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hpkinkfestTitle: The Last Temptation of Draco Malfoy
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
potteresque_ire
Kink Showcased: Chastity Devices
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Summary: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had been bonded for five years. But Knockturn Alley still beckoned Draco, its Darkness as irresistible, as irrepressible as the lust in his blood; his weakness compelled him to seek extraordinary measures to ensure his fidelity.
Warnings: Dub-con, Interspecies Erotica (Human/Snake), Cock & Ball Torture, Orgasm Denial, Rimming, Felching, Snowballing, Flogging, Infidelity. Slight Religious Overtone.
Word Count: ~13,500
The Last Temptation of Draco Malfoy
II. TEMPERANTIA
Draco watched as his black leather boot traversed the shimmering wards of his flat, then his shin and his thigh that were wrapped in a stretch of indigo. The denim clung far too tightly to his skin compared to the air and Warming Charm he'd been accustomed to. As it rubbed against itself, its scratching reminded Draco of sanding wood.
Vanishing Cabinets.
As he followed the winding path that led into Diagon Alley, Draco battled against his instinct to walk with his legs apart. The friction between his thighs was unbearable. He dug his hands into the side pockets, seeking comfort in the copper rivets nailed against the pockets’ corners.
Like an armour, Draco told himself again, and as much a torture to wear—
—with the strip of steel—a zip, if his memory served correctly—pressed against his cock, the silver teeth straining as they locked down to hold the fabric together. The fly shield above the metal narrowed to a rigid seam that invaded the valley between his balls, then collided with others that had raced along his inner thighs and trailed the bisecting line between his arse. The copper-hued threads sewn upon them made sure no eyes could stray, no minds could wander from the temptations hid away below. The knob where the seams met was right below where Draco was the most delicate and sensitive; he could feel it pressing against his perineum whenever he sat, whenever he lifted his leg a breath’s distance more than a usual step would need.
Only Muggles could embrace a garment so obscene. Even the Knockturn vermins would refuse to touch such a filthy design.
The denim—tough and unyielding compared to the silk Draco was accustomed to—left little of what the rest of the garment was concealing to imagination, its every form and curve, its beauty and flaws. Draco had long, lean legs—the jeans had needed tailoring spells to fit; his calves had a mild curve outward; his hipbones broke the smooth line that ran from his torso to his thighs, his waist had a strong dip, marked by an imprint of his spine at the back.
And just above where his left thigh began, the stretched ripples of the fabric gave away the length, the girth of his cock.
People on the street were watching. The morning rush neither prevented them from slowing their pace nor their stares, reminiscent of those Draco had endured in the months after the war. He held his head high and strode with wide, sure steps. The jeans assaulted his senses further. Blood was pooling below his abdomen, hot and thick like quicksilver.
All eyes remained upon him.
Harry had performed his Auror duties as usual, The Prophet had yet to catch wind of what would be, no doubt, a headline-worthy piece of gossip on their troubled marriage. It was also hardly news when the Apothecary closed for a week. Draco travelled often to collect exotic fossils and herbs.
Could his Muggle attire be sufficient to pique this curiosity?
What about a Malfoy in Muggle attire?
Draco could not ignore the eyes—not when they drank in the sight of him like this, not when they crept upward along his legs and lingered on his groin, as if Legilimency could penetrate denim and read his thoughts through his heavily guarded flesh. He could not ignore the attention and his power to mesmerize, just as he could never ignore those eyes watching him from the mouth of Knockturn Alley, with darkness sinking in the street while Diagon Alley remained bathed in the setting sun—eyes that caught the light in his hair and his face, eyes that met his own before trailing downward, as if they had seen the serpents reining him in. Eyes that questioned things for which Draco had no answers:
Why yearn for control when power is the man who has you, who holds the world in his hands?
Why hold yourself back when all can be yours to take, when all is what you have lost?
Diagon Alley seemed to extend into infinity. By the time Draco cast Alohomora on the steps at the other end of the street, sweat drenched his forehead and glued the white Oxford shirt on his back. The mess under his jeans would have shown through the fabric if not for its rich indigo hue. With the last remnant of his strength, he closed the door and fell against it.
It was then he dared to reach down, one hand just to offer support as the other pulled down the zip notch by notch. He barely had the strength and will power to pull it down all the way—the teeth kept getting stuck in his trembling hand—and he slipped his hand into the opening, between his flesh and the patch of denim that had turned heavier and darker than the rest of the jeans.
Liquid heat exploded in the tight space, over Draco’s fingers and the length of his erection. Spurts of white dotted his flesh and Draco rubbed them along his shaft, pumping his cock until the last drop of cum glistened on the floor beside where he had collapsed.
He lay there, panting. He had to open the shop soon but felt far too boneless, far too sated to reach or Summon for his wand.
A memory slipped into the haze of his mind …
His arm swung back, Draco patted the back pocket of his jeans and found the packet of Muggle tissue. He took out all the pieces, crumpled them into a white bouquet and brushed it against his hip, just above the loosened waistband of his jeans. The material felt softer, more magical than Draco had ever imagined. A smile on his lips and a tear in his eyes, he wrapped the tissue against his cock and wiped himself clean.
~*~
Potions, indeed, had the delicate power to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. Work proved to be sufficient distraction and Draco had, between brewing and negotiations, made a month’s worth of trips back and forth between his flat and his shop. He had learned to maintain his natural gait at all times in his jeans, had got used to the way they sealed his groin and grazed his skin.
He had grown accustomed to their smell, the hints of spilled coffee, fish and chips, of cigarettes and smog that no cleaning spells could ever remove. They belonged to a different world.
Every morning, Draco would lift the jeans to its nose and inhale, taking in the smell of him. He would do so until splotches of white soiled his nude reflection on the mirror, until they ran down the smooth surface like tears of pearl.
Sated, Draco would gather his strength and set foot upon Diagon Alley, where the eyes continued to watch him. Taunt and tease him.
At first he had wondered whether he was obsessed with them, dreaming up their presence, or whether they were obsessed with him, unable or unwilling to cast their sight on to anything else. His epiphany came when the eyes found their way into his shop, on faces he had yet to recognise. The ravenous stares told Draco all he needed to know. He was transformed into an object of desire in the outfit of another man, who just happened to be the most revered wizard ever lived, the demi-God who had walked amongst them.
Was there a spell in the pockets of those jeans? A curse at the taper of the fly? Did it leave a mark on Draco, a smell of power, perhaps, distinct from that of the serpents, drawing in its own predators?
No matter. The denim tautened against his flesh and the steel teeth locked against his cock were reminder and proof of whom Draco belonged to.
Somewhere in the Manor, he was certain, a Malfoy lexicon was gathering dust and had this printed under to love: synonym: to own, to possess.
Of course I own you, Malfoy.
Lead not into temptations but deliver from evil. The old Muggle jeans had renewed Draco’s hopes after his gold band and Castitas had failed, even if they carried no powerful magic to bind him to a promise or capacity to punish him should he break a vow. This guard was a part of Draco only because he had chosen it to be; it was effective only because it had touched the skin and shared the body heat of its owner—and Draco—so often.
The eyes followed Draco as he entered through the wards of No.1, Diagon. There was one redeeming quality about them—they had drowned out the few that could have preyed on him, any evening, at the junction between Knockturn and Diagon Alley.
~*~
Forty days after Draco’s emancipation, Harry stood face to face with him in the Apothecary.
Leaning against the counter, Harry’s folded arms were lost in the rich red folds of his Auror robe. “What are you up to, Malfoy?” he asked.
On the wall behind him, the clock chimed. Six o’clock. Six years ago, Harry Potter had come into the shop with the same question, except his tone had been steeped with spite, his stare sharp with the daggers flashing within.
“What do you want?” Draco replied, his drawl kept to a minimum. Around them, the eyes that had been fixated on him less than five minutes ago had all abandoned him for Harry.
Sycophants.
“Something I’ve lost.” Harry’s gaze swept through the farthest corner of Draco’s mind, touched the deepest alcove of his soul. The simplicity of his words, the gentleness of his voice, threatened to hypnotise Draco’s rage—
“Talk to the Aurors.”
“Tossers, those people are. I just left their office.” He smiled and straightened, his arms unfolding momentarily before refolding and resting against the counter again, as if he had forgotten how to comfortably place them.
Such as, Draco’s mind supplemented the vision, with his hands on his waist, his elbow bent and pulled backwards at a sharp angle. Draco had used to find him like that on Sunday mornings, nude above his waist and his thumbs toying with the belt hoop of his favorite jeans, deciding what to thaw for dinner in front of the icebox.
“The shop’s closing at six,” Harry spoke again while Draco pulled his thumbs out from the belt hoops from the same jeans. Since when had he picked up that habit? “I want to take you to dinner.”
“The Apothecary’s open late tonight.”
Harry studied Draco for a moment and tilted his head towards the customers. “The shop’s about to close.” His announcement was warm but firm. “Place your prescriptions on the counter and if there’s anything to ring up—”
The door locked at Harry’s command when Draco’s fist flew towards his face.
Auror training had raised Harry’s combat skill far beyond Draco’s. “Don’t,” he whispered, catching Draco’s wrist.
Draco’s free hand had retrieved his wand when he heard “take off your ring”.
The wand fell on the floor with a clatter. Harry’s face, so impassive before him, bore an eerie resemblance to the one that had peered at him back in Madam Malkins, a blank parchment yet to be soiled by hatred and ignited with love. The room before his eyes wavered until all he could see was his wrist in Harry’s hand; the Dark Mark, the forked tongue of the serpent against the vow I will not tell lies.
He yanked the gold band it loose from his finger and threw it across the room. Its chrono-magic collided against the wall clock’s, sending the minute arm into a frantic spin.
“Out!” Draco cried, but no sound came from his lips. The bastard stayed put. He hurtled himself across the counter on hands and feet—those damned jeans had permitted that— and Summoned his wand.
The next moment his wand tip pressed against the throat of Harry Potter.
“Did you hear me…” He was gasping and he hated himself for it. “Get. Out.”
“The ring,” Harry said finally. “You took it off yourself.” He reached out—not to defend himself against the wand, but to wrap his fingers against Draco’s free hand.
Draco’s wand fell against his side.
Harry took the chance to draw closer. “Only we can take off the rings—they’re forged that way. Your idea, remember?”
True. The gold and silver bands carried the ancient spell at Draco’s insistence. Too many enemies of the Light and the Dark lurked in the shadows, dreaming of a chance to possess them and temper with their fate. The spell permitted the rings to recognise their owners by temperament rather than by magical signatures, which were fickle proofs of identity, prone to the effects of age and environment.
They’re just … metal, Harry had argued, unless we make them to be more than that.
But to Draco, they were so more than that. The rings were tokens of the bond between them. They carried promises—mortal, perhaps, but more tangible, more within reach than answers to any prayer. They were declarations to the world that Harry and Draco belonged to one another.
That they possessed one another; that this bond between them would always be theirs to uphold, theirs to destroy.
“I could tell the Wraith had gone for your ring.” Harry sighed, his bare ring finger found Draco’s and curled against it. “Saw your bone around it but it had gone nowhere; you, an apothecary owner, made an apprentice’s mistake: you left a magical item in a deep skin wound. I’d like to think it’s because—“ he gave their intertwined fingers a firm squeeze, “—but I saw the snakes had gone so deep…“ he shook his head, his lips curled into a sad smile. “I’d known you couldn’t remove the ring. It didn’t know who you were anymore.”
His gaze met Draco’s. “Then I looked at you and I wondered if I still recognised you, or if I, too, had already lost you to Castitas. Chastity.” he paused, his eyes intent on Draco’s every reaction when he added softly, “Purity…defined by your grandfather. I have no proof, Draco, but looking back, a long line of Dark Creatures, even those who’d never mingled with wizards, have shown themselves to you. They fell on their knees. They let you do… things to them. They didn’t seduce you, Draco. Your snakes seduced them. You’re the bait because you’d relied on and given more and more of yourself away to Castitas.”
That had been Harry’s judgment then—by tempting the Dark, Draco bore the full burden of his sins. His blood went cold—his eternally sinister blood, rushing in his ears as it would in its lifelong pursue of power. No wonder Harry had opted to walk out of Draco’s life and discarded his ring without a warning, without an offer of yet another chance of redemption.
One that Draco had not deserved.
But he was Harry Potter and Draco, a Malfoy. The Saviour and the damned. The saint and the sinner. Harry was not only supposed to bring judgment against Draco, he was also meant to chastise him, purge him of his sins.
Call it their destiny. Their curse.
Heedless of its lips thinned to a line, Harry feathered a tentative kiss against Draco’s mouth. Its cool response did nothing to faze Harry. Instead, he took a small step closer, as if determined to thaw the chill with his body heat. “I’ve sinned, you say. I don’t care if you do. I only wish for those sins to be yours. I’m human too, Draco. I fight my own battles, my own temptations. Like when I want… .” Harry closed his eyes and inhaled, the quiver in his soft voice rippling across his calm surface. “When I took the snakes off, I always dreamed of you sinning for me. With me. That you’d pulled me into the fire with you for once—”
Draco Summoned his wand, his firsts spell ripping the sleeve of Harry’s robe. Harry withdrew his hand by instinct. Draco sliced his wand through the air; gash upon gash tore apart the scarlet robe as he advanced. Harry was quick to retreat; he pulled out his holly wand, neutralising Draco’s hexes or steering unbreakable jars from the shelves to the air to act as moving shields. Sparks flew in the air as their spells stroke the glass.
“So it is all fun and games for you, isn’t it?” Draco shouted through the peal of chimes and echoes inside the shop. “Draco Malfoy, your private tour guide in hell.” A jar transformed to a sandbag and Draco slit its burlap apart; sand rained between him and Harry before turning back into the baroda pearls they had been, their sheen usurped by cracks and holes.
The other jars returned to their positions on the shelf. Parchment and empty phials on the counter took their place in the air as Harry persisted in giving Draco ground. He had not suffered so much as a scratch from Draco’s offensive, despite limiting his tactic to dodging the attack while picking the most inexpensive items in the room to do so.
There was no more cadence to Draco’s spell work. His wand drew wild circles in the closing distance between Harry’s face and his own. The space filled with dancing pieces of broken shards and paper, until the noises wound down to nothing but his own gasps for air. Nothing remained whole except for those containers of potion supplies Harry had refused to destroy. Torn bits of paper covered the floor like autumn leaves; strips of leather flourished from the leather chairs that had used to line up beside the desk. Fate had proven itself a bitch to the mortar and pestle—
There, standing in front of Draco was the most powerful man of the Wizarding World backed to the corner of the shop, half of his Head Auror robe in tatters while the other half lay strewn all over the shop. His right shoulder and arm were bare. Under the narrow band of scarlet that had remained around his waist, long, slanted incisions had removed a good portion of the cloth.
Before Draco’s eyes, the remaining front panel of his robe tore and fell backwards, a long train trailing behind his leg.
There was nothing under the robe, per custom of the wizards of old—per custom of the Malfoys before Draco had begun to dress himself in jeans. There was not a shred of slacks or cotton brief—those atrocities that Harry had always worn below his Auror uniform. Instead, a mere thatch of hair covered his skin, the dense, jet-black triangle tapering to a cock that was gorgeous to behold. It was full and erect, with its gentle curve upward, its blood vessels protruding just enough for their pulses to be seen; a string of pre-cum swung from the slit, just about to break away from the crown.
Harry would have looked like the ancient war god, if not for his cheeks flaming red as his robe, his lips parted and mumbling something Draco couldn’t hear. Lust had darkened the green eyes, reciprocating Draco’s stare—
—on the apex between Draco’s jean-cladded thighs; on the too-tight denim, the zip threatening to show below the stretched fly; on the ripples radiating from Draco’s shaft, hard and eager to free itself from the constraint.
“God. Please. Please.” A prayer repeated over and over in Draco’s ears as his world toppled and his vision rocked to the friction between his thighs, the ferocious beats of a heart flush against his own. Harry had knocked Draco onto the floor to straddle him but his movement was hindered by the scarlet train lumped against his legs. Patience had never been Harry’s virtue; even before his back hit the floor, Draco could already feel the strong thrusts of his hips, his hand shoving into the gap between Draco’s thighs and stroking, grabbing, keen and so eager to keep a flame alive. His lips peppered Draco’s with kisses all the while making the most desperate pleas. His other hand roamed Draco’s hips and thighs and buttocks as if he had never touched denim before; he felt and squeezed the nubs of the rivets as if they were nipples, there to set Draco’s body on fire.
“Chafe” was the first word Draco could mutter under the assault before he slipped his hands between their bodies and curled his fingers around the cock there, eliciting a noise between a moan and a sob from Harry.
If only Draco could pull on the shaft and soothe the skin with the fresh pre-cum smeared on the head; if only … his lust would not abandon him, his desire would not leave him cold like the stone floor.
“Don’t care.” Face tilted upwards, Harry had closed his eyes. “Want …” His hand wrapped around Draco’s and propelled them both into awkward pumping motions, their knuckles tracing the curved profile of Draco’s hard cock under the jeans as if Harry could not bear to not touch it—even through the denim—for one moment. His other hand moved to cup Draco’s balls, splaying fingers probing, challenging the denim’s fortification of the flesh beneath it.
Pressure built in Draco’s abdomen; he too, was ascending to the heights of pleasure. The last reinforcement he had kept under the jeans had weakened; it was damp, its inability to hold Draco back yet another wave that pushed Draco towards the summit. It would be the first time in five years that Draco could satisfy a man and not a beast. If Harry had faith in him—
From Harry’s lips came a croak and the thrusts of his hips came to an abrupt halt. His hand left Draco’s and flew backwards, tore off the interfering train of the Auror robe and tossed it aside. A tub of ointment landed and tumbled beside Harry at that instant and he stabbed his fingers into its spilled content. Harry’s eyes had opened and were watching Draco. He straightened and adjusted his straddle, spread his knees apart with his feet planted on Draco’s side. An arch of his back and his hole was in Draco’s plain view, followed by fingers glistening with oil—
Draco froze, his hands caught in a deadlock between wanting to touch Harry versus bringing release to himself.
Harry’s fingers circled around his puckered rim, much like how they had swept over the buttons of Draco’s shirt; they pressed along the edge and triggered a wave of spasms on the flesh below—much like how they had teased Draco’s zip, toying with the toothed lock, sending notes of seduction but never attempting to break in. More pre-cum dripped onto Draco’s thighs, one translucent string after another. Like tears in slow motion, fallen over years…
The hard cock left Draco’s grasp when Harry retreated, his thighs ghosting Draco’s legs until he was on his knees by Draco’s feet. Lips worried between teeth, he gazed at Draco for a moment before turning his back to him to lean forward, his head rested between his arms on the floor. What remained of the scarlet robe gathered around his waist, far too torn to hide his raised buttocks and the oiled hole between from Draco’s eyes.
“I told you,” came Harry’s whisper. “I’m here to get back what I’ve lost.”
~*~
Zips were contraptions from the Devil.
The claws malfunctioned under Draco’s trembling fingers. The grey cotton caught in between was wet and wrinkled, which was no help to Draco’s effort to pull it out. Harry chanced no glance his way—he wanted Draco to take him by his own volition—until Draco moved to stand before him.
Harry’s head remained bowed. Draco went on his knees and lifted his chin. When Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco, Draco gestured at the mess on his lap, at his erection jutting out from above a lump of fabric.
A soft chuckle. “Spoilsport,” Harry chided. “Stand up.”
Draco stood. Harry examined and felt around the zip for a moment, then pulled the tab upward. Draco was about to protest when Harry pulled it down and the caught fabric came free. He brushed the wrinkles smooth with his fingers—a habit, no doubt, which soon turned into caresses of the swollen shaft through the cotton.
“I was worried that you’d stay in the flat forever,” Harry said, still on his knees before Draco, “or you’d really find another man to be the master of your Castitas. I’d wondered if I’d see someone else with my silver ring, just so your gold one had no reason to leave your finger. I know who I’m bonded with, I’d kept telling myself. He’s a Malfoy. His blood would not let him forget who he is.”
Harry’s palm slipped under the elastic band of the cotton brief under the jeans, the last obstacle between him and Draco’s desire for him. “Then I saw you in my jeans, flaunting them like you own them. I had to wonder—” he raised his chin to watch Draco as he snapped the elastic back into place “—if you’re wearing my pants too. Was it wet because those jeans were rubbing against your cock.” His breath hitched, its heat and moisture teasing Draco’s every nerve. “Were you hard all day against my clothes…”
Harry had been among those who followed him along Diagon Alley, watching him, lusting after him. A stalker and a perv. Draco thrust his hips forward, smothering Harry with his groin; he had expected nothing more.
Nothing less.
“Then I thought I’d wear nothing under the robe like you used to. Just so I’d know.” Harry had leaned backwards, his lips quirked into a smile.
Draco pulled him back close, his fingers combing through the dark hair. It was soft as always, wild but clean. “And?”
“I’ve ordered extra robes.” Harry’s answer was muffled, his voice lost in Draco’s proximity. “Scourgify only goes so far. Those bloody folds teasing me all day... I can’t stand it any more.” With that, Harry’s mouth busied itself with Draco’s underwear, his lips parting and closing, feeling every dip and curve of Draco’s cock beneath the cotton. “I would have waited a little longer before coming here to find you, but for the sake of our citizens … The Head Auror can’t stop thinking about giving head.” With that, he pushed the brief down and swallowed Draco’s cock whole.
The Last Temptation of Draco Malfoy
III. HUMANITAS
He had no idea how they’d got here, fucking like bunnies at the start of a work day. Thinking during sex was never one of Draco’s strengths.
Especially not when Harry was straddling him, Draco’s splayed fingertips dug deep into the supple flesh of his dimpling buttocks, his hips rolling in ways only he knew how to—no doubt related to his legendary steering skills on the broom— and his inner muscles clenched and released Draco’s cock in a rhythm that was at once agonisingly slow and excruciatingly fast.
Came a hard squeeze. Draco barely caught himself on the edge and retaliated. He pulled his cock almost all the way out, aimed for his prize and shoved it back in.
A shout loud enough to shame a banshee pierced through his eardrum. Draco smirked, only to realise he had celebrated his victory too soon. Harry’s warm, wet hole left him cold; he was crawling on wobbly knees and arms to the centre of the bed, where the clothes they had worn and shed twice this morning alone—robe, shirt and jeans—gathered in an unceremonious heap.
Harry flipped onto his back, grabbed his ankles and spread his legs wide.
A snake, fugitive of Harry’s anklet, slithered between his toes. Draco closed his fingers just above the silver braid and licked from the heel and upward, until the tip of his tongue feathered a cold, forked counterpart, flickering as if wary but enticed by a predator’s advance. Under the arch of curled toes, they shared a tentative kiss, Draco and the serpent, before Draco’s mouth retraced its route and travelled along Harry’s shin and thigh, stopping to worship his cock and trailed up the flat but firm abdomen and chest. The mouth that finally received Draco’s was hot and ravenous, sucked and pulling Draco’s lips with its own.
Pushed up with his arms, Draco re-aligned his body to the one below him, his place secured by the welcoming V between Harry’s thighs.
Harry sighed with a smile, crooked his neck upward to offer another kiss as Draco entered him again. The sighs soon fell into moans as Draco leaned forward and folded him in half. His moans turned to hoarse cries when Draco began to pound.
Draco reached for Harry’s hard cock between them and pumped it in the same pace as his thrusts. His thumb rubbed against the slit and spread the fluid on the glans, crossed the frenulum and traced the vein under the shaft.
Harry arched his back and threw his head backwards. His inner walls clenched, his balls drew up and—
—he shoved Draco away with his hand.
Draco stopped.
Harry was panting, each draw of air heavy but shallow. His face turned to one side, his damp black hair cupped his ear shell with gentle curls.
Draco rested his palm on Harry’s abdomen and caressed it in circles. The tension, built up to its breaking point, seemed to find some relief in his touch. He kissed along Harry’s jawline, wetted the dark locks between his lips and nibbled the delicate skin on his ear. “All right?” he asked between his ministrations.
For a moment Harry did not—could not—answer him. He calmed, his breathing smoother and deeper than before, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Wanna come,” he finally whispered, the softness of his voice laced with embarrassment. “Sorry.”
Draco turned his head to face him. Specks of light wavered in the green irises; Harry Potter, Vanquisher of Voldemort, looked uncertain, almost in awe in a Malfoy’s arms. For five years, while Draco had fallen to the temptations from the Dark, Harry had kept the most private, most pleasurable part of his body untouched. The raw intensity at the finale of their coupling, the giant wave about to topple them over the edge still caught him by surprise every now and then. His innocence was almost painful to watch.
But Draco was making amends. These days, he could barely keep his hands off Harry, who was guiding their intertwined fingers to his groin once more. Draco’s own erection, still buried to the hilt in Harry’s heat, pulsed as Harry folded their palms around his cock. He stilled, unsure whether Harry was ready to go on.
“Scared?” Harry asked with a self-depreciating chuckle as he set their hands into motion.
Draco fell against Harry, so their chests were flush against one another. “You wish,” he whispered with a smile and they were soaring again, Harry thrusting his hips upward as Draco pinned him down with his cock.
Blood rang in Draco’s ears. He drove himself deep inside Harry—fast, hard and strong, sure as his heart and powerful as his need. Harry’s hands had abandoned the quest for his own release; he’d grabbed the back of his knees, opening himself for Draco, taking anything, everything that Draco was willing to give. His cries had subsided, his lust reined in by the passion in his eyes, the lush green blazing like an everlasting flame.
Pull me into the fire with you.
Draco dove and he was coming, purging his all inside Harry—his every desire and sin; what made him a wizard, a man. The heat turned them into ashes, a smoke screen—for a moment, Harry’s eyes had lost their focus, unseeing of Draco reaching for and pumping his cock; his gaze locked into Draco’s once more when his body stiffened, when Draco rammed his still hard length against his prostate for the last time and he too, was coming, succumbing to the fire alight in himself.
~*~
“You think we’ll make it this time? Keep our socks on until we’re out the flat?” asked Harry, looking at the ceiling, his hands idly stroking up and down along his own body. He made no effort to avoid the scars and bruises or hide the slight concave of his stomach; every now and then, he clipped his nipples and played with the dark hair on his crotch.
His lack of self-consciousness was formidable—more seductive than the worst and most gratifying of all sins.
Draco, Scourgified and back in his shirt and jeans, sat crossed-legged between Harry’s feet, planted on the Auror robe on which Harry lay, its velvet a spray of scarlet on the bed. “Third time is the charm,” he replied, pushing his hands against Harry’s bent knees to spread them further apart. “And how tardy can we afford to be?”
Harry smiled. “Very tardy.”
The sugary scent of the Knockturn poisons was all but a memory. The smell of sex inundated the bedroom, so strong and intoxicating that Draco could taste its musk and bitter-sweetness on his tongue. The two serpents no doubt had the same idea; distracted from their destination, they slid and twisted on Harry’s stomach, their tongues flicking against the flakes of dry cum on the skin.
“Ticklish,” Harry squirmed, chuckling. Muscles tensed on his thighs and he lifted his hips from the bed.
It seemed to jolt the pair of serpents to their senses. They heeded Draco’s request, slithering down Harry’s abdomen and groin, then dove and made a U-turn, their heads venturing into the shadow under Harry and out of Draco’s sight. Draco took the two tails and joined them at the tip; they thrashed against one another upon contact, battering Harry’s flesh underneath until their bodies were so ensnared in the fight that they locked each another in place.
The silver plait fell against Harry’s hips. Draco acknowledged with his touch every fresh welt the serpents had made.
“When will you take this off me?” Harry’s hand found Draco’s, tracing the serpentine belt with his fingertips. His tone was relaxed, as were his hips rocking as the serpents found their way—
“Maybe never,” Draco drawled with a shrug, all too aware that he would yank it away long before Harry would yield to the temptation to do the same. “You look rather like a bloke enjoying himself.”
Harry tilted his chin downward and watched Draco through half-lidded eyes, his lips curved in a lopsided grin. He straightened his right leg and rested it on Draco shoulder, his anklet feathering Draco with its septuplet of snakes. They stretched their necks and nibbled Draco’s skin with their defanged mouths.
Looking down and under the delicate perineum, Draco caught a glimpse of what Harry intended to show him—the abysmal progress of the snakes, which accounted for prat’s amusement. The long bodies slithered back and forth along the dip between his buttocks, too drunk in the heavy scent of power to find inside Harry. What Draco had left behind in Harry’s hole probably created more confusion—
Harry was laughing. “They aren’t my fans today,” he said.
Draco grabbed his calves, flipped him on his stomach and straddled his back. The Auror robe got caught in the action, a rippling red moat around them. He feigned to strangle Harry with his arms. “Well, Potter. You know what to do.”
“You know the command too, Malfoy. I just taught you how to say it for the umpteenth time yesterday.”
“Only you can speak Parseltongue.”
“Ron did it.”
At the mention of the Weasel, Draco tightened his squeeze. “That would be God’s MacGuffin plan to get that bloody war over with.”
Harry craned his neck sideways and taunted Draco with a grin. “Ron,” he mouthed.
Draco shut him up with a kiss, which took no time to deepen. It stole their breaths and Draco could feel his denim tightening against his groin. “Do it,” he said, sucking and tasting Harry’s mouth. “Or I’ll make you keep the snakes in your arse for a month.”
Even in Draco’s own ears, his threat displayed a severe lack of fangs.
Harry cupped Draco’s face and read his eyes. “You want to watch. You like to watch me do this to myself. Am I right?” he asked softly, although he could not have expected an answer.
Malfoy’s wants were never up for discussion; they were to be acted upon. Draco reminded Harry of this fact by narrowing his eyes.
With a clean elbow strike, a push and a roll, Harry knocked Draco onto the mattress and returned to lounging on his back.
“Brute—” spat Draco, but there was nothing brutal in the green eyes resting upon him, in the swollen lips filled with unspoken promises. Fallen on his knees, Draco crawled towards Harry, hypnotised by the hips rocking once more in a gentle rhythm, the rise and fall of the arch below Harry’s waist, undulating as the lean muscles on Harry’s back.
Between his raised arms, Harry turned to smile at Draco. Then he closed his eyes. The rippling of his spine became more fluid, the curvature more pronounced and a light sound escaped his lips, a hiss crescendoing in waves that matched the movement of his body.
The serpents’ response to Harry’s seductive plea remained unseen, but when Harry’s breath caught and his body tensed and froze, Draco knew the penetration had taken place. As the long bodies moved in deeper, the smooth hisses from Harry’s lips fractured into fragments of Parseltongue and English; sweat beads fell and pooled in the shallow furrows between his eyebrows, along the dip of his lightning scar. His pain was clear; Draco’s half-dried cum was hardly sufficient for a lubricant.
Yet Harry refused to have it any other way, waiting, instead and as always, for the serpents to settle in themselves and find peace in his essence—now inseparable from Draco’s that was spilled inside him. He turned to his side, his one knee bent forward to rest on the bed, soothing his assaulted flesh with light and air. His cock was heavy and his hole stretched wide by the two bodies of silver, its rim red from abuse and spotted with what had expelled from within—
Draco lost his restraint. He bowed on his knees, spread the arse-cheeks with his hands and cleansed the ring of muscle with his tongue. Mine, his mind chanted over and over again. Mine.
To love. To own. To possess.
Harry seemed to hear his prayer. He pulled Draco up, feathered his lips with his thumb as if all that was there was a speck of dust, then drew him in for another long, deep kiss.
~*~
They were three hours late for breakfast. Across the kitchen table, Harry was sipping his tea and glancing at the wall clock, mischief sparkling in his eyes. Draco was watching; two more minutes and a fundraising event that Harry was supposed to attend—by order from the Minister of Magic—would be over.
I have a better arse to kiss at home, he had said.
That had inspired their workday-morning-bunny-fuck, Draco recalled.
The clock chimed. Harry flashed a victorious grin, kicked his chair back and stood, his cock giving a light bounce between the open fronts of his robe. Above his groin was a span of skin and muscles, save for the silver plait that draped from the hipbones and went around below his waist. Draco reached out from his seat and wrapped his hand around Harry’s shaft; he massaged the branching veins with his palm while his fingers pushed back the foreskin to expose the glans.
“Haven’t satisfied your Head-Auror-wear-my-snake-dildo kink yet?” Harry ground his teeth, a futile attempt to hide his smile and his gasp, and opted to uncurl Draco’s fingers one by one. The brushing and friction was no help to his burgeoning erection, in full display as he stepped backwards, hands on his waist and thumbs playing with the snakes—just as they were the belt hoops on Draco’s jeans. Bent and spread like the wings of Veelas, his elbows had drawn the Auror’s robe back further to reveal every inch of his hips and legs.
He turned and walked towards the window outside the kitchen. Taking in the view of Diagon Alley, he said, “I better head back to work now.”
Draco doubted Harry had spotted anything of interest; he, however, was treated with an eyeful of taut arse and vanishing serpents at every sway of the robe.
Harry turned and caught him staring. He quirked his lips and smirked.
Minx.
True to his word, Harry’s robe was soon fastened over his still semi-hard cock, his boots Summoned from the hallway and slipped on his feet. The transformation was no less than a metamorphosis. The lips, once swollen and ravenous, thinned to a tight line; the soft hue in the eyes sharpened like a hawk’s. Tight gloves snapped on Harry’s wrists, their dragon-hide smelled of nature at its most untamed.
Standing before Draco was the wizard known by all, loved by most and feared by the rest. A man at the height of fame, the pinnacle of power.
Who happened to have the silvery serpents from the Malfoy vault tempting him, stretching him for no one but Draco to take.
Floo powder sifted through his gloved fingers. Silver dust danced in the air as Harry stepped onto the hearth, marking Draco with the steel in his gaze. He opened his mouth.
Draco leaned against the wall, his chin lifted upward and his arms folded. After all these years, he could not quell the twists and coils in his stomach at these moments, his lingering fear that just before his departure, Harry would drop a statement that would be the fatal stab in Draco’s pride if not his heart, that Harry already knew of a decree to be made hours later by the Ministry, one that would take the whole world away from Draco’s hands once more.
But then, a reserved—almost shy—smile broke through the smoke. Harry’s voice, soft and earnest, echoed in the rain of ashes.
I’ll be begging for your cock in my arse by eight tonight.
~ Fin
Author:
potteresque_ireKink Showcased: Chastity Devices
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Summary: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had been bonded for five years. But Knockturn Alley still beckoned Draco, its Darkness as irresistible, as irrepressible as the lust in his blood; his weakness compelled him to seek extraordinary measures to ensure his fidelity.
Warnings: Dub-con, Interspecies Erotica (Human/Snake), Cock & Ball Torture, Orgasm Denial, Rimming, Felching, Snowballing, Flogging, Infidelity. Slight Religious Overtone.
Word Count: ~13,500
Draco watched as his black leather boot traversed the shimmering wards of his flat, then his shin and his thigh that were wrapped in a stretch of indigo. The denim clung far too tightly to his skin compared to the air and Warming Charm he'd been accustomed to. As it rubbed against itself, its scratching reminded Draco of sanding wood.
Vanishing Cabinets.
As he followed the winding path that led into Diagon Alley, Draco battled against his instinct to walk with his legs apart. The friction between his thighs was unbearable. He dug his hands into the side pockets, seeking comfort in the copper rivets nailed against the pockets’ corners.
Like an armour, Draco told himself again, and as much a torture to wear—
—with the strip of steel—a zip, if his memory served correctly—pressed against his cock, the silver teeth straining as they locked down to hold the fabric together. The fly shield above the metal narrowed to a rigid seam that invaded the valley between his balls, then collided with others that had raced along his inner thighs and trailed the bisecting line between his arse. The copper-hued threads sewn upon them made sure no eyes could stray, no minds could wander from the temptations hid away below. The knob where the seams met was right below where Draco was the most delicate and sensitive; he could feel it pressing against his perineum whenever he sat, whenever he lifted his leg a breath’s distance more than a usual step would need.
Only Muggles could embrace a garment so obscene. Even the Knockturn vermins would refuse to touch such a filthy design.
The denim—tough and unyielding compared to the silk Draco was accustomed to—left little of what the rest of the garment was concealing to imagination, its every form and curve, its beauty and flaws. Draco had long, lean legs—the jeans had needed tailoring spells to fit; his calves had a mild curve outward; his hipbones broke the smooth line that ran from his torso to his thighs, his waist had a strong dip, marked by an imprint of his spine at the back.
And just above where his left thigh began, the stretched ripples of the fabric gave away the length, the girth of his cock.
People on the street were watching. The morning rush neither prevented them from slowing their pace nor their stares, reminiscent of those Draco had endured in the months after the war. He held his head high and strode with wide, sure steps. The jeans assaulted his senses further. Blood was pooling below his abdomen, hot and thick like quicksilver.
All eyes remained upon him.
Harry had performed his Auror duties as usual, The Prophet had yet to catch wind of what would be, no doubt, a headline-worthy piece of gossip on their troubled marriage. It was also hardly news when the Apothecary closed for a week. Draco travelled often to collect exotic fossils and herbs.
Could his Muggle attire be sufficient to pique this curiosity?
What about a Malfoy in Muggle attire?
Draco could not ignore the eyes—not when they drank in the sight of him like this, not when they crept upward along his legs and lingered on his groin, as if Legilimency could penetrate denim and read his thoughts through his heavily guarded flesh. He could not ignore the attention and his power to mesmerize, just as he could never ignore those eyes watching him from the mouth of Knockturn Alley, with darkness sinking in the street while Diagon Alley remained bathed in the setting sun—eyes that caught the light in his hair and his face, eyes that met his own before trailing downward, as if they had seen the serpents reining him in. Eyes that questioned things for which Draco had no answers:
Why yearn for control when power is the man who has you, who holds the world in his hands?
Why hold yourself back when all can be yours to take, when all is what you have lost?
Diagon Alley seemed to extend into infinity. By the time Draco cast Alohomora on the steps at the other end of the street, sweat drenched his forehead and glued the white Oxford shirt on his back. The mess under his jeans would have shown through the fabric if not for its rich indigo hue. With the last remnant of his strength, he closed the door and fell against it.
It was then he dared to reach down, one hand just to offer support as the other pulled down the zip notch by notch. He barely had the strength and will power to pull it down all the way—the teeth kept getting stuck in his trembling hand—and he slipped his hand into the opening, between his flesh and the patch of denim that had turned heavier and darker than the rest of the jeans.
Liquid heat exploded in the tight space, over Draco’s fingers and the length of his erection. Spurts of white dotted his flesh and Draco rubbed them along his shaft, pumping his cock until the last drop of cum glistened on the floor beside where he had collapsed.
He lay there, panting. He had to open the shop soon but felt far too boneless, far too sated to reach or Summon for his wand.
A memory slipped into the haze of his mind …
His arm swung back, Draco patted the back pocket of his jeans and found the packet of Muggle tissue. He took out all the pieces, crumpled them into a white bouquet and brushed it against his hip, just above the loosened waistband of his jeans. The material felt softer, more magical than Draco had ever imagined. A smile on his lips and a tear in his eyes, he wrapped the tissue against his cock and wiped himself clean.
Potions, indeed, had the delicate power to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. Work proved to be sufficient distraction and Draco had, between brewing and negotiations, made a month’s worth of trips back and forth between his flat and his shop. He had learned to maintain his natural gait at all times in his jeans, had got used to the way they sealed his groin and grazed his skin.
He had grown accustomed to their smell, the hints of spilled coffee, fish and chips, of cigarettes and smog that no cleaning spells could ever remove. They belonged to a different world.
Every morning, Draco would lift the jeans to its nose and inhale, taking in the smell of him. He would do so until splotches of white soiled his nude reflection on the mirror, until they ran down the smooth surface like tears of pearl.
Sated, Draco would gather his strength and set foot upon Diagon Alley, where the eyes continued to watch him. Taunt and tease him.
At first he had wondered whether he was obsessed with them, dreaming up their presence, or whether they were obsessed with him, unable or unwilling to cast their sight on to anything else. His epiphany came when the eyes found their way into his shop, on faces he had yet to recognise. The ravenous stares told Draco all he needed to know. He was transformed into an object of desire in the outfit of another man, who just happened to be the most revered wizard ever lived, the demi-God who had walked amongst them.
Was there a spell in the pockets of those jeans? A curse at the taper of the fly? Did it leave a mark on Draco, a smell of power, perhaps, distinct from that of the serpents, drawing in its own predators?
No matter. The denim tautened against his flesh and the steel teeth locked against his cock were reminder and proof of whom Draco belonged to.
Somewhere in the Manor, he was certain, a Malfoy lexicon was gathering dust and had this printed under to love: synonym: to own, to possess.
Of course I own you, Malfoy.
Lead not into temptations but deliver from evil. The old Muggle jeans had renewed Draco’s hopes after his gold band and Castitas had failed, even if they carried no powerful magic to bind him to a promise or capacity to punish him should he break a vow. This guard was a part of Draco only because he had chosen it to be; it was effective only because it had touched the skin and shared the body heat of its owner—and Draco—so often.
The eyes followed Draco as he entered through the wards of No.1, Diagon. There was one redeeming quality about them—they had drowned out the few that could have preyed on him, any evening, at the junction between Knockturn and Diagon Alley.
Forty days after Draco’s emancipation, Harry stood face to face with him in the Apothecary.
Leaning against the counter, Harry’s folded arms were lost in the rich red folds of his Auror robe. “What are you up to, Malfoy?” he asked.
On the wall behind him, the clock chimed. Six o’clock. Six years ago, Harry Potter had come into the shop with the same question, except his tone had been steeped with spite, his stare sharp with the daggers flashing within.
“What do you want?” Draco replied, his drawl kept to a minimum. Around them, the eyes that had been fixated on him less than five minutes ago had all abandoned him for Harry.
Sycophants.
“Something I’ve lost.” Harry’s gaze swept through the farthest corner of Draco’s mind, touched the deepest alcove of his soul. The simplicity of his words, the gentleness of his voice, threatened to hypnotise Draco’s rage—
“Talk to the Aurors.”
“Tossers, those people are. I just left their office.” He smiled and straightened, his arms unfolding momentarily before refolding and resting against the counter again, as if he had forgotten how to comfortably place them.
Such as, Draco’s mind supplemented the vision, with his hands on his waist, his elbow bent and pulled backwards at a sharp angle. Draco had used to find him like that on Sunday mornings, nude above his waist and his thumbs toying with the belt hoop of his favorite jeans, deciding what to thaw for dinner in front of the icebox.
“The shop’s closing at six,” Harry spoke again while Draco pulled his thumbs out from the belt hoops from the same jeans. Since when had he picked up that habit? “I want to take you to dinner.”
“The Apothecary’s open late tonight.”
Harry studied Draco for a moment and tilted his head towards the customers. “The shop’s about to close.” His announcement was warm but firm. “Place your prescriptions on the counter and if there’s anything to ring up—”
The door locked at Harry’s command when Draco’s fist flew towards his face.
Auror training had raised Harry’s combat skill far beyond Draco’s. “Don’t,” he whispered, catching Draco’s wrist.
Draco’s free hand had retrieved his wand when he heard “take off your ring”.
The wand fell on the floor with a clatter. Harry’s face, so impassive before him, bore an eerie resemblance to the one that had peered at him back in Madam Malkins, a blank parchment yet to be soiled by hatred and ignited with love. The room before his eyes wavered until all he could see was his wrist in Harry’s hand; the Dark Mark, the forked tongue of the serpent against the vow I will not tell lies.
He yanked the gold band it loose from his finger and threw it across the room. Its chrono-magic collided against the wall clock’s, sending the minute arm into a frantic spin.
“Out!” Draco cried, but no sound came from his lips. The bastard stayed put. He hurtled himself across the counter on hands and feet—those damned jeans had permitted that— and Summoned his wand.
The next moment his wand tip pressed against the throat of Harry Potter.
“Did you hear me…” He was gasping and he hated himself for it. “Get. Out.”
“The ring,” Harry said finally. “You took it off yourself.” He reached out—not to defend himself against the wand, but to wrap his fingers against Draco’s free hand.
Draco’s wand fell against his side.
Harry took the chance to draw closer. “Only we can take off the rings—they’re forged that way. Your idea, remember?”
True. The gold and silver bands carried the ancient spell at Draco’s insistence. Too many enemies of the Light and the Dark lurked in the shadows, dreaming of a chance to possess them and temper with their fate. The spell permitted the rings to recognise their owners by temperament rather than by magical signatures, which were fickle proofs of identity, prone to the effects of age and environment.
They’re just … metal, Harry had argued, unless we make them to be more than that.
But to Draco, they were so more than that. The rings were tokens of the bond between them. They carried promises—mortal, perhaps, but more tangible, more within reach than answers to any prayer. They were declarations to the world that Harry and Draco belonged to one another.
That they possessed one another; that this bond between them would always be theirs to uphold, theirs to destroy.
“I could tell the Wraith had gone for your ring.” Harry sighed, his bare ring finger found Draco’s and curled against it. “Saw your bone around it but it had gone nowhere; you, an apothecary owner, made an apprentice’s mistake: you left a magical item in a deep skin wound. I’d like to think it’s because—“ he gave their intertwined fingers a firm squeeze, “—but I saw the snakes had gone so deep…“ he shook his head, his lips curled into a sad smile. “I’d known you couldn’t remove the ring. It didn’t know who you were anymore.”
His gaze met Draco’s. “Then I looked at you and I wondered if I still recognised you, or if I, too, had already lost you to Castitas. Chastity.” he paused, his eyes intent on Draco’s every reaction when he added softly, “Purity…defined by your grandfather. I have no proof, Draco, but looking back, a long line of Dark Creatures, even those who’d never mingled with wizards, have shown themselves to you. They fell on their knees. They let you do… things to them. They didn’t seduce you, Draco. Your snakes seduced them. You’re the bait because you’d relied on and given more and more of yourself away to Castitas.”
That had been Harry’s judgment then—by tempting the Dark, Draco bore the full burden of his sins. His blood went cold—his eternally sinister blood, rushing in his ears as it would in its lifelong pursue of power. No wonder Harry had opted to walk out of Draco’s life and discarded his ring without a warning, without an offer of yet another chance of redemption.
One that Draco had not deserved.
But he was Harry Potter and Draco, a Malfoy. The Saviour and the damned. The saint and the sinner. Harry was not only supposed to bring judgment against Draco, he was also meant to chastise him, purge him of his sins.
Call it their destiny. Their curse.
Heedless of its lips thinned to a line, Harry feathered a tentative kiss against Draco’s mouth. Its cool response did nothing to faze Harry. Instead, he took a small step closer, as if determined to thaw the chill with his body heat. “I’ve sinned, you say. I don’t care if you do. I only wish for those sins to be yours. I’m human too, Draco. I fight my own battles, my own temptations. Like when I want… .” Harry closed his eyes and inhaled, the quiver in his soft voice rippling across his calm surface. “When I took the snakes off, I always dreamed of you sinning for me. With me. That you’d pulled me into the fire with you for once—”
Draco Summoned his wand, his firsts spell ripping the sleeve of Harry’s robe. Harry withdrew his hand by instinct. Draco sliced his wand through the air; gash upon gash tore apart the scarlet robe as he advanced. Harry was quick to retreat; he pulled out his holly wand, neutralising Draco’s hexes or steering unbreakable jars from the shelves to the air to act as moving shields. Sparks flew in the air as their spells stroke the glass.
“So it is all fun and games for you, isn’t it?” Draco shouted through the peal of chimes and echoes inside the shop. “Draco Malfoy, your private tour guide in hell.” A jar transformed to a sandbag and Draco slit its burlap apart; sand rained between him and Harry before turning back into the baroda pearls they had been, their sheen usurped by cracks and holes.
The other jars returned to their positions on the shelf. Parchment and empty phials on the counter took their place in the air as Harry persisted in giving Draco ground. He had not suffered so much as a scratch from Draco’s offensive, despite limiting his tactic to dodging the attack while picking the most inexpensive items in the room to do so.
There was no more cadence to Draco’s spell work. His wand drew wild circles in the closing distance between Harry’s face and his own. The space filled with dancing pieces of broken shards and paper, until the noises wound down to nothing but his own gasps for air. Nothing remained whole except for those containers of potion supplies Harry had refused to destroy. Torn bits of paper covered the floor like autumn leaves; strips of leather flourished from the leather chairs that had used to line up beside the desk. Fate had proven itself a bitch to the mortar and pestle—
There, standing in front of Draco was the most powerful man of the Wizarding World backed to the corner of the shop, half of his Head Auror robe in tatters while the other half lay strewn all over the shop. His right shoulder and arm were bare. Under the narrow band of scarlet that had remained around his waist, long, slanted incisions had removed a good portion of the cloth.
Before Draco’s eyes, the remaining front panel of his robe tore and fell backwards, a long train trailing behind his leg.
There was nothing under the robe, per custom of the wizards of old—per custom of the Malfoys before Draco had begun to dress himself in jeans. There was not a shred of slacks or cotton brief—those atrocities that Harry had always worn below his Auror uniform. Instead, a mere thatch of hair covered his skin, the dense, jet-black triangle tapering to a cock that was gorgeous to behold. It was full and erect, with its gentle curve upward, its blood vessels protruding just enough for their pulses to be seen; a string of pre-cum swung from the slit, just about to break away from the crown.
Harry would have looked like the ancient war god, if not for his cheeks flaming red as his robe, his lips parted and mumbling something Draco couldn’t hear. Lust had darkened the green eyes, reciprocating Draco’s stare—
—on the apex between Draco’s jean-cladded thighs; on the too-tight denim, the zip threatening to show below the stretched fly; on the ripples radiating from Draco’s shaft, hard and eager to free itself from the constraint.
“God. Please. Please.” A prayer repeated over and over in Draco’s ears as his world toppled and his vision rocked to the friction between his thighs, the ferocious beats of a heart flush against his own. Harry had knocked Draco onto the floor to straddle him but his movement was hindered by the scarlet train lumped against his legs. Patience had never been Harry’s virtue; even before his back hit the floor, Draco could already feel the strong thrusts of his hips, his hand shoving into the gap between Draco’s thighs and stroking, grabbing, keen and so eager to keep a flame alive. His lips peppered Draco’s with kisses all the while making the most desperate pleas. His other hand roamed Draco’s hips and thighs and buttocks as if he had never touched denim before; he felt and squeezed the nubs of the rivets as if they were nipples, there to set Draco’s body on fire.
“Chafe” was the first word Draco could mutter under the assault before he slipped his hands between their bodies and curled his fingers around the cock there, eliciting a noise between a moan and a sob from Harry.
If only Draco could pull on the shaft and soothe the skin with the fresh pre-cum smeared on the head; if only … his lust would not abandon him, his desire would not leave him cold like the stone floor.
“Don’t care.” Face tilted upwards, Harry had closed his eyes. “Want …” His hand wrapped around Draco’s and propelled them both into awkward pumping motions, their knuckles tracing the curved profile of Draco’s hard cock under the jeans as if Harry could not bear to not touch it—even through the denim—for one moment. His other hand moved to cup Draco’s balls, splaying fingers probing, challenging the denim’s fortification of the flesh beneath it.
Pressure built in Draco’s abdomen; he too, was ascending to the heights of pleasure. The last reinforcement he had kept under the jeans had weakened; it was damp, its inability to hold Draco back yet another wave that pushed Draco towards the summit. It would be the first time in five years that Draco could satisfy a man and not a beast. If Harry had faith in him—
From Harry’s lips came a croak and the thrusts of his hips came to an abrupt halt. His hand left Draco’s and flew backwards, tore off the interfering train of the Auror robe and tossed it aside. A tub of ointment landed and tumbled beside Harry at that instant and he stabbed his fingers into its spilled content. Harry’s eyes had opened and were watching Draco. He straightened and adjusted his straddle, spread his knees apart with his feet planted on Draco’s side. An arch of his back and his hole was in Draco’s plain view, followed by fingers glistening with oil—
Draco froze, his hands caught in a deadlock between wanting to touch Harry versus bringing release to himself.
Harry’s fingers circled around his puckered rim, much like how they had swept over the buttons of Draco’s shirt; they pressed along the edge and triggered a wave of spasms on the flesh below—much like how they had teased Draco’s zip, toying with the toothed lock, sending notes of seduction but never attempting to break in. More pre-cum dripped onto Draco’s thighs, one translucent string after another. Like tears in slow motion, fallen over years…
The hard cock left Draco’s grasp when Harry retreated, his thighs ghosting Draco’s legs until he was on his knees by Draco’s feet. Lips worried between teeth, he gazed at Draco for a moment before turning his back to him to lean forward, his head rested between his arms on the floor. What remained of the scarlet robe gathered around his waist, far too torn to hide his raised buttocks and the oiled hole between from Draco’s eyes.
“I told you,” came Harry’s whisper. “I’m here to get back what I’ve lost.”
Zips were contraptions from the Devil.
The claws malfunctioned under Draco’s trembling fingers. The grey cotton caught in between was wet and wrinkled, which was no help to Draco’s effort to pull it out. Harry chanced no glance his way—he wanted Draco to take him by his own volition—until Draco moved to stand before him.
Harry’s head remained bowed. Draco went on his knees and lifted his chin. When Harry raised his eyes to meet Draco, Draco gestured at the mess on his lap, at his erection jutting out from above a lump of fabric.
A soft chuckle. “Spoilsport,” Harry chided. “Stand up.”
Draco stood. Harry examined and felt around the zip for a moment, then pulled the tab upward. Draco was about to protest when Harry pulled it down and the caught fabric came free. He brushed the wrinkles smooth with his fingers—a habit, no doubt, which soon turned into caresses of the swollen shaft through the cotton.
“I was worried that you’d stay in the flat forever,” Harry said, still on his knees before Draco, “or you’d really find another man to be the master of your Castitas. I’d wondered if I’d see someone else with my silver ring, just so your gold one had no reason to leave your finger. I know who I’m bonded with, I’d kept telling myself. He’s a Malfoy. His blood would not let him forget who he is.”
Harry’s palm slipped under the elastic band of the cotton brief under the jeans, the last obstacle between him and Draco’s desire for him. “Then I saw you in my jeans, flaunting them like you own them. I had to wonder—” he raised his chin to watch Draco as he snapped the elastic back into place “—if you’re wearing my pants too. Was it wet because those jeans were rubbing against your cock.” His breath hitched, its heat and moisture teasing Draco’s every nerve. “Were you hard all day against my clothes…”
Harry had been among those who followed him along Diagon Alley, watching him, lusting after him. A stalker and a perv. Draco thrust his hips forward, smothering Harry with his groin; he had expected nothing more.
Nothing less.
“Then I thought I’d wear nothing under the robe like you used to. Just so I’d know.” Harry had leaned backwards, his lips quirked into a smile.
Draco pulled him back close, his fingers combing through the dark hair. It was soft as always, wild but clean. “And?”
“I’ve ordered extra robes.” Harry’s answer was muffled, his voice lost in Draco’s proximity. “Scourgify only goes so far. Those bloody folds teasing me all day... I can’t stand it any more.” With that, Harry’s mouth busied itself with Draco’s underwear, his lips parting and closing, feeling every dip and curve of Draco’s cock beneath the cotton. “I would have waited a little longer before coming here to find you, but for the sake of our citizens … The Head Auror can’t stop thinking about giving head.” With that, he pushed the brief down and swallowed Draco’s cock whole.
He had no idea how they’d got here, fucking like bunnies at the start of a work day. Thinking during sex was never one of Draco’s strengths.
Especially not when Harry was straddling him, Draco’s splayed fingertips dug deep into the supple flesh of his dimpling buttocks, his hips rolling in ways only he knew how to—no doubt related to his legendary steering skills on the broom— and his inner muscles clenched and released Draco’s cock in a rhythm that was at once agonisingly slow and excruciatingly fast.
Came a hard squeeze. Draco barely caught himself on the edge and retaliated. He pulled his cock almost all the way out, aimed for his prize and shoved it back in.
A shout loud enough to shame a banshee pierced through his eardrum. Draco smirked, only to realise he had celebrated his victory too soon. Harry’s warm, wet hole left him cold; he was crawling on wobbly knees and arms to the centre of the bed, where the clothes they had worn and shed twice this morning alone—robe, shirt and jeans—gathered in an unceremonious heap.
Harry flipped onto his back, grabbed his ankles and spread his legs wide.
A snake, fugitive of Harry’s anklet, slithered between his toes. Draco closed his fingers just above the silver braid and licked from the heel and upward, until the tip of his tongue feathered a cold, forked counterpart, flickering as if wary but enticed by a predator’s advance. Under the arch of curled toes, they shared a tentative kiss, Draco and the serpent, before Draco’s mouth retraced its route and travelled along Harry’s shin and thigh, stopping to worship his cock and trailed up the flat but firm abdomen and chest. The mouth that finally received Draco’s was hot and ravenous, sucked and pulling Draco’s lips with its own.
Pushed up with his arms, Draco re-aligned his body to the one below him, his place secured by the welcoming V between Harry’s thighs.
Harry sighed with a smile, crooked his neck upward to offer another kiss as Draco entered him again. The sighs soon fell into moans as Draco leaned forward and folded him in half. His moans turned to hoarse cries when Draco began to pound.
Draco reached for Harry’s hard cock between them and pumped it in the same pace as his thrusts. His thumb rubbed against the slit and spread the fluid on the glans, crossed the frenulum and traced the vein under the shaft.
Harry arched his back and threw his head backwards. His inner walls clenched, his balls drew up and—
—he shoved Draco away with his hand.
Draco stopped.
Harry was panting, each draw of air heavy but shallow. His face turned to one side, his damp black hair cupped his ear shell with gentle curls.
Draco rested his palm on Harry’s abdomen and caressed it in circles. The tension, built up to its breaking point, seemed to find some relief in his touch. He kissed along Harry’s jawline, wetted the dark locks between his lips and nibbled the delicate skin on his ear. “All right?” he asked between his ministrations.
For a moment Harry did not—could not—answer him. He calmed, his breathing smoother and deeper than before, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Wanna come,” he finally whispered, the softness of his voice laced with embarrassment. “Sorry.”
Draco turned his head to face him. Specks of light wavered in the green irises; Harry Potter, Vanquisher of Voldemort, looked uncertain, almost in awe in a Malfoy’s arms. For five years, while Draco had fallen to the temptations from the Dark, Harry had kept the most private, most pleasurable part of his body untouched. The raw intensity at the finale of their coupling, the giant wave about to topple them over the edge still caught him by surprise every now and then. His innocence was almost painful to watch.
But Draco was making amends. These days, he could barely keep his hands off Harry, who was guiding their intertwined fingers to his groin once more. Draco’s own erection, still buried to the hilt in Harry’s heat, pulsed as Harry folded their palms around his cock. He stilled, unsure whether Harry was ready to go on.
“Scared?” Harry asked with a self-depreciating chuckle as he set their hands into motion.
Draco fell against Harry, so their chests were flush against one another. “You wish,” he whispered with a smile and they were soaring again, Harry thrusting his hips upward as Draco pinned him down with his cock.
Blood rang in Draco’s ears. He drove himself deep inside Harry—fast, hard and strong, sure as his heart and powerful as his need. Harry’s hands had abandoned the quest for his own release; he’d grabbed the back of his knees, opening himself for Draco, taking anything, everything that Draco was willing to give. His cries had subsided, his lust reined in by the passion in his eyes, the lush green blazing like an everlasting flame.
Pull me into the fire with you.
Draco dove and he was coming, purging his all inside Harry—his every desire and sin; what made him a wizard, a man. The heat turned them into ashes, a smoke screen—for a moment, Harry’s eyes had lost their focus, unseeing of Draco reaching for and pumping his cock; his gaze locked into Draco’s once more when his body stiffened, when Draco rammed his still hard length against his prostate for the last time and he too, was coming, succumbing to the fire alight in himself.
“You think we’ll make it this time? Keep our socks on until we’re out the flat?” asked Harry, looking at the ceiling, his hands idly stroking up and down along his own body. He made no effort to avoid the scars and bruises or hide the slight concave of his stomach; every now and then, he clipped his nipples and played with the dark hair on his crotch.
His lack of self-consciousness was formidable—more seductive than the worst and most gratifying of all sins.
Draco, Scourgified and back in his shirt and jeans, sat crossed-legged between Harry’s feet, planted on the Auror robe on which Harry lay, its velvet a spray of scarlet on the bed. “Third time is the charm,” he replied, pushing his hands against Harry’s bent knees to spread them further apart. “And how tardy can we afford to be?”
Harry smiled. “Very tardy.”
The sugary scent of the Knockturn poisons was all but a memory. The smell of sex inundated the bedroom, so strong and intoxicating that Draco could taste its musk and bitter-sweetness on his tongue. The two serpents no doubt had the same idea; distracted from their destination, they slid and twisted on Harry’s stomach, their tongues flicking against the flakes of dry cum on the skin.
“Ticklish,” Harry squirmed, chuckling. Muscles tensed on his thighs and he lifted his hips from the bed.
It seemed to jolt the pair of serpents to their senses. They heeded Draco’s request, slithering down Harry’s abdomen and groin, then dove and made a U-turn, their heads venturing into the shadow under Harry and out of Draco’s sight. Draco took the two tails and joined them at the tip; they thrashed against one another upon contact, battering Harry’s flesh underneath until their bodies were so ensnared in the fight that they locked each another in place.
The silver plait fell against Harry’s hips. Draco acknowledged with his touch every fresh welt the serpents had made.
“When will you take this off me?” Harry’s hand found Draco’s, tracing the serpentine belt with his fingertips. His tone was relaxed, as were his hips rocking as the serpents found their way—
“Maybe never,” Draco drawled with a shrug, all too aware that he would yank it away long before Harry would yield to the temptation to do the same. “You look rather like a bloke enjoying himself.”
Harry tilted his chin downward and watched Draco through half-lidded eyes, his lips curved in a lopsided grin. He straightened his right leg and rested it on Draco shoulder, his anklet feathering Draco with its septuplet of snakes. They stretched their necks and nibbled Draco’s skin with their defanged mouths.
Looking down and under the delicate perineum, Draco caught a glimpse of what Harry intended to show him—the abysmal progress of the snakes, which accounted for prat’s amusement. The long bodies slithered back and forth along the dip between his buttocks, too drunk in the heavy scent of power to find inside Harry. What Draco had left behind in Harry’s hole probably created more confusion—
Harry was laughing. “They aren’t my fans today,” he said.
Draco grabbed his calves, flipped him on his stomach and straddled his back. The Auror robe got caught in the action, a rippling red moat around them. He feigned to strangle Harry with his arms. “Well, Potter. You know what to do.”
“You know the command too, Malfoy. I just taught you how to say it for the umpteenth time yesterday.”
“Only you can speak Parseltongue.”
“Ron did it.”
At the mention of the Weasel, Draco tightened his squeeze. “That would be God’s MacGuffin plan to get that bloody war over with.”
Harry craned his neck sideways and taunted Draco with a grin. “Ron,” he mouthed.
Draco shut him up with a kiss, which took no time to deepen. It stole their breaths and Draco could feel his denim tightening against his groin. “Do it,” he said, sucking and tasting Harry’s mouth. “Or I’ll make you keep the snakes in your arse for a month.”
Even in Draco’s own ears, his threat displayed a severe lack of fangs.
Harry cupped Draco’s face and read his eyes. “You want to watch. You like to watch me do this to myself. Am I right?” he asked softly, although he could not have expected an answer.
Malfoy’s wants were never up for discussion; they were to be acted upon. Draco reminded Harry of this fact by narrowing his eyes.
With a clean elbow strike, a push and a roll, Harry knocked Draco onto the mattress and returned to lounging on his back.
“Brute—” spat Draco, but there was nothing brutal in the green eyes resting upon him, in the swollen lips filled with unspoken promises. Fallen on his knees, Draco crawled towards Harry, hypnotised by the hips rocking once more in a gentle rhythm, the rise and fall of the arch below Harry’s waist, undulating as the lean muscles on Harry’s back.
Between his raised arms, Harry turned to smile at Draco. Then he closed his eyes. The rippling of his spine became more fluid, the curvature more pronounced and a light sound escaped his lips, a hiss crescendoing in waves that matched the movement of his body.
The serpents’ response to Harry’s seductive plea remained unseen, but when Harry’s breath caught and his body tensed and froze, Draco knew the penetration had taken place. As the long bodies moved in deeper, the smooth hisses from Harry’s lips fractured into fragments of Parseltongue and English; sweat beads fell and pooled in the shallow furrows between his eyebrows, along the dip of his lightning scar. His pain was clear; Draco’s half-dried cum was hardly sufficient for a lubricant.
Yet Harry refused to have it any other way, waiting, instead and as always, for the serpents to settle in themselves and find peace in his essence—now inseparable from Draco’s that was spilled inside him. He turned to his side, his one knee bent forward to rest on the bed, soothing his assaulted flesh with light and air. His cock was heavy and his hole stretched wide by the two bodies of silver, its rim red from abuse and spotted with what had expelled from within—
Draco lost his restraint. He bowed on his knees, spread the arse-cheeks with his hands and cleansed the ring of muscle with his tongue. Mine, his mind chanted over and over again. Mine.
To love. To own. To possess.
Harry seemed to hear his prayer. He pulled Draco up, feathered his lips with his thumb as if all that was there was a speck of dust, then drew him in for another long, deep kiss.
They were three hours late for breakfast. Across the kitchen table, Harry was sipping his tea and glancing at the wall clock, mischief sparkling in his eyes. Draco was watching; two more minutes and a fundraising event that Harry was supposed to attend—by order from the Minister of Magic—would be over.
I have a better arse to kiss at home, he had said.
That had inspired their workday-morning-bunny-fuck, Draco recalled.
The clock chimed. Harry flashed a victorious grin, kicked his chair back and stood, his cock giving a light bounce between the open fronts of his robe. Above his groin was a span of skin and muscles, save for the silver plait that draped from the hipbones and went around below his waist. Draco reached out from his seat and wrapped his hand around Harry’s shaft; he massaged the branching veins with his palm while his fingers pushed back the foreskin to expose the glans.
“Haven’t satisfied your Head-Auror-wear-my-snake-dildo kink yet?” Harry ground his teeth, a futile attempt to hide his smile and his gasp, and opted to uncurl Draco’s fingers one by one. The brushing and friction was no help to his burgeoning erection, in full display as he stepped backwards, hands on his waist and thumbs playing with the snakes—just as they were the belt hoops on Draco’s jeans. Bent and spread like the wings of Veelas, his elbows had drawn the Auror’s robe back further to reveal every inch of his hips and legs.
He turned and walked towards the window outside the kitchen. Taking in the view of Diagon Alley, he said, “I better head back to work now.”
Draco doubted Harry had spotted anything of interest; he, however, was treated with an eyeful of taut arse and vanishing serpents at every sway of the robe.
Harry turned and caught him staring. He quirked his lips and smirked.
Minx.
True to his word, Harry’s robe was soon fastened over his still semi-hard cock, his boots Summoned from the hallway and slipped on his feet. The transformation was no less than a metamorphosis. The lips, once swollen and ravenous, thinned to a tight line; the soft hue in the eyes sharpened like a hawk’s. Tight gloves snapped on Harry’s wrists, their dragon-hide smelled of nature at its most untamed.
Standing before Draco was the wizard known by all, loved by most and feared by the rest. A man at the height of fame, the pinnacle of power.
Who happened to have the silvery serpents from the Malfoy vault tempting him, stretching him for no one but Draco to take.
Floo powder sifted through his gloved fingers. Silver dust danced in the air as Harry stepped onto the hearth, marking Draco with the steel in his gaze. He opened his mouth.
Draco leaned against the wall, his chin lifted upward and his arms folded. After all these years, he could not quell the twists and coils in his stomach at these moments, his lingering fear that just before his departure, Harry would drop a statement that would be the fatal stab in Draco’s pride if not his heart, that Harry already knew of a decree to be made hours later by the Ministry, one that would take the whole world away from Draco’s hands once more.
But then, a reserved—almost shy—smile broke through the smoke. Harry’s voice, soft and earnest, echoed in the rain of ashes.
I’ll be begging for your cock in my arse by eight tonight.
~ Fin
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Date: 2010-02-17 07:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 07:55 am (UTC)I didn't know I liked Harry as a Head Auror, but apparently I do because wow. That scene at the Apothecary and then at the end Haven’t satisfied your Head-Auror-wear-my-snake-dildo kink yet? Just wow. There was something so Harry-like in your Harry, and I loved him. I also liked the tone throughout the story, so intense and powerful. Really well done.
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Date: 2010-02-18 01:00 am (UTC)And thank you, thank you for liking my Harry. I always find Harry difficult to write well... we know so much about him from the books and he's not an expressive individual who is easy to read by someone outside his close circle. But he is intense in my mind... still water runs deep type.
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Date: 2010-02-18 01:10 am (UTC)I have a bit of a weakness for Parseltongue, and I think the fact that Harry can speak to the snakes in canon has the implication that he can tame it and overpower it if he wants to. Power is interesting in that it is created from the oppressed..how strong it is really depends on how far, how much they are willing to submit. The beast is as much ours to destroy as it was ours to create..it is always a part of us but how much we are going to be led by it is our choice :).
Thank you so much for reading and commenting!
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Date: 2010-02-17 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 01:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 01:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 01:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 01:32 am (UTC)It's...a very sexual story, but at the same time, it's a lot about emotions, and those are what draw me more than anything. And throughout the whole thing, more than the sexuality (bordering on perversity at times), there's just this beautiful, subtle undertone of so many feelings and thoughts.
I just had to say /something/, though you've left very little to say~
Congratulations, and please continue writing in the future. I'll be looking forward to more awesome fic.
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Date: 2010-02-18 01:50 am (UTC)Thank you so much for this wonderful review! It's probably the most NC17 story I've written to date and it's a bit challenging, I admit. But I'm so glad to hear from you that you can read the emotions and perversity behind all the actions; while the sexual acts are not necessarily very different, what one gives and takes from it can differ vastly and I was hoping to inject this variation into the fic. :))))
*Hugs!*
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Date: 2010-02-18 01:53 am (UTC)Nah, but, yah. This was so, SO good.
The feeling I got reminded me of a yaoi manga I particularly like, called Bondz. Bondz really isn't the same, in terms of all the dark themes in your fic, but it has that same feeling of being a really sexual story, but being somehow more about the emotions in and around the sex.
If you're interested, I can link you to the scanlation. (I should warn you, it's somewhat graphic, but nowhere /near/ as bad as some yaoi manga.)
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Date: 2010-02-18 06:51 am (UTC)Am not familiar with Anime and Manga at all. Somehow I have trouble following the panels... :D. Not a smart cookie at that, for sure. :D But yeah, if you happen to have a link I can try it! Who knows, my brain barrier may have broken by now! :)
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Date: 2010-02-18 06:57 am (UTC)http://www.mangafox.com/manga/b_nd_z/
Right to left reading. The first chapter is the one that I thought of while reading your fic, but the whole manga is pretty good. :) Let me know if you like it.
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Date: 2010-02-18 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 06:54 am (UTC)Thanks so much for reading!
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Date: 2010-02-18 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 06:49 am (UTC)*Pats Snake!Draco and gets a snake bite from messing up his hair* :DDD
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Date: 2010-02-18 09:27 am (UTC)A chastity device made of snakes is such a wonderfully creative thing. The story broke my heart in places, but then you put it together again by the end. Beautifully done. ♥
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Date: 2010-02-19 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 06:21 pm (UTC)I love the snake themed torture devices. Very Slytherin~
I think it's amazing that you're able to write in this style. Thanks!
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Date: 2010-02-19 02:28 am (UTC)Snakes are beautiful things...I love using them in fics. It's amazing how a creature born to slither on the ground can have such a foreboding image across cultures for the centuries past. Cast as the devil and as goddesses in different places. I love the way they portray power and its twosidedness.
Thanks for reading! ♥
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Date: 2010-02-18 07:55 pm (UTC)Also, I'm so pleased you have one of my kink requests in there, too, within the snake chastity devise!! A wonderful surprise. ♥
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Date: 2010-02-19 02:31 am (UTC)Thanks for reading, pink_mint, and thanks for your kind words! :) *Hugs*
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Date: 2010-02-19 02:08 pm (UTC)And I don't know how you managed such a delicious dombination (not a typo, my own word *G*) of dirty and sensual, but you did and it just left me breathless. Beautiful styling, too. I bow to your creativity, woman ♥ ♥ ♥
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Date: 2010-02-20 06:01 am (UTC)It was fun writing a snake chastity belt ... I wasn't sure how people would see it and I'm so glad you didn't go ewwwww and enjoyed it! And thank you so much for your kind words about the domination ... dirty and sensual was how I envisioned a kinkfest fic and I never knew how close or how far I was to that ideal.
Your comment is such an encouragement! I'm so flattered. Thank you so much! *huggles you*
re: The Last Temptation of Draco Malfoy
Date: 2010-02-19 10:22 pm (UTC)Re: The Last Temptation of Draco Malfoy
Date: 2010-02-20 06:19 am (UTC)Your reviews always make me so happy because they echo back what I'm trying to say in the story, even if I often cannot put the concepts succinctly in words myself—I'm all giddy since I read this because I'm thinking Oooooo, I'm deep!!! which is a very nice compliment indeed! So often you have helped me understand and verbalize what I'm trying to tell in a story—often something in me knew the themes of the story but they're rarely, if ever, concretely built in my reason and tend to sprawl—and you're ever so patient in your guidance, in navigating the choppy sea of my often all over the place thoughts and themes and concepts especially in my earlier drafts. Thank you so much, Vaysh; you have made this fic so much better than I could have made it myself ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
*Huggles you once more*
Re: The Last Temptation of Draco Malfoy
Date: 2010-02-21 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-20 06:54 pm (UTC)Draco is gorgeous in this. He's so broken but still striving to be someone worthy, just not going about it the right way. He doesn't think Harry knows him but Harry does. And it was wonderful in that moment in his shop where he realizes it and then that still hint of insecurity showing in the end, expecting it would all be taken away.
It is Harry, though, that I love and adore in your stories. Powerful, noble, and compassionate but not willing to be taken advantage of forever. He has a line. But also he's willing to fight for what he believes in but maintains that sense of vulnerability, which makes him approachable.
There so much more than this though, layers upon layers. I've read it four times now and each time I love it more.
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Date: 2010-02-21 02:58 am (UTC)That's what I was hoping to show about Harry and Draco. Yay!!! You saw them! :) Harry might not understand/agree everything about Draco—but he knew him, for how could he rip Draco's chest open and not see his heart? ;) If he were to have an established relationship with Draco he had to accept them. But as you said, there was a limit, which I think was something in canon!Harry that I saw—he wasn't too fuzzy about details but he had a strong sense of where his moral boundaries were and he had the will and the discipline to stay within it.
Draco was insecure all the way... but his insecurity made him scheme, made him think. He was the person who fussed on the detail and was prone to get lost on the general picture. :) Harry was perfect for him! ♥
Thank you Romaine! Thanks for reading this over and help me with edits ♥.
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Date: 2010-02-21 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-24 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-26 06:28 pm (UTC)I love their relationship, and the fact that (If I read it right) Draco doesn't want to want to be faithful to Harry. he does, but the darkside of him is drawn to Knockturn Abbey and the darkness, and because he knows this he asks for the device, but at the same time he fights against it. And he knows Harry is going to be there to save him.
This seems to be the perfect descriptor for how their relationship would really be.
I loved it, I just wish I understood more of it.
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Date: 2010-03-24 05:20 am (UTC)Sorry for the late reply. I am made of fail in answering comments :D. My writing is sometimes a bit incomprehensible... I apologize for all the confusing points, and I think you understand it well ... since you basically gave the perfect description of Harry and Draco's relationship!
Thank you Emansil! :)