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hpkinkfestTitle: Nothing to be Ashamed of Except Shame Itself
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
frayach
Prompt(s): 45 & 455
Kinks Showcased: Embarrassing!Sex (arses have purposes other than fucking) and Santorum (not to be mistaken – haha – with the GOP presidential primary candidate).
Rating: Is there a rating higher than NC-17?
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: Dirty & delicious – Harry has a hang-up, and Draco has a new fetish.
Warnings: Hhhmm, where to begin? How about with the showcased kinks? They pretty much say it all. Also, see author’s notes. Oh, and felching – hardcore felching. Also brief discussion of the Dursleys’ abuse (not sexual!!)
Word Count: 12K
Author’s Notes: This is my first fic for this year’s fest (I’m working on a second). My goal in participating was to push my kink boundaries to the breaking point. I only have 3 squicks – het, adult/child, and scat. This fic comes as close to the latter as I could stand. There’s no solid shit (I just can’t go there!!) but there is, well, santorum. ‘Nuff said. My thanks to the unshockable A.R. for the beta, and my kink-hero, Dan Savage for fighting the good fight.
The Auror strode into the room.
His measured footsteps were accompanied by a chorus of creaks as everyone in the chamber straightened in their chairs. The level of oxygen dropped with countless simultaneous inhalations. The oath was administrated in a reverent voice, and the Auror said quietly, but firmly, “I do.” The latch on the door of the witness box clicked shut.
The young prosecutor cleared his throat. The sound echoed in the weighted silence.
“Auror Potter, if you would be so kind, please state for the record your name, profession and address of employment.”
Draco kept his eyes fixed on his quill as Harry stated his name (Harry James Potter), his profession (Head Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement), and his employer’s address (Aurors Office, Level 2, Ministry of Magic, London).
He didn’t look up; he couldn’t risk it. He liked being the scribe for the criminal trials. He’d started out with civil trials and found them painfully dull. Being promoted to Head Scribe for the Wizengamot’s Criminal Tribunal was the best thing that’d happened to him since he was released from Azkaban.
So he couldn’t afford to look at Harry when Harry took the witness stand. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to avert his gaze fast enough to avoid detection – and thus, inevitably, suspicion. He may have been appointed Head Scribe, but he was still an ex-Death Eater. There were members of the Wizengamot – probably even a majority – who would be happy to see him “reassigned” (read: canteen janitor) if they discovered he and Harry were lovers.
Someone was shuffling through parchments – most likely the prosecutor. Draco could sense his nervousness. He must be looking at Harry sitting serenely in his wine-red robes with his wand on his lap and his dueling hand ostensibly relaxed.
The prosecutor’s dry-throated swallow was embarrassingly loud, and the cough with which he tried to hide it only made it worse.
“Auror Potter, how long have you worked for the DMLE?”
“Thirteen years,” Draco murmured beneath the scritch-scratch of his quill.
“Thirteen years,” Harry replied in his trial voice, so different from the voice he used in Draco’s bed.
“When were you appointed by Minister Shacklebolt to the position of Head Auror?”
“In 2007,” Draco murmured.
“In 2007,” Harry said.
“In your time as an Auror, how many cases have you overseen?”
“About seventy-five.”
“About seventy-five.”
“How many of those cases resulted in convictions?”
“All of them.”
“About seventy-five.”
Draco chuckled. He erased his words and replaced them with Harry’s. Merlin, he wished he could look at him if only for a second!
“Is it true, Auror Potter, that you personally defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of all time when you were no older than a teenager?”
Draco winced. This was the poor prosecutor’s first trial. Anyone with at least one trial under their belt knew better than to ask Harry such questions.
“It is true,” Harry said, “but it has no bearing whatsoever on the case currently before this tribunal.” His voice wasn’t just firm, it was suffused with anger.
Draco knew why. Harry never talked about Voldemort. When they’d first taken off their clothes together, Harry had studied Draco’s Dark Mark for several minutes, but he hadn’t said a word. Draco had held his breath. At last, Harry bent his head over Draco’s forearm and traced the length of the snake with his tongue, ending with a lingering kiss on Draco’s palm. That was it. He never spoke a word, but the message was impossible to misinterpret. Harry forgave him. Draco had paid his debt. They’d never discussed it. Words would’ve trivialised the act. Besides, Harry wasn’t a talker. Draco had quickly learned that, for Harry, actions spoke louder – and clearer – than words, which is essential to know about one’s lover before one starts flinging around “I love you’s” indiscriminately – even if they’re sincere.
The prosecutor coughed yet again; Harry’s tone must’ve succeeded in conveying his displeasure.
“Auror Potter,” he continued in a chastened voice. “Please tell this tribunal whether you specialise in any particular kind of case.”
Draco scowled at his scroll. This was the question he hated the most. It reminded him how easily Harry could be taken from him.
“I specialise in investigating, disrupting and destroying terrorist and large-scale crime organisations in Britain and elsewhere.”
“My! That must be dangerous work, indeed,” the prosecutor exclaimed.
Damn right! Draco thought. If he had his way, Harry would be rescuing Kneazles from trees and escorting elderly witches across Diagon Alley.
Harry didn’t respond, but his irritation at the prosecutor’s obsequiousness was evident as he continued answering the man’s questions with increasingly clipped replies. Draco shook his head and bit back a smile. Harry Potter was no toothless Pygmy Puff no matter how tender Harry was with him. Quite the opposite. Harry was easily one of the most dangerous wizards in the world.
“Now, Auror Potter,” the prosecutor said in a tone that made it clear he was finally reaching the heart of Harry’s testimony. “I ask you please to recall Friday, April 8th, 2010. Did anything unusual occur at the ruins of Bolton Priory that afternoon?”
Friday, April 8th, 2010.
Draco’s breath caught as his quill transcribed the date. He remembered the day clearly, and, judging from his slight pause, he was sure Harry remembered it too. And for reasons other than the bloody battle that ended in the capture of the defendant, Billy “the Moorland Butcher” Brady.
The night of April 8th, 2010 was the first time Harry let Draco fuck him.
* * * *
He tried not to be – he really did – but Draco was savagely jealous of Weasley and Granger.
“You’ve got to understand,” Harry had told him on their first date. “I shared everything with them for eight years. There were no secrets, and there never will be. If you can’t accept that, then there’s no future for us.”
Leave it to Harry not to mince his (few) words.
It hadn’t been easy. It still wasn’t, and Draco doubted it ever would be. Harry shared at least one meal everyday with either Weasley or Granger or both. If he was too busy to meet them for lunch, they had dinner at one of their flats. If he couldn’t meet them for lunch and planned to be with Draco that evening, they met for breakfast or coffee. They spent every major holiday together and celebrated every bloody Weasley birthday at the Weasley hovel. Draco never asked where he fell among Harry’s priorities; he was sure he came after Granger and Weasley and probably always would.
“It’s who I am,” Harry often reminded him. “Our bond is a huge part of my life. They were the first people in the world – well, other than my mum and dad, of course – who loved me. I can’t begin to explain how much that meant to me – I’d been so lonely for so long. Try to pretend we’re triplets if that’ll help.”
It did a little, but Draco longed for a similar bond with Harry. But he knew he couldn’t force it. It had to happen naturally, maybe even imperceptibly. Bonds that close weren’t manufactured phenomena; they were living breathing entities in their own right.
He knew he needed to accept Harry’s relationship with Weasley and Granger – and wait. He needed patience, especially when it came to their “innate trust issues,” as Granger had once put it in a wine-softened mood.
Before the night of April 8th, 2010, they’d been “seeing” each other (i.e. meeting at parties, sharing coffee then pints then lunches then dinners, snogging for hours in Harry’s car, exchanging hand-jobs in front of the fireplaces in each other’s flats, etc.) for a year, but they hadn’t spent a night together – at least not a night in bed; they’d closed a few Muggle clubs and bars over the months and shared bleary-eyed breakfasts, but they’d never woken up beside each other in rumpled fucked-in sheets. Despite being thirty-two, Harry was still a virgin, and he approached their increasing intimacy cautiously, or, as Draco sometimes thought when he got frustrated, reluctantly.
Everything changed on the night of April 8th. Harry firecalled from the office, his face bloodied and his voice hoarse. He asked Draco if he was busy (which he was, but he wouldn’t be once he’d shooed Pansy out of his flat) and whether Draco minded if he came over. Harry had been undercover for more than a week, and Draco had been worried and on-edge, so of course he’d said yes. He wanted to hold Harry in his arms. For once, sex hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind.
Harry arrived an hour later. He’d showered, but he looked exhausted. He told Draco everything about the case that he had the discretion to disclose while Draco threw together some pasta and vegetables. After they’d eaten, Draco made Harry lie down on the couch so he could rub his back. He’d barely started when Harry fell asleep. He removed Harry’s glasses and lay them on the coffee table and then covered him with a blanket he’d Summoned from the linen closet. He poured Harry a glass of water and left it next to his glasses.
The only light came from the embers in the fireplace. Draco sat on the floor and leaned against an armchair – a position from which he had a perfect view of Harry’s face. Harry’s cheeks were flushed with warmth and wine, and his lips were slightly parted. His hair was pushed back from his face, exposing the famous scar. His breathing was quiet and deep. Draco watched his eyes flitter behind his eyelids and wondered what he was dreaming about – and whether the dream involved him. He had no idea. He’d got to know so much about Harry over the past year, but he suspected he still had far to go before he could claim to know the “Harry” part of Harry Potter.
He’d never had an opportunity like he’d had that night – a chance to gaze uninterruptedly at Harry’s sleeping face. It must’ve been a sight so common to Weasley and Granger that they never paused to appreciate how beautiful Harry was in such unguarded moments. When he was awake, Harry frowned a lot; he frowned when he was concentrating, he frowned when he was angry, and he frowned when he was confused. He even frowned when he was bored. But when he slept, all of his frown lines disappeared. He looked untroubled and very young. The sight awoke the protective instinct in Draco’s heart along with the ever-present craving to be inside Harry, to move inside him, to come inside him, to make Harry his.
He’d napped that afternoon and now wasn’t at all tired. But he was restless and horny, which meant the only thing that would calm him was a long satisfying wank. He rose and reached into his trousers to adjust his swelling prick before kissing Harry’s cheek. It was warm and whisker-rough against his lips. He wanted to kiss Harry’s mouth as well, but he didn’t want to wake him. The battle that’d resulted in Brady’s capture had taken hours. Harry needed his rest. There’d be plenty of time for snogging in the morning.
Draco went upstairs to the loo. As he filled the tub, he stripped off his clothes slowly and sensuously, seducing himself in the mirror. He was slightly taller than Harry, but otherwise their bodies were the same. They both had pale skin and lean-muscled limbs. They both had scars on their chests, although Draco’s were longer. The only significant differences between their bodies were their nipples and cocks. Draco’s nipples were a delicate pink, but Harry’s were darker and larger and intensely sensitive. Likewise, Draco’s cock was pink surrounded by wheat-blond curls, while Harry’s was a dusky red surrounded by glossy black curls. Fortunately for their innately competitive natures, both of their cocks were pretty much the same size – in both length and circumference – although Draco’s thickened more than Harry’s just prior to coming . . .
Which was what he was about to do now. He forced himself to stop stroking his cock and took several deep breaths. He didn’t want to come yet – or just once. After watching Harry sleep, just one quick orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. He Summoned his wand and cast The Spell.
The Spell was legendary; every male Slytherin learned it on their fifteenth birthdays as part of a supposedly ancient pure-blood manhood ritual. It essentially created a continuous source of pressure against the prostate. Done correctly, The Spell caused multiple orgasms that produced an astonishing amount of semen. Some of his House mates had found the pressure uncomfortable and the last couple of orgasms slightly painful, but not him. He’d fallen in love with The Spell the first time he’d used it and had been tweaking and perfecting it ever since. Cast just right, he could happily come himself dry.
The Spell was exactly what he needed. He took a deep breath, placed the tip of his wand in his pubic hair – just at the root of his cock – closed his eyes and whispered the incantation. Instantly, he felt the pressure against his prostate and gasped. He was so close already, but that was okay. Now that he’d cast The Spell, he’d be able to come as many times as he could stand – and he knew from ample experience that he could stand a lot. He was just stepping into the tub and anticipating the sensation of his soapy hands when he heard Harry call his name.
“I’m in the tub,” Draco called back. “What do you want?”
“Where’s your bedroom?” Harry asked from the other side of the door.
“The third room on the left,” he said and listened to Harry’s footsteps as he walked down the hall. When he could no longer hear him, Draco released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Was Harry just looking for a more comfortable place to sleep? Or was this something else . . . something more? He stood with one foot in the tub for several seconds feeling uncertain. At last he made a decision.
He looked in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair before wrapping a towel around his waist although it did nothing to disguise his arousal. When he reached his room and opened the door, he found Harry already in bed with a sheet pulled up to his chest. Draco swallowed when he saw the tent over Harry’s lap and then raised his eyes to Harry’s face. Harry smirked. He didn’t look sleepy anymore.
“Get rid of that stupid towel and join me,” he said.
Draco loosened the knot at his hip and let the towel fall to the floor. His cock was rigid, and the swollen head had pushed past the foreskin. He heard the pace of Harry’s breathing increase as he crawled across the mattress. When he reached him, Draco looked down into Harry’s eyes and then slowly lowered his head until their mouths met, drawing out that delicious moment of almost as long as possible before he opened his mouth and sought Harry’s tongue.
Harry made a faint sound of encouragement as Draco deepened their kiss. He was surprised to find that Harry’s hand was trembling as he took Draco’s and slid it over his belly and between his legs. He knew from experience that Harry loved to have his balls played with, and Draco indulged him. He rolled Harry’s testicles between his fingers and cupped his whole sac in his palm, massaging gently until Harry moaned into their kiss and pushed his hips up off the mattress.
Compared to Harry, who was shaking ever so slightly, Draco knew he seemed in complete control, but it was all an act. Their snogging combined with The Spell’s pressure on his prostate was making him crazy. He’d never used The Spell when he was with a partner, mainly because he always bottomed and didn’t need it when he had a cock up his arse. He was shocked by the all-consuming need to fuck. But they’d never gone that far before, and the small part of his mind still capable of reason knew that, given how tired Harry was, tonight probably wasn’t the time to try anything serious.
“Draco,” Harry breathed into their kiss. “Need you.”
Harry’s hips were thrusting now, and his words – the mere idea of Harry “needing” him . . .
“What do you want?” Draco murmured. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Harry could hear it.
“You,” Harry gasped as Draco nibbled on his bottom lip. “You.”
Draco smiled against his mouth. It was a slow pleased smile he knew would drive Harry wild.
“You have me,” he said innocently, and Harry growled, seizing another kiss with so much hunger that for a second, Draco couldn’t breathe.
“You know what I mean,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been thinking about it the whole time I was undercover. It was bloody distracting . . .”
He took Draco’s hand and pushed it lower between his legs until Draco’s fingertips could touch his perineum.
Draco grew faint from lack of oxygen. Was Harry saying what he thought he was . . . ? But it seemed unlikely. Harry was so protective of his virginity.
“Actually,” he said, “I really don’t know what you mean." He whispered the words against Harry’s ear, making Harry shiver. He then pressed his fingertips into the root of Harry’s cock and felt it throb at the same moment Harry moaned brokenly.
“I want you to fuck me,” Harry whispered in reply.
It was Draco’s turn to shiver. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine forming the words I don’t think this is the night, but there was no way the words, even if formed, could make their way to his tongue, so he gave up.
“Are you sure?” he asked, and Harry nodded. His eyes were clear as Draco searched them for any sign of doubt. He found nothing except a hint of anxiety, but that was understandable.
“I’m sure,” Harry replied with a small quirk of a smile that told Draco to stop treating him like a china teacup.
“Why tonight?” he asked, moving his hand so he could wrap his fingers around Harry’s cock. Harry pushed his groin against his hand, and Draco felt the first hint of wet warmth on his fingers. Harry’s body was preparing itself for orgasm.
“Why not?” Harry’s voice was rough and breathless. He began thrusting purposefully into Draco’s fist.
Good question. Draco had neither the desire to inquire further nor the will to argue. Harry’s arousal never failed to push him to his limits. The thought that he was about to make Harry come . . . No words could describe how excited that made him. How desperate to please.
“Okay,” he murmured against Harry’s ear, making him shiver.
He sat up and opened the drawer in the bedside table. The jar of lube was new, its wax seal unbroken. When he removed the lid and breathed in the sweet lavender scent, he remembered why he’d spent a fortune on it in anticipation of this very moment.
“Mmm, smells good,” Harry said, his eyes closed.
“This is the time to change your mind,” Draco said. “I have to warn you; I’ve never topped before, so I might be complete pants at it.”
The pace of Harry’s breathing had increased, and his chest, damp with sweat, rose and fell in the light of the two candles on either side of the bed.
“I probably wouldn’t know seeing as this is my first time,” he said.
Draco inhaled sharply. Of course, he knew Harry was a virgin, but hearing him say it again right before they had sex . . .
“God,” Draco breathed as he pulled the sheet away from Harry’s body revealing Harry’s milk and honey skin and the deep purplish red of his cock. “You are so beautiful.”
Harry smiled and reached for him, pulling him down into a lazy kiss.
When Harry released him, Draco sat up and scooped out a generous amount of lube from its jar. More than anything, he wanted this to be good for Harry. He was going to make sure Harry was slick and open and ready.
“Roll over onto your front and put this pillow under your hips,” Draco whispered.
He handed Harry a pillow, and Harry did as he’d instructed.
Draco had never prepared a man for anal sex before; he was always on the receiving end, but he was pretty sure he’d learned by example. He placed a fingertip on Harry’s tailbone and slid it lingeringly into his crack, stopping just short of his entrance and then starting all over again.
God, he couldn’t wait to touch Harry’s arsehole! He’d tried once, but Harry had squirmed out of reach, which, of course, had only intensified Draco’s obsession. He wanted to touch it and taste it and smell it and fuck it wide open. Sometimes he wondered if he had some kind of deviant sexual fixation.
“Has anyone ever fingered you?” Draco asked as he kissed and nipped Harry’s bare shoulders.
Harry shook his head, and Draco had to stop so he could rest his forehead against Harry’s back and close his eyes. He was dumbstruck by the realisation that he was going to be the first one to ever touch Harry there, let alone fuck him. After a few breaths, he lay down on his side and aligned their bodies so he could stay near enough to Harry that he could whisper instructions and encouragement in his ear.
“Spread your legs,” he murmured. “Wider. There you go.”
This time, Draco slid his fingertip deeper into Harry’s crack until Harry tensed, and Draco realised he’d gone far enough to touch the puckered flesh of his opening.
“Ssshhhh,” he whispered against Harry’s ear, desperate to soothe him so Harry wouldn’t change his mind. “I’ll go slowly.”
Gently, he massaged the lube into Harry’s arsehole, slowly increasing pressure until it gave just enough that he could slide his fingertip in.
Draco groaned. He couldn’t help it. If he wasn’t already in love with Harry, he would’ve fallen in love at the sound of Harry’s sharp inhale and the way Harry jerked his hips off the bed, impaling himself on Draco’s finger.
“Fuck!” Draco gasped. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to go slow, but his balls were aching with the need for release, and the pressure on his prostate was unbearable. He’d never waited this long after casting The Spell to have an orgasm. He wriggled his finger as he slid it deeper into Harry’s arse.
But then Harry’s body tensed and froze.
“Are you okay?” Draco breathed against Harry’s ear. “Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t so much hurt as it feels weird and uncomfortable,” Harry replied.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard on a groan of bitter frustration. It might kill him, but he’d stop if Harry asked him to.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked, his voice only quavering a little bit.
Harry shook his head.
“No, I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled into the pillow. “But I think maybe you should just do it.”
Draco didn’t know what to think; Harry sounded like he was being forced to drink a bottle of Skele-Gro. He took a deep breath and pulled his finger out of Harry’s arse.
“I don’t want to if you don’t,” he said hoarsely.
“I do,” Harry replied. “I really do, but I don’t want to have to think about it.”
Draco rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. It wasn’t just his balls; his entire body ached. He reached down and began stroking himself. He needed to come. He didn’t trust himself not to be an arsehole if he didn’t. The need for release was too great.
Harry grabbed his wrist.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Do it. I want you to.”
“Just let me come,” Draco gasped. “And then we’ll talk about it. Please, Harry,” he added when Harry didn’t let go.
“I want you to come inside me,” Harry said fiercely. “Don’t waste your orgasm.”
Draco laughed despite the disappointment still crushing his chest.
“There are more where it comes from,” he said, and Harry laughed too, but he didn’t let go of Draco’s wrist.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Fuck me, Malfoy.”
There was something about the sound of Harry’s voice saying his last name . . . Draco couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Roll over,” he said roughly as he rose to his knees. “And pull your thighs back against your chest.”
Harry did as he was told, but he blushed and turned his head to the side.
“I feel rather . . . exposed,” he muttered.
“You are,” Draco agreed. “But you’re gorgeous so don’t worry about it.”
He was being completely honest. Harry was gorgeous. His arsehole pulsed gently with his heartbeats. And it looked tight. Very tight. Saliva pooled in Draco’s mouth. He’d never eaten anyone, but now that he’d seen Harry’s arsehole, he wanted to eat it as much as – if not more than – he wanted to fuck it.
“God,” he moaned as he pushed his finger into it and began sliding it in and out.
“Your cock,” Harry reminded him, and Draco reluctantly pulled his finger free.
He shifted on the bed, and took his cock in hand. He pressed the head against Harry’s entrance and watched it pulse open in anticipation of being penetrated.
Harry was right – he certainly was very exposed.
“You’re drooling,” Harry said, sounding embarrassed, and Draco wiped his chin. Harry laughed, which was a good thing despite the nervousness Draco could still discern.
“Can’t help it,” Draco replied. “You have a succulent arsehole.”
“Ugh,” Harry said and covered his face with his hands. “Never say that again.”
Draco laughed breathlessly and held his cock steady as he guided the head into Harry’s opening. The sensation that instantly punched him in the gut was like nothing he’d ever felt before.
Harry cried out as his whole body jerked, causing Draco’s cock to sink in quicker and deeper than he’d planned.
God, he was going to lose it. He wished he’d come beforehand because this wasn’t going to be gentlemanly.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped as he began thrusting uncontrollably.
Harry’s body tensed, and he made a sound that was almost a whimper.
“Ssshhh,” Draco said, desperate to soothe him, but he couldn’t stop thrusting wildly. He was burying his cock to the root with each thrust, shoving Harry backward until his head hit the headboard.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped as Harry grabbed his hips and tried to prevent him from thrusting so deeply, but he still couldn’t stop. He hoped Harry understood. His body was no longer subject to conscious will; his thrusts were instinctive, centred on the sole primal aim of depositing his semen as deep inside Harry’s body as he could.
“Harry!” he cried. His voice sounded strange – agonised, desperate, pleading. “I’m going to come . . . oh fuck . . . !”
And then he began ejaculating. It went on and on and on until he started to worry he’d come his balls inside out. Had anyone ever mentioned what would happen if you used The Spell before fucking someone? He couldn’t remember, and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t stop coming anymore than he could stop a Biblical flood.
At last his orgasm exploded into bone-deep, muscle-wringing shudders. He collapsed against Harry’s chest and almost started sobbing. He was overwhelmed and even a little frightened by his body’s response to the sensation of fucking Harry combined with the effects of The Spell. He’d never come so hard and for so long in his life.
“Draco?” Harry murmured into his ear. “Are you still with me?”
He could only nod wordlessly.
“You should’ve seen yourself,” Harry murmured. “You were . . . what’s the word I’m looking for? Something to do with angels and moons.”
Draco laughed. “Luminous?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “That’s it. You looked luminous. You always know the right word.”
Draco pushed himself up and kissed Harry’s mouth tenderly. His cock was still buried in Harry’s arse, and despite coming like he had, he was still thrusting, only slower and more fluidly.
“Now let’s see about you,” Draco said. “Do you want me to suck you off?”
To Draco’s surprise, Harry shook his head.
“I want to come with you in me,” he said.
Draco raised an eyebrow and looked between their bodies at Harry’s half-hard prick. Harry blushed.
“That’s not because I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s just because it’s so unfamiliar and intense, and you . . . er, well, you kinda lost it.”
It was Draco’s turn to blush.
“Yeah, I suppose I did,” he said. “Couldn’t help it. Fucking you blew my mind.”
Harry looked pleased.
“Good,” he said. “Now make me come.”
“It’s not like you’re demanding or anything,” Draco said with a breathless laugh. He pushed himself up again and moved his hips experimentally. Thanks to The Spell he was still hard. He began thrusting, alternating between fast and slow, deep and shallow, gentle and hard while all the time watching Harry’s face for clues as to how he was feeling. On one particularly deep hard thrust, Harry inhaled sharply and arched his back. Draco looked down at his cock as it started to swell and harden.
“Here,” Draco said. He handed the jar of lube to Harry without breaking his pace. “Use this to get yourself off.”
Harry coated both his balls and his cock. Draco had never seen him touch himself before, and he watched enthralled as Harry grasped his prick and began stroking it punishingly. He squeezed it so tightly that the head turned purple and his slit gaped. His head was thrown back, and his eyes were shut, and a deep flush began spreading from his cheeks to his throat and then lower onto his chest.
Draco felt his sanity slip again when he at last found Harry’s prostate and began thrusting against it. Harry moaned raggedly and tears actually beaded in his dark lashes. He reached between his legs with his free hand and began fondling his testicles.
Draco wanted to wait for Harry to come before he came again. He tried counting backwards. He tried thinking of the shrivelled grey genitals of house-elves. He even tried to think of Hagrid and Madam Maxime having sex, but nothing worked. He couldn’t hold back. He doubted he looked “luminous” this time. He felt his eyes roll back in their sockets and his face scrunch into a grimace of agonised ecstasy as the first shockwave of his orgasm hit him full force. He moaned Harry’s name over and over as he emptied himself again in Harry’s body. He might’ve even called out the names of several lesser-known saints, but he wasn’t sure. He came even harder than before, and Harry’s channel grew so slick and wet that Draco whimpered and struggled to find some source of friction.
“Jesus, Draco!” Harry said when Draco could finally push himself off of Harry’s chest and look down at him blearily. “It sounds stupid, but I actually feel like I should ask you if you’re alright. You look utterly spent.”
Draco grinned dopily, but the only word he could access was “wow.” Harry smiled at his sudden loss of vocabulary.
“You. Come.” Draco mumbled. He pulled his cock free of Harry’s body and collapsed on his back. Harry chuckled. He didn’t sound angry or disappointed, just amused.
“I think you might be done for the night,” he said gently. “How ‘bout I take you up on your offer in the morning?”
Draco’s eyes were closed, but he opened them at Harry’s words. Harry was lying propped up on his elbows, with his legs still bent and open. Even though he hadn’t come, he looked well and truly fucked. Draco pushed himself up off the mattress and ran his hand through his damp hair.
“I never imagined that sex could be like that,” he said sincerely. “You are absolutely fucking amaz . . . What’s wrong?”
A second ago Harry was looking sleepy and content. Now he looked horrified.
Draco frowned. “What?” he asked. Harry was looking between his legs at the mattress, and Draco moved to see what was appalling him so profoundly. Harry made a noise that sounded like a squeak of alarm. He tried to cast a wandless cleaning charm, but he was too upset, and the charm hit the wall, scouring the paint from the plaster.
Draco had never seen Harry lose his composure so completely. What the hell?
Then Draco saw what had turned the Head Auror into a mortified schoolboy. The sheet beneath Harry’s arse was soaked in a mixture of come and shit and lube. Draco would’ve rolled his eyes, but only if he never wanted to fuck Harry again. Which he did. Very much so. There was even something about the brownish stain that was making him hard with the need to fuck Harry again right now.
“Harry,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”
But Harry couldn’t look at him; he could only stare, wide-eyed with distress, at the mess between his legs. When he finally found the wherewithal to move, it was only to pull a blanket over his head.
He looked adorable, but Draco decided not to mention it. Harry was an expert at wandless magic, and Draco was pretty sure Harry would hex him into next week if the word “adorable” came out of his mouth. Ever, but especially now.
Harry neither moved nor spoke for an absurdly long time.
“Come on,” Draco said gently. “I really couldn’t care less. As they say, shit happens.”
There was still no response from the Harry-shaped lump in Draco’s bed.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! Arses were made first for shitting and only second for fucking. Although it wasn’t as though Draco didn’t understand at least some of Harry’s discomfiture; he’d once ruined the sheets of a former lover, much to his embarrassment. But he hadn’t been petrified by horror to the degree Harry obviously was. Plus, Draco’s lover had been older than him and far more experienced. When they’d noticed the mess, he’d simply laid Draco back down and . . .
Ate him out.
Fuck.
Draco had to close his eyes for a moment to withstand the sudden wave of excitement that slammed into him.
He’d do anything for the chance to do the same to Harry. Just the thought had him getting hard again.
“Harry,” he said as soothingly as he could with a shaky voice. “Lie back.”
He expected Harry to shake his head or leap out of bed or try casting another cleaning spell, but the little bit of arse-juice seemed to have defeated his will to live. He lay back without Draco even having to ask twice, but he still kept his head covered with the blanket. Draco felt a surge of fond exasperation. Who would’ve known that Harry had such delicate sensibilities when it came to basic bodily functions?
Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Draco moved until he could lie with his head between Harry’s legs. There was an enormous wet spot that was obviously created by Draco’s Olympian orgasms. In fact, it was the volume of said orgasms that had probably acted like an enema and flushed Harry out. Draco decided he’d take all the blame if Harry needed him to, but in the meantime, he was going to eat Harry clean.
As he’d imagined, the smell was pungent, but it made his mouth water. There was something so wildly erotic about its earthiness. Draco was even more aroused by the knowledge that he’d helped make the smell – his come was as much a part of it as the shit and the faint herbal scent of the lube. This was the product of their joining. This was what their bodies had created together. The realisation was so intensely exciting that Draco began to hump the mattress, seeking friction for his rigid cock, as he pushed Harry’s thighs back.
The sight that met him almost made him come right then and there. Harry’s once tight hole had been loosened by Draco’s cock to the extent that Draco could see the pink lining of his rectum. He leaned forward and licked it and felt Harry tense even more than he already was. He was going to stop and try to sooth Harry with words again, but he had a feeling that words weren’t going to help. Only actions would. So he used his thumbs to open Harry’s entrance wide and shoved his tongue inside as far as he could.
Harry’s reaction was instantaneous and probably as surprising to him as it was to Draco. His back arched and his limp cock stiffened ever so slightly. Draco did it again, this time wriggling the tip of his tongue against the sensitive flesh until Harry made a sound that was a cross between mortification and mindless need. Draco stopped long enough to tell Harry to make himself come.
“I don’t know if I can.” Harry’s voice was quiet and almost inaudible under the blanket still covering his head.
“I think you’ll be able to,” Draco said. “At least try.”
He went back to cleaning Harry’s arse. He sucked out as much of his come as he could. Like the smell, the taste was intense and went straight to his cock. He Summoned a pillow and shoved it under his hips. He was going to come again. Meanwhile, Harry tugged on his own cock which was rigid now. He began thrusting involuntarily, pressing his arse back against Draco’s face and crying out Draco’s name. All the movement made it hard for Draco to keep eating him, so he replaced his tongue with his finger and sought out Harry’s prostate.
When he found it, Harry came spectacularly, his channel clenching and throbbing, slippery with come and lube and whatever else. The silly prat still had his head covered, so he couldn’t see Draco slip out his finger and suck it into his mouth, but Draco didn’t care. He’d done it for himself, and the taste combined with the sights and sounds of Harry coming pushed him over his own edge, and he came into the pillow beneath his thrusting hips.
Thus are fetishes born, Draco thought somewhere in the back of his over-stimulated brain.
At last, he found the strength to sit up. He tugged on the blanket covering Harry’s head, but Harry still clung to it despite the evidence that he’d enjoyed himself splattered on his belly.
“Are you ever coming out from under there?” Draco asked, his voice amused but also gentle.
Harry shook his head.
“What if I draw us a hot bath with lots of bubbles?”
Harry didn’t shake his head, but neither did he come out from his hiding place. At last he said that he’d come out but only if Draco promised to wash out his mouth and brush his teeth “a zillion times.” Even though Harry couldn’t see him, Draco rolled his eyes.
“I think once will be sufficient,” he said and then added “silly git” for good measure.
Harry lifted the blanket just enough to peer furtively at Draco’s face.
“I’m going to be in the tub,” Draco said. “You’re more than welcome to sponge my back if you want. I won’t complain.”
He’d been in the tub for about five minutes when he heard Harry’s quiet footsteps going to the guest bathroom down the hall. Another couple of minutes passed before he heard the toilet flush and the door open.
“I’m still in the tub!” he called. “And the water’s still hot.”
At last, the door opened and Harry slipped into the candlelit room. He was wearing a towel around his waist, but he took it off and stepped into the tub behind Draco.
“Where’s that sponge you were going on about?” he asked gruffly, and Draco Summoned it from the cabinet over the toilet.
They sat without speaking for a long time. The splash of water as Harry scrubbed Draco’s back was the only sound. After a while, Harry asked to borrow Draco’s wand and used it to pour clean warm water over Draco’s head. He then spent the next several minutes shampooing Draco’s hair and massaging his scalp until Draco was sure he was going to drift off to sleep and drown.
“Mmmm,” he murmured as Harry’s hands moved to his neck and shoulders. “What have I done to deserve this treatment?”
The question was of course rhetorical, but Harry answered it seriously.
“You weren’t a prat,” he said.
The word “prat” invoked an instinctive hostility, but fortunately Harry didn’t notice his tensed muscles. Draco knew what he meant despite the insensitive delivery.
“Why would I be a prat?” he asked. Again, the question was rhetorical, but Harry fell silent, and his hands stilled as though he was considering saying something that could have serious consequences.
Draco held his breath. He had no idea what Harry might be thinking, and it scared him. Had Harry been so mortified that he was going to end things out of fear that being around Draco after what’d happen would be too uncomfortable? Had he been disgusted by Draco’s response and now wanted nothing more to do with him?
“The Dursleys were prats,” Harry mumbled. “They . . . I . . . well, they made me feel so . . . ashamed, I guess would be the right word.”
He went back to massaging Draco’s shoulders, and Draco found himself able to breathe again.
“Ashamed about what?” he asked, tilting his head so that Harry could reach a sore muscle in his neck.
“Er . . .” Harry stammered. “You know.”
Draco frowned. “Actually no, I don’t,” he replied.
“Poo,” Harry said abruptly.
“They made you feel ashamed of your shit.”
“Right.”
“Why?”
Harry snorted a humourless laugh. They’d never discussed his Muggle childhood. Every time Draco had tried to steer a discussion in that direction, Harry quickly changed the subject.
“In a nutshell, they hated me. They had their own little family, and I was an interloper. My existence prevented them from living the life they’d imagined for themselves. I’d been foisted on them against their will and without being offered a choice.”
“But you were a baby,” Draco said. “They could blame Dumbledore – and even your parents, I guess – but they couldn’t blame a baby.”
Harry snorted again. “Well, they did,” he said. “For sixteen years.”
Draco knew Harry wouldn’t want him to turn around. They were the same in that way – both of them hated being pitied. But he did lean back against Harry’s chest, and Harry put his arms around his waist under their mountainous heap of bubbles.
“They made me feel ashamed of everything I couldn’t help,” Harry continued. “When I grew, they made me feel guilty that they had to give me new clothes. When it became obvious that my eyesight was bad, they made a fuss about how much my glasses cost. I remember a couple of times I fainted at school because I was so hungry but afraid to ask for more food than they were giving me.” He laughed a mirthless little laugh. “My Aunt convinced the school nurse that I was making myself faint by refusing to eat because I wanted attention.”
Draco didn’t say anything. What could he say? No words could express the depth of his disgust for these faceless Muggles. He rested his head against Harry’s shoulder and turned his face into the curve of Harry’s neck.
“Unsurprisingly, I was a bed-wetter – or, in my case, a cupboard-wetter because my Aunt and Uncle made me sleep under the stairs for the first ten years,” Harry continued. “I lived in terror of waking up in wet pants. My Uncle thought he could scare me out of peeing on my mat if he made me wear my piss-soaked pants over my head the next day. I spent nights without sleeping, and I still associate the smell of urine with that whole time in my life when I thought I was a worthless filthy freak.”
Draco kissed Harry’s jaw and then the place just below his ear. He felt Harry tighten his arms around his waist.
“When I had a cold, they made me feel dirty if I sneezed. When my hair got too long, they made me feel guilty about having to cut it – although, that’s a rather funny story I’ll tell you another time.”
Draco felt him smile. His body had almost fully relaxed. Draco cast a warming charm on the water.
“When I was beaten on the playground, they blamed me for using up the plasters. When I got blisters from shoes they gave me that didn’t fit, they claimed I was trying to make them look bad by limping. And, well, as you can probably imagine, if I soiled myself, I was a leper. My Uncle had a sign he hung around my neck that read ‘I crapped in my pants,’ and he’d send me outside wearing it. You don’t know true mortification unless you’ve been a five-year old wearing an ‘I crapped in my pants’ sign in a playground. The other kids would hold me down and rub mud in my face until it got up my nose and I couldn’t breathe. Of course, the resulting dirty clothes were also my fault . . .”
Draco couldn’t stand it any longer. He turned around in Harry’s arms and kissed his lips, persisting until Harry’s mouth opened and welcomed Draco’s tongue. They kissed for a long time, focusing on nothing but the sensation, until Draco pulled back so he could look into Harry’s stunning eyes. He wanted to tell Harry that he would hunt down the Dursleys and A.K. them in their sleep. He wanted to punch and kick and hex and hate, but he knew that was his old self’s way of thinking – a way of thinking that had ended up getting him Marked and imprisoned.
Harry blinked and was about to slip into his customary frown, when Draco cupped the side of his face. “Nothing about you will ever disgust or horrify me,” he said. Harry averted his gaze. Draco had come close to saying too much, so he softened his words with the obligatory references to Harry’s hair and his habit of wiping his hands on his jeans after he’d finished eating greasy fish and chips.
They started kissing again, and then kissing turned into snogging, which turned into groping, which turned into glorious slippery hand-jobs and even more glorious orgasms.
Draco was falling asleep with Harry beside him in his bed when he heard Harry whisper something in the dark.
“Did you say something?” Draco murmured. He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, and Harry was lying on his side, propped on an elbow so he could look down into Draco’s face.
“I said now you know something about me that no one else knows – not even Ron and Hermione.”
Draco frowned. “Knowing that you were ashamed of everything for sixteen years isn’t the nicest of secrets,” he said.
Harry shrugged in agreement. “Yeah, but it’s a secret, and nobody knows it but you. And it’s a pretty big one. I’ve never been with a man, even though I figured out I was gay when I was fourteen, and the reason why was . . . well, I was worried that something like what happened tonight would happen. But I wanted you so much . . . I wanted you inside me.” He flopped back down on the bed and laughed up at the ceiling. “Another of the grand ironies of my life: despite having major shit hang-ups, I’m utterly obsessed with being fucked in the arse.”
Draco laughed. “Well, don’t look to me to help you get over your obsession . . .”
“. . . how about my hang-ups, then?”
Draco rolled onto his side so that they faced one another.
“Your hang-ups I can help you with,” he said, sliding his fingers into Harry thick dark hair and brushing his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “I’m glad what happened tonight happened.”
Harry winced. “Glad? I’m not sure I’d go quite that far.”
“I would,” Draco replied. “It turned me on more than anything I’ve ever done with another man. I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life.”
Harry made a face. “It was just that spell you cast on yourself,” he said.
“I’ve cast that spell a thousand times. It gives me multiple orgasms; it doesn’t give me better orgasms,” Draco said. “That orgasm I had when I was eating you out . . .”
Once again, words failed him. At least English words. It was clearly time he learned another language.
Harry was still making a face, but it was now more amused than horrified. Draco laughed at him. Silly git.
“Go to sleep,” he said, kissing Harry’s mouth. He pulled the bedclothes over them and whispered Nox at the candles. He was just falling asleep when Harry woke him again.
“Uhm, Draco?”
“Yeah?”
“These are new sheets.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Did you Banish the other ones?”
Draco schooled his features into the blandest possible expression he could manage, which meant it was pretty bloody bland. He’d had years to perfect it.
“Do you want them to be Banished?” he asked.
“Yes!” Harry replied emphatically.
“Okay, they’re Banished.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“I’m glad you’re glad.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Harry snuggled into the duvet, and soon Draco heard his breathing even out.
He smiled to himself. Harry still had secrets Draco wasn’t privy to. It seemed only fair to Draco that he have some too.
PART TWO>
Author:
frayachPrompt(s): 45 & 455
Kinks Showcased: Embarrassing!Sex (arses have purposes other than fucking) and Santorum (not to be mistaken – haha – with the GOP presidential primary candidate).
Rating: Is there a rating higher than NC-17?
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Summary: Dirty & delicious – Harry has a hang-up, and Draco has a new fetish.
Warnings: Hhhmm, where to begin? How about with the showcased kinks? They pretty much say it all. Also, see author’s notes. Oh, and felching – hardcore felching. Also brief discussion of the Dursleys’ abuse (not sexual!!)
Word Count: 12K
Author’s Notes: This is my first fic for this year’s fest (I’m working on a second). My goal in participating was to push my kink boundaries to the breaking point. I only have 3 squicks – het, adult/child, and scat. This fic comes as close to the latter as I could stand. There’s no solid shit (I just can’t go there!!) but there is, well, santorum. ‘Nuff said. My thanks to the unshockable A.R. for the beta, and my kink-hero, Dan Savage for fighting the good fight.
The Auror strode into the room.
His measured footsteps were accompanied by a chorus of creaks as everyone in the chamber straightened in their chairs. The level of oxygen dropped with countless simultaneous inhalations. The oath was administrated in a reverent voice, and the Auror said quietly, but firmly, “I do.” The latch on the door of the witness box clicked shut.
The young prosecutor cleared his throat. The sound echoed in the weighted silence.
“Auror Potter, if you would be so kind, please state for the record your name, profession and address of employment.”
Draco kept his eyes fixed on his quill as Harry stated his name (Harry James Potter), his profession (Head Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement), and his employer’s address (Aurors Office, Level 2, Ministry of Magic, London).
He didn’t look up; he couldn’t risk it. He liked being the scribe for the criminal trials. He’d started out with civil trials and found them painfully dull. Being promoted to Head Scribe for the Wizengamot’s Criminal Tribunal was the best thing that’d happened to him since he was released from Azkaban.
So he couldn’t afford to look at Harry when Harry took the witness stand. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to avert his gaze fast enough to avoid detection – and thus, inevitably, suspicion. He may have been appointed Head Scribe, but he was still an ex-Death Eater. There were members of the Wizengamot – probably even a majority – who would be happy to see him “reassigned” (read: canteen janitor) if they discovered he and Harry were lovers.
Someone was shuffling through parchments – most likely the prosecutor. Draco could sense his nervousness. He must be looking at Harry sitting serenely in his wine-red robes with his wand on his lap and his dueling hand ostensibly relaxed.
The prosecutor’s dry-throated swallow was embarrassingly loud, and the cough with which he tried to hide it only made it worse.
“Auror Potter, how long have you worked for the DMLE?”
“Thirteen years,” Draco murmured beneath the scritch-scratch of his quill.
“Thirteen years,” Harry replied in his trial voice, so different from the voice he used in Draco’s bed.
“When were you appointed by Minister Shacklebolt to the position of Head Auror?”
“In 2007,” Draco murmured.
“In 2007,” Harry said.
“In your time as an Auror, how many cases have you overseen?”
“About seventy-five.”
“About seventy-five.”
“How many of those cases resulted in convictions?”
“All of them.”
“About seventy-five.”
Draco chuckled. He erased his words and replaced them with Harry’s. Merlin, he wished he could look at him if only for a second!
“Is it true, Auror Potter, that you personally defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of all time when you were no older than a teenager?”
Draco winced. This was the poor prosecutor’s first trial. Anyone with at least one trial under their belt knew better than to ask Harry such questions.
“It is true,” Harry said, “but it has no bearing whatsoever on the case currently before this tribunal.” His voice wasn’t just firm, it was suffused with anger.
Draco knew why. Harry never talked about Voldemort. When they’d first taken off their clothes together, Harry had studied Draco’s Dark Mark for several minutes, but he hadn’t said a word. Draco had held his breath. At last, Harry bent his head over Draco’s forearm and traced the length of the snake with his tongue, ending with a lingering kiss on Draco’s palm. That was it. He never spoke a word, but the message was impossible to misinterpret. Harry forgave him. Draco had paid his debt. They’d never discussed it. Words would’ve trivialised the act. Besides, Harry wasn’t a talker. Draco had quickly learned that, for Harry, actions spoke louder – and clearer – than words, which is essential to know about one’s lover before one starts flinging around “I love you’s” indiscriminately – even if they’re sincere.
The prosecutor coughed yet again; Harry’s tone must’ve succeeded in conveying his displeasure.
“Auror Potter,” he continued in a chastened voice. “Please tell this tribunal whether you specialise in any particular kind of case.”
Draco scowled at his scroll. This was the question he hated the most. It reminded him how easily Harry could be taken from him.
“I specialise in investigating, disrupting and destroying terrorist and large-scale crime organisations in Britain and elsewhere.”
“My! That must be dangerous work, indeed,” the prosecutor exclaimed.
Damn right! Draco thought. If he had his way, Harry would be rescuing Kneazles from trees and escorting elderly witches across Diagon Alley.
Harry didn’t respond, but his irritation at the prosecutor’s obsequiousness was evident as he continued answering the man’s questions with increasingly clipped replies. Draco shook his head and bit back a smile. Harry Potter was no toothless Pygmy Puff no matter how tender Harry was with him. Quite the opposite. Harry was easily one of the most dangerous wizards in the world.
“Now, Auror Potter,” the prosecutor said in a tone that made it clear he was finally reaching the heart of Harry’s testimony. “I ask you please to recall Friday, April 8th, 2010. Did anything unusual occur at the ruins of Bolton Priory that afternoon?”
Friday, April 8th, 2010.
Draco’s breath caught as his quill transcribed the date. He remembered the day clearly, and, judging from his slight pause, he was sure Harry remembered it too. And for reasons other than the bloody battle that ended in the capture of the defendant, Billy “the Moorland Butcher” Brady.
The night of April 8th, 2010 was the first time Harry let Draco fuck him.
He tried not to be – he really did – but Draco was savagely jealous of Weasley and Granger.
“You’ve got to understand,” Harry had told him on their first date. “I shared everything with them for eight years. There were no secrets, and there never will be. If you can’t accept that, then there’s no future for us.”
Leave it to Harry not to mince his (few) words.
It hadn’t been easy. It still wasn’t, and Draco doubted it ever would be. Harry shared at least one meal everyday with either Weasley or Granger or both. If he was too busy to meet them for lunch, they had dinner at one of their flats. If he couldn’t meet them for lunch and planned to be with Draco that evening, they met for breakfast or coffee. They spent every major holiday together and celebrated every bloody Weasley birthday at the Weasley hovel. Draco never asked where he fell among Harry’s priorities; he was sure he came after Granger and Weasley and probably always would.
“It’s who I am,” Harry often reminded him. “Our bond is a huge part of my life. They were the first people in the world – well, other than my mum and dad, of course – who loved me. I can’t begin to explain how much that meant to me – I’d been so lonely for so long. Try to pretend we’re triplets if that’ll help.”
It did a little, but Draco longed for a similar bond with Harry. But he knew he couldn’t force it. It had to happen naturally, maybe even imperceptibly. Bonds that close weren’t manufactured phenomena; they were living breathing entities in their own right.
He knew he needed to accept Harry’s relationship with Weasley and Granger – and wait. He needed patience, especially when it came to their “innate trust issues,” as Granger had once put it in a wine-softened mood.
Before the night of April 8th, 2010, they’d been “seeing” each other (i.e. meeting at parties, sharing coffee then pints then lunches then dinners, snogging for hours in Harry’s car, exchanging hand-jobs in front of the fireplaces in each other’s flats, etc.) for a year, but they hadn’t spent a night together – at least not a night in bed; they’d closed a few Muggle clubs and bars over the months and shared bleary-eyed breakfasts, but they’d never woken up beside each other in rumpled fucked-in sheets. Despite being thirty-two, Harry was still a virgin, and he approached their increasing intimacy cautiously, or, as Draco sometimes thought when he got frustrated, reluctantly.
Everything changed on the night of April 8th. Harry firecalled from the office, his face bloodied and his voice hoarse. He asked Draco if he was busy (which he was, but he wouldn’t be once he’d shooed Pansy out of his flat) and whether Draco minded if he came over. Harry had been undercover for more than a week, and Draco had been worried and on-edge, so of course he’d said yes. He wanted to hold Harry in his arms. For once, sex hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind.
Harry arrived an hour later. He’d showered, but he looked exhausted. He told Draco everything about the case that he had the discretion to disclose while Draco threw together some pasta and vegetables. After they’d eaten, Draco made Harry lie down on the couch so he could rub his back. He’d barely started when Harry fell asleep. He removed Harry’s glasses and lay them on the coffee table and then covered him with a blanket he’d Summoned from the linen closet. He poured Harry a glass of water and left it next to his glasses.
The only light came from the embers in the fireplace. Draco sat on the floor and leaned against an armchair – a position from which he had a perfect view of Harry’s face. Harry’s cheeks were flushed with warmth and wine, and his lips were slightly parted. His hair was pushed back from his face, exposing the famous scar. His breathing was quiet and deep. Draco watched his eyes flitter behind his eyelids and wondered what he was dreaming about – and whether the dream involved him. He had no idea. He’d got to know so much about Harry over the past year, but he suspected he still had far to go before he could claim to know the “Harry” part of Harry Potter.
He’d never had an opportunity like he’d had that night – a chance to gaze uninterruptedly at Harry’s sleeping face. It must’ve been a sight so common to Weasley and Granger that they never paused to appreciate how beautiful Harry was in such unguarded moments. When he was awake, Harry frowned a lot; he frowned when he was concentrating, he frowned when he was angry, and he frowned when he was confused. He even frowned when he was bored. But when he slept, all of his frown lines disappeared. He looked untroubled and very young. The sight awoke the protective instinct in Draco’s heart along with the ever-present craving to be inside Harry, to move inside him, to come inside him, to make Harry his.
He’d napped that afternoon and now wasn’t at all tired. But he was restless and horny, which meant the only thing that would calm him was a long satisfying wank. He rose and reached into his trousers to adjust his swelling prick before kissing Harry’s cheek. It was warm and whisker-rough against his lips. He wanted to kiss Harry’s mouth as well, but he didn’t want to wake him. The battle that’d resulted in Brady’s capture had taken hours. Harry needed his rest. There’d be plenty of time for snogging in the morning.
Draco went upstairs to the loo. As he filled the tub, he stripped off his clothes slowly and sensuously, seducing himself in the mirror. He was slightly taller than Harry, but otherwise their bodies were the same. They both had pale skin and lean-muscled limbs. They both had scars on their chests, although Draco’s were longer. The only significant differences between their bodies were their nipples and cocks. Draco’s nipples were a delicate pink, but Harry’s were darker and larger and intensely sensitive. Likewise, Draco’s cock was pink surrounded by wheat-blond curls, while Harry’s was a dusky red surrounded by glossy black curls. Fortunately for their innately competitive natures, both of their cocks were pretty much the same size – in both length and circumference – although Draco’s thickened more than Harry’s just prior to coming . . .
Which was what he was about to do now. He forced himself to stop stroking his cock and took several deep breaths. He didn’t want to come yet – or just once. After watching Harry sleep, just one quick orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. He Summoned his wand and cast The Spell.
The Spell was legendary; every male Slytherin learned it on their fifteenth birthdays as part of a supposedly ancient pure-blood manhood ritual. It essentially created a continuous source of pressure against the prostate. Done correctly, The Spell caused multiple orgasms that produced an astonishing amount of semen. Some of his House mates had found the pressure uncomfortable and the last couple of orgasms slightly painful, but not him. He’d fallen in love with The Spell the first time he’d used it and had been tweaking and perfecting it ever since. Cast just right, he could happily come himself dry.
The Spell was exactly what he needed. He took a deep breath, placed the tip of his wand in his pubic hair – just at the root of his cock – closed his eyes and whispered the incantation. Instantly, he felt the pressure against his prostate and gasped. He was so close already, but that was okay. Now that he’d cast The Spell, he’d be able to come as many times as he could stand – and he knew from ample experience that he could stand a lot. He was just stepping into the tub and anticipating the sensation of his soapy hands when he heard Harry call his name.
“I’m in the tub,” Draco called back. “What do you want?”
“Where’s your bedroom?” Harry asked from the other side of the door.
“The third room on the left,” he said and listened to Harry’s footsteps as he walked down the hall. When he could no longer hear him, Draco released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Was Harry just looking for a more comfortable place to sleep? Or was this something else . . . something more? He stood with one foot in the tub for several seconds feeling uncertain. At last he made a decision.
He looked in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair before wrapping a towel around his waist although it did nothing to disguise his arousal. When he reached his room and opened the door, he found Harry already in bed with a sheet pulled up to his chest. Draco swallowed when he saw the tent over Harry’s lap and then raised his eyes to Harry’s face. Harry smirked. He didn’t look sleepy anymore.
“Get rid of that stupid towel and join me,” he said.
Draco loosened the knot at his hip and let the towel fall to the floor. His cock was rigid, and the swollen head had pushed past the foreskin. He heard the pace of Harry’s breathing increase as he crawled across the mattress. When he reached him, Draco looked down into Harry’s eyes and then slowly lowered his head until their mouths met, drawing out that delicious moment of almost as long as possible before he opened his mouth and sought Harry’s tongue.
Harry made a faint sound of encouragement as Draco deepened their kiss. He was surprised to find that Harry’s hand was trembling as he took Draco’s and slid it over his belly and between his legs. He knew from experience that Harry loved to have his balls played with, and Draco indulged him. He rolled Harry’s testicles between his fingers and cupped his whole sac in his palm, massaging gently until Harry moaned into their kiss and pushed his hips up off the mattress.
Compared to Harry, who was shaking ever so slightly, Draco knew he seemed in complete control, but it was all an act. Their snogging combined with The Spell’s pressure on his prostate was making him crazy. He’d never used The Spell when he was with a partner, mainly because he always bottomed and didn’t need it when he had a cock up his arse. He was shocked by the all-consuming need to fuck. But they’d never gone that far before, and the small part of his mind still capable of reason knew that, given how tired Harry was, tonight probably wasn’t the time to try anything serious.
“Draco,” Harry breathed into their kiss. “Need you.”
Harry’s hips were thrusting now, and his words – the mere idea of Harry “needing” him . . .
“What do you want?” Draco murmured. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Harry could hear it.
“You,” Harry gasped as Draco nibbled on his bottom lip. “You.”
Draco smiled against his mouth. It was a slow pleased smile he knew would drive Harry wild.
“You have me,” he said innocently, and Harry growled, seizing another kiss with so much hunger that for a second, Draco couldn’t breathe.
“You know what I mean,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been thinking about it the whole time I was undercover. It was bloody distracting . . .”
He took Draco’s hand and pushed it lower between his legs until Draco’s fingertips could touch his perineum.
Draco grew faint from lack of oxygen. Was Harry saying what he thought he was . . . ? But it seemed unlikely. Harry was so protective of his virginity.
“Actually,” he said, “I really don’t know what you mean." He whispered the words against Harry’s ear, making Harry shiver. He then pressed his fingertips into the root of Harry’s cock and felt it throb at the same moment Harry moaned brokenly.
“I want you to fuck me,” Harry whispered in reply.
It was Draco’s turn to shiver. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine forming the words I don’t think this is the night, but there was no way the words, even if formed, could make their way to his tongue, so he gave up.
“Are you sure?” he asked, and Harry nodded. His eyes were clear as Draco searched them for any sign of doubt. He found nothing except a hint of anxiety, but that was understandable.
“I’m sure,” Harry replied with a small quirk of a smile that told Draco to stop treating him like a china teacup.
“Why tonight?” he asked, moving his hand so he could wrap his fingers around Harry’s cock. Harry pushed his groin against his hand, and Draco felt the first hint of wet warmth on his fingers. Harry’s body was preparing itself for orgasm.
“Why not?” Harry’s voice was rough and breathless. He began thrusting purposefully into Draco’s fist.
Good question. Draco had neither the desire to inquire further nor the will to argue. Harry’s arousal never failed to push him to his limits. The thought that he was about to make Harry come . . . No words could describe how excited that made him. How desperate to please.
“Okay,” he murmured against Harry’s ear, making him shiver.
He sat up and opened the drawer in the bedside table. The jar of lube was new, its wax seal unbroken. When he removed the lid and breathed in the sweet lavender scent, he remembered why he’d spent a fortune on it in anticipation of this very moment.
“Mmm, smells good,” Harry said, his eyes closed.
“This is the time to change your mind,” Draco said. “I have to warn you; I’ve never topped before, so I might be complete pants at it.”
The pace of Harry’s breathing had increased, and his chest, damp with sweat, rose and fell in the light of the two candles on either side of the bed.
“I probably wouldn’t know seeing as this is my first time,” he said.
Draco inhaled sharply. Of course, he knew Harry was a virgin, but hearing him say it again right before they had sex . . .
“God,” Draco breathed as he pulled the sheet away from Harry’s body revealing Harry’s milk and honey skin and the deep purplish red of his cock. “You are so beautiful.”
Harry smiled and reached for him, pulling him down into a lazy kiss.
When Harry released him, Draco sat up and scooped out a generous amount of lube from its jar. More than anything, he wanted this to be good for Harry. He was going to make sure Harry was slick and open and ready.
“Roll over onto your front and put this pillow under your hips,” Draco whispered.
He handed Harry a pillow, and Harry did as he’d instructed.
Draco had never prepared a man for anal sex before; he was always on the receiving end, but he was pretty sure he’d learned by example. He placed a fingertip on Harry’s tailbone and slid it lingeringly into his crack, stopping just short of his entrance and then starting all over again.
God, he couldn’t wait to touch Harry’s arsehole! He’d tried once, but Harry had squirmed out of reach, which, of course, had only intensified Draco’s obsession. He wanted to touch it and taste it and smell it and fuck it wide open. Sometimes he wondered if he had some kind of deviant sexual fixation.
“Has anyone ever fingered you?” Draco asked as he kissed and nipped Harry’s bare shoulders.
Harry shook his head, and Draco had to stop so he could rest his forehead against Harry’s back and close his eyes. He was dumbstruck by the realisation that he was going to be the first one to ever touch Harry there, let alone fuck him. After a few breaths, he lay down on his side and aligned their bodies so he could stay near enough to Harry that he could whisper instructions and encouragement in his ear.
“Spread your legs,” he murmured. “Wider. There you go.”
This time, Draco slid his fingertip deeper into Harry’s crack until Harry tensed, and Draco realised he’d gone far enough to touch the puckered flesh of his opening.
“Ssshhhh,” he whispered against Harry’s ear, desperate to soothe him so Harry wouldn’t change his mind. “I’ll go slowly.”
Gently, he massaged the lube into Harry’s arsehole, slowly increasing pressure until it gave just enough that he could slide his fingertip in.
Draco groaned. He couldn’t help it. If he wasn’t already in love with Harry, he would’ve fallen in love at the sound of Harry’s sharp inhale and the way Harry jerked his hips off the bed, impaling himself on Draco’s finger.
“Fuck!” Draco gasped. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to go slow, but his balls were aching with the need for release, and the pressure on his prostate was unbearable. He’d never waited this long after casting The Spell to have an orgasm. He wriggled his finger as he slid it deeper into Harry’s arse.
But then Harry’s body tensed and froze.
“Are you okay?” Draco breathed against Harry’s ear. “Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t so much hurt as it feels weird and uncomfortable,” Harry replied.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard on a groan of bitter frustration. It might kill him, but he’d stop if Harry asked him to.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked, his voice only quavering a little bit.
Harry shook his head.
“No, I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled into the pillow. “But I think maybe you should just do it.”
Draco didn’t know what to think; Harry sounded like he was being forced to drink a bottle of Skele-Gro. He took a deep breath and pulled his finger out of Harry’s arse.
“I don’t want to if you don’t,” he said hoarsely.
“I do,” Harry replied. “I really do, but I don’t want to have to think about it.”
Draco rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. It wasn’t just his balls; his entire body ached. He reached down and began stroking himself. He needed to come. He didn’t trust himself not to be an arsehole if he didn’t. The need for release was too great.
Harry grabbed his wrist.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Do it. I want you to.”
“Just let me come,” Draco gasped. “And then we’ll talk about it. Please, Harry,” he added when Harry didn’t let go.
“I want you to come inside me,” Harry said fiercely. “Don’t waste your orgasm.”
Draco laughed despite the disappointment still crushing his chest.
“There are more where it comes from,” he said, and Harry laughed too, but he didn’t let go of Draco’s wrist.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Fuck me, Malfoy.”
There was something about the sound of Harry’s voice saying his last name . . . Draco couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Roll over,” he said roughly as he rose to his knees. “And pull your thighs back against your chest.”
Harry did as he was told, but he blushed and turned his head to the side.
“I feel rather . . . exposed,” he muttered.
“You are,” Draco agreed. “But you’re gorgeous so don’t worry about it.”
He was being completely honest. Harry was gorgeous. His arsehole pulsed gently with his heartbeats. And it looked tight. Very tight. Saliva pooled in Draco’s mouth. He’d never eaten anyone, but now that he’d seen Harry’s arsehole, he wanted to eat it as much as – if not more than – he wanted to fuck it.
“God,” he moaned as he pushed his finger into it and began sliding it in and out.
“Your cock,” Harry reminded him, and Draco reluctantly pulled his finger free.
He shifted on the bed, and took his cock in hand. He pressed the head against Harry’s entrance and watched it pulse open in anticipation of being penetrated.
Harry was right – he certainly was very exposed.
“You’re drooling,” Harry said, sounding embarrassed, and Draco wiped his chin. Harry laughed, which was a good thing despite the nervousness Draco could still discern.
“Can’t help it,” Draco replied. “You have a succulent arsehole.”
“Ugh,” Harry said and covered his face with his hands. “Never say that again.”
Draco laughed breathlessly and held his cock steady as he guided the head into Harry’s opening. The sensation that instantly punched him in the gut was like nothing he’d ever felt before.
Harry cried out as his whole body jerked, causing Draco’s cock to sink in quicker and deeper than he’d planned.
God, he was going to lose it. He wished he’d come beforehand because this wasn’t going to be gentlemanly.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped as he began thrusting uncontrollably.
Harry’s body tensed, and he made a sound that was almost a whimper.
“Ssshhh,” Draco said, desperate to soothe him, but he couldn’t stop thrusting wildly. He was burying his cock to the root with each thrust, shoving Harry backward until his head hit the headboard.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped as Harry grabbed his hips and tried to prevent him from thrusting so deeply, but he still couldn’t stop. He hoped Harry understood. His body was no longer subject to conscious will; his thrusts were instinctive, centred on the sole primal aim of depositing his semen as deep inside Harry’s body as he could.
“Harry!” he cried. His voice sounded strange – agonised, desperate, pleading. “I’m going to come . . . oh fuck . . . !”
And then he began ejaculating. It went on and on and on until he started to worry he’d come his balls inside out. Had anyone ever mentioned what would happen if you used The Spell before fucking someone? He couldn’t remember, and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t stop coming anymore than he could stop a Biblical flood.
At last his orgasm exploded into bone-deep, muscle-wringing shudders. He collapsed against Harry’s chest and almost started sobbing. He was overwhelmed and even a little frightened by his body’s response to the sensation of fucking Harry combined with the effects of The Spell. He’d never come so hard and for so long in his life.
“Draco?” Harry murmured into his ear. “Are you still with me?”
He could only nod wordlessly.
“You should’ve seen yourself,” Harry murmured. “You were . . . what’s the word I’m looking for? Something to do with angels and moons.”
Draco laughed. “Luminous?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “That’s it. You looked luminous. You always know the right word.”
Draco pushed himself up and kissed Harry’s mouth tenderly. His cock was still buried in Harry’s arse, and despite coming like he had, he was still thrusting, only slower and more fluidly.
“Now let’s see about you,” Draco said. “Do you want me to suck you off?”
To Draco’s surprise, Harry shook his head.
“I want to come with you in me,” he said.
Draco raised an eyebrow and looked between their bodies at Harry’s half-hard prick. Harry blushed.
“That’s not because I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s just because it’s so unfamiliar and intense, and you . . . er, well, you kinda lost it.”
It was Draco’s turn to blush.
“Yeah, I suppose I did,” he said. “Couldn’t help it. Fucking you blew my mind.”
Harry looked pleased.
“Good,” he said. “Now make me come.”
“It’s not like you’re demanding or anything,” Draco said with a breathless laugh. He pushed himself up again and moved his hips experimentally. Thanks to The Spell he was still hard. He began thrusting, alternating between fast and slow, deep and shallow, gentle and hard while all the time watching Harry’s face for clues as to how he was feeling. On one particularly deep hard thrust, Harry inhaled sharply and arched his back. Draco looked down at his cock as it started to swell and harden.
“Here,” Draco said. He handed the jar of lube to Harry without breaking his pace. “Use this to get yourself off.”
Harry coated both his balls and his cock. Draco had never seen him touch himself before, and he watched enthralled as Harry grasped his prick and began stroking it punishingly. He squeezed it so tightly that the head turned purple and his slit gaped. His head was thrown back, and his eyes were shut, and a deep flush began spreading from his cheeks to his throat and then lower onto his chest.
Draco felt his sanity slip again when he at last found Harry’s prostate and began thrusting against it. Harry moaned raggedly and tears actually beaded in his dark lashes. He reached between his legs with his free hand and began fondling his testicles.
Draco wanted to wait for Harry to come before he came again. He tried counting backwards. He tried thinking of the shrivelled grey genitals of house-elves. He even tried to think of Hagrid and Madam Maxime having sex, but nothing worked. He couldn’t hold back. He doubted he looked “luminous” this time. He felt his eyes roll back in their sockets and his face scrunch into a grimace of agonised ecstasy as the first shockwave of his orgasm hit him full force. He moaned Harry’s name over and over as he emptied himself again in Harry’s body. He might’ve even called out the names of several lesser-known saints, but he wasn’t sure. He came even harder than before, and Harry’s channel grew so slick and wet that Draco whimpered and struggled to find some source of friction.
“Jesus, Draco!” Harry said when Draco could finally push himself off of Harry’s chest and look down at him blearily. “It sounds stupid, but I actually feel like I should ask you if you’re alright. You look utterly spent.”
Draco grinned dopily, but the only word he could access was “wow.” Harry smiled at his sudden loss of vocabulary.
“You. Come.” Draco mumbled. He pulled his cock free of Harry’s body and collapsed on his back. Harry chuckled. He didn’t sound angry or disappointed, just amused.
“I think you might be done for the night,” he said gently. “How ‘bout I take you up on your offer in the morning?”
Draco’s eyes were closed, but he opened them at Harry’s words. Harry was lying propped up on his elbows, with his legs still bent and open. Even though he hadn’t come, he looked well and truly fucked. Draco pushed himself up off the mattress and ran his hand through his damp hair.
“I never imagined that sex could be like that,” he said sincerely. “You are absolutely fucking amaz . . . What’s wrong?”
A second ago Harry was looking sleepy and content. Now he looked horrified.
Draco frowned. “What?” he asked. Harry was looking between his legs at the mattress, and Draco moved to see what was appalling him so profoundly. Harry made a noise that sounded like a squeak of alarm. He tried to cast a wandless cleaning charm, but he was too upset, and the charm hit the wall, scouring the paint from the plaster.
Draco had never seen Harry lose his composure so completely. What the hell?
Then Draco saw what had turned the Head Auror into a mortified schoolboy. The sheet beneath Harry’s arse was soaked in a mixture of come and shit and lube. Draco would’ve rolled his eyes, but only if he never wanted to fuck Harry again. Which he did. Very much so. There was even something about the brownish stain that was making him hard with the need to fuck Harry again right now.
“Harry,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”
But Harry couldn’t look at him; he could only stare, wide-eyed with distress, at the mess between his legs. When he finally found the wherewithal to move, it was only to pull a blanket over his head.
He looked adorable, but Draco decided not to mention it. Harry was an expert at wandless magic, and Draco was pretty sure Harry would hex him into next week if the word “adorable” came out of his mouth. Ever, but especially now.
Harry neither moved nor spoke for an absurdly long time.
“Come on,” Draco said gently. “I really couldn’t care less. As they say, shit happens.”
There was still no response from the Harry-shaped lump in Draco’s bed.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! Arses were made first for shitting and only second for fucking. Although it wasn’t as though Draco didn’t understand at least some of Harry’s discomfiture; he’d once ruined the sheets of a former lover, much to his embarrassment. But he hadn’t been petrified by horror to the degree Harry obviously was. Plus, Draco’s lover had been older than him and far more experienced. When they’d noticed the mess, he’d simply laid Draco back down and . . .
Ate him out.
Fuck.
Draco had to close his eyes for a moment to withstand the sudden wave of excitement that slammed into him.
He’d do anything for the chance to do the same to Harry. Just the thought had him getting hard again.
“Harry,” he said as soothingly as he could with a shaky voice. “Lie back.”
He expected Harry to shake his head or leap out of bed or try casting another cleaning spell, but the little bit of arse-juice seemed to have defeated his will to live. He lay back without Draco even having to ask twice, but he still kept his head covered with the blanket. Draco felt a surge of fond exasperation. Who would’ve known that Harry had such delicate sensibilities when it came to basic bodily functions?
Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Draco moved until he could lie with his head between Harry’s legs. There was an enormous wet spot that was obviously created by Draco’s Olympian orgasms. In fact, it was the volume of said orgasms that had probably acted like an enema and flushed Harry out. Draco decided he’d take all the blame if Harry needed him to, but in the meantime, he was going to eat Harry clean.
As he’d imagined, the smell was pungent, but it made his mouth water. There was something so wildly erotic about its earthiness. Draco was even more aroused by the knowledge that he’d helped make the smell – his come was as much a part of it as the shit and the faint herbal scent of the lube. This was the product of their joining. This was what their bodies had created together. The realisation was so intensely exciting that Draco began to hump the mattress, seeking friction for his rigid cock, as he pushed Harry’s thighs back.
The sight that met him almost made him come right then and there. Harry’s once tight hole had been loosened by Draco’s cock to the extent that Draco could see the pink lining of his rectum. He leaned forward and licked it and felt Harry tense even more than he already was. He was going to stop and try to sooth Harry with words again, but he had a feeling that words weren’t going to help. Only actions would. So he used his thumbs to open Harry’s entrance wide and shoved his tongue inside as far as he could.
Harry’s reaction was instantaneous and probably as surprising to him as it was to Draco. His back arched and his limp cock stiffened ever so slightly. Draco did it again, this time wriggling the tip of his tongue against the sensitive flesh until Harry made a sound that was a cross between mortification and mindless need. Draco stopped long enough to tell Harry to make himself come.
“I don’t know if I can.” Harry’s voice was quiet and almost inaudible under the blanket still covering his head.
“I think you’ll be able to,” Draco said. “At least try.”
He went back to cleaning Harry’s arse. He sucked out as much of his come as he could. Like the smell, the taste was intense and went straight to his cock. He Summoned a pillow and shoved it under his hips. He was going to come again. Meanwhile, Harry tugged on his own cock which was rigid now. He began thrusting involuntarily, pressing his arse back against Draco’s face and crying out Draco’s name. All the movement made it hard for Draco to keep eating him, so he replaced his tongue with his finger and sought out Harry’s prostate.
When he found it, Harry came spectacularly, his channel clenching and throbbing, slippery with come and lube and whatever else. The silly prat still had his head covered, so he couldn’t see Draco slip out his finger and suck it into his mouth, but Draco didn’t care. He’d done it for himself, and the taste combined with the sights and sounds of Harry coming pushed him over his own edge, and he came into the pillow beneath his thrusting hips.
Thus are fetishes born, Draco thought somewhere in the back of his over-stimulated brain.
At last, he found the strength to sit up. He tugged on the blanket covering Harry’s head, but Harry still clung to it despite the evidence that he’d enjoyed himself splattered on his belly.
“Are you ever coming out from under there?” Draco asked, his voice amused but also gentle.
Harry shook his head.
“What if I draw us a hot bath with lots of bubbles?”
Harry didn’t shake his head, but neither did he come out from his hiding place. At last he said that he’d come out but only if Draco promised to wash out his mouth and brush his teeth “a zillion times.” Even though Harry couldn’t see him, Draco rolled his eyes.
“I think once will be sufficient,” he said and then added “silly git” for good measure.
Harry lifted the blanket just enough to peer furtively at Draco’s face.
“I’m going to be in the tub,” Draco said. “You’re more than welcome to sponge my back if you want. I won’t complain.”
He’d been in the tub for about five minutes when he heard Harry’s quiet footsteps going to the guest bathroom down the hall. Another couple of minutes passed before he heard the toilet flush and the door open.
“I’m still in the tub!” he called. “And the water’s still hot.”
At last, the door opened and Harry slipped into the candlelit room. He was wearing a towel around his waist, but he took it off and stepped into the tub behind Draco.
“Where’s that sponge you were going on about?” he asked gruffly, and Draco Summoned it from the cabinet over the toilet.
They sat without speaking for a long time. The splash of water as Harry scrubbed Draco’s back was the only sound. After a while, Harry asked to borrow Draco’s wand and used it to pour clean warm water over Draco’s head. He then spent the next several minutes shampooing Draco’s hair and massaging his scalp until Draco was sure he was going to drift off to sleep and drown.
“Mmmm,” he murmured as Harry’s hands moved to his neck and shoulders. “What have I done to deserve this treatment?”
The question was of course rhetorical, but Harry answered it seriously.
“You weren’t a prat,” he said.
The word “prat” invoked an instinctive hostility, but fortunately Harry didn’t notice his tensed muscles. Draco knew what he meant despite the insensitive delivery.
“Why would I be a prat?” he asked. Again, the question was rhetorical, but Harry fell silent, and his hands stilled as though he was considering saying something that could have serious consequences.
Draco held his breath. He had no idea what Harry might be thinking, and it scared him. Had Harry been so mortified that he was going to end things out of fear that being around Draco after what’d happen would be too uncomfortable? Had he been disgusted by Draco’s response and now wanted nothing more to do with him?
“The Dursleys were prats,” Harry mumbled. “They . . . I . . . well, they made me feel so . . . ashamed, I guess would be the right word.”
He went back to massaging Draco’s shoulders, and Draco found himself able to breathe again.
“Ashamed about what?” he asked, tilting his head so that Harry could reach a sore muscle in his neck.
“Er . . .” Harry stammered. “You know.”
Draco frowned. “Actually no, I don’t,” he replied.
“Poo,” Harry said abruptly.
“They made you feel ashamed of your shit.”
“Right.”
“Why?”
Harry snorted a humourless laugh. They’d never discussed his Muggle childhood. Every time Draco had tried to steer a discussion in that direction, Harry quickly changed the subject.
“In a nutshell, they hated me. They had their own little family, and I was an interloper. My existence prevented them from living the life they’d imagined for themselves. I’d been foisted on them against their will and without being offered a choice.”
“But you were a baby,” Draco said. “They could blame Dumbledore – and even your parents, I guess – but they couldn’t blame a baby.”
Harry snorted again. “Well, they did,” he said. “For sixteen years.”
Draco knew Harry wouldn’t want him to turn around. They were the same in that way – both of them hated being pitied. But he did lean back against Harry’s chest, and Harry put his arms around his waist under their mountainous heap of bubbles.
“They made me feel ashamed of everything I couldn’t help,” Harry continued. “When I grew, they made me feel guilty that they had to give me new clothes. When it became obvious that my eyesight was bad, they made a fuss about how much my glasses cost. I remember a couple of times I fainted at school because I was so hungry but afraid to ask for more food than they were giving me.” He laughed a mirthless little laugh. “My Aunt convinced the school nurse that I was making myself faint by refusing to eat because I wanted attention.”
Draco didn’t say anything. What could he say? No words could express the depth of his disgust for these faceless Muggles. He rested his head against Harry’s shoulder and turned his face into the curve of Harry’s neck.
“Unsurprisingly, I was a bed-wetter – or, in my case, a cupboard-wetter because my Aunt and Uncle made me sleep under the stairs for the first ten years,” Harry continued. “I lived in terror of waking up in wet pants. My Uncle thought he could scare me out of peeing on my mat if he made me wear my piss-soaked pants over my head the next day. I spent nights without sleeping, and I still associate the smell of urine with that whole time in my life when I thought I was a worthless filthy freak.”
Draco kissed Harry’s jaw and then the place just below his ear. He felt Harry tighten his arms around his waist.
“When I had a cold, they made me feel dirty if I sneezed. When my hair got too long, they made me feel guilty about having to cut it – although, that’s a rather funny story I’ll tell you another time.”
Draco felt him smile. His body had almost fully relaxed. Draco cast a warming charm on the water.
“When I was beaten on the playground, they blamed me for using up the plasters. When I got blisters from shoes they gave me that didn’t fit, they claimed I was trying to make them look bad by limping. And, well, as you can probably imagine, if I soiled myself, I was a leper. My Uncle had a sign he hung around my neck that read ‘I crapped in my pants,’ and he’d send me outside wearing it. You don’t know true mortification unless you’ve been a five-year old wearing an ‘I crapped in my pants’ sign in a playground. The other kids would hold me down and rub mud in my face until it got up my nose and I couldn’t breathe. Of course, the resulting dirty clothes were also my fault . . .”
Draco couldn’t stand it any longer. He turned around in Harry’s arms and kissed his lips, persisting until Harry’s mouth opened and welcomed Draco’s tongue. They kissed for a long time, focusing on nothing but the sensation, until Draco pulled back so he could look into Harry’s stunning eyes. He wanted to tell Harry that he would hunt down the Dursleys and A.K. them in their sleep. He wanted to punch and kick and hex and hate, but he knew that was his old self’s way of thinking – a way of thinking that had ended up getting him Marked and imprisoned.
Harry blinked and was about to slip into his customary frown, when Draco cupped the side of his face. “Nothing about you will ever disgust or horrify me,” he said. Harry averted his gaze. Draco had come close to saying too much, so he softened his words with the obligatory references to Harry’s hair and his habit of wiping his hands on his jeans after he’d finished eating greasy fish and chips.
They started kissing again, and then kissing turned into snogging, which turned into groping, which turned into glorious slippery hand-jobs and even more glorious orgasms.
Draco was falling asleep with Harry beside him in his bed when he heard Harry whisper something in the dark.
“Did you say something?” Draco murmured. He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, and Harry was lying on his side, propped on an elbow so he could look down into Draco’s face.
“I said now you know something about me that no one else knows – not even Ron and Hermione.”
Draco frowned. “Knowing that you were ashamed of everything for sixteen years isn’t the nicest of secrets,” he said.
Harry shrugged in agreement. “Yeah, but it’s a secret, and nobody knows it but you. And it’s a pretty big one. I’ve never been with a man, even though I figured out I was gay when I was fourteen, and the reason why was . . . well, I was worried that something like what happened tonight would happen. But I wanted you so much . . . I wanted you inside me.” He flopped back down on the bed and laughed up at the ceiling. “Another of the grand ironies of my life: despite having major shit hang-ups, I’m utterly obsessed with being fucked in the arse.”
Draco laughed. “Well, don’t look to me to help you get over your obsession . . .”
“. . . how about my hang-ups, then?”
Draco rolled onto his side so that they faced one another.
“Your hang-ups I can help you with,” he said, sliding his fingers into Harry thick dark hair and brushing his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “I’m glad what happened tonight happened.”
Harry winced. “Glad? I’m not sure I’d go quite that far.”
“I would,” Draco replied. “It turned me on more than anything I’ve ever done with another man. I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life.”
Harry made a face. “It was just that spell you cast on yourself,” he said.
“I’ve cast that spell a thousand times. It gives me multiple orgasms; it doesn’t give me better orgasms,” Draco said. “That orgasm I had when I was eating you out . . .”
Once again, words failed him. At least English words. It was clearly time he learned another language.
Harry was still making a face, but it was now more amused than horrified. Draco laughed at him. Silly git.
“Go to sleep,” he said, kissing Harry’s mouth. He pulled the bedclothes over them and whispered Nox at the candles. He was just falling asleep when Harry woke him again.
“Uhm, Draco?”
“Yeah?”
“These are new sheets.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Did you Banish the other ones?”
Draco schooled his features into the blandest possible expression he could manage, which meant it was pretty bloody bland. He’d had years to perfect it.
“Do you want them to be Banished?” he asked.
“Yes!” Harry replied emphatically.
“Okay, they’re Banished.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“I’m glad you’re glad.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Harry snuggled into the duvet, and soon Draco heard his breathing even out.
He smiled to himself. Harry still had secrets Draco wasn’t privy to. It seemed only fair to Draco that he have some too.
PART TWO>
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Date: 2012-02-03 06:06 am (UTC)However, that's the damned hottest icon ever!!
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Date: 2012-02-04 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-03 07:13 am (UTC)*off to Part 2*
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Date: 2012-02-04 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-04 05:50 am (UTC)Colour me delighted!
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Date: 2012-02-11 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-04 06:36 am (UTC)Harry blinked and was about to slip into his customary frown, when Draco cupped the side of his face. “Nothing about you will ever disgust or horrify me,” he said.
It really shows how far their relationship has come. (on a completely unrelated note, I love how easy it is to see your Law/time in court come through in this too!)
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Date: 2012-02-11 04:48 am (UTC)Court settings are endlessly fascinating to me . . .
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Date: 2012-02-04 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-04 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 04:13 am (UTC)LMAO. Okay, I'm going to read the next part now...
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Date: 2012-02-08 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-08 06:16 am (UTC)The Dursley's abuse has left me super distressed, and I hurt so much for Harry. Draco is handling everything so beautifully, and when he said that nothing about Harry would ever disgust him, I fell a little more in love <3
Um, and can I just say that I never thought this kink would be hot? Obviously, leave it to you to write a story about this kink that is scorching.