floor.
"It's food," says Harry, and shrugs.
It's been three days, and still no word. Harry wants to pace, but he can't straighten up. They're trapped, and he doesn't have time to think because Draco is always there.
Harry leans back against the wall tiredly.
Draco's hand isn't on Harry's thigh. It can't be.
Oh. Harry can feel sweet heat creep up his chest and neck, nipping at his jawline. He wonders where the lump in his throat had come from as he turns to look into Draco's eyes. They are grey and steady and clear.
Harry is frozen in place; he doesn't know what to do. His breathing becomes shallow and he wonders if maybe this shouldn't be happening. He hears Draco's voice as though through a thick fog, but he can't quite tell what is being said. Then Draco's lips push gently against his and Harry knows that this kiss is going to change everything.
Little tingles of pleasure feather out in his chest and down his back. Draco makes a sound deep in his throat that makes Harry's insides quiver with something new and painful. Draco's lips are still soft and now Draco's so close.
Harry lets out an involuntary whimper as Draco drags his tongue along the roof of his mouth. He pulls away and Harry wonders what he did wrong, then Draco straddles him and kisses him again, only this time there is nothing gentle about it: Draco mashes their mouths together with a swift ruthlessness that makes Harry slightly dizzy. Then there are tongues tangling together, teeth scraping across lips, wet, sloppy noises and heavy breathing until the pressure in Harry's pants becomes so insistent that he just has to move or he'll die. Harry rocks forward and up experimentally and Draco exhales sharply through his nose and pulls back.
"Do that again," he says in a hoarse voice.
Harry stares into his clear eyes and obeys, beginning to rock slowly against Draco. It doesn't feel as good as wanking, but there are lips and teeth and a tongue on his neck. Harry moves until Draco's breathing is frantic in his ear. Draco pulls back and puts his hands on Harry's shoulders, pressing him into the wall. Harry stops moving, wondering again if he'd done something wrong.
"Keep going," Draco mumbles. "I want to look at you."
Harry does, feeling suddenly very aware of where he is and what he's doing. But Draco is looking at him as though Harry is the most incredible thing he's ever seen; that makes Harry want to move even faster. Then he realises that Draco is pushing back every time he thrusts. Harry imagines what this would feel like if they were both naked -- and he comes with a desperate whine, throwing his head back against the wall and shutting his eyes tightly.
"So hot," Draco whispers.
Draco kisses him again and Harry lets him. Perhaps it's a kind of standard deviation from the norm: boys living together in close quarters, in dire times. Deep inside, Harry knows that this isn't about anything general or overarching; this is about him and Draco, always has been about the two of them. Draco licks a path up Harry's neck, his hand tangled in Harry's hair as he pulls him closer.
Harry feels Draco's cock pressing into his belly and he wants to see it, wants to see just how "hot" Draco is for him. He reaches for Draco's robe and starts yanking it up. Draco pulls back, looking at Harry with hungry eyes.
"C'mon, lift up," Harry says. "I want to."
Soon Harry is running his fingers along the backs of Draco's thighs. Draco sighs once, then goes strangely quiet. Harry pushes him off because he can't get at his pants in this position and Draco stares at him again. Harry doesn't know how to interpret the gaze.
"Like that?" he asks, lowering Draco to the floor.
"Yeah," Draco breathes, and Harry yanks his pants down.
He looks into Draco's eyes when he takes him into his mouth; it seems like such a natural thing to do. Draco's cock is hot and salty and there's a faint throbbing somewhere deep inside that makes Harry hard again. This distracts him and his teeth scrape against the smooth surface of Draco's cock. Draco hisses and bites his lip. Harry licks where his teeth had just been and Draco makes a strangled noise that goes straight to Harry's own cock.
"Harry," Draco whispers, the name hanging in the air like a prayer. Harry takes his mouth off Draco's cock and wraps his fingers around it. "Harry," Draco affirms, thrusting upwards into his hand. Harry places his mouth over the head and begins to pump his fist up and down while licking and teasing and lapping; he's fantasised enough times about having this done to him.
Draco moans and writhes and pushes up, hitting the roof of Harry's mouth until all Harry is aware of is the searing flesh in his hand and the rhythm they find after a few moments. Draco doesn't last long; he comes violently, shuddering, and Harry's mouth is coated in something slippery and bitter. Draco exhales loudly and pulls him up, then kisses him until they both taste the same. Harry's cock is still hard, and Draco pushes him off and begins to tug on his shirt.
Draco doesn't know what's happening anymore -- Harry Potter just sucked him off -- he wants to cry, just a little, with maybe relief and perhaps a little triumph. Harry's mouth is everywhere and Draco forgets how to breathe.
Draco's mouth is so close, too close, wet and hot and smiling, smiling against Harry's temple. Harry will never forget Draco's smile -- how could he? It's that smile that makes Harry go mad; a flash of teeth and he's undone, reaching; fingers fumbling against robes, letting go, kneading the flesh on Draco's shoulders, sliding down, nails pressing into his skin.
It's all Draco's fault.
Harry bends Draco over, pressing himself against his arse, just as Draco pushes, arching his back. Harry closes his eyes, willing his heart to calm. He runs light fingertips down the length of Draco's back. Beneath him, Draco hisses softly and bows his head. Harry bends down and inhales.
"You make me sick," he whispers to Draco's back, his breath skating across the smooth skin there, creating gooseflesh in its wake. Draco moves to turn around, but Harry holds him down. He leans down and continues to whisper, "it's sick, that I even want this, isn't it?" Draco twists around under him, eyes dark and heavy with something Harry wants, with all that he wants. God. Draco pulls Harry down on top of himself.
"Harry," Draco whispers, circling his waist with his arms and tugging him closer. "I want you."
Harry smiles -- Draco would kill for that smile if someone were to tell him he had to -- and shuts his eyes for a moment.
They find Draco's wand on the fifth day, just before they run out of food.
The beat courses through his body and he relaxes his shoulders, rolls them back. Runs a surreptitious hand through his hair. It feels smooth as water, just like always. He throws his head back, closes his eyes, and slips his arms around the boy's shoulders. He doesn't know his name. He doesn't care about names -- not here, not anymore, not ever. There's only one name in his mind at these parties, when he takes his afternoon tea, in his dreams. There's only so much he can do to keep himself from whispering, moaning, sobbing that name.
And it's ridiculous, really -- it's been six months. He's not coming back. Saying his name only hurts worse.
The music explodes around him, into a mindless drumbeat reminiscent of some distant land that he's heard about but never seen. He stops for a moment, reaches into his back pocket and runs his fingers over the frayed piece of paper there.
I promise to make tonight entirely about you.
He's run his fingers over the letters so many times that the ink is faded. The note -- scribbled hastily on a bit of spare parchment -- is always with him, his only reminder that it had not all been a dream. He'd spent several hours wondering about the wording -- it was so uncharacteristic, the word "entirely" didn't feel quite right. Then he'd spent several days wondering why he hadn't seen it coming. He'd been dropped, and the note was pity: a few last hours during which he thought he was ... he can't even think it, because it's so ridiculous. How could he have ever let himself believe that anyone would feel that way about him, after everything?
The music is insistent, harsh against his eardrums. He smiles a little; at least he can't hear himself think. Suddenly the nameless boy is gone, just like that. He opens his eyes, his knees buckle, and then he hopes to wake up -- because it's too unfair to be having dreams like these.
Harry pulls him close and kisses him.
Draco's heart is somewhere in his throat but he doesn't want this anymore. He pulls away. One day he would have been amused at the flash of indignation in Harry's eyes -- a long time ago, when he used to think that Harry would be back tomorrow and the future would be theirs. When he used to think he knew Harry. Something bubbles up in his chest -- that old, tried hatred Draco spent so much time putting away.
Harry looks confused. He says something, but Draco can only see his mouth moving; the music is too loud.
Draco flees. His soul has been curled up like a kitten on a winter morning, but it sometimes lets him know it's still around by a feeble scratch at his heart, just enough to make him think of fierce green eyes and the way he used to look when he slept. And now...
He's out on the street, running blindly into the starless night. He stops and prepares to Disapparate, but he's seized from behind and can't complete the spell.
"Draco," breathes Harry into his ear. "Didn't you miss me?"
Draco's eyes fill with tears and he hates himself for being so weak -- but really, this is just cruel. "I want to break your heart," Draco wants to say. He doesn't, because it sounds ridiculous echoing in his mind; he knows it would sound even worse under the harsh light of the streetlamps. Instead, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the scrap of parchment. He takes Harry's hand and presses the note into his palm, forcing Harry's fingers closed over it.
"Draco, what--"
"Don't talk to me," says Draco. "Just -- don't -- this." He shakes his head furiously.
"What happened to you?"
Draco wants to leave, but Harry's other hand is on his arm and he can't Disapparate. "You left," he says. "And that," -- he nods at the parchment Harry is clutching -- "that was a fine joke, Potter."
Harry's eyes are suddenly hard. "She didn't tell you."
"Who didn't tell me what?"
Harry presses the note to Draco's chest. His hand is too warm to be real and Draco knows he must be dreaming. Harry's eyes flicker with brief uncertainty and he takes a step back, pushing his glasses up his nose with his finger. "I had to disappear until they caught Fenrir Greyback. No contact with anyone. Everyone knew he'd go looking for me and they were counting on him surfacing somewhere after he couldn't find me using his regular contacts. I couldn't go and see you or write to you, so I asked Hermione to--"
Draco sneers. It's been a while since he's done that, and it feels like home. "She must have forgotten all about it," he says in a voice so low it's almost a growl. "Oops."
And he knows it's not Harry's fault, but this is Draco's dream. He can make it Harry's fault. He wrenches his arm out of Harry's grasp and Disapparates.
Harry stares at his mug of Butterbeer and thinks about time. At the next table, Madam Rosmerta is taking orders, her laughter bright and generous. Neville says something, but Harry isn't listening. He reaches into his pocket and touches the scrap of parchment Draco gave him three weeks ago.
"How could you not, Hermione?"
"I thought you had gone mad, after Ron! I didn't know that you and Malfoy--"
"Can't I trust you? Don't you trust me?"
"Oh, Harry. I--honestly, I didn't realise. I'm sorry. But he can't have missed you all that much, can he have?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's all over the papers, isn't it? He was fined for public indecency. Those gay parties he goes to--"
Harry shuts his eyes and hopes to wake up. Neville is still talking, something about the Quidditch season starting soon, and won't Harry try out for the Kestrels? Harry offers him a small smile, throws a few Galleons on the table, and Disapparates.
It's the same street and the same harsh light, pooling in circles on the walkways. The pounding from beyond the door is making Harry's head spin. He pushes the door open and walks in -- there's Draco, in a corner, barely dressed. He's talking to a tall, black man Harry thinks he recognises. As Harry gets closer, he can see that Draco has got that fey look in his eyes, same look he had on that first night when they were trapped in the ruins of number twelve.
Harry touches Draco's arm, causing him to start.
"Potter," says Draco. Harry can't hear him but he's seen Draco's mouth form the word so many times that he doesn't need to hear.
"Can we talk?" shouts Harry. "I think we need to--"
Draco leans in so that his lips are almost touching Harry's ear. "I don't want to talk to you." Harry shivers when Draco's breath tickles the hair at the nape of his neck. This is mad.
"Let's dance, then," blurts Harry, and he's immediately horrified. He can't dance, why did he just--
"Hey, four-eyes," says a deep, rich baritone in his other ear. "He's with me." It's the black man from before, but Harry doesn't recognise the voice.
Harry's eyes widen and he starts to take a step back, when suddenly Draco's arm snakes around his waist. "No, I'm not," says Draco to the black man.
He pulls Harry along, into the crowd. Harry follows, blindly, and then he's standing in the middle of the dance floor, feeling ridiculous. Draco stares into his eyes, then drops to his knees and unzips Harry's jeans. Harry gasps as Draco's hot, wet mouth engulfs his cock a moment later. He stares around frantically but no one seems to be paying them any heed. Draco's taking him deeper and Harry fights desperately to keep his eyes from falling shut. He bites down hard on his bottom lip and pulls Draco up forcibly.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Isn't this what you were after?" asks Draco, his eyes hard. "You miss this, don't you? So let me--"
Harry grabs him by the throat and pulls him near. "Do you think all I want is--"
Draco laughs, a harsh croak around Harry's hand on his throat. "Come on, you don't like it? The Boy Who Got His Dick Sucked in Public. I think it has a ring to it."
They're both breathing hard now, the music is pounding in Harry's ears and he's barely aware of someone's denim-clad arse brushing briefly against his. His cock is swelling rapidly, because Draco just had his tongue right there and Draco is pushed up against him--
Draco puts a hand on Harry's arse and squeezes, and Harry loses it. His hand still on Draco's throat, he pulls him close and kisses him, squeezing his eyes shut. Draco whimpers but Harry doesn't hear it, he feels it. The music changes to something impossibly slow and Harry releases Draco's throat, runs his hand through his hair, circles Draco's waist with his other arm.
Draco tastes like someone else.
And it's as though nothing has changed, really. It's all about Harry's fury and Draco's rage, both unstoppable, sending them careening towards one another like so many times in the past. Only this time it's not about fists or hexes.
This time, Harry throws Draco against the backroom wall, snarling.
This time, Draco feels Harry's teeth on his neck and smiles viciously to himself, unable to help thinking about being marked. Control. He cries out in pain when Harry enters him, but Harry seems beyond caring, and Draco likes him this way. He locks his legs behind Harry and hisses insults in his ear until Harry's slamming him into the cold concrete, a growl building deep in his chest that Draco can only feel.
Harry shifts him down a little and a sharp spike of pleasure goes through Draco -- then another, and another until he comes, still cursing, his hands tearing the shirt off Harry's back. Draco wants to fall back and sleep forever, but Harry's still going; his eyes are screwed tightly shut and he looks like he's in pain. Draco knows that he isn't.
Harry bites into Draco's shoulder when he comes, and when Draco kisses him, he can taste his own blood. It fills him with inexplicable glee and Draco laughs, the sound harsh against the grey stone walls. Harry kisses him then, and Draco knows it'll be all right.
Harry stares at the worn piece of parchment in his hand and bites his lip.
He slips it into an envelope, picks up a quill, writes "Draco Malfoy" and ties the letter to Hedwig's leg. "Take this to Malfoy Manor," he tells her. "And make sure you don't come back without a response."
She's gone with a rush of wings and Harry stares after her until she's nothing but a speck.
Draco gives the unfamiliar snowy owl a suspicious look. It's waiting, which means he's expected to reply. He opens the envelope and his heart begins to beat faster.
I promise to make tonight entirely about you.
Draco feels a strange mixture of relief and panic. He cocks an eyebrow at the owl, who gives him a look vaguely reminiscent of her master.
Draco sits down, pulls out a fresh piece of parchment, and dips his quill into an inkpot.
I hope whatever you have planned will not prevent me from walking straight tomorrow, like last time. Some of us have to work for a living, you know.
