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Happy Valentine\'s Day, Harry	By : sahane Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5302 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Happy Valentine's Day, Harry
- 1
Title:Happy Valentine's Day, Harry

To berate the author: sahane_turk@hotmail.com

Pairing: Harry/Draco, ?/

Disclaimer: they art mit mine, JK Rowling owns them and I'm only borrowing them for a little play, no money made

Rating: I think Nc-17, to be on the sure, please don't ban me from the Grammy Awards ^_^

Summary: Doesn't everybody love Valentine's Day morning?

Category: Just a little bit twisted Valentine fic. Half fluffiness, half angst...you'll see at the end

Warning: m/m sex, angst, kind of character death... quite dark, I suppose

Author note: Written for a Valentine's Day plot bunny, instead of studying anatomy like a good girl (then don't be surprised if the story is dark...I'm accustomed to see worst things in class *chuckles*), not beta'ed because I wanted to post it today. Find mistakes, send review, I'll correct.

Feedback? Oh yes, thank you.

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The prisoner hung from a rusty manacle, his shoulder joint hyper-extended and twisted to let him sit on the bare floor, not paying any attention to that pain. His silent visitor has been staring at him from the door of the cell, immobile in dark robes that sucked the dim light that dares to creep into such despairing places. He had been whistling a tune in his way down here, a foolish love song of the Weird Sisters that had got stuck in his head early that morning, but then he found a more interesting thing to do, just in front of his eyes.
Of a previously magnificent robe, nothing more than rags remain. All the better, because he truly despises red and gold color combination, and the blood and filth have tainted the material to a more eye-satisfactory black. Not that he would pay much attention to a tattered robe when patches of olive skin show across it. That is a sight worthy of his gaze. And they are watched, indeed, no millimeter of exposed skin evading an intense inventory, each freckle and mole archived and stored in his mind.
The fine curve of his calf merits a whole five minutes by itself, and a taunting peek of the abs-pack manages to transfix him for an undetermined amount of time before he remembers how to breath again. Such beauty radiating from a defeated sack of flesh, that he did not expect. For someone who prides himself in finding that elusive quality in his surroundings, a sight like that is an epiphany in the middle of mud and blood and lichen-covered stone walls.
No paladin of Light should have so dark attractive. No mortal flesh and bones should be combined so temptingly. No Adonis should hang unconscious from a steel chain, bloodied and battered.
Nevertheless, his eyes refuse to acknowledge trivial things like those, centering in the sleekness of his twisted arm, muscles defining a path along the member that could be easily licked by a lust-captive tongue, despite the sweat and grim that have formed a film over it. Though the visitor doesn't move from the door, only the small breeze playing with his hair betraying his statue-like posture. He knows the rules of the game.
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Harry wakes up to a warm body pressed against his, and for a moment sleep seems the most right thing to do in a lazy Saturday morning like this. But then he recalls what Saturday morning is this, and snuggling closer to his lover takes a different meaning.
But first is first, and he creeps out of the bed, gently disentangling himself from limbs and arms that yearn for him even in slumber. Where had he hidd... Aha! The secret compartment in his drawer. Couldn't have his present discovered before today, could he?
Mission accomplished, he returns to the point of depart, fidgeting with the green lace, before blowing slowly in the other's earlobe. No reaction. Damn his deep sleep, a more 'aggressive' tactic is in need. He slowly licks that piece of skin, reveling in the salty flavour and in his lover's musky scent. Then, he blows again. A shiver, followed by an opening of eyelids that confront Harry with a pair of silver mirrors still clouded by sleep. This time, the shiver is Harry's.

'Good morning, love. A bit early for being a fucking Saturday, don't you think?' Draco has never had a good spot for waking up early. 'Any bloody elloellous plan that you forgot to tell me yesterday?'
'More time for enjoying ourselves?' Harry asks huskily in his ear, giving him a quick lick again, and feigning innocence. Three out of four times, he could get his way if he played well this part. 'It's been a long time since...'
'For Mordred's wand, Harry! We just made love last night!' Draco raises a hand to his hair, pretending exasperation, but his eyes are now more alight with the first tendrils of desire.
'And? It's been a whole night!' Pouts, licking very obviously his lips, and rising to twin his fingers with his lover's. His groin is starting to get the first twitches of heat, but Harry makes no other move. It's Draco's turn this time.
'Can't understand why fell in love with an insatiable Gryffindor, sometimes. Missed me, you say? Seems like I will have to...adequately compensate you for all those long hours of sleep, Potter.' A smirk joins this words, and the blond moves forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss that definitely awakes something down Harry's abdomen. He tastes of last night's wine, and of Harry, and a mixture of vanilla and almond that is intrinsically Draco, and, as always, Harry loses himself in Draco's mouth.

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Now his eyes are glued to the prisoner's black locks of hair, still a wild mass that refuses to lay down in any semblance of order brush after brush. Oh, how he had envied them years ago, so different to his straight tufts, to have a glorious hair like him. Along with so many other things, by the way. But now he does not envy anything, sure, given that he is the one in the doorjamb and not the one manacled and bruised.
All could have taken a different path, of course, and then he wouldn't have to look from a distance to those locks, sexy in an out-of-bed way even beneath lumps of dried blood. He could cross that six steps that separate them and bury his fingers through them, bowing down to contour carefully his ear with his tongue, nipping the sensitive spot that he is certain the prisoner will have... After all, he has heard enough times how he reacted when the Mudblood did it, hidden behind moth eaten curtains or long forgotten secret passages.
Oh, how he knows the sensitive spots the prisoner has. He can even recreate the moans and sounds he would do, if anyone touched, licked, stimulated them. He has seen and heard enough times. Lucky he was never caught. This way, he can imagine long passion nights without hearing as a mental voice the kind of sick pervert he is.
And while he mentally places gentle licks along his strong jaw, and massages the lower curve of his back, eliciting little moans of pleasure and a lust filled gaze; physically the only movement that is done is that of his eyes, roaming over the still body in front of him.

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Draco traces delicately the contour of his hip and thigh, butterfly touches that affect him far more than real caresses would. A sigh escapes from his mouth, contented to be there, lazily touching with his lover, desire slowly building between them. Little burns appear wherever that fingers grace him, slowly going nearer to...
'Aha!' To the little box that his other hand was holding, snatched from his fingers in a quick motion. 'This is for me? Always knew that you would have to bribe me to get into my pants, Potter.'
'You are not wearing pants, Draco', remarks Harry, sliding a finger over the half-hard penis to prove his point. A gasp breaks the mocking offense of Draco's face. 'But it is true, it's for you.'
Like a little child, the Slytherin tears the paper and lace apart to reveal a Spartan wood box. Draco looks at him pointedly before opening it, and the intimacy and love expressed on that silver eyes give him an answer before even asking the question. Opening the box reveals a silver and gold ring, carefully woven and carved for days in Weinreb's Magical Jewelry, a golden lion charmingly embracing a silver snake. Draco doesn't say anything, instead he flicks his hand and a red and gold box comes flying from the living room.
'Show off', teases Harry, picking the box before it lands in his lover's palm. Inside it, the most beautifully carved emerald he has ever seen lies engraved in a gold ring. The emerald is carved in a stretched griffin form. Harry's breath gets caught in his throat. It is beautiful. Draco smiles with a loving gesture, and Harry can only mouth a harsh 'Yes' before kissing him again like a drowning man. Which in a certain sense is true: drowning in happiness, drowning in lust, drowning in love.
Boxes put aside for the moment, hands roam over their bodies, tracing muscles and joints, caressing nipples and faces, erections grinding together in a mind-blowing pleasure. And then Harry can feel Draco's lips moving to smirk, a cold sensation on his the moment Draco begins to wander lower, licking his way down his chest.
Hot and short kisses are offered to each of his nipples, and gentle nips make him moan loudly. Draco laughs and the sound seems like music to him. Harry puts him up to give him another searing kiss before mirroring the previous actions, dedicating a little more time to nip the collarbone. Draco's hips jerk involuntarily then, now now is the Gryffindor's turn to laugh.
But no foreplay can last forever, and Draco pins him down before resuming his earlier travel to his groin. This time, when he feels soft lips encircling his cock, Harry cries his lover's name.

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Finally, the Harry in his mind comes in a gloriously loud way, and the visitor licks him carefully, before giving him a taste of himself in a luxuriously kiss. His green eyes would look at him with downright lust and adoration, emotions so different that the ones that paraded in Potter's face whenever they met saw him at school. But it doesn't matter, because this is his fantasy and Harry would look at him with love, and he would laugh and correspond the gaze.
A hardness in his trousers is crying for attention, but he has learnt since little that control is utmost important, and therefore nothing is done to tend to it. He would have time after, but now devouring the sight of the man is more pleasurable. He seems at peace, a small smile dancing along red lips, so full and terse that the desire to kiss them nearly dominates him for a moment.
Calm, cool down. Breath slowly and remember the rules of the game. Don't go near him, do not even think of it. Think of the punishment, the pain that would follow that. He should not have come here, anyway, but he is a prick-guided sometimes.
Relax in the smooth curve of his neck, concentrate in the single trail of blood that has gone its way to the supra-sternum notch. He wonders if it would taste salty and uniquely like Harry. He has tasted another lover's blood before, and it has always had the same coppery taste, but Potter would be different, he knows.
Only a few glances more and he will go, before he can succumb to temptation and kiss the mouth in from of him.

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Not very long after, Harry is shouting Draco's name for earnest, as the combination of his tongue around his penis and the fingers slowly preparing him takes the Gryffindor near the edge. And when Draco gives him a firm suck and strokes his prostate, Harry's world explodes in a big rush of heat, orgasm tearing through his body and soul. A tear of bliss glides along his cheek, conveying better than most words his feelings for his silver-haired lover.
Utterly relaxed, when finally Draco enters him, not a single bit of pain makes appearance, only a deep pleasure and feeling of completion. Draco rides him slowly, hitting with every thrust that sweet spot that gives him a fire-burning sensation in every nerve. It doesn't take much time until he's hard again, and then Draco begins to thrust in earnest, deeply and with a quicker pace.
Only at that moment Draco loses his control and loud moans also escape his mouth, his two voices combining in a rich music for their ears, gasps and words serving as notes of the symphony they are creating together. Feverish, Harry grasps his lover's head to seal their mouths in a kiss that triggers both of their orgasms, joining them in a sole entity for a moment frozen in time. The climax is so intense that Harry believes for a moment that he is going to pass away from it, but finally the last of the waves of ecstasy ends, and they stay together, comforted in a loving hug. It is perfect... and then a few words make it even more so.
'Happy Valentine's Day, Harry'
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Potter seems happy, even if he is only dreaming in the filthiest of the Dark Lord's cells. The visitor feels somewhat glad of having cast that spell. Give him a dream of his heart's desire, even if it would be about the Mudblood Granger, sorry excuse of a woman she was. It would had been the right thing to do even if he had not obtained that dreamy smile on his lips, or the quiet moans that Harry had uttered in the last minutes. He will have some good material to keep him company at night.
He points his wand to the prisoner, and mutters some words. Potter's expression doesn't change in the least, but the visitor knows it has worked. The curse has broken his liver, and a slow flow of blood will be trickling out of it now, pooling insof hof him. No marks, no pain. The slow bleeding would pull him into a deep unconsciousness in a few hours, and he would die without an external sign before the night. Everybody would believe that last night's beating had caused the unnoticeable and fatal wound, and Potter would have a merciful end instead of the torture that awaited him at Lord Voldemort's hands.
And Draco has no need to remember the Traitor's death to know that he has done Potter a favour. So, he turns after a last look at his long-time crush, thinking about what would have happened if a scene on a train, so many years ago, had turned different, and goes up the stairs whistling again that stupid love song.
'Happy Valentine's Day, Harry'

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finis
PS: I only wanted fluffiness... and look at what I've done! Bad girl, bad girl, bad girl....
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Happy Valentine\'s Day, Harry