Prompt: # 47
Summary: Draco and Harry are in a relationship. Draco can’t help but think that Harry will leave him for someone better soon. That shouldn’t be a problem, it’s only sex after all. Or at least that’s what Draco tells himself.
Warnings: Language, angst and fluff
Word Count: 6,862
Author's Notes: This is the first story that I’ve written for Harry/Draco, and also the first bit of smut I’ve ever written. But with the lovely prompt I couldn’t not. Thanks to my lovely beta singlemomsummer Thanks to the lovely mods for giving me an extension. Hope you enjoy. Title from the first line of e.e cummings poem “since feeling is first”.
Draco lies awake next to Harry. The sweat on their skin has cooled enough that he is almost cold, so he lies pressed against Harry who always radiates a lot of heat. With one hand Draco lightly traces runes he once learnt from his parents onto Harry’s back, watching Harry’s sleep-slackened face. The manic energy that usually rushes and tumbles through the young man has abated and what is left is serene and makes Draco feel this odd mix of tenderness and longing for... He stops the thought in its track. It’s not something he’s willing to entertain for any time at all. Because it would leave him vulnerable, and that is something he’s promised himself he’ll never be again.
Draco's hands carry on their meandering path on Harry’s back, now no longer writing runes but instead exploring the wonderful expanse of skin before him. His hand wanders lower and lower, now brushing over Harry’s perfectly formed arse that not even two hours ago he was losing himself in. The memory is enough to make arousal flood through him once again.
Each time he and Harry have sex it burns itself into his memory and cements itself deeper and deeper. “You have ruined me Harry,” he whispers into the darkness. Draco knows that when he has sex with someone else again he won’t be able to not compare them with Harry. The way Harry responds to every touch, kiss and look; the way he will stare into your eyes and in that moment you feel like the centre of the universe. Not to mention the heat that envelopes him as he pushes into Harry.
The desire becomes too much for him, and using his own hand seems like a wasted opportunity with a lover lying next to him. He gently rolls Harry over onto his back, the man mumbling in his sleep.
Draco in turn kisses his lips lightly. Even in sleep Harry’s head strains upwards when the contact between their lips is broken. Chuckling lightly Draco sets to work kissing and licking his way downwards. Above his head he can hear whimpers and moans being elicited from Harry and Draco pauses to see whether Harry has woken yet. The long lashes are fluttering over his green eyes, and Draco can see that Harry is returning to consciousness. The tenderness hidden in the touch that Draco aims at Harry’s cheek is small enough that he can dismiss it as a simply desire to touch.
“Insatiable, aren’t we?” Harry’s sleep-heavy voice laughs.
Draco grins and puts his other hand on Harry’s hard cock. “You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” he answers, thrilled at the gasp that has left Harry’s lips. Again a short bark of laughter is heard from Harry. Draco bends forwards to kiss Harry to silence the laughter. Their lips meet and then their tongues slide together. Draco lowers his body against Harry’s and their erections touch.
“Told you we don’t need clothes in bed,” he pants against Harry.
“No, I suppose you’re right,” Harry pants back. “But hurry the fuck up, yeah? I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”
Draco answers with a rock that makes both of them groan.
It stays a constant, him and Harry. They have sex most nights, and most mornings and then the occasional time during the day. It feels good, Draco supposes, the regular sex and the conversations they have in the evening before they inevitably fall into bed together. There is, as before, a stirring in Draco that he refuses to acknowledge. Nor does he acknowledge that sometimes he catches himself looking at Harry for a little too long. But it’s okay, he persuades himself, he’s just happy, that’s all.
Who wouldn’t be, after all, with all that regular sex?
At the same time as the feeling that should not exist grows unbidden, another thing grows as well: unease. It makes his skin crawl and his tongue feel like lead when he stops to think. So he tries not to. If he just pretends like nothing is happening, then he can bury the unease and it won’t exist anymore.
He develops a strategy to not think about anything; spending as much time either with Harry or at work, because Harry has this effect on him that soothes the rushing thoughts in his head whilst at the same time setting off every one of his nerves. During their talks he learns more and more about Harry; how Harry doesn’t like to sleep in completely dark spaces, because of the woods. In turn Draco talks about the year with the Dark Lord in his house. And for the first time in ages he feels listened to. At the same time he has to hold himself in check, because he knows that Harry might leave him at any moment, because as he knows from experience, most will run as soon as they get a better option than a Death Eater.
The constant changes, however, when he witnesses something that shouldn’t change anything but does anyway. It is a normal day at work; he has dinner reservations for seven that night for him and Harry at their favourite restaurant. Harry doesn’t know about it and Draco wants to surprise him during the lunch hour. So he leaves his office to get to Harry’s. He doesn’t knock on the door because he knows that Harry hates the loud sharp knocking sound. He only opens it a fraction just to make sure that Harry isn’t in a meeting with someone important. What he does see still makes him pause.
In the office on Harry’s lap with her arms around him is the youngest Weasley. Harry is rubbing small circles on her back that slowly rucks up the material of her shirt. To reveal pale skin that is almost as pale as Draco’s own. She is crying into the crook at Harry’s neck. “I wish it had just worked out between us, then we could be married and I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”
Dream on bitch, Draco thinks. Then he doesn’t want to think about why he thinks that. It’s because no one wants to marry her, no other reason, the functioning part of his brain answers him.
“I know, Gin. I know. It would be easier, wouldn’t it?”
Everything drops in Draco’s stomach, and he turns on his heel because he can’t and won’t listen to Harry professing his love for the Weasley girl. And although one part of him is saying, it doesn’t matter, the other one says that of course it matters. He is almost running now through the corridors to his office. Thankfully Granger isn’t back yet. The first thing he does is write an owl to the restaurant. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to eat again today. He already feels too ill. Some feeling that is filling him up in an unpleasant way.
It’s a crushing emotion he feels; crushing in the sense that it is crushing everything else out of its way; his heart squeezed painfully against his ribs. The short breaths he draws are rattling and burning him as they rush into his lungs. That is when he understands what he is feeling. It is a mixture of everything; anger, betrayal, sheer blind rage, lust, jealousy and an all consuming desire to hurt and fuck all at the same time.
He is painfully hard and he revels in the pain, only because it is better than the pain his heart is feeling. He palms his cock through his trousers. He needs – he needs Harry. And that frightens him, but he does what he always does, ignores the fear whilst he is consumed by it. This heightens his anger, and therefore his lust. From a tray on his desk he grabs one of the charmed memos. Three words he writes on it.
Go home now.
He spells it to be sent to Harry’s desk, knowing that he is probably in the middle of paperwork, so will be able to react to the note. He leaves a note on Granger's desk: I’ll be back in an hour, then Apparates to the flat that Harry owns.
Harry is already there. Draco can sense it through the familiar pressure of his presence, highlighted by his magic that seeps from him like perfume, intoxicating. Before he knocks on the door he has to close his eyes and inhale deeply. Attempting to control himself, he’s worried that if Harry as much as touches him he may come immediately but that can’t happen because there is something he needs to do. By the time Harry has ripped open the door Draco has managed to subdue his lust to a constant steady throb at the back of his head, but Harry's slight flush and parted lips do nothing to help keep his control.
“What’s wrong Draco? I got –”
Draco doesn’t let him finish, instead he's pushing him backwards into the flat, whilst kissing him roughly.
Yes, this is what he needs to do. For far too long the need for this has been building up. With one leg he kicks the door shut. Before pressing Harry back against the wall in the hallway. Harry breaks the kiss and pants against his lips, “Gods yes.” Draco again captures his lips, this time adding small nips with his teeth. Judging by the moans that Harry is breathing into his mouth he's enjoying them.
Draco begins to tear Harry’s shirt. He can’t explain why but he needs to do it; needs the violent sound of the cotton ripping, something to appease the battle within his chest. He arches his body towards Harry and feels the solid press of his chest and his cock. Needing more contact, he vanishes both of their remaining clothes; when he is with Harry he can never get enough, he always needs more. Just like now, even with the touch of skin against skin, hard straining cock against cock, he still needs more.
He turns Harry around and pushes him roughly against the wall, pressing his erection between his cheeks. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down when you go back to your office because all you can remember is me filling you. And every time that you come home you’ll remember this, the way that I buggered the Chosen One against a wall,” he growls into Harry’s ear.
Harry presses back against him, and makes sounds of agreement low in his throat. Draco uses his wand one more time to prepare Harry, before throwing it out of harm’s way. Pushing one finger into Harry, and circling it around the ring of muscles he probes deeper finding the small nub before pressing against it. Harry’s knees buck and only Draco's hand pushing Harry against the wall keeps him upright. Harry presses back against his fingers.
Removing the fingers he lines up his cock with Harry’s arse and pushes in. They both scream at the action and Draco pauses a moment to fight for edges of control.
Then he thrusts forwards suddenly and roughly. The heat and the tightness around his cock send him to new heights, and he knows he won’t last long. One hand stays on Harry’s shoulder pushing him into the wall and the other snakes around Harry’s waist and down to his straining cock where he pumps in time with his thrusts. Harry starts rocking in time with them, and Draco's control becomes harder and harder to retain.
It starts then, that inevitable building. The way that pain builds, except that this is further from pain than anything else. He bites Harry then, between the shoulder blades, leaving an angry red bruise that he kisses immediately. Harry comes, unexpectedly, and Draco can feel the heat and tightness get hotter and tighter. This, together with the curses that Harry is muttering, brings him closer.
His thrusts become erratic and not the punishing the same way they were before. Somehow Harry takes the one hand that was holding his cock and brings it up to his mouth. He places one finger into his mouth and laves it with his tongue and moans appreciatively. Draco’s orgasm is ripped from him, and he is still thrusting shallowly as he empties himself into Harry.
They stand there for a minute entwined, both panting, trying to regain their breath.
“That was fucking amazing, Draco.” Harry says, his forehead resting against the wall, “But I’ve got to go now; I have a meeting in about five minutes.”
Draco steps back, sliding out of Harry. He feels drained, empty. There isn’t any rage left.
“You can show yourself out, can’t you?” Harry is already making his way towards his bedroom to get his clothes, where they were probably banished to.
Draco stands there looking at the thick white stain on the wall of the hallway. The viscous liquid drips down slowly, and half a minute later Harry emerges in more of an order, with a new shirt on. Draco gestures to the stain on the wall.
“I’ll leave it there; you said you wanted me to remember this every time I’m in the hallway.” He laughs and Draco raises his eyebrows to signal his disgust. “I’ll get rid of it when I get home. You’ll come over at seven tonight?” Harry looks at him, and Draco can only shrug. “Well I’ll see you then.” Harry kisses him briefly on the lips and is already breezing out of the door.
Oh. Draco doesn’t know what to do with himself now. His thoughts are rushing and at the same time are sluggish. I’m just a quick orgasm for him, aren’t I? That single thought forces him to make his way to Harry’s bedroom and retrieve his clothes from the corner where they usually end up.
He pulls on each item of clothing slowly and walks towards the door to Harry’s flat. He leaves a note on the door.
Not coming round at seven. You can go fuck yourself. Don’t try and talk to me.
That first week without speaking to Harry – no, Potter , his thoughts supply – Draco feels a strange keening emptiness that he chooses to ignore most of the time. But sometimes, especially when he is lying in bed in the evening before sleep and when he wakes up, he can’t help but let it overwhelm him. In those moments he is ashamed of the burn that he feels behind his eyes.
During that week he goes to work every day. He sits at his desk and converses with Granger, but only about work. He ignores her attempts at trying to start a different conversation; thankfully she learns after the first day and doesn’t question him. After work he goes home, lets the house elves cook him a meal and then sits there moving his food round the plate. Sometimes he runs in the middle of the night because he wakes up restless. He doesn’t allow himself to think about why that is. That first week he manages to not see him. That’s better, his brain tells him. That first week he can cope.
The second week however is another story. The first two days are fine, and Draco continues in the routine that he has created for himself. On the third day everything changes. He is reading the Daily Prophet when he sees the picture on the third page: Harry kissing another man. The paper rumples easily in his hands and he throws it as far away from him as possible. Fuck you, he thinks. But perhaps by the glares of the other occupants of the canteen he has said it out loud. It’s the evidence he needed to confirm what he has always thought. That Harry, he can’t think of him as anything else really, only saw him as a means to regular fucks. Because in the end he was just a Death Eater and Harry is the Boy Who Lived.
Pansy comes rushing up to him and asks, “Are you alright Draco? You seem pretty upset. I mean, after all you are causing a scene.”
He snorts in anger, and glares at Pansy before hissing at her, “Oh fuck off, Pansy and go fuck your boyfriend, it’s not like we haven’t heard you, might as well see you two now.” He knows it is harsher than he should be, but at the same time he feels a sense of justice when he sees her affronted face. “Go on then, run along,” he adds before returning to his lunch. He can tell that Pansy has walked off back towards Weasley. He catches Granger’s eyes, she’s sitting on a table opposite the one he is. There is a half smile on her face.
“Mr Malfoy, can I please ask you to refrain from shouting in the canteen. But of course if you have a problem you can come and talk to me at any time.”
Draco gazed up into the face of his Department Head. He wasn’t sure what she saw in his face because her face softened. What the fuck was wrong with him.
“You are alright though, aren’t you, Mr Malfoy?”
He stands up because he can’t stand sitting down if he is being patronised. “Actually, I think it’s none of your business. So if you could kindly leave me alone whilst I go to office.” He vanished the rest of the lunch he had been avoiding. “That goes for everyone else too. You can all leave me the fuck alone,” he says into the now silent room. He turns on his heel, does not look into that corner and leaves.
He opens the door to his and Granger’s office. He surveys the room quickly to make sure that there are no urgent memos that need his attention before plonking down at his desk. If someone were to ask him what he was feeling he would not be able to answer. It is a strange mixture of anger and hurt. Something he doesn’t think he is allowed to feel. After all sex is just sex, isn’t it? And it meant nothing, hadn’t he always reiterated that in his head?
Granger opens the door to their office then and sits down opposite him at his desk. “Draco, I need to talk to you.”
Draco thinks it strange that it is Granger who sits down and talks to him. But then again it isn’t that strange; the War and Harry have shattered all of his beliefs, ideals and dreams and re-forged them into something new and still faintly alien. This forging of his new ideals has left him friends and partners with Granger. Someone he now knows to be fiercely intelligent and loyal, and he knows he can trust this implicitly.
But Granger has come to talk to him when he has so viscerally rejected the attempts of his other friends and colleagues and for some reason he lets her stay. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t start her conversation with the infuriating, “You alright?” but has instead launched into a speech about the case they are both investigating. Draco lets the comfortable lull of her voice wash over him. Her speech is the usual well-crafted and fluid pattern of eloquence he has come to cherish about her.
“... I think the thing about Harry is that he is an easy person to love, and he is someone who loves easily. But the problem is that he doesn’t know how to put it into words. Sometimes when Harry tries to show you that he loves you, it doesn’t seem any different to how he feels about all of his acquaintances and friends.”
Draco is brought back from the contemplation of her pattern of speech to the actual content. “Who said that anything that Harry and I have is love? It’s just sex,” he says affronted.
Granger gives him a look that makes him feel as if he had just made a fundamental mistake. And, he supposes, it is a mistake as it isn’t even sex anymore.
“You don’t know?” she asks gently.
Someone should tell Gryffindors that their kindness can be too much. Because that level of gentleness is too painful. “Know what?” he answers, his mouth dry. He swallows reflexively and the next moment a conjured goblet of liquid is placed into his hands by Granger.
“I want to ask some questions and I want you to answer honestly. Okay?”
He wants her to stop asking questions and answer his own. But he knows that he won’t get an answer out of her unless he complies. “Okay, I promise,” Draco manages to rasp out, his throat still too dry for speech.
“I know you don’t think it is love, but I think you’re wrong. Okay, actually maybe these are going to be rhetorical questions. I just want you to answer honestly to yourself.” She pauses to allow him to respond. Seeing his nod she continues.
“Do you know how I knew I loved him? It was the way he sometimes would be talking to me and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking, 'I could miss out the sex just to have this again and again.' And it’s not like the sex isn’t mind-blowingly good and I do want to screw his brains out every opportunity I can get. But sometimes, just sometimes I find myself looking at him, and I mean really looking, and seeing who he is and I’m content with that. No fuck that, I’m happy with it. When he’s asleep I can watch his face at its most vulnerable and that doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, it makes me feel trusted. And it allows me to wonder what he dreams of. It makes me want to know his every thought and at the same time I’d be content knowing none except the ones he shares with me.” She is looking at him now and there is tenderness and determination in her eyes.
“Who’s the he?” Draco asks wanting to distract himself and Granger from the direction his thoughts are heading. The look she gives him is filled with understanding. Draco decides he really hates how clever she is. “Because as I far as I know you and Harry never had sex, but I guess that doesn’t really concern me anymore.” What he doesn’t expect after he says it is the punch he receives to his arm, which has a surprising amount of strength behind it. He tries to rub the soreness away whilst she gives him a disapproving look.
“Who I am in love with is for me to know and you to find out.” Granger – no Hermione, she deserves it really he supposes – says with amusement in her voice. “But I can tell you it isn’t Harry,” she adds as she sees something in his face. “He’s all yours.” She gets up not letting him say anything else and leaves the office with the words, “I’ll be back in five with tea.”
His. He had never thought of Harry that way. Draco had always assumed that Harry was everyone’s and no one’s, but never someone that he could ever say to had any right to. HIS. There was something about that, which made infinite sense. Of course, he knew what it was. Those times that Harry had looked at him with a certain look in his eyes. The look that Draco until now had always dismissed. But that look was one of adoration. Draco realises that each time that he caught that look he felt it. Felt adored, felt like the centre of everything. Maybe he’d been wrong; maybe he was important to Harry. And he was really only comforting the Weaslette.
“I’m a coward,” he mutters under his breath. Something he’d promised himself he’d never be again. Not after the war and he had thought he had managed until now. He resolves to do something about it. He takes a deep breath and releases it with a sigh. He needs to get his head straight first. The question was, did he really love Harry? Yes , comes the answer from deep within him. That single word reverberates through him. Of course you do. The voice becomes stronger and stronger. That one single thought opens doors in his mind for so many more unbidden thoughts. That he actually likes it when Harry looks at him with tenderness. That he likes it when they sit in one of their flats and just have a glass of wine and talk. That when Harry talks he finds himself watching his face and trying to understand every single expression and that he likes the way Harry always chews on his lip when he thinks.
“Fuck. I’ve really fucked it up, haven’t I?” Draco says into the office.
“No. You haven’t,” comes the answer behind him. Hermione places a mug of tea on his desk and sits down. “Go talk to him. He’s just as cut up about it as you are. Tell him how you feel.”
He looks at her and she smiles at him. “I can’t really go up to him and say, 'Sorry for being a twat. But hey it’s ok because I love you',” he says.
Her smile gets even wider and she answers, “You could try. I mean what are you so afraid of?”
There it is, he thinks, the question he is so stupidly afraid of.
“Fucking hell Draco, just tell him. I’ll hold ship until you get back.”
He looks at her again, and she gets up and squeezes him. So that’s why Harry always talks about her hugs, he thinks, because there is so much kindness in that hug. The ever present burn in his eyes gets stronger and then lessens. It is only when he feels hot tracks running down his cheek is it that he realises that the burn was unshed tears. Hermione releases him and presses a cool kiss to his forehead. He is instantly reminded of his mother.
“Now go fuck off and tell him.” She laughs. He mouths “thank you.” And she only nods and doesn’t comment on his tears.
Even if he has fucked everything up, he figures he owes her; for letting him overcome his fear. He starts searching on his desk for a blank memo.
But Hermione, who is leaning against his desk, is holding the only one. “No. I want you to go up to him and speak to him in person.” Her voice is stern and understanding at the same time so he gets up and leaves the office.
His feet know the way to Harry’s office almost automatically and sooner than he thinks he is standing there in front of it. His heart has sunk into his stomach but at the same time thrums. It hurts, this fear, but he swallows it. Because that is what he has to do. He knocks once on the door and Harry opens immediately.
“Who the fuck – oh.”
His anger reignites. “Don’t be such a twat, Potter.” Draco pushes past him into the office and Harry lets the door fall shut. “Draco.” And Draco can’t let the gentle way he says that affect him. “I thought you didn’t want me to talk to you.”
Draco looks at him with a raised eyebrow and Harry only returns it. “I never said anything about me talking to you though, did I?” He inhales and releases the breath in little puffs. “I need to talk to you.”
Harry scoffs, and mutters, “No shit, Sherlock.”
This enrages Draco and he can’t stop the words pouring out his mouth. “It’s all fucking right for you, isn’t it? Being the Chosen One, everybody and their aunt loves you. Then it’s okay to just leave the former Death Eater on the sidelines. You couldn’t even tell anyone that we were fucking, could you? No wonder you’re okay with me cutting off. You didn’t have to worry that I’d tarnish your golden reputation. It’s not fair. Why can’t you be at least a little hurt? Do you even know what it’s like for us mortals? When everything is shit and you can’t stop it.”
His breath is being drawn into his lungs with short harsh snaps of his ribcage. Harry looks at him with a look that mingles surprise and, maybe pity. Draco isn’t quite sure. “Don’t you dare pity me, Potter.” He spits the last word.
Harry shakes he head slightly. “You’ve got it all wrong, Draco. I know exactly what it feels like. And I’m sorry, if I made you feel that way.”
Draco snorts and Harry looks at him and he thinks that Harry understands what he is thinking on the surface. And there it is: that look. The one that says, you, only you. “Explain.” Draco has to understand. He doesn’t just want to know. He needs to know.
“I mean – fuck- Draco, I love you. And I want to fucking shout it from every rooftop. That I’m yours and that I want you to be mine. That it is that fucking simple. But it’s so fucking hard knowing that’s not what you feel. That is just sex for you, along with the occasional berating of my manners. But that’s okay, really. Cause I’ll be content knowing you throw me just a scrap of your attention. Because, fucking hell Draco, you have all of mine. Sometimes I feel like I’m a planet and you’re the star that I’m orbiting. So when you didn’t talk to me for those two weeks, it felt like I was spiralling off into space ‘cause I’d lost my centre of gravity.”
Draco can’t look away from Harry’s eyes, and he can see the anguish in them. He is drawn in by the anguish but not to gloat over it, he realises, but to quiet it. He realises that he wants to kiss Harry’s eyes shut and rock him in his arms. Hermione was right, that would be enough.
Across from him Harry is breathing heavily from his outburst. And Draco still hasn’t said anything and he knows he has to say something or lose this. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply through his nose. Draco can sense Harry shift his weight. Fuck, he really was in too deep. He opens his eyes and looks Harry directly in the eyes. “You’re right in one aspect; you have a scrap of my attention. You’re just wrong about everything else about what I feel.” The space between Harry’s eyebrows furrows in question. “The scrap of attention I give you is everything. There’s no way I can ignore you anymore, and the two weeks apart made that very clear. Because when I don’t talk to you, it doesn’t feel right. And I always thought that if I said anything along those lines you’d finally drop me, for someone more deserving of you.”
He takes a step towards Harry, pleased when there are no limbs that would stop him moving forward. “Those two weeks I needed because I got scared. You know my whole life I’ve been taught that feelings make you weak. My mother used to say, 'Love only the duty to the family.' So since the war, since you, really I’ve got to look at everything differently. And changing my views about blood status is almost easy, especially when there has been substantial doubt in my mind to start with. But how do you go past the instinct and ideals you have had presented to you always, and never had any reason to doubt, or challenge?”
Harry’s face took on that look of guilt that he seems to wear like a second skin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” he rasps out.
Draco places a hand gently on Harry’s cheek, trying to not be distracted that this is the first time he has touched the other man in ages. Harry’s sigh does nothing to help his concentration. “Don’t be.” He says it so gently, for a moment he feels more like a Gryffindor, and he supposes that there are worse things.
“It’s a good thing. Change is good; it let me accept your persistent requests for a date. And it lets me do this.” Draco leans in and kisses Harry tenderly on the lips. His hand comes to land on the nape of Harry’s neck and automatically twists in the strands there. The other he uses to pull him flush against him. At first Harry doesn’t respond, and Draco wonders whether he’s done the wrong thing, said the wrong thing. That is, until Harry unfreezes and his arms snake around his waist and fist into the back of his shirt clinging on tightly to Draco. The second kiss is deeper, more passionate, just more.
“I love you,” Draco whispers against Harry’s lips. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud quite yet. He's hoping that Harry thinks Draco just murmured some contented nonsense, and he feels secure in the knowledge that Harry will never find out just what he said. But his hopes are disappointed when Harry gently prises their faces apart.
“What did you say?” he asks gently, and Draco can detect the timid hope in his voice. He keeps his eyes turned down for a moment before looking up into Harry’s eyes. From those he learns that Harry meant it honestly, something that he both believes and disbelieves, that he loves Draco. He was loved and not because he had done something that furthered someone else’s plans, but for him. It give him courage to say it aloud. “I love you.” He watches Harry’s face for a reaction.
He does not get a verbal response but instead Harry kisses him enthusiastically. This kiss still has a little of the tenderness that the previous one did, but it also has the keen edge of urgency. Draco's hands move of their own accord to tangle in his shirt and his hair.
“Make love to me.” Harry whispers when they break apart for air.
Draco chuckles. “Not here in your office, though.”
Harry looks around them and also laughs. “No, you’re right. I guess I forgot we are here.
They both know they don’t just mean the place where they will be going. Draco knows now, he is Harry’s and Harry is his. Harry fuses their lips together again and Apparates them to his flat. Over his shoulder Draco can see a note at the exact same spot where he fucked Harry, proclaiming Draco Malfoy fucked me here.
“Sentimental much, Potter?” The sentence doesn’t have spite though, for it is far too fond.
“Only about you,” Harry answers. “Now I believe there was something about you making love to me.”
A thrill shoots through Draco, and not only lust, but also the thrill at Harry's words. Only about you.
“Yes, I believe that was a thing that’s going to happen very soon.” Then they are leading each other to Harry’s bedroom. Draco isn’t sure who pushes who onto the bed. Who is the one that twists them both so that Draco is lying on his back with Harry straddling him.
“I want to try something new,” Harry says in between deep slow kisses, which threaten to set Draco on fire.
“That depends, what you have planned.” Nothing prepares him for the next words that come out Harry’s mouth.
“I want to ride you.”
Draco rushes up to kiss Harry in a bruising kiss.
“That’s a yes, I gather,” Harry chuckles.
It is a fantasy Draco hadn’t dared to ask for. But seeing Harry wants it as much as he does turns him on hopelessly. “Of course it’s a yes.” But Harry isn’t really paying attention to his words, instead he is looking at Draco. It feels strange this scrutiny, he wants to turn his head away, even though he knows the look is showing him that Harry feels strongly for him. It is the intensity of the green eyes that is odd. It pins him to the bed.
“Gods, I love you,” Harry says as he bends over to fasten his lips to the side of Draco’s neck, just below his ear. To the spot that sends lines straight to Draco's cock. It causes him to arch his hips off the bed. But Harry’s weight only allows him a small amount of movement. He laughs though and the vibrations of the laugh travel through the side of his neck and down.
Then hands are unbuttoning his shirt. He rolls his shoulders and then lifts his arms so that the shirt can be removed. He wants to lift his own arms to help Harry out of his, but they are heavy and Harry says, “No. I want to do this.” Draco nods and instead settles back to watch Harry. When the pale gold expanse of skin is revealed in front of him, he can’t but help to reach up and touch it. His fingers follow the dip and rise of the play of muscles on his abdomen. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he says, and he almost wishes that his voice didn’t sound so reverent. Harry laughs again, and Draco doesn’t miss the tiny shake of his head before Harry lowers himself to lie on top of him.
That flush press of chest against chest sends Draco's heart beating wildly. But it doesn’t matter because he can feel an answering thrum from Harry. They kiss again, and Draco thinks that he could die like this, and it wouldn’t matter.
Draco knows that Harry cast the spell wandlessly, but the knowledge doesn’t matter when he can suddenly feel all of Harry against all of him. Then Harry rolls off of him, and he keens at the loss of warmth and intimacy. But only moments later Harry is back at his side, kissing him. This time he is holding a small bottle of lube in his hand.
Draco sits up and motions to take the lube and prepare Harry, but he shakes his head. And Draco understands, Harry has to do this. So Draco lies back on his elbows and watches instead. Even though the slide of Harry’s finger into his arse occasionally draws his attention, he can’t spend too much time away from Harry’s face. He keeps Harry’s steady gaze and watches and feels. He knows the exact moment Harry is ready, because he has just flung his eyes open, eyes that had previously fluttered shut with pleasure, to reveal eyes with pupils dilated almost wide enough to swallow the green.
“Ready?” Isn’t that the question he should be asking? But he says “For you, always.” Harry moves himself above him, with his strong thighs on either side of Draco’s hips. Draco strokes his legs, needing to feel more of Harry. Then he holds onto his cock whilst Harry lines up with it. “Now,” he breathes. And Harry lets gravity pull him down onto Draco’s cock in one movement.
Draco doesn’t breathe for a moment whilst Harry does in short gasps. Then, as if by wordless agreement, they both begin to move together. Harry sets up a rocking motion that is unfamiliar to Draco but all the more wonderful for it. And Draco thrusts up into that tight heat. And one of his thrusts, coupled with the increasingly fast rocking, rings true and the moans Harry is making pause for him to cry out. “Fuck yes.” Draco tries it one more time and is rewarded with another cry from Harry, this time wordless. Harry bends down and his leaking cock brushes against Draco’s stomach and Draco moves a hand between them to stroke him. His lips are busy at Harry’s mouth, pressing almost chaste kisses against them. “I love you.” This time it’s him that says it first and the smile Harry gives him is reward enough. “Love you too.”
His own thrusts become more and more erratic, and he is so, so close to that edge that he is almost ashamed that he hasn’t gotten Harry to come first. But Harry only looks him in the eyes and says, “It’s alright. Come for me.” And he does, and thinks it obscene how long it lasts, but at least Harry follows him almost straight away, a hot wetness spreading between their chests and his hand. He removes his hand and wraps it around Harry, who wants to move off of him, despite still panting heavily.
“Stay,” Draco says quietly.
Harry grins and stills, letting all his weight rest on Draco and Draco revels in the feel of it. “Now who’s the sentimental one?”
“Shut up, you have no idea,” Draco answers, but the usual bite isn’t in him anymore. “You know I really do love you,” he says after a moment.
“I know,” Harry answers.
And for the first time Draco realises that it’s okay for him to know and feel it.