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hpkinkfestTitle: Through the Dark
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gracerene
Prompt Number: #S71 submitted bynia_kantorka
Kink Showcased: Sensory Deprivation
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco/James Sirius
Summary: Being kept in the dark should terrify him, but this time it doesn't. In his company James felt safe.
Warnings: established relationship, blindfolds, light D/s, light praise!kink, anal fingering, anal sex, subspace
Word Count: ~3,500
Author's Notes: In the end, this turned more towards blindfolds than full sensory deprivation, but I hope this still hits the spot. Thank so much to the lovelycapitu and cabinetcaligari for all of your wonderful help with this fic! <3
Available on AO3: Through the Dark
When James was four, he got trapped inside a trunk.
His mum had had her hands full taking care of Albus, who had just hit his terrible twos and, judging by the stories, had been intent on fully living up to the moniker. James's dad had been at work and his mum, heavily pregnant with Lily at the time, had set James up in the living room with some toys and a warding spell to keep him safe while she tried to convince Albus to eat his peas. But a witch's magic could go a little wonky when she was pregnant, and the spell hadn't held. To an adventurous boy like James, there had been no question of taking advantage of the unexpected freedom.
James had ended up in his dad's study—his favourite room of the house. James had always loved sitting on his dad's lap as he completed case reports, James's eager gaze taking in all the interesting toys and trinkets that moved and glittered in the sunlight—some even made noises! One of those many items caught James's eyes that day; omnioculars, James knew now, though at the time, he only knew that they were shiny. They were sitting on the sill of one of the high windows that overlooked their back garden, and James was still too little to reach them. But there was a wooden bookcase set up next to the window, and James has been a fearless little boy. He'd clambered up the wooden shelves, knocking off heavy books and lesser knick-knacks, until he finally reached his prize.
But the omnioculars had been heavier that he'd been expecting, and the weight of them caused James to lose his balance and sent him tumbling. Normally, it wouldn't have been that big of a deal. He was barely a foot off the ground, and his mum would have come running and healed all his hurts the moment he started wailing. Unfortunately, that day there was an open trunk next to the bookshelf, partially filled with old shirts and sweaters that his parents were planning on donating. The soft clothes had broken his fall, but the force of his impact sent the heavy wooden lid closing with an ominous thunk.
It was an old trunk, sturdy and well made—built to last. It wasn't built, however, with four-year-old boys in mind. James had done his very best to push the heavy lid open, but he couldn't do much more than raise it just a hair—and even that he couldn't sustain for long. He's shouted and hollered, until tears and snot had covered his face, but the study was all the way on the other side of the house from the kitchen, and nobody heard him.
Inside, the trunk was almost completely dark but for a few faint streams of light making their way in through the seams. It wasn't nearly enough to see by, and James's vivid imagination ran away from him. What if there were monsters in the trunk with him that he couldn't see? What if they were just lying in wait before eating him right up? Or, what if this trunk was like Aunt Hermione's magical bag, and went on forever? One wrong move, and he could be sent tumbling down further into the abyss. What if his mommy never found him?
The darkness seemed to press in, almost tangible in its inky blackness. It wrapped around James's throat, preventing him from screaming, from breathing. Fear had taken over, paralysing him. Everything was muffled and muted, and time seemed to stretch and drag, until James was certain his parents had forgotten him altogether.
James knew, now, that he couldn't have been trapped in the trunk for more than twenty minutes, at the very most. His mum was diligent about keeping tabs on him and Albus, and when she had seen that he wasn't in the living room, she'd practically tore the house apart looking for him. Thankfully, he'd left quite the mess in his attempt to climb the bookshelf, and it hadn't taken in her long to find him.
It had been nearly twenty years ago, but James could still remember the sudden rush of light as his mum opened the trunk, the way it had stung his eyes and brought on a fresh wave of tears. His mum had held him close, her heart beating frantically beneath James's little head, his baby sister kicking enthusiastically right where his chest was. It had taken him awhile to calm down, and he hadn't left his mum's side for days after the incident.
He'd never liked the dark much, after that. Every night until he left for Hogwarts he slept with a Knight-Light—a miniature Knight made of shining silver light that paced the length of James's dresser as he slept, stopping every so often to brandish his sword impressively. He'd had to leave Sir Knight behind when he went off to school, but at Hogwarts he was allowed to use magic, and—after spelling his curtains closed so the other boys wouldn't make fun of him—he would cast Lumos and watch the flickering light until he fell asleep.
James's fear grew less acute as he grew up—he no longer needed to sleep with a light on—but he'd never fully shaken it.
Until now.
-O-O-
He'd had been sleeping with Mr Malfoy for six months before Mr Malfoy suggested it. James had been sceptical at first, but the idea had taken root in his mind.
Growing up, James had seen a lot of Mr Malfoy. He worked with James's dad at the Ministry, and they were friends of a sort, not to mention the fact that he was the father of Albus's best friend. Mr Malfoy would come over for dinner, or stay for a spot of tea before taking Scorpius home after a sleepover, and it took James a long time to realise just why he looked forward to those little visits with breathless anticipation. It wasn't until he was older that he understood what the little flutter in his belly meant whenever he looked at the handsome older man, but even as a kid he knew that he liked spending time with Mr Malfoy. He was clever and witty and he talked to James like an equal. James had hung on his every word, utterly besotted, and if he was being honest with himself, things hadn't changed much since.
After James had begun working at the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters—a shoulder injury in seventh year blew his chances of playing Chaser professionally—they started seeing one another more and more: at Ministry events, during Quidditch matches, in a random shop in Diagon Alley. Mr Malfoy had been divorced for almost five years by the time James had turned twenty-two, and though James could scarcely believe it, he knew he wasn't imagining the hungry gleam in Mr Malfoy's eyes as he looked James over. James had worried that was all Mr Malfoy would ever do—look—until the Clabbert Protection Gala. James didn't really think Clabbert's were in any particular need of protection, but his department had wanted to send a representative, and as the resident rookie, James received the dubious honour of representing the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It had been dull, even for a Gala, but James had managed to snag himself a seat next to Mr Malfoy. They'd kept themselves entertained with charged conversation and a little too much wine, and the night had ended with Mr Malfoy—Draco—inviting James home with him.
They hadn't done much that night, too drunk and giddy to manage more than a slow, heated make-out session on Draco's large four-poster before falling asleep in one another's arms. But Draco had made James breakfast in bed the next morning, and once they'd finished eating, he'd made good on all the promise of the previous night. Twice.
James had been worried that it was just a one-off, but luckily Draco seemed just as eager as James to continue their liaison. They met up several times a week, usually at the Manor, to eat, talk, and, most importantly, to fuck. Draco was just what James had been hoping for in bed: passionate, skilled, commanding. He played James's body like a good game of Quidditch, rough and intense and exhilarating. James had had his fair share of lovers, but he'd never been with anybody that tested his limits so thoroughly. There was nobody who could make him come just from talking, nobody who had ever tied him up, spanked him, and still had him begging for more.
Draco had never yet hit upon something that James hadn't thoroughly enjoyed, but when he'd suggested the blindfold, the word "No" was out of James's mouth before James had even fully registered the question.
Draco had blinked at him in surprise for a moment, before shrugging and vanishing the scrap of cloth with a flick of his wand. He'd fucked James's mouth instead, and James was so gone on the taste of Draco's prick and the feeling of Draco deep inside his throat, that the suggestion completely flew out of his head.
But the thought of black satin covering his eyes came back to him the next morning as he took care of his morning wood in Draco's huge shower. And again, the next day at work, when he caught Draco's eye across the crowded Ministry atrium and his stomach began to flutter. And then yet again, that night, when he lay in his own bed alone, wishing Draco was there beside him, instead of out at some work dinner.
He couldn't stop thinking about, thinking about the slim black strip of cloth dangling from Draco's fingers. About how it would feel against his skin. His heart began to race and his stomach flipped as he imagined what it would mean to have Draco blindfold him. To give Draco his sight. The idea should terrify him beyond all imagining. James hated the dark, and the idea of willingly submitting shouldn't have appealed, shouldn't have sent his pulse racing. Beyond that, James didn't even know what this thing between him and Draco was, what it meant, or where it was going. He knew that he enjoyed spending time with Draco, that he really enjoyed having sex with him, but was there anything more to it than that?
Did he want there to be?
He pictured the black silk dangling from Draco's perfect fingers, imagined falling through utter darkness and knowing Draco was there to catch him.
Yes, James thought, as a shiver broke out across his skin. He was beginning to think he did.
-O-O-
James hadn't known how he'd react when Draco put the blindfold on.
He'd warned Draco, before they'd started, that it might not go the way they wanted. Draco had assured James that they didn't need to do this if he didn't want, but James was determined. He wanted to do it. James just wasn't positive that he could.
The material of the blindfold was smooth, soft, and dark as pitch. When Draco slid it over James's eyes and it settled into place, James's first thought was that it felt like it was made for him. Instead of panic, something warm and soft flickered to life in his belly, sending tendrils of heat crawling out through his veins. His breath began to quicken, and his prick hardened in his pants as he imagined the scene, imagined what he might look like to Draco.
"I'll go slow," Draco murmured against the curling strands of James's hair. "Let me know right away if it gets to be too much."
James nodded, letting Draco press him back against the bedspread, a sensation like falling swooping through his stomach before he landed with a soft bounce.
Draco's hands cupped James's face before sliding downwards, rubbing across his throat, stroking against his clavicle. Every brush of Draco's palms felt magnified by a thousand, and James imagined he could feel every whorl and ridge of Draco's fingertips as they slid over his pecs and across his abdomen.
Draco's fingers danced lower and lower, and James's desperation grew bigger and brighter. Draco hadn't said James couldn't touch, but it felt like he shouldn't, so James fisted the fluffy comforter in an effort not to reach out. It was nice, giving Draco control, letting him have James's body, his vision, trusting him to know what to do, to know how to make it good for them both. This wasn't the first time they'd played with these dynamics, but this time was different...more. There was a significance to this new act, and James was sure that Draco felt it too. He touched James with a gentle reverence, a soft and silent kind of worship.
The fingers disappeared, and James felt their absence like a Stinging Hex. Every place Draco had touched seemed to grow hot and then cold, causing James to break out in shivers. James breathed through it, taking a deep breath before exhaling slow and steady. Around him, the room was utterly silent, so silent that his ears almost seemed to ring with the utter absence of sound. Surely Draco wouldn't leave him—he promised he wouldn't.
The sudden tug on his pants as Draco pulled them down over James's straining cock startled a strangled moan from James. James lifted his arse without prompting, and the pants slid off him easy as water. There was another weighted silence, and a rush of embarrassment and exhilaration went through James at the knowledge that Draco was looking at him, that he was seeing all of James while James saw nothing of him in return. If Draco asked him to turn over and show him everything else, James knew he would do it in a heartbeat.
But Draco didn't ask him to turn over. Instead, he eased James's legs wider, his gentle touches along James's inner thighs making want tingle down to the tips of James's toes.
"You really are so beautiful," Draco murmured, as he slid between James's spread thighs. "So sweet and eager. Trusting." He hands stroked up and down James's legs, lingering at the apex of his thighs before beginning the torturous slide back down, without ever touching James's cock. "You wouldn't give this to just anybody, would you James?"
"No," James breathed on an exhalation, shaking his head. "Just you."
Draco let out a soft humming sound, not unlike a purr, as his hands began to travel back up James's thighs. This time, the right hand kept going, stroking softly against the bottom of James's prick. "That's right. Such a good boy for me."
James's shuddered, as much from Draco's words as from the feeling of Draco's hands on his cock. He couldn't see Draco, but he could picture him. The lamplight would glint off Draco's fair hair, his eyes growing dark and intense as his expression reflected something proud and possessive. James knew where Draco was, knew his general position, but still his words seemed to echo through the room, sliding into James's ears and filling him with a buzzing warmth.
Draco's hand began to stroke him, while the other, warm and slick with oil, slid down to press against James's arse. The pleasure tingled through his body, but it was distant, somehow, as if the blindfold around his eyes was dampening more than just his sight. It was like he was floating on an endless sea of silken heat, his body safe and cared for as he drifted through space. Draco's fingers pressed against him, and James's body opened up to them like a flower in the sun.
James sighed in ecstatic relief when Draco finally slid inside, their bodies fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. Draco leaned forward to kiss James's temple, his hair brushing against the curve of James's cheek, before he leaned back on his heels and began to move.
It was always good, always intense, when Draco fucked him, but this was something else. They moved together, and though James couldn't see Draco, he'd never felt more connected to him. It was nature, instinct, the way they reacted to one another, the way their writhing bodies stoked the flames of their passion higher and higher. James flailed out blindly, needing to anchor himself in the feeling of Draco's skin, and he moaned gratefully when Draco caught his hands and guided them to his flexing thighs.
James arched into Draco's fluid thrusts; he clawed at Draco's arse and back; he moaned and gasped and cried out Draco's name. There was something freeing about being in the dark, something that made him feel secure and unseen. He knew that last bit wasn't true, knew that Draco was likely watching him with ardent eyes, but the fact that it was only Draco that got to see him like this made James's blood run hotter. All his inhibitions melted away, all the little insecurities and tiny ways in which he'd always held himself back drifted from him like bits of fluff on the wind. He gave himself completely to Draco, flinging himself into the dark abyss and trusting that Draco would be there at the bottom.
When he came, the world turned white, stars exploding beneath his eyelids as hot droplets hit his stomach and chest. Draco's groan reverberated in his ears as he picked up his pace. Moments later, James felt Draco's entire body shudder, muscles tensing beneath James's hands as he reached his own peak.
James lay there, shivering through the aftershocks and floating dream-like on his silken cloud. Every place that Draco touched radiated warmth through him, and James wanted nothing more than to pull Draco close and feel every inch of his skin.
Instead, Draco pulled away, slipping out of James and sliding from between James's thighs and off the bed. James felt a sudden flash of panic, a whimper escaping him as the heat drained right out of him, leaving him cold.
"Shh," Draco soothed, his hand reaching out to card through James's damp hair. "I just had to get my wand. It rolled under the bed." A moment later, the tingle of Cleaning Charm washed over James.
He heard the clatter of Draco's wand hitting the bedside table, and then Draco was sliding into bed, manoeuvring them both under the covers.
"I'm going to take the blindfold off now, all right?"
James bit his lip. He liked the blindfold, liked the way it felt against his skin, liked the way it made him love the dark for the first time in his memory.
"Are the lights off?"
"Would you like them to be?"
"Yeah," James whispered.
"Okay." Draco's voice was soft, fond, and James felt him twist and reach for the bedside table, before the air seemed to shift and James knew the lights had been extinguished.
"You can remove it now," James murmured, tilting his head up towards where he could feel Draco next to him.
Draco's fingers slid through James's hair, untying the knot delicately, careful not to tug too harshly on the strands of James's unruly locks.
The fabric fell away, and though the room was dark, illuminated only by the pale sliver of moon shining in through the far windows, it was still more than enough for James's eyes to see by. Draco's face looked soft in shadow, his expression warm and tender as he gazed into James's eyes, searching them as if he was checking for psychological bruises.
"Are you all right?"
James smiled, his heart swelling at the emotion in the mercury silver of Draco's eyes. Had it always been there, and James was only now noticing? Or had something shifted for Draco today, the way it had for James?
"James?"
James smiled before leaning in to kiss Draco. He'd meant it to just be a soft, reassuring brush of their lips, but it hit him as their mouths met that they hadn't kissed at all while James had been blindfolded. He made up for it now, pushing Draco back against the mattress and pressing their naked bodies together as they traded slow, deep kisses.
"I take it you're okay then," Draco murmured with a smile when they finally parted.
"I think we should go out," James blurted out.
Draco's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
James's heart raced, but he pressed on. "I mean, I think we should go out. Properly. Get dinner or something."
Draco blinked at him. "Now?"
"No. Just...sometime."
"You mean on a date," Draco clarified.
James's cheeks flushed, and he was glad for the cover of darkness to hide it. "Yes."
Draco stared at him for a long moment, his expression shadowed and unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "All right. We'll go out. I've been wanting to try that new restaurant in Diagon Alley. This Friday?"
James's face broke out into a grin as Draco lay back down, looking up at him expectantly. He curled up against Draco, happiness expanding inside him, lighting up even the darkest nooks and crannies of his soul.
"Yes," James murmured, as sleep began to tug at his eyelids. "Friday sounds perfect."
Author:
gracerenePrompt Number: #S71 submitted by
nia_kantorkaKink Showcased: Sensory Deprivation
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco/James Sirius
Summary: Being kept in the dark should terrify him, but this time it doesn't. In his company James felt safe.
Warnings: established relationship, blindfolds, light D/s, light praise!kink, anal fingering, anal sex, subspace
Word Count: ~3,500
Author's Notes: In the end, this turned more towards blindfolds than full sensory deprivation, but I hope this still hits the spot. Thank so much to the lovely
capitu and cabinetcaligari for all of your wonderful help with this fic! <3 Available on AO3: Through the Dark
When James was four, he got trapped inside a trunk.
His mum had had her hands full taking care of Albus, who had just hit his terrible twos and, judging by the stories, had been intent on fully living up to the moniker. James's dad had been at work and his mum, heavily pregnant with Lily at the time, had set James up in the living room with some toys and a warding spell to keep him safe while she tried to convince Albus to eat his peas. But a witch's magic could go a little wonky when she was pregnant, and the spell hadn't held. To an adventurous boy like James, there had been no question of taking advantage of the unexpected freedom.
James had ended up in his dad's study—his favourite room of the house. James had always loved sitting on his dad's lap as he completed case reports, James's eager gaze taking in all the interesting toys and trinkets that moved and glittered in the sunlight—some even made noises! One of those many items caught James's eyes that day; omnioculars, James knew now, though at the time, he only knew that they were shiny. They were sitting on the sill of one of the high windows that overlooked their back garden, and James was still too little to reach them. But there was a wooden bookcase set up next to the window, and James has been a fearless little boy. He'd clambered up the wooden shelves, knocking off heavy books and lesser knick-knacks, until he finally reached his prize.
But the omnioculars had been heavier that he'd been expecting, and the weight of them caused James to lose his balance and sent him tumbling. Normally, it wouldn't have been that big of a deal. He was barely a foot off the ground, and his mum would have come running and healed all his hurts the moment he started wailing. Unfortunately, that day there was an open trunk next to the bookshelf, partially filled with old shirts and sweaters that his parents were planning on donating. The soft clothes had broken his fall, but the force of his impact sent the heavy wooden lid closing with an ominous thunk.
It was an old trunk, sturdy and well made—built to last. It wasn't built, however, with four-year-old boys in mind. James had done his very best to push the heavy lid open, but he couldn't do much more than raise it just a hair—and even that he couldn't sustain for long. He's shouted and hollered, until tears and snot had covered his face, but the study was all the way on the other side of the house from the kitchen, and nobody heard him.
Inside, the trunk was almost completely dark but for a few faint streams of light making their way in through the seams. It wasn't nearly enough to see by, and James's vivid imagination ran away from him. What if there were monsters in the trunk with him that he couldn't see? What if they were just lying in wait before eating him right up? Or, what if this trunk was like Aunt Hermione's magical bag, and went on forever? One wrong move, and he could be sent tumbling down further into the abyss. What if his mommy never found him?
The darkness seemed to press in, almost tangible in its inky blackness. It wrapped around James's throat, preventing him from screaming, from breathing. Fear had taken over, paralysing him. Everything was muffled and muted, and time seemed to stretch and drag, until James was certain his parents had forgotten him altogether.
James knew, now, that he couldn't have been trapped in the trunk for more than twenty minutes, at the very most. His mum was diligent about keeping tabs on him and Albus, and when she had seen that he wasn't in the living room, she'd practically tore the house apart looking for him. Thankfully, he'd left quite the mess in his attempt to climb the bookshelf, and it hadn't taken in her long to find him.
It had been nearly twenty years ago, but James could still remember the sudden rush of light as his mum opened the trunk, the way it had stung his eyes and brought on a fresh wave of tears. His mum had held him close, her heart beating frantically beneath James's little head, his baby sister kicking enthusiastically right where his chest was. It had taken him awhile to calm down, and he hadn't left his mum's side for days after the incident.
He'd never liked the dark much, after that. Every night until he left for Hogwarts he slept with a Knight-Light—a miniature Knight made of shining silver light that paced the length of James's dresser as he slept, stopping every so often to brandish his sword impressively. He'd had to leave Sir Knight behind when he went off to school, but at Hogwarts he was allowed to use magic, and—after spelling his curtains closed so the other boys wouldn't make fun of him—he would cast Lumos and watch the flickering light until he fell asleep.
James's fear grew less acute as he grew up—he no longer needed to sleep with a light on—but he'd never fully shaken it.
Until now.
He'd had been sleeping with Mr Malfoy for six months before Mr Malfoy suggested it. James had been sceptical at first, but the idea had taken root in his mind.
Growing up, James had seen a lot of Mr Malfoy. He worked with James's dad at the Ministry, and they were friends of a sort, not to mention the fact that he was the father of Albus's best friend. Mr Malfoy would come over for dinner, or stay for a spot of tea before taking Scorpius home after a sleepover, and it took James a long time to realise just why he looked forward to those little visits with breathless anticipation. It wasn't until he was older that he understood what the little flutter in his belly meant whenever he looked at the handsome older man, but even as a kid he knew that he liked spending time with Mr Malfoy. He was clever and witty and he talked to James like an equal. James had hung on his every word, utterly besotted, and if he was being honest with himself, things hadn't changed much since.
After James had begun working at the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters—a shoulder injury in seventh year blew his chances of playing Chaser professionally—they started seeing one another more and more: at Ministry events, during Quidditch matches, in a random shop in Diagon Alley. Mr Malfoy had been divorced for almost five years by the time James had turned twenty-two, and though James could scarcely believe it, he knew he wasn't imagining the hungry gleam in Mr Malfoy's eyes as he looked James over. James had worried that was all Mr Malfoy would ever do—look—until the Clabbert Protection Gala. James didn't really think Clabbert's were in any particular need of protection, but his department had wanted to send a representative, and as the resident rookie, James received the dubious honour of representing the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It had been dull, even for a Gala, but James had managed to snag himself a seat next to Mr Malfoy. They'd kept themselves entertained with charged conversation and a little too much wine, and the night had ended with Mr Malfoy—Draco—inviting James home with him.
They hadn't done much that night, too drunk and giddy to manage more than a slow, heated make-out session on Draco's large four-poster before falling asleep in one another's arms. But Draco had made James breakfast in bed the next morning, and once they'd finished eating, he'd made good on all the promise of the previous night. Twice.
James had been worried that it was just a one-off, but luckily Draco seemed just as eager as James to continue their liaison. They met up several times a week, usually at the Manor, to eat, talk, and, most importantly, to fuck. Draco was just what James had been hoping for in bed: passionate, skilled, commanding. He played James's body like a good game of Quidditch, rough and intense and exhilarating. James had had his fair share of lovers, but he'd never been with anybody that tested his limits so thoroughly. There was nobody who could make him come just from talking, nobody who had ever tied him up, spanked him, and still had him begging for more.
Draco had never yet hit upon something that James hadn't thoroughly enjoyed, but when he'd suggested the blindfold, the word "No" was out of James's mouth before James had even fully registered the question.
Draco had blinked at him in surprise for a moment, before shrugging and vanishing the scrap of cloth with a flick of his wand. He'd fucked James's mouth instead, and James was so gone on the taste of Draco's prick and the feeling of Draco deep inside his throat, that the suggestion completely flew out of his head.
But the thought of black satin covering his eyes came back to him the next morning as he took care of his morning wood in Draco's huge shower. And again, the next day at work, when he caught Draco's eye across the crowded Ministry atrium and his stomach began to flutter. And then yet again, that night, when he lay in his own bed alone, wishing Draco was there beside him, instead of out at some work dinner.
He couldn't stop thinking about, thinking about the slim black strip of cloth dangling from Draco's fingers. About how it would feel against his skin. His heart began to race and his stomach flipped as he imagined what it would mean to have Draco blindfold him. To give Draco his sight. The idea should terrify him beyond all imagining. James hated the dark, and the idea of willingly submitting shouldn't have appealed, shouldn't have sent his pulse racing. Beyond that, James didn't even know what this thing between him and Draco was, what it meant, or where it was going. He knew that he enjoyed spending time with Draco, that he really enjoyed having sex with him, but was there anything more to it than that?
Did he want there to be?
He pictured the black silk dangling from Draco's perfect fingers, imagined falling through utter darkness and knowing Draco was there to catch him.
Yes, James thought, as a shiver broke out across his skin. He was beginning to think he did.
James hadn't known how he'd react when Draco put the blindfold on.
He'd warned Draco, before they'd started, that it might not go the way they wanted. Draco had assured James that they didn't need to do this if he didn't want, but James was determined. He wanted to do it. James just wasn't positive that he could.
The material of the blindfold was smooth, soft, and dark as pitch. When Draco slid it over James's eyes and it settled into place, James's first thought was that it felt like it was made for him. Instead of panic, something warm and soft flickered to life in his belly, sending tendrils of heat crawling out through his veins. His breath began to quicken, and his prick hardened in his pants as he imagined the scene, imagined what he might look like to Draco.
"I'll go slow," Draco murmured against the curling strands of James's hair. "Let me know right away if it gets to be too much."
James nodded, letting Draco press him back against the bedspread, a sensation like falling swooping through his stomach before he landed with a soft bounce.
Draco's hands cupped James's face before sliding downwards, rubbing across his throat, stroking against his clavicle. Every brush of Draco's palms felt magnified by a thousand, and James imagined he could feel every whorl and ridge of Draco's fingertips as they slid over his pecs and across his abdomen.
Draco's fingers danced lower and lower, and James's desperation grew bigger and brighter. Draco hadn't said James couldn't touch, but it felt like he shouldn't, so James fisted the fluffy comforter in an effort not to reach out. It was nice, giving Draco control, letting him have James's body, his vision, trusting him to know what to do, to know how to make it good for them both. This wasn't the first time they'd played with these dynamics, but this time was different...more. There was a significance to this new act, and James was sure that Draco felt it too. He touched James with a gentle reverence, a soft and silent kind of worship.
The fingers disappeared, and James felt their absence like a Stinging Hex. Every place Draco had touched seemed to grow hot and then cold, causing James to break out in shivers. James breathed through it, taking a deep breath before exhaling slow and steady. Around him, the room was utterly silent, so silent that his ears almost seemed to ring with the utter absence of sound. Surely Draco wouldn't leave him—he promised he wouldn't.
The sudden tug on his pants as Draco pulled them down over James's straining cock startled a strangled moan from James. James lifted his arse without prompting, and the pants slid off him easy as water. There was another weighted silence, and a rush of embarrassment and exhilaration went through James at the knowledge that Draco was looking at him, that he was seeing all of James while James saw nothing of him in return. If Draco asked him to turn over and show him everything else, James knew he would do it in a heartbeat.
But Draco didn't ask him to turn over. Instead, he eased James's legs wider, his gentle touches along James's inner thighs making want tingle down to the tips of James's toes.
"You really are so beautiful," Draco murmured, as he slid between James's spread thighs. "So sweet and eager. Trusting." He hands stroked up and down James's legs, lingering at the apex of his thighs before beginning the torturous slide back down, without ever touching James's cock. "You wouldn't give this to just anybody, would you James?"
"No," James breathed on an exhalation, shaking his head. "Just you."
Draco let out a soft humming sound, not unlike a purr, as his hands began to travel back up James's thighs. This time, the right hand kept going, stroking softly against the bottom of James's prick. "That's right. Such a good boy for me."
James's shuddered, as much from Draco's words as from the feeling of Draco's hands on his cock. He couldn't see Draco, but he could picture him. The lamplight would glint off Draco's fair hair, his eyes growing dark and intense as his expression reflected something proud and possessive. James knew where Draco was, knew his general position, but still his words seemed to echo through the room, sliding into James's ears and filling him with a buzzing warmth.
Draco's hand began to stroke him, while the other, warm and slick with oil, slid down to press against James's arse. The pleasure tingled through his body, but it was distant, somehow, as if the blindfold around his eyes was dampening more than just his sight. It was like he was floating on an endless sea of silken heat, his body safe and cared for as he drifted through space. Draco's fingers pressed against him, and James's body opened up to them like a flower in the sun.
James sighed in ecstatic relief when Draco finally slid inside, their bodies fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. Draco leaned forward to kiss James's temple, his hair brushing against the curve of James's cheek, before he leaned back on his heels and began to move.
It was always good, always intense, when Draco fucked him, but this was something else. They moved together, and though James couldn't see Draco, he'd never felt more connected to him. It was nature, instinct, the way they reacted to one another, the way their writhing bodies stoked the flames of their passion higher and higher. James flailed out blindly, needing to anchor himself in the feeling of Draco's skin, and he moaned gratefully when Draco caught his hands and guided them to his flexing thighs.
James arched into Draco's fluid thrusts; he clawed at Draco's arse and back; he moaned and gasped and cried out Draco's name. There was something freeing about being in the dark, something that made him feel secure and unseen. He knew that last bit wasn't true, knew that Draco was likely watching him with ardent eyes, but the fact that it was only Draco that got to see him like this made James's blood run hotter. All his inhibitions melted away, all the little insecurities and tiny ways in which he'd always held himself back drifted from him like bits of fluff on the wind. He gave himself completely to Draco, flinging himself into the dark abyss and trusting that Draco would be there at the bottom.
When he came, the world turned white, stars exploding beneath his eyelids as hot droplets hit his stomach and chest. Draco's groan reverberated in his ears as he picked up his pace. Moments later, James felt Draco's entire body shudder, muscles tensing beneath James's hands as he reached his own peak.
James lay there, shivering through the aftershocks and floating dream-like on his silken cloud. Every place that Draco touched radiated warmth through him, and James wanted nothing more than to pull Draco close and feel every inch of his skin.
Instead, Draco pulled away, slipping out of James and sliding from between James's thighs and off the bed. James felt a sudden flash of panic, a whimper escaping him as the heat drained right out of him, leaving him cold.
"Shh," Draco soothed, his hand reaching out to card through James's damp hair. "I just had to get my wand. It rolled under the bed." A moment later, the tingle of Cleaning Charm washed over James.
He heard the clatter of Draco's wand hitting the bedside table, and then Draco was sliding into bed, manoeuvring them both under the covers.
"I'm going to take the blindfold off now, all right?"
James bit his lip. He liked the blindfold, liked the way it felt against his skin, liked the way it made him love the dark for the first time in his memory.
"Are the lights off?"
"Would you like them to be?"
"Yeah," James whispered.
"Okay." Draco's voice was soft, fond, and James felt him twist and reach for the bedside table, before the air seemed to shift and James knew the lights had been extinguished.
"You can remove it now," James murmured, tilting his head up towards where he could feel Draco next to him.
Draco's fingers slid through James's hair, untying the knot delicately, careful not to tug too harshly on the strands of James's unruly locks.
The fabric fell away, and though the room was dark, illuminated only by the pale sliver of moon shining in through the far windows, it was still more than enough for James's eyes to see by. Draco's face looked soft in shadow, his expression warm and tender as he gazed into James's eyes, searching them as if he was checking for psychological bruises.
"Are you all right?"
James smiled, his heart swelling at the emotion in the mercury silver of Draco's eyes. Had it always been there, and James was only now noticing? Or had something shifted for Draco today, the way it had for James?
"James?"
James smiled before leaning in to kiss Draco. He'd meant it to just be a soft, reassuring brush of their lips, but it hit him as their mouths met that they hadn't kissed at all while James had been blindfolded. He made up for it now, pushing Draco back against the mattress and pressing their naked bodies together as they traded slow, deep kisses.
"I take it you're okay then," Draco murmured with a smile when they finally parted.
"I think we should go out," James blurted out.
Draco's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
James's heart raced, but he pressed on. "I mean, I think we should go out. Properly. Get dinner or something."
Draco blinked at him. "Now?"
"No. Just...sometime."
"You mean on a date," Draco clarified.
James's cheeks flushed, and he was glad for the cover of darkness to hide it. "Yes."
Draco stared at him for a long moment, his expression shadowed and unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "All right. We'll go out. I've been wanting to try that new restaurant in Diagon Alley. This Friday?"
James's face broke out into a grin as Draco lay back down, looking up at him expectantly. He curled up against Draco, happiness expanding inside him, lighting up even the darkest nooks and crannies of his soul.
"Yes," James murmured, as sleep began to tug at his eyelids. "Friday sounds perfect."
