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Leopardspaw	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21311 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Sixteen—Learning the Riddle

            “Not here.”

            Malfoy’s voice was breathy and passionate, and Harry had to open his eyes and come back a long way from the distance he had fallen inside himself to listen to the words instead of the tone. He found Malfoy hunching his back and flicking his eyes around from side to side as if he expected someone to circle the corner and hold out his arm accusingly. Harry laughed and touched his face. “Nothing and no one lives here except the Oracle,” he said.

            Malfoy pulled back. “Which probably knows everything that just happened,” he muttered, but at least he didn’t wipe his mouth and turn away like Harry had thought he would.

            “I don’t think it cares unless we pay it, or unless someone comes here and asks it,” Harry responded, and linked his fingers with Malfoy’s. He was ridiculously happy. He would have liked to dance and shout and sing, but he knew Malfoy wouldn’t thank him for that. “Come on. We need to discuss what we’re going to do next.”

            Malfoy swallowed and tagged after him, still turning his head from side to side in anticipation of who knew what. “Isn’t it obvious? We need to decide what the Oracle meant about my father being in the nest.”

            Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “And with your brain and mine both working on that, do you think that it will take us that long? I don’t think so. We can also have sex.” He ran his hand admiringly down Malfoy’s flank to his leg, and Malfoy jumped and skittered away from him as though Harry was a stranger in the street. No, if he was a stranger in the street, Harry decided, annoyance growing again, Malfoy would have looked at him with less horror.

            “We can wait a little,” Malfoy said.

            “If you want,” Harry said, and pulled his hand back with a sigh. Malfoy wasn’t in public right now, with him, and Harry doubted that he made such a practice of defending his virtue with every lover. That he’d accepted Harry as a lover seemed clear. He’d kissed back, hadn’t he?

            But he didn’t say anything in response to my speech. About whether he believed it, or accepted it, or—anything.

            That made Harry scowl all the more, and when they stepped out onto the street, he could cheerfully have shoved Malfoy. Turning to him with his mouth open, Malfoy caught his eye and blinked. “What?”

            “We’re going home,” Harry said. “And then we’ll talk about this.” He Apparated without much caring who saw them. News that he was with Malfoy would already be circulating in some parts of the wizarding world, the ones that Corinna and Flint and their ilk frequented, and there was no one in sight at the moment.

            Malfoy probably prefers that.

            If he did, Harry was willing to make love in a dark room with the sheets tugged up to their chins. But he was going to find out, once and for all, what the source of Malfoy’s problems with having him for a lover was before he did that.

*

            Malfoy paced away from him when they arrived back at Harry’s house, his arms folded around his body and his eyes shuttered. Harry leaned back against the bookshelves and shook his head.

            “Do you hate me in general?” he asked. “Or are you a member of a cult that’s sworn to only have one-night stands and otherwise flagellate themselves in private?” He thought of the way Malfoy had tried to explain that it wouldn’t be “good” for Harry to stay with him, and snorted. “Public, too, come to that.”

            Malfoy looked at him and blinked. “What are you babbling about?”

            “I’m trying to determine why you blow hot and cold on me,” Harry said. “Seem to believe me, kiss me back, and earlier, touch me all the more willingly, and then loudly declare it’s a mistake and you have something else to do. If you were being faithful to someone else, either a real lover or a memory, I would have expected protests about that instead of, you know, expecting me to guess it from your behavior.”

            “There’s no other lover.” A faint red flush worked its way down from Malfoy’s forehead and joined up across his cheekbones. “I would never have touched you in the first place if there was, and the fact that you think I would only shows your real estimate of me.”

            Harry stared at him very hard. The flush deepened, and Malfoy held up his head as though he was preparing to charge a well-hold position on an Auror raid and wanted to make sure that his partner saw his face before he died.

            “Oh, I see,” Harry said, and smiled. The joy flooded him like morning light from the east. “You want me to think of you as still a coward. You want me to think that you’re exactly like you were in school, and that means that you must be uninterested in someone like me, because all you care about is your family and your House affiliation.” He shook his head. “Too bad. You already know I think differently of you, and I know that you’ve changed.”

            “I’m a much worse person than you think I am,” Malfoy said, struggling to keep his voice clam and level, at least from the way it bobbed. “Still a coward, yes. Not possessed of such noble motivations as you choose to attribute to me.”

            Harry thrust a finger at him. “Then why are you so eager to make sure that your father goes back to Azkaban rather than stays free? And remember, I’ll know if you lie.”

            Malfoy’s eyes locked on Harry, and widened. Harry smiled, and cocked his head to the side. “No red yet,” he remarked. “Though your lies generally show up more crimson, when they appear. I wish you could see them. You would never again argue that you aren’t beautiful.”

            Malfoy stood there, in silence, his hands down at his sides. But he didn’t lower his head, and that made Harry smile and nod. Malfoy was caught on the hook now. If he wanted to insist that he was ignoble and unworthy and had reasons for his actions that would drive Harry off, then he had to reveal them. And if those reasons didn’t really exist and he tried to lie, then Harry would know straight off.

            Finally, Malfoy groaned and put his hands over his face. “Fine,” he muttered. “Potter, it’s just—I never phrased it to myself the way you did. I never said that I wanted to be free of my father and the shadow he cast over my life, and therefore I should make sure that he was out of the way and get him arrested.”

            “Neither did I,” Harry said. “You see the beauty you can add to the words, when you actually start speaking the phrases?”

            Malfoy tore his hands down and glared at Harry. “Be serious.”

            Harry stuck out his lip at him. “I don’t wanna.”

            Malfoy turned and sat down on the couch. “I didn’t put it in your words,” he said. “I don’t recognize myself from the description you gave me. Maybe—maybe someone else could see me that way. I won’t deny it, if you keep insisting on it. Although, remember, I don’t have the same assurance that you’re telling the truth,” he added, with a slashing and darting glance over his shoulder at Harry.

            “I’m willing to take Veritaserum if you want me to,” Harry said.

            Malfoy’s hands tightened on the edges of the cushion, and his face became the same deep, passionate mask he had showed earlier when Harry offered to pay for the Oracle. “Stop making offers like that.”

            Harry considered him some more, then nodded. “And that bothers you because it shows you that I’m serious, and doesn’t allow you to continue lying to yourself about what I want and how sincere I am.”

            Once again, he got a closing of Malfoy’s eyes and a turn of that elegant head away, but Harry was a little more confident this time. Malfoy had to see, damnit, that there was no escaping this. The truth stared him in the face everywhere he looked.

            “You want something from me that I don’t know if I can give you,” Malfoy whispered. “Your expectations are so high. This was supposed to be something convenient for me, something I could take advantage of—your truth-telling powers, I mean—to get my father back into prison. I never counted on finding something like this.”

            And no trace of a lie. Not even the rippling reflection of a far-distant sunset, the way Harry had sometimes seen when one of the testing Unspeakables had made a prediction that he was a little unsure of.

            Harry dropped down in front of Malfoy and touched his knee, bringing the git’s attention back to him. “I know,” he whispered. “I know it’s hard. Not to be able to control what’s happening around you, the way you would when you brew a potion.”

            Malfoy jerked back hard, staring at him in outrage. “You think this is only happening because I like control?”

            Harry grinned. Yes, he preferred this version of Malfoy, the spitting, sparking, snapping, snarling one, like a cross between a cat and an Ashwinder. “Not only,” he said. “I would never say only where you are concerned.”

            “I don’t know that I could stay with you even if I could admit this is something that might last,” Malfoy said crossly, locking his hands over Harry’s wrists. “You would challenge me at every turn, take every word I try to say that’s honest and humble and turn it against me.”

            “You aren’t meant to be humble.” Harry tilted his head back, enjoying Malfoy’s eyes, the gleam of them, the way he twisted his neck to the side as if looking at Harry from a literally different angle would help him comprehend Harry better. “But honest? Be that all you want. I like that.”

            He infused his words with as much innuendo as he could, and saw the effect in the way Malfoy’s mouth came open, the hard way he exhaled, the path his eyes traced across Harry’s face. Harry smiled to himself. Malfoy was the most seductive person he had ever seen, but that didn’t mean Harry was helpless, either.

            “If I’m honest,” Malfoy said, and then paused.

            “Hesitating isn’t being.”

            Malfoy hurtled ahead the way Harry had known he would. “Then I want to fuck you.”

            “You think I would say no?” Harry lay back, sinking slowly to the floor with Malfoy’s hands still on his wrists, and crossed his arms above his head, forcing Malfoy to rearrange his hold but not breaking it. Keeping Malfoy’s gaze on him, he arched his hips and widened his legs. “I say yes, yes, yes.”

            Malfoy hovered one moment more. Harry felt everything waiting around them in that moment, and enjoyed it immensely.

            And then Malfoy broke, and dived at him.

            Harry rolled to the side, and kissed Malfoy all over his face, while Malfoy seemed more intent on stripping them both of their clothes. Harry didn’t care. He never had to break contact with Malfoy, and that was the most important thing.

            They kissed and rolled and fought, and their breath was heavy in the air between them and their fingers were fumbling and impatient but on target, and then Harry’s shirt was gone and Malfoy’s had at least slid down his shoulders. Harry pressed his chest up against Malfoy’s, closing his eyes as he groaned. He was hungry, and it wasn’t enough to feel slim muscles and scars against his, but it was a start.

            “Have to,” Malfoy whispered, his hands shaking on Harry’s shoulders.

            Harry opened his eyes, smiling, and hooked his legs around Malfoy’s waist while he muttered a charm.

            The clothes flowed away from them, falling to the floor, peeling off rather than Vanishing. Harry had learned that one after a particularly bitter fight with a past lover whose favorite robe he’d Vanished. Harry maintained it had been an accident, but it had been less trouble to learn the spell than go through the argument again.

            Malfoy knelt there and looked at him with dazed eyes. Harry turned his head a little and held up his hand, and the lube he’d Summoned crashed into his hand at that moment, smacking into his palm so he could close his fingers around it because he was just that wonderful.

            “Here,” he said, and offered the lube to Malfoy.

            Malfoy blinked at him, blinked at the lube, and blinked at Harry’s arse. Harry reached down and spread it with his fingers, grinning up at Malfoy. “Yes, it is quite a fine one,” he said. “But at the moment, I don’t want you to look at it as if you’d never seen one before. I want you to fuck it. You can worship later.”

            “You want me to fuck you?” Malfoy whispered.

            Harry looked hard at him, but there really was no red glow around his head, and no innocently surprised expression, either, the way there would have been if he was fishing for compliments. He nodded. “I want it, and you want it,” he said. “You just said you did.” Surely not even Malfoy could change his mind that many times in five minutes. “What’s the problem?”

            Malfoy just shuddered a little and accepted the lube. Harry closed his fingers around his hole when Malfoy would have reached for it, though. “No,” he said flatly. “You have some kind of problem with this. What is it?”

            Malfoy hesitated, then said, “I can see you sacrificing yourself for someone else, to make them comfortable. But I can’t see you really getting as much pleasure as all that out of me fucking you.”

            Harry stared at him, then reached out and cupped his chin, kissing him gently. Malfoy kissed back, exploring with tongue and teeth until he was the one pushing Harry onto the floor, crouching above him and nipping.

            “I want you,” Harry whispered. “And I’m selfish with my pleasure in a way that I’m not always with everything else. You’d know that, if you’d paid attention to the way I chased you so far.”

            Malfoy closed his eyes and shuddered. His face was brilliant with color, and Harry couldn’t help reaching up to cup and trace his cheeks. Malfoy ended up burying his head in Harry’s shoulder in response.

            “Come on,” Harry said, when he thought enough time had passed to get Malfoy over this last attack of nerves.

            And Malfoy was purpose itself after that, stretching Harry with old expertise, and watching his face all the time, and sliding into him without trying to make things more comfortable for him, which Harry loved. He willingly spread his legs and lifted them and splayed them and sighed and locked them into place around Malfoy’s waist when he could.

            He wanted this. And if Malfoy cared more about the sex now than Harry, or cared more for the way that Harry admired him and paid for things than he cared for Harry himself, then that was still one challenge past. As long as he didn’t run away, Harry was confident of his ability to persuade him round.

            Malfoy rode him with heart-pounding intensity, making sweat start to life on Harry’s skin, making him curse and give up more than he’d meant to, at least in gasps and grunts and exhaustion. And in the end, Malfoy was the one who reached down and wrung Harry with sharp twists of his hands, and Harry came with a delicious sensation of giving in.



            Malfoy sat back after that, panting open-mouthed. Harry counted three, and squeezed down.

            It seemed Malfoy’s orgasm was an utter surprise to him, at least by the way he threw back his head and closed his eyes and sighed through it. Harry watched him, and smiled.

            Malfoy lay on him afterwards, and whispered, “That was like nothing else I’ve ever felt.”

            “And I’m like no one else you’ve ever had, I hope,” Harry said, learning the small, pale freckles on his shoulders that he looked forward to calling freckles someday, so he could watch Malfoy’s outraged denial.

            Malfoy snort-sobbed, or so Harry decided to call the sound that shook him. “How can you talk like that?”

            “Because I like it,” Harry said, and smiled at the ceiling. “I think you’ll find that I do a great deal of what I like, all the time.”

            Malfoy paused, then heaved himself up and looked into Harry’s face. “You’re not much like the boy you were anymore?” he asked, and touched Harry’s ear as though he was comparing it with the look of that schoolboy’s ear in his memory.

            Harry shook his head. “Not much like, Malfoy.”

            Malfoy nodded. “Why are you still calling me by my last name?”

            “Because you haven’t given me permission to call you Draco.”



            “You –want it?” Malfoy stared at him.

            Harry answered with a kiss, long and thorough and warm and interested. It was becoming apparent that Malfoy listened better that way, anyway, rather than to words.

*

            jujukitty: Draco’s obliviousness has been dented! Though not really because of Draco.

            unneeded: Some answers in this chapter, but some will have to wait!

            delia cerrano: Nothing like this has ever happened to Draco before, and especially not with this person. That’s the main reason.

            Seiren: Hopefully this satisfied—or surpassed—all expectations.
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