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mini_fest2012-12-07 07:25 pm
mini_fest_mod) wrote in mini_fest2012-12-07 07:25 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: After Hours at the Ministry of Magic - Part 2
Harry and Draco sit in the Atrium, fully dressed once more and sipping at the cool water Luna has conjured for them.
"Never seen anything like it in my life," Reg tells Harry, shaking his head and setting the paper hat a-quiver. "Some idiot – don't worry, I'll be finding out who it was – cancelled the lift charms and headed off to our department party without checking whether anyone was still in the building. You're lucky he left the lights on, or you would have been sitting in pitch blackness to top it off."
"Well, at least you don't have to spend Christmas in there together," interjects Ron. "Good job me and Luna got bored in the pub and came to see what was taking you so long." He leans in and speaks quietly to Harry in a Firewhiskey-smelling fog. "Rescued you from a fate worse than death, I reckon. Imagine trying to summon a bit of Christmas cheer with him there, all snidey." He was obviously doing his best to blank what Luna had seen from his mind.
"But why couldn't we use magic?" asks Harry. "It was really weird. Neither of our wands would work; it felt like being a Squib or something."
"There are shields that protect the Ministry after hours," explains Reg. "Prevents any magic being used by intruders, in case of, well, Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, for instance," Reg looks at Harry dolefully, "or anyone else up to no good. But the security guard never checked the Revealoscope before he activated the shields. That would have showed you two, stuck in the lift, as clear as day. Reckon he's been on the Yule punch all afternoon; the security desk was in a complete shambles. Looked like someone had been having a wild old time up there."
Draco looks furious. "Your entire Maintenance Department is a bunch of scoundrels, if you ask me. They've completely failed to fix my stapler despite me asking on three separate occasions. And my chair squeaks atrociously."
Ron pulls a 'listen to Malfoy whingeing on again' face at Harry. "Come on, mate. Got a pint with your name on it waiting for you at the Leaky."
Harry sneaks a glance at Malfoy, who is still complaining to Reg, with many gesticulations. "Er, Ron. About that drink."
Ron snickers. "God, I bet you need one after being stuck in there with the Ferret, eh, Harry?"
"Well, er. You see. I think maybe I'd better give it a miss. Er, Draco—"
"I expect Harry wants to make sure Draco gets home safely," says Luna, all innocence.
Harry nods gratefully. "That's right. We're both a bit shaken up. And Draco was feeling rough in there, for a while. I'll check he's OK."
"That's good," replies Luna. "I'll expect you'll also want to kiss him some more, Harry. You both seemed to be enjoying it a lot when we found you," she continues, regardless of Ron's splutters. "And it is Christmas Eve, after all. Come on now, Ron. That lovely wife of yours will be wanting you home." She guides him towards one of the fireplaces. "Happy Christmas, everyone."
"Well, lads, I'll just tidy up at the desk and make sure everything is in order before I go home," says Reg. "You'd better be getting along; the Floos are still in order, at least. Have a good Christmas, both of you."
Harry and Draco are left facing one another in the empty Atrium.
"So, er, had you made any plans for the evening?" asks Harry.
"Nothing that can't be cancelled," Draco says.
"Do you want...? I mean, I'd very much like to..."
Draco steps closer to Harry and breathes into his ear quietly. "My new plans include getting my tongue down your throat and your legs wrapped round my ears."
Harry feels shivers chasing around his body. Draco extends his arm and Harry no sooner touches it than they are Apparating into Draco's bedroom.
Harry feels Draco pressing into him from behind, hears the intoxicating whisper: "Fuck, Harry, you're even hotter than you ever were. I can't wait any longer, need to get you naked now... Do you remember the first time we did this? I came so hard, I thought I'd gone blind..." Long fingers wind their way into his robes and start to unzip his flies.
Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Stop. Draco. Wait a minute."
"I can't wait a fucking second, Harry, got to be inside you, want to hear you say my name when I make you come..."
Harry lets out a small involuntary moan but forces himself to speak again. He can feel Draco pulling at his clothes urgently. "No. Stop. Stop a minute!"
Draco stops and looks at Harry, his breathing heavy. "What? What's wrong? I want you so badly I can hardly see straight. Don't you want me?" His words sound confident, aggressive even, but his hands are shaking.
"Just don't... rush like this," Harry says. "Of course I want you. I want – I don't want anyone to get hurt. I don't want to... to stir up a lot of feelings for both of us, if we're not... I don't want this to be for one night only."
Draco arches an eyebrow. "For one night only? A Malfoy is never just for Christmas."
Harry looks startled. "I keep forgetting it's Christmas Eve. I didn't expect to be spending this one with you."
"God, me neither. I'm actually rather enthused about it. Can't we just..." he inclines his head toward the bed meaningfully, "and have this conversation later?"
"Draco... " Harry's mouth is dry as his mind races on, picturing what it would be like to let Draco lie him down on the bed, to let him do what he wants – what they both want. "I– we– you know we really do need to talk."
Draco sighs and runs a hand through his still dishevelled hair.
"OK. Fine. So let's talk." He rolls his eyes. "I don't want to rush you into anything you might regret, after all." He takes both his and Harry's outer robes, and hangs them on a chair, before settling himself on the bed. "Is it OK to at least sit on the bed? And you might want to, you know... " He gestures at Harry's flies.
Harry smiles ruefully, zipping himself up, and sits down, nearly knocking over the stack of novels standing by the bed. The sight of the unsteady pile is nothing new, but these particular titles are unfamiliar and somehow disconcerting.
"The problem is," Harry says, "nothing's changed for me. I still feel the same way about you as when we first did this."
"Brilliant. Let's do it again. How about now?"
"Nothing's changed, I say. I'm scared we'll end up in exactly the same mess as we did last time. And speaking for myself, well, it wasn't one of the happier periods of my life." Harry gulps as he thinks of the weeks of misery and self-recrimination, the aching loneliness, the longing for Draco's touch that felt like a physical pain. All of the emotions he had been forced to bury, in order to get on with any kind of normal life again. "I can't believe you want to jump straight back into this."
"And I can't believe you’re just plain scared of it!" Draco takes a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "Look, Potter. I know things went spectacularly wrong last time. We're neither of us saints. You're impossible to be around. Messy, disorganised, you leave butter tracks in the marmalade—"
"Not that again!"
"Yes, that again. I am jealous, needy and unforgiving, I know. I don't let go of things easily. But I let go of you, Harry..." Draco strokes Harry's bottom lip with the soft pad of his thumb, "oh, far too easily."
Harry swallows hard. It was my fault! I turned him away. Draco's eyes are serious and pleading.
"I know your friends don't like me," says Draco flatly.
"They do! Er, well. Luna likes you! Er. Neville doesn't hate you, exactly. Well, not so much as he used to. Ron, hmm. Ron, I admit, is not especially fond of you."
"I know you can't bear to be around my parents."
"That's not tr—! Er. Well. Yes. That is actually true."
"The only people who ever thought it was a good idea for us to be together were you and me."
"We made each other happy. Most of the time," says Harry simply.
"I – I could never give you children. I know how you feel about Teddy, and about having your own family. I worry... I worry you would resent that, one day."
"I'm getting a little confused as to whether you're trying to talk me into this, or out of it!"
"I confess I hardly know myself." Draco shakes his head. "It's as I always say: stopping to think too much is seldom a good idea. I think... I think if we were to turn over a new leaf... start afresh... I think for a start we would need to listen a little less to what other people say – including the Prophet. You need to trust me to know what I am doing, Potter."
"I always trusted you, Draco. It's you that never trusted how I feel about you." Harry's face reddens with the effort of trying to make Draco understand.
"When you sent me away that day... I said I wouldn't try again. But by god, Harry, you make me want to—"
"Draco, I…"
"Merlin, Harry, don't make me beg—"
"Draco. I'll try again in a heartbeat. I just didn't know if you felt the same way. I blame myself for everything that went wrong." Harry feels his eyes prickling hotly. "I've never felt like that – like this – about anyone, ever. If you really mean it, I want to, god, I want to— "
And then, without knowing quite how he got there, Harry is lying on his back on the bed, and Draco is kissing him like he's trying to memorise the contours of his mouth. He holds Harry's head in his hands, and his thumbs trace the lines of Harry's face, grey eyes blazing fiercely.
Draco takes two fistfuls of Harry's hair and clenches, rubbing his face against Harry's jaw, hissing as the stubble bites into his tender skin. He slides his knee between Harry's legs and starts to rub urgently against him through his jeans. Harry can feel the delicious pressure building and realises he is going to have to take control if he wants this to last more than a couple of minutes. He flips them both so that Draco is on his back and begins to undo Draco’s shirt, tormenting the sensitive skin of his throat with his teeth as he does so. Draco turns his head from side to side, moaning.
"Harry... I've wanked myself stupid thinking about you, but it was never even nearly good enough... Fuuuck..." He trails off, bright hair spilling across his face, as Harry nibbles and licks his way down his chest and stomach hungrily.
Harry lay on the bed, eyes shut, his face pressed into the soft wool of the jumper. The smell of lemongrass and something spicy still lingered, and he moaned softly, fingers stroking over his prick, trying to move them in the way he remembered Draco's hands doing, so many times. He knew it was wrong to be thinking of him in this way, now he belonged with someone else... Harry was going to return the jumper, he was, he was, just as soon as he'd finished, just one last time...
Draco's trousers are straining over his erection, and Harry rubs his face on the thick material, very aware of his own cock swollen and leaking as Draco jerks upwards at his touch. He presses Draco's thighs into the bed, nuzzling and mouthing the tented shape at his crotch. Draco is making incoherent sounds, but stills as Harry unbuttons his flies. Harry can smell his arousal, such a heady, musky, uniquely Draco smell, making Harry's mouth fill with saliva in anticipation. He slides Draco's trousers and pants down to his knees and, feeling slightly feral, buries his face in Draco's enticing scent.
Jesus, too much. Harry's cock throbs, and he stands and fumbles with his belt, fingers thick and shaking. He pushes his jeans and underwear down impatiently, and with a few rough strokes, pulls himself off until he is coming with a cry on Draco's stomach and thighs. His legs threaten to buckle, and he braces his knees against the bed until the pulsing dies away.
Draco looks up at him, wild-eyed and flushed, splashes of come beading his pale skin. "Merlin, you should see yourself. You are hot as fuck, Harry Potter." His voice is unsteady and hoarse, and he pulls Harry by the hand, down next to him on the bed, and holds him tightly until Harry's heart is no longer hammering in his chest.
"God, Malfoy, you do strange things to me. Nobody makes me lose it like you do."
Draco laughs softly and, taking Harry's hand, trails it through the pool of come cooling on his belly. "Oh, 'Malfoy' is it? I'm nowhere near finished with you yet... Potter..."
Harry's arm is loose and floppy as Draco moves his semen-covered fingers up to his own mouth, then to Harry's lips. Harry closes his eyes, blushing a little. Draco always manages to inspire in him a delicious mixture of shy and turned on. "Taste yourself, Harry. God, you taste like all my dreams come true."
Draco's mouth tasted like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. He tasted like the sea, like fresh air, like things that didn't have a taste – like light streaming in through a window. Harry moved his tongue around Draco's mouth with determination, intent on discovering every last corner, until nothing remained unknown. He spent the afternoon kissing him, Draco's hands pinned above his head to stop his wicked fingers from distracting him.
Draco sits up and deftly removes the rest of their clothes, starting with Harry's jeans which are tangled around his ankles. Harry half sits up, to help with the removal of his T-shirt but sinks back down again as soon as he's naked. He feels completely exposed, body and mind, a bit jittery: he didn't expect to be opening up this fearful, wonderful place in his head again. He's not sure if he can handle this, overwhelmed as he is by the sudden release of all of his feelings for Draco. They were so carefully shut away until now.
Draco moves above him and sits straddling Harry's waist, his cock standing out from a halo of tight blond curls, and his balls brushing against Harry's skin. The view from where Harry lies on the bed is glorious, his body thrumming with the slow dance of endorphins. This is something he needs: the test of his courage, the leap of faith necessary to step out into the emptiness and believe that Draco will catch him. Draco removes Harry's glasses, then cradles Harry's face in his hands possessively. Neither speaks for a minute, just soaking up the sight of one another.
Harry tilted the jug again to let water stream down over the crown of Draco's head, watching it trickle over the sweep of his neck and down his back, to the curve of his backside. He couldn't remember when he had discovered that Draco adored having his hair washed in this distinctly non-magical, time-consuming way, but once he knew, it was a secret pleasure they both liked to indulge in as often as possible. Draco's hair, wet, was the colour of sand, and flattened to his head like ribbons of silk. Harry refilled the jug with fresh water and slowly poured once more, following the passage of the water with his eyes.
"You're thinner," says Harry, looking with concern at Draco's slightly out-of-focus, narrow shoulders and hips. "You've been missing meals again." His heart feels too full to say all the things he is thinking. Always so beautiful. But fragile. I want to look after you. I worry I might break you.
"Not like you; being dumped by me seems to have suited you revoltingly well. I do however approve of these, oh yes," says Draco, running his hands appraisingly over Harry's new muscles. He bends to drag his tongue over Harry's biceps, his cock pressing against Harry's stomach as he does so.
"You'll have to feed me up again," Draco continues. "A steady diet of constant sex is what I require."
Harry nods eagerly, and reaches for him, but Draco grabs his hand and holds it against the bed. "Not yet. I'd prefer to make this first one last for a bit longer. Not like you, going off like a bloody fifth-year."
Harry keeps getting surges of recognition, like catching sight of someone in the street that you haven't seen for years. The near-invisible, downy white hair on Draco's earlobes, revealed by the lamplight as he turns his head. The way his Adam's apple bobs nervously sometimes, just before he makes his defiantly honest statements. The familiar, teasing dance for supremacy that he always lets Draco win in the end, because giving him what he needs feels like the sweetest victory.
Draco licks his way up Harry's collarbone, then presses greedy kisses along his throat. Harry sighs as Draco nuzzles into his hair, chin rubbing against the sensitive skin along his hairline. "Mmm. Oh you smell good, Harry. You smell just like you've been stuck in a lift with someone who made you feel awfully hot and bothered."
Draco’s hands sweep over Harry's sides, his ribs; they reach back to grip his thighs with possessive tightness, and then to stroke gentle lines along to the crease of his buttocks. Draco smiles as Harry shivers blissfully.
"Your body is so sensitive, Harry. You always react as if you haven't had sex for months."
"Mmm. There might be a reason for that... this time."
The boy looked just enough like a younger Draco that he thought it might work. His mouth was not the right shape, and his eyes were more blue than grey, but he had the white blond hair and the angularity, and Harry was hardly looking anyway, just grabbing his arse and grinding into him against the wall in Neville's back garden. Sounds from the house-warming party drifted out, a buzz of conversation and music, punctuated with the odd shriek of laughter. Harry closed his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that this didn't taste like Draco, that the boy's tongue was too thick, his kiss too sloppy, too...
"What's up, mate?" asked the boy, pulling away. Harry couldn't even remember his name. He didn't want to talk, for god's sake, just to... this. He forced his mouth back against the boy's too-thin lips, rubbing their cocks together through their jeans, seeking more friction... and then he realised exactly what was up. Or rather, not up. He pushed himself angrily against the boy's bony hips, desperately trying to revive his wilted erection, but it was no good. No fucking good at all.
"Is that so?" A tension seems to fall away from Draco with his words. "Well, fancy that. The Prophet really does make it all up."
"And... you? Have you...?"
Draco barks a short laugh. "I won't lie: it certainly wasn't for want of trying. But... maybe my heart just wasn't in it." Draco's touches take on a new gentleness; the changing sensations make Harry gasp.
"Let me... Harry, let me..." Draco leans over to reach for his wand, but Harry holds his hips firm and prevents him.
"Not magic. Use your fingers. Please." This seems important.
Draco nods and sucks a finger slowly, then leans back to stroke Harry with care. Heat is building in the base of Harry's spine. His toes curl with pleasure. "I'll need the—" Draco says, startling for a moment when Harry wordlessly summons a small bottle from Draco's bedside table.
"I do rather love it when you do that," Draco admits, unscrewing the lid and pouring a little of the scented oil into his hand. "All that power..." he muses, "but when I do this..." His finger slides in, almost effortlessly, as every nerve in Harry's body begs to have Draco inside him again. "...you're like putty in my hands."
Harry's mouth opens in a silent O and his body arches powerfully towards Draco. He has wanted this... needed this, so badly.
"You brute, you're going to have me on the floor if you do that again," says Draco, scrambling off Harry's midriff to lie beside him on the bed.
"I need you," says Harry, reaching for him again. "Now. Please. On the floor, anywhere..."
"No chance, you barbarian, I'd much prefer to do this in comfort. Do you remember that time when we couldn't make it past the hall? My knees were in shreds."
... face pressed into the stair carpet... rough, scratchy on his cheek... jacket bunched up awkwardly around his back... Draco driving into him as if these were their last moments, with short swift strokes... feels like fire... fingers digging into his hips, chest crushed... no breath... hell, yes, here, now, here, yes...
"Hell, Draco, stop teasing and – uuhhh..." Harry exhales in a tortured-sounding gasp as Draco presses long fingers inside him and twists artfully. God, the feel of him...
He watches Draco divert his attention to his own erection, pulling the foreskin back and smoothing a generous palmful of the fragrant oil along the length.
Draco kneels between Harry's legs and lines up, his face riveted by the sight of himself about to enter Harry's body. "I'm going to make you yell my name. The neighbours can..." he pushes forward gently, sounding a little breathless, "owl and tell the..." Harry lets out a harsh sound as Draco presses inside, "bastarding... Prophet about it. Fuck. You feel incredible."
He eases his way in, one long firm slide bringing their bodies flush against one another, leaving Harry taking gulping breaths at the sudden intensity of it.
Draco sets a slow pace, savouring every inch of heavenly friction, watching Harry's face intently. Harry shuts his eyes for a moment and bathes in the sensations. It's been so long since Draco was inside him like this, and his emotions are threatening to overload him. There's the sweet, satisfying surrender of giving up control. The joyful burn as Draco stretches and fills him, again and again. And a jagged spike of fear in his chest that he could still lose this, all over again. He's not sure he could bear it a second time.
Let us have this... please… Harry's hands tighten on the cool linen of Draco's sheets, and he feels a livid flush creep over his chest and neck, but it's Draco, not Harry, who begins to cry out. At first softly, then with increasing wildness, as Harry pushes back against him and grips on each out-stroke, as if to keep Draco within him for just a little longer. The sounds are incredible. God, I had forgotten. He wants to laugh at the craziness of it.
"Merlin, so hot, so tight, so fucking good... I want – yes—" Draco's speech disintegrates into senseless sounds, and then, "Harry..." Draco sounds wrecked as tremors run through his body, his cock pulsing inside Harry as he comes in an almighty rush.
He lets his head fall onto Harry's shoulder and lies there, half-clinging, half-trembling, his face pressed into Harry's perspiring skin.
"That was a loud one, even for you," says Harry after a while.
"Oh, shut up," Draco mumbles against Harry's chest. "Bloody right too. When Malfoys come, we like to let the world know about it."
Harry shakes gently with laughter. The thought occurs to him very clearly that this is too good to lose. He will fight for it.
"You're disturbing my beauty sleep," complains Draco. "Very comfortable pillow you make, Chosen One."
"When you've finished lazing about, my Chosen cock wouldn't mind a bit of attention. My right hand is the only action it's seen for far too long."
"Ah, yes. A very poor substitute for my extremely talented mouth." Draco lifts an eyebrow and gives Harry the laziest of smiles.
Something flares brightly in Harry's chest. "Bloody hell, I'd forgotten how conceited you were." He runs a hand over Draco's soft, mussed hair.
"Not conceited at all! That would imply I was mistaken in my assessment. Here, I'll prove it..." Draco slithers languidly down the bed to let his head rest on Harry's hip. He blows a hot, humid breath over the head of Harry's cock.
There's an unexpected wave of anxiety beneath the pleasure. He mourns the loss of contact, misses Draco being inside him, against him, holding him. It hardly seems real.
Can't quite believe I'm here...
Draco lets his tongue flick out in fluttery strokes. "Mmm. You had better believe it."
Harry squirms, and flushes. He hadn't meant to speak aloud.
"But just think... ahh. Mmm, yes, please, more of that." Harry feels another bubble of panic rising up despite Draco's best efforts at distraction. "I mean – if we hadn't both got stuck in the lift like that, or if we hadn't started talking about the—"
Draco makes soothing noises as he dips his head again. "Do hush. It's not the time for a chat. I hate talking with my mouth full."
Harry settles back, getting comfortable. He curls one leg around Draco's back, slotting them closer together. Draco's mouth is buttery-soft, and his tongue slides slowly against Harry, like warm honey. A long, satisfied sigh releases from deep in Harry's chest, and he feels his thoughts starting to loosen, anxieties drifting away, until another time. He wonders what Christmas Day will bring: his memories and hopes jumble together until he hardly knows which are which. He has no clue how this will work out, but maybe, he thinks, a second chance is all that anyone can ask for.
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