Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandom:
Relationship:
Character:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Collections:
The Hex Files
Stats:
Published:
2008-08-24
Completed:
2008-09-26
Words:
39,506
Chapters:
8/8
Comments:
122
Kudos:
2,229
Bookmarks:
735
Hits:
29,151

What You Do With Your Life, A.H.K.B.C.B. (After the Hero Kills the Batshit Crazy Bastard)

Chapter 8: Five years, ten months, ten hours and sixteen minutes A.F.O.G.L. (After Finish of Great Lunatic)

Chapter Text

I do not own them. I desperately wish that I did, but, alas...

 

Part Eight

Five years, ten months, ten days and sixteen minutes A.F.O.G.L. (After Finish of Great Lunatic)

The pop of their Apparition was still fading when they appeared in the middle of Draco’s massive bedroom suite. Potter looked around, eyes wide.

“Where are we?”

“My room,” Draco answered, studying the striking face in front of his, eyes ardent as he took in every line, plane, and angle. He saw Potter’s gracefully arched brows lift in surprise and appreciation.

“This is your room? This is a bloody suite.”

“Well, it’s a suite, yes,” Draco responded a bit wryly. “This is a Manor house, Potter, not a flat. And why exactly are we talking?”

Potter’s eyes returned to his face and warmed with amusement and desire.

“Not worried about Mum and an army of house-elves, then?”

Draco’s lips curled. “I think my mother knows better than to interrupt at the moment, and the house-elves wouldn’t dare.”

The arms around Draco’s waist tightened, and he melted into Potter’s body. Even through their layers of clothing, he could feel the evidence of Potter’s arousal pressing against his own, and he moved into it. Potter licked his lower lip. “So, you want to shag with all of those people downstairs?”

“If you wanted, I’d let you shag me on the table next to the appetizers.”

Potter’s amusement resolved into a full, spreading smile. “Missed me?”

Draco’s humor faded, and he lifted his hand and curled it around Potter’s nape. “You’ve no idea,” he whispered. “I was so convinced…” He stopped, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“Of what, Draco?” Potter urged softly. Draco studied the watchful eyes, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, spoke from his heart.

“That I’d ruined it. That you had found someone else, because I was so glib the day that you left.” Potter started to speak, but Draco shook his head, and he subsided. “It was a self-defense mechanism. I wanted more than a one-off with you, and it scared me, Potter. And I was afraid that my comment about ‘no-strings’ had somehow convinced you that I wasn’t serious. And then Antonio sent the clipping and the photo…”

Potter’s eyes narrowed and darkened. “Antonelli,” he said flatly. “He sent the article to you.” Draco nodded, and Potter’s jaw hardened. “That treacherous son of a bitch. And of course, he made it sound as if there was something going on.” He shook his dark head. “Someday, I’m going to hex that vile prick.”

“But not now,” Draco murmured, his thumb moving soothingly in the short, soft hair just above Potter’s nape. “I don’t want to talk about him now.” He leaned in, his nose brushing against Potter’s chin. He smelled of citrus blended with spices, warm and subtle, and it stirred something in Draco’s chest, made gooseflesh raise on his shoulders. Potter smelled like a man, and Draco gripped him tighter. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

He covered Potter’s mouth with his, angling his head, immediately pressing against the seam of Potter’s lips with his tongue. Potter made a soft, grunting sound in the back of his throat, then opened his mouth and let Draco kiss him with all of the pent-up passion that had been nurtured by weeks of loneliness and fear. The kiss was violent in its intensity, teeth against soft lips, tongue thrusting, and Potter stayed pliable in his arms, allowing Draco’s fear and hurt to morph into a consuming passion. Potter linked the arms that were wrapped around Draco’s waist and lifted him, turned, and walked until the back of Draco’s thighs were pressed against the side of his bed.

Hands went to work, somewhat gracelessly, as heads changed angles and mouths fed. Draco’s robes were unfastened and pushed from his shoulders to pool around his hips; Potter’s were opened and allowed to slide to the floor in a soft rustle of sound. Beneath his robes, Draco had worn only his dark pants, socks and shoes, and Potter made a sound of pleasure when his hands encountered skin. Beneath his robes, Potter had on a button-down, tie and slacks, and Draco growled in irritation as his hands fisted in the cotton of his shirt. He gripped Potter’s arms and turned, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Potter looked up at him in surprise when Draco pushed him flat onto his back, his legs hanging over the side of the mattress.

“Draco…” he began, but bit off anything further when Draco palmed his erection through the fabric of his slacks.

“Shit,” Potter hissed, arching his back, lifting into the touch.

“Deal with the shirt and tie,” Draco ordered, slowly sinking to his knees between Potter’s spread thighs. He reached for his belt. “I’ll take care of this.”

Potter loosened the tie and yanked it off over his head as Draco unfastened his belt, then unbuttoned his slacks. He was unbuttoning his shirt when Draco unzipped his trousers, long nimble fingers finding the opening in his y-fronts and pulling his cock through the gap. When Draco immediately lowered his mouth over the swollen, straining length, Potter gasped, his hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

Draco took in as much as he could, bobbing his head, tongue working along the underside and swirling around the thick head on each upward stroke. Draco’s hand curled around him as well, and he moved it in concert with his mouth, making Potter exhale in a long, harsh rush. Not satisfied with only part of what he wanted, Draco paused long enough to yank at Potter’s trousers, and Potter kicked off his shoes and lifted his hips so that the constraining clothes could be stripped away. Then Draco was back, lips spread wide, taking him into his mouth and then his throat, and Potter moved his hand restlessly over Draco’s hair as he began once again to work the swollen flesh with his cheeks and his tongue, his free hand moving to cup Potter’s heavy balls.

Potter managed to get his shirt unbuttoned and open down his chest with one hand, and Draco’s fingers slid up over defined hipbones and ribs. His mouth dropped lower and he sucked first one, then the other soft globe into this mouth, massaging them with his tongue. Potter’s thighs stiffened and his breath stuttered, and his hand roamed over the back of Draco’s head and his shoulders. Draco released the sphere with a soft ‘pop’, licked up the underside of Potter’s straining flesh then fluttered his tongue against the swollen ridge. Potter made a growling sound in his throat before grabbing Draco under his arms and lifting him easily, turning and dropping him on his back on the bed. Draco barely had time for a self-satisfied smile at the raw hunger in Potter’s eyes before he was being kissed with a thorough intensity that had his arms lifting and his fingers curling into the heavy muscles over Potter’s shoulder blades.

Potter grabbed Draco’s arms, fingers climbing to circle his wrists and press them against the mattress on either side of his fair head. He slid his lips along Draco’s jaw, then down his throat, his tongue mapping the pale flesh, his teeth nipping as he went. When he arrived at a tight, pale nipple, he closed his mouth over it, tongue swirling, lips sealing to skin as he sucked against it, teeth teasing the sensitive flesh. Draco made a surprised, needy sound, and Potter’s lips slid to the other nipple and he gave it the same taunting treatment. By the time his tongue slid down the indentation between Draco’s straining abs, Draco's hips were shifting impatiently and his breath was escaping in short, needy sounds that mortified him on some level, but he was too far gone to care. When Potter shoved Draco’s pants down and took his cock into his hand, then his mouth, Draco cried out, his hands fisting in the duvet on either side of his head.

Potter pulled against Draco’s cock with his tongue and his cheeks, all wet suction and heat. Draco grew more and more restive, his head moving against the counterpane, his legs twitching. Potter curled one firm hand around Draco’s thigh and stilled it, then slid beneath to push the long leg up as his mouth moved lower, briefly caressing Draco’s balls before sliding lower yet. When his mobile, wicked tongue traced the hypersensitive puckered flesh of his opening, Draco groaned deep in his chest, grabbing his leg behind the knee and pulling it against his chest.

“Potter,” he gasped. Potter hummed, and the vibration was almost more than Draco could bear. He began to shake, his breathing loud and harsh. He felt Potter’s tongue move against him again, pressing inside of him, and he jerked. “Potter!” he cried, his other hand dropping and fisting in messy black hair.

“Draco.” Potter stuck his fingers in his mouth, covering them with saliva, then slid his lips along the tendon between Draco’s leg and groin as he reached down, caressing the crease in his arse. His eyes lifted to Draco’s, so dark that they were nearly black. “Really, we’ve been through this,” he said smoothly, pressing, slipping a finger sleekly inside, curling it, making fireworks explode in Draco’s head. He whimpered. “Don’t you think we can get past your aversion to my first name?” he whispered.

“I’ll call you Henrietta if it will force you to get on with it,” Draco ground out between clenched teeth. Potter’s slow smile was wickedness itself as he pulled his finger out and pressed in again, adding a second, carefully loosening the tight ring of muscle.

“Harry will suffice, thanks.”

Draco’s neck was arched and he was breathing harshly through his mouth by the time Potter had prepared him completely, massaging his aching prostate the entire time. He knelt between Draco’s legs and looked down into his face.

“Lube?” he asked softly.

“Table,” Draco answered, panting. “Drawer.” He’d been ready to go on saliva alone, he was that desperate, but part of him knew he’d be grateful later for the consideration.

Potter raised his hand and muttered a spell, and the drawer flew open and the bottle sailed into his hand. Draco felt a thrill run the length of his spine and gooseflesh broke out on his chest as Potter’s magic brushed his skin. His legs were pushed up, and Potter flicked open the bottle with one hand and poured the slick, cool lube directly onto his loosened opening. Draco shuddered, his teeth gripping his lower lip. Potter’s fingers came back briefly, spreading the gel, then he shifted closer, and Draco felt the pressure of Potter’s cock pressing against him. Then he paused.

“Potter,” Draco wheezed, gripping the man’s forearms hard.

“Harry.”

Draco’s eyes had rolled up and glazed at the sensation of Potter’s cock against him, and he fought to bring them back into focus. He found Potter watching him closely.

“Wha…?”

“Harry, Draco. My name is Harry.”

Draco curled his fingers into Potter’s muscular arms, panting shallowly as the thick head slowly breached him, but went no further. “Potter!” he cried out, trying to lift his hips to force him deeper, but Potter flattened a hand over Draco’s lower abdomen and held him down. Draco growled between his teeth.

“Draco,” Potter said. “My name is Harry. Is this really so difficult?”

Draco felt sweat dripping down his temple, felt his fringe glued to the dampness soaking his brow. Every muscle in his body was straining; his arms were shaking. Why was he fighting this, he wondered wildly? Why couldn’t he just say it? He dampened dry lips with his tongue. Only once in the entirety of their acquaintance had he ever called Potter anything other than… Potter. But to do so now, staring up into the watchful eyes while pinned beneath the coiled strength and about to be taken, completely vulnerable? It seemed like a huge step, a massive leap of trust, and his heart was pounding jarringly hard in his chest. Trust; it required trust. He licked his lips again.

“Harry.”

It was just a breath of sound, not really loud enough for Potter to hear, but he must have read his name on Draco’s lips for he slid home with a satisfied sigh. Bracing himself with Draco’s legs over his arms, he leaned down and kissed him gently. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmured against his mouth, then lifted his chest and began to move.

Draco stared into the face above his, watched features tight with pleasure, saw how his jaw jutted forward slightly with each slow, measured thrust. Tendons stood out in bold relief down each side of his throat, muscles bunched and flexed across the top of his shoulders and down the center of his stomach. He moved with slow, steady strokes, taking his time, easing the initial sting and burn of entry with care. And the usual feeling of fullness, something Draco loved -- if the truth be told even craved -- was somehow more. More satisfying, more exhilarating, more exciting. Draco’s cock never flagged; it stayed hard as a rock, flat against his belly, a small pool of pre-come mingling with the slender trail of fair hair beneath his navel. He lifted his hands and slid them into Potter’s damp hair, fingers curling around the silky strands and holding on. Potter’s eyes opened and he stared down into Draco’s face, and Draco held the gaze, unblinking.

Inevitably, the pace picked up. The bed didn’t squeak, but the headboard bounced rhythmically against the wall and Draco made short, sharp sounds that mingled with the wet sound of the lube and the soft grunts that began to accompany each increasingly forceful thrust. Potter reached between them and curled a slick hand around Draco’s cock, fisting him in time with each forward motion, and Draco’s toes curled and his neck arched as he felt pressure building through his pelvis, in his balls.

“Ah, ah, ah…” he gasped. His thighs were pressed tight against his chest, even without Potter holding them there, and he curled his spine, lifting his head, arching his groin up, making Potter’s cock slide directly over his prostate. “Oh, shit!” he cried with a garbled moan, dropping one hand from Potter’s hair to clutch at the duvet. But Potter’s free hand caught it, and he linked their fingers and held on. No one had ever held his hand like that during sex, and it seemed in that moment more intimate than anything that had come before. More intimate than Potter’s other hand fisting his cock, more intimate even somehow than the cock moving hard into his arse. He stared up into Potter’s flushed, damp face, into the wide, watchful eyes, and whatever he thought he’d once felt for Antonio was eclipsed in the flood of emotion that filled his chest. Tears stung his eyes, and with a shattered, startled cry, he felt his release burst from him to paint both of their stomachs with shining drops of thick, pearly white.

He was still shaking from the force of his orgasm when he felt Potter’s movements go from smooth and steady to erratic and short, so hard they shoved Draco along the mattress. Potter gasped and shuddered, his head dropped back and his teeth clenched, his fingers clutching Draco’s in a punishing grip. Draco felt the cock inside of him pulse.

“Oh, God,” Potter ground out, his body convulsing. “I love you, Draco. God, I love you…”

He hung above Draco for a moment, body rigid, muscles clenched, then he slowly collapsed, catching himself before he dropped onto Draco, lowering himself on trembling arms instead. He turned his face into Draco’s neck, his breath sawing against the sweat-slicked skin. Draco lifted his arms and embraced him, and found that the words were there, just waiting to be said.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips against Potter’s ear. “I love you, too…. Harry.”

Potter’s broad shoulders shuddered, and his lips moved against Draco’s throat as he slipped his arms beneath the slender body and held him tight. For several long moments, there were no words. What needed to be said had been said.

Silence lingered for a long time after. Both of them seemed loath to break the fragile bubble of understanding that closed them off from the rest of the world. Potter withdrew gently from Draco’s body and rolled to his side, taking Draco with him, holding him in a loose embrace. Draco listened to the sound of Potter’s ragged breathing over the wild beating of his own heart. His pulse rate calmed, and the sweat on his skin dried, and still they did not speak.

Once the euphoria of his orgasm began to fade, Draco’s mind began to race.

Potter… no. Not Potter. Harry.

Harry loved him. Good God. Harry Potter loved him. He’d said so, in front of his mother and a room full of Britain’s most powerful, influential, not to mention gossipy, witches. There was no taking it back now; by the time the Evening Prophet came out, he didn’t doubt that one of the well-heeled matrons in attendance downstairs would have sold the story to Skeeter. He’d be front-page news again, and yet he couldn’t find it in his heart to care.

He was in love with Harry Potter, too.

Even thinking the words didn’t remove the incongruity that such a thing might be so. From where they’d begun to the place where they were now had been a journey so strange, so convoluted, that it seemed all but impossible. It was the stuff of absurd fiction. Not so long before, he’d have argued that Draco Malfoy and happy endings didn’t belong in the same sentence. In fact, he still wasn’t completely sure that it wasn’t some sort of elaborate mistake, that the fates would get wind of the whole thing and manage to strip him of the moment. As the thought crossed his mind, his fingers tightened on Harry, as if he could physically hold that tiny fragment of time in his hands.

“Are you all right?”

The deep voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to find Harry studying him with a slight frown between his brows.

“I’m fine,” he answered quickly. Too quickly, for he could see that Harry didn’t believe him.

“Draco,” Harry murmured, lifting his hand and pushing Draco’s fringe from his eyes. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“God, no,” Draco answered with feeling. “It was brilliant.”

“I can see that something is on your mind,” Harry prodded. “Tell me.”

Draco licked his lips. “Does it ever,” he began tentatively, “just seem… impossible?”

“What?” Harry asked. “Us?”

Draco nodded. “From where we started? Have you ever even imagined a less likely relationship?”

“Probably not,” Harry acknowledged with a shrug. “Does it matter?”

Draco frowned. “It doesn’t to you?”

Harry’s lips curled up slowly. “Not even remotely.”

“Potter…” he began, then stopped when he saw Harry’s eyes narrow. “You know,” he muttered, “I’m no doubt still going to call you Potter occasionally. Old habits die hard.”

“I don’t care if you occasionally call me Potter,” Harry retorted. “Just not in bed while I’ve still got your spunk on my stomach, yeah?”

Draco grimaced. “That was… unnecessarily descriptive.” He glanced down and saw that he too was still wearing the evidence of his own orgasm. “And yet completely true,” he acknowledged with distaste. Harry muttered under his breath, and Draco felt the tingling of the cleansing spell over his groin and arse.

“You know, it’s a good thing I’m fond of you. That’s an incredibly invasive spell.”

Harry chuckled in response. “Well, considering I’m the one who instigated the mess, I didn’t suppose you’d mind my cleaning it up.” Draco batted at Harry’s side, which garnered another chuckle. Harry caught Draco’s hand and linked their fingers, then kissed the back of his hand. There was another soft silence. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Draco admitted quietly, stroking the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb. “I think this has been the longest four weeks of my life.”

“Mine, too.” Harry paused to run his lips over Draco’s knuckles. “So, the question arises again: what are we going to do about it?”

Draco inhaled, held his breath for a moment, and then slowly let it go. “What do you mean?”

Potter shifted back, hands on Draco’s shoulders, so that there was enough room between them for him to look into Draco’s face. “I know this may seem sort of sudden, but I’d like for you to consider coming back to New York with me,” he said carefully. “I have a suite in a very nice hotel in mid-town Manhattan, not far from the Ministry and the Wizard Quarter. I’m teaching two sessions a day, but unless there is some function in the evening, I’m usually done by two or three in the afternoon, which leaves my evenings free. And to tell you the truth, I’ve been kind of bored and… really lonely.”

Draco stared into the earnest eyes, his heart in his throat. Here it was; they’d made their declarations, and now Potter was asking him, for all practical purposes, to move in with him for the next five months. So what was he going to do? He wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of: saying yes and having it go badly, or saying no, and never knowing how it might have gone at all. His pulse began to race again as he considered what his answer should be.

Potter must have taken his silence for refusal, for his eyes dropped and he rolled to his back. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m pushing…”

“No, you aren’t.” Draco said. Potter’s head turned, eyes tentative but hopeful. “I… haven’t been to New York in years. It might be nice to see it again.”

He saw the small light of hope that flared in Potter’s eyes, and there was one in his own chest to match it. He so wanted to see if it grew into something full and warm and lasting. He wanted to take the chance. He wanted to take the chance with this man. But his relationships thus far had been miserable failures, and he knew that the fault, at least partly, was his own. And Potter deserved to understand what he was getting himself into.

“Po…” He paused. “Harry,” he went on softly, and the green eyes shone. “I’m not easy.”

One brow arched. “Do tell.”

“Oh, shut it,” Draco said in mild exasperation. “I’m trying to tell you that I can be… difficult, and high maintenance, and a bit of a snob.”

“Just a bit?” Harry broke in, teasing. Draco shot him a narrowed-eyed look that brought a slight smile.

“I’m demanding. And spoiled,” Draco went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “And when I don’t get my own way, I tend to pout, and you might find me irritating, and…”

“Oh, enough!”

Whatever else Draco might have been going to say was lost when Potter reached over and curled his hand around his nape, hauled him in, and kissed him into silence. Draco stiffened for just a moment, but Potter’s lips were so soft, and supple, and persuasive that he forgot his arguments and returned the kiss instead. When Potter pulled back, he looked into Draco’s eyes.

“Okay, it’s my turn,” he said, his voice deep. “I know that you’re high maintenance, and difficult, and spoiled. And better than just about anyone, I know that you are a snob.” Draco began to retort, but Harry held up his hand, silencing him. “There is absolutely no question that when, not if, you pout, I will find it irritating. And I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it.” He reached out, bracketing Draco’s face between his palms, his eyes intense. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for longer than I think even I realized. I know it won’t be easy; I’m stubborn, and opinionated, and I always think I’m right. I tend to leap before I look, and when I drink too much, I get sloppy. I’m a dreadful slob who constantly needs picking up after, and I wouldn’t know a decent vintage of wine if you hit me over the head with the bottle.” He smoothed one of his thumbs over Draco’s lower lip. “Is any of that a deal breaker?”

Draco stared into the watchful eyes for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m not saying I won’t complain, but no. None of that sounds so very terrible.”

Harry’s eyes began to shine. “Well, none of what you said sounds so very terrible, either. I know those things about you, Draco, and I don’t care about any of them,” he said solemnly. “I told you once that I thought you were a better man than you knew. I still believe that.”

Draco studied Harry’s face in the soft light that filtered in through the windows across the room, searching for any signs that he didn’t mean exactly what he was saying. He could find none. “You really do, don’t you?” The smile that moved across Harry’s face was slow to develop, but so real, and so sincere that it warmed Draco clear through. “I want to be,” Draco said softly, his hand moving up the back of Harry’s neck, fingers carding through the damp black hair there. “I want to be that for you.”

Harry tightened the arms around Draco’s waist, pulling him in until their chests were pressed firmly together, and their lips were close. His eyes moved over each of Draco’s features, and Draco had never felt so exposed and yet safe, all at the same time. Harry reached up and pushed Draco’s fringe back from his eyes with gentle fingers, then cupped his cheek in his hand.

“Draco, you already are,” He murmured warmly, then slipped his hand to Draco’s nape, pulling him in, bringing their lips together.

And as Harry kissed him with such love, and such aching tenderness, Draco thought that it must be true.

He must be a better man than he’d ever realized.