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The Auror and the Fountain	By : wherdatcomfrom Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5138 -:- 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.

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Chapter Twelve: Passion

            Harry stood on the platform, his hands on the two pram handles as his children pushed their carts full of trunks, cages and brooms. They had their books, their new robes and enough parchment and quills to rewrite Hogwarts: a History, not to mention letters to their parents, aunts, uncles and grandfather. He watched them climb onto the train along with Hugo, Rose, and Percy’s daughter, who was starting her first year, Misty.

            Hermione stepped up with Ron and the ginger-haired man looked down, squatted and touched Ginny’s hair. “Hey, Sis. I miss ya.” he said giving her a light kiss before looking up at Harry with tear filled eyes. “Sorry, mate. I know it wasn’t your fault, but I had to . . .you know.” he said

            “I know, Ron. I need that, too. But, the minute I grieve, I admit that it’s over and then I lose faith. I can’t do that to her, not after all these years. I think that when she is back, we may have to split, but that is after. Do you understand, Ron?” Harry asked.

            “Yeah. You two tried it, but things happen. I just miss her, ya know?” Ron said, petting the tiny head gently. He stood and turned to his wife, hugged her tightly and then picked up their four-year old son, David and walked away. Harry said a silent good-bye before turning the prams and heading back to the entrance to the platform. The train began to move and soon it was speeding on its way.

            That night, Harry dreamed of the blond once more. His body reacted and his mind sent him its insistent message. This was not enough.

            He woke feeling sweaty, unfulfilled and as horny as a toad. It was all he could stand and he rose, pulled a robe over his naked body before heading downstairs for a cup of tea. Hopefully that would settle his nerves.

            He was making the tea when an owl landed on the windowsill and stared at him. It was the old eagle owl, one of the only things that were left of the blond boy that had been Draco Malfoy. Harry turned to it and shook his head. “Hello Draco’s Owl. Do you have good news, cause right now, I can’t take anything else?” He reached out and took the note that was scrawled onto the parchment attached to the bird’s leg and unrolled it in the light of the one lamp he had lit.

“Harry,

            Open your Floo. NOW!”

It was unsigned and looked like it had been written by a very sick, or very young, person and Harry was a little frightened at what Draco may have done. He hurried to the floo and enabled the connection. Draco stepped out, his clothing covered in soot, his beard flecked and his hair a mess. He looked disheveled and dirty, but still appeared to be the same age and in reasonably good health.

            “What happened? What is it?” Harry said as he looked over the blond, checking for damage like he might with his sons, no broken bones, cuts or scrapes could be found. Draco hadn’t spoken.   “Draco, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

            “Passion, Harry. Passion!” Draco said as he dropped his cloak on the floor and took a step forward. “Help me, please.” he added.

            Harry had seen that look in the past, in the eyes of his wife, in the eyes of Cho when she spoke of Cedric and if he was honest, he’d seen them in the mirror over the last few weeks when he caught himself remembering some little thing about a certain blond. Said blond standing in his living room, right now. “Draco . . .” He began, but his words were cut off by the lips of the blond, closing over his in a deep and painful kiss that he couldn’t help but return.

            Clothes were lost in a flurry, bodies pressed skin-to-skin were so much more receptive and then hands could find new and unique ways of expressing what words were no longer capable of saying. Harry managed to get the blond up the stairs and into the bed under him as he worked his lips down the long column of flesh that connected Draco’s head to his body. It was easily as long as Harry had always thought, stretching a perfect five inches from his collar bone to the neatly trimmed hairs of his goatee, and all of it as soft as velvet and perfect in every way. Nothing could stop him as he continued to taste the flavor of the skin that was next on his path, nibbling on the right nipple as it presented itself to his tongue and teeth, then moving on after listening to the gasp that accompanied his efforts.

            Passion.

            That was the word for what they had and it fit so perfectly. Everything about their life, the way they had always treated each other screamed the word.

            Passion.

            And as Harry was worshiping his body, Draco was responding in ways he had never had the opportunity to, before. He was no virgin, not even to gay sex, but in all his experiences the one thing that had been missing.

            Passion.

            Harry felt it too, as his body broke out in cold sweat and his heart raced even faster than he had thought possible. He had loved Ginny, had worshipped her for her hard work, her unfailing belief in him and in them, but they had missed out at some point, and their marriage had never found the door that led to this.

            Passion.

            By the time he was nearly out of his mind, Draco had flipped them over and was sitting astride his soon-to-be lover. He locked his eyes on the green orbs of his rival, riveting them to each other as he rose up and aligned their bodies. Harry’s eyes tried to close as the heat enveloped him, caressing him firmly in the velvet heaven of Draco’s body and sending shock waves of it through his organ. He was on the receiving end of Draco’s outpouring of Passion and it was overwhelming.

            The feeling of his canal filled by the cock of Harry Potter was like discovering a missing piece of himself, and Draco swore never to lose it again.

            “Ah, Harry!” he cried as his movement drove Harry’s length into his prostate and the shockwave of sensation culminated in his straining erection. Harry felt this as well, and noted the angle that he had been at, repeating it over and over as he shifted under the writhing blond. He grabbed onto the other’s organ, stroking it as he would his own, and the Slytherin called out again. “Shit! Merlin’s beard, Don’t you dare stop!” he cried.

            “I think you forget whose house this is, Ferret. You are mine now and I give the orders here.” Harry growled with what breath he had to spare, between his thrusts, and his hand, he was quite occupied but this was still not enough. “Kiss me, Ferret. Now.” he said as he grabbed the blond man’s ass with his free hand. Draco leaned down and took possession of Harry’s lips so completely they nearly had to forget breathing for the duration.

            Passion . . . culminating, expanding and exploding!

            Harry came first, his battle to last was lost as Draco squeezed him with the muscles in his body and his lover’s hands pulled at his hair, firmly but not too hard. It was a move of passion that sent him over the top and he broke the kiss to look into the hard grey eyes that were rolling back in Draco’s head as his own orgasm loomed over them. Soon, Harry’s hands were coated in sticky white goo and his chest was striped with it through the layer of perspiration that was already in evidence. Draco held himself up with his hands and the strain on his arms was becoming unbearable. Harry reached around him and pulled him down, turning to the side so that they both lay, side by side on his bed, sweaty, sticky and content, connected by the arms that wrapped around them both and the deflating organ still imbedded in Draco’s ass.

            “Oh, god. I understand now, Harry. Passion.” Draco said in a soft voice that was tinged with sleepiness.

            “Yeah. I think that was what I meant. I think,” Harry admitted his own body becoming too drowsy to maintain a complete thought. He drifted off, his dreams now full of peaceful images and flights across the heavens with his favorite flying . . . companion.

AN: So, you like?
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The Auror and the Fountain