Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Nothing Like the Sun	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 35148 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 15
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Chapter Sixteen—Passion
            Nothing in the world was as important as having Draco’s skin and shoulders under his fingers, right now.
            Sometimes Harry thought that other things should be more important. He kept almost pulling back and thinking of something else, something that they should really have been discussing right now. Give him a chance, and he would think of it, and they would discuss it.
            But Draco’s tongue darted out and touched his, and Draco’s shirt shredded under his hands and his skin was warm, and Harry fastened his mouth on Draco’s neck and sucked almost viciously before he thought better of it.
            Draco cried out, his hands rising as if he would grip Harry's shoulders and hold him still. Harry pulled back and eyed him. Draco ducked his head as if he was embarrassed, but Harry worked his fingers under Draco's chin and lifted it again.
            "Do that again?" he whispered. "For me?"
            Draco smiled at him and moaned. But Harry shook his head and ducked his head to suck at Draco's neck again. The sound emerged that he knew wasn't a moan, was nothing like that, was a shrill and piercing cry that made all of his hair tingle and his skin burn as if Draco had shocked him. This was the kind of cry that Draco had given that night when Harry gave him the first blowjob, all those years ago.
            No, not years. It was only a few months.
            Well, a few months in real time. Years for their hearts and souls and the places they'd come to.
            Harry raised his head and kissed Draco again, shoving in until it felt as if Draco's tongue would dent under the pressure, and drove him back, back and back again, until Draco was standing solidly against a wall and Harry could play as he wanted. Draco's shirt was mostly off him now, torn off, and Harry bit his chest and knelt down in front of him, tugging his trousers free. He ignored the way Draco winced. He wanted to get to that cock.
            And when he did, he leaned in and closed his mouth around it with none of the elaborate preparation he would have used before, none of the teasing and twisting strokes. He just swallowed.
            Draco bucked, and Harry coughed, but he didn't let go. There were more important things in the world than letting go. He was going to experience some of them. He was going to let Draco experience even more. Swallow and keep on swallowing, and he could already feel the way that Draco's muscles were pulling up, tensing up, and the same thing of his balls. Harry reached between Draco's legs and fondled them, hard.
            Draco twisted to the side and pulled himself away so fast that it was only by Harry's vigilance, and not Draco's, that Draco avoided getting scraped on Harry’s teeth. Harry sat back on his fingertips and heels and stared at Draco, who was swallowing and nodding and reaching out towards him as if he thought Harry would bolt at him again and devour him if he didn't.
            “Let me,” Draco whispered. “Let me help. Let me be with you. Please.”
            Harry wasn’t sure that he understood the words, but he understood that Draco needed more than he had been given so far. So Harry let Draco draw him to his feet, and kiss him hungrily enough that Harry’s mouth ached, and drive him towards the stairs. Draco’s fingers on Harry’s skin were enough to keep the haze alive.
            But Harry didn’t think he would have needed as much as that. He wanted to be with Draco. He wanted to be with him more intensely than he’d wanted anything for years, more than food and to capture a criminal and reconcile with Frank. More than he wanted his next breath.
            He could take his next breath anytime. He might never have Draco again.
            Draco let him kiss him again on the steps, rocking him into the wall, rocking his arse into Draco’s hands, nearly knocking them down the stairs. But Draco drew away, shaking his head, when Harry tried to push it. His eyes were very dark and his mouth was very wet, and Harry would have checked to see if his cock was very hard, except Draco picked up his hand and kissed his fingers and shook his head again.
            “I want to do this in a bed,” he said. “For the same reason that I don’t just want to come into your mouth,” he added, when Harry opened his mouth to question why he wanted to do something so unaccountable.
            And that made Harry smile and lead the way, because he could understand, at the moment and swirling through him like a flood pouring past a dam, the power of desire.
*
            Harry had no idea how beautiful he was.
            Draco knew that not because of Harry’s odd ideas about his scars and how Draco ought to have seen them within minutes of agreeing to go home and have sex with Harry, but because, if he was Harry and looked like that, then Draco would spend at least an hour in front of the mirror every day. Harry didn’t, and that meant he could have no idea how he really looked, and the way his muscles rippled as, facing away from Draco, he took off his shirt.
            Draco let his mouth water as he drifted closer, let his fingers play along the edge of the well-defined muscles in Harry’s back and down until he was scraping, touching, groping, at the edge of his waistband. Harry hadn’t removed his trousers yet. From the way he stood there, breathing softly, his head twisted to the side, he didn’t want to. He just wanted to stand there forever with Draco’s fingers softly caressing his skin.
            His breathing had gone still. Draco looked up at him and winked, waiting, with his fingers motionless, until Harry opened his eyes and looked displeased. Then he whispered, “Are you ready?”
            “Ready for what?” Harry was looking around Draco’s bedroom as though he didn’t see the bed, even though it was enormous and right there, and even though Draco was guiding him towards it with easy pushes of his hand.
            “For me to give you the best fuck of your life.” There weren’t many people Draco would have dared to say that to, but then, none of his lovers in the past had been Harry. Scarred Harry, stubborn Harry, scared Harry who had been too convinced that he was right about the cause of his past lovers’ desertion to open up on his own. Beautiful Harry.
            But Harry was looking at the desk that Draco used to keep papers and potions vials that he emptied out of his robe pockets. Draco frowned and looked with him. The desk was nothing special. The mahogany wood was polished and lovely, but it was old, and so was the straight-backed chair in front of it. Nothing about it, even any ancient lingering Dark Arts spell, to make Harry stare so avidly.
            “What is it?” Draco finally had to ask, when Harry didn’t say anything and Draco wanted the answer. He dipped his fingers beneath Harry’s waistband again and rubbed them back and forth, making a soft noise at the skin and sweat he found there. He didn’t think they should pause too long. All of Harry’s nervousness might come back, and he wouldn’t let Draco do what he wanted to.
            What was so necessary, and the more necessary when Harry turned around and smiled at him, clutching his wrist, sunlight bounding into his eyes.
            “What do you say to fucking me in the chair, instead of on the bed?” Harry whispered into his ear.
            Draco stared at the chair and started to open his mouth, to say something about the hard wooden seat and the lack of cushion.
            Then he considered how he would probably feel nothing beneath the arse with Harry sitting on his cock, and swallowed.
            “Yes, I think you’d like to,” said Harry, with that confidence that was arrogance sometimes, and dragged Draco towards the chair. “And I’ll even cast a Cushioning Charm so your Royal Majesty’s arse isn’t affected.”
            Draco opened his mouth, then shut it again. Stupid to protest that he hadn’t been thinking that. Harry wasn’t a good Legilimens, but he seemed a lot better at reading eyes and faces than he ever had been when Draco was at school with him.
            Harry cast the Cushioning Charm on the chair with a negligent wave of his wand, and then tossed the wand on the desk and hopped up after it. Draco nearly opened his mouth to warn him not to sit on his wand and crush it, but then shut it and stared as Harry hooked his fingers into the waistband himself and began to pull his trousers off.
            The pants came with them, and Harry stretched and lay sideways on the desk, looking at Draco in a silent demand for approval, his eyebrows canted high.
            Draco was tired of standing there with nothing to say. He moved in, grasped Harry’s hips, and rubbed his thumbs so hard on the curve of the bones that Harry forget about stretching his legs out and remained still, his eyes as dark as though he was drinking in the last sight he’d ever see.
            “Yes,” Draco whispered. “I think that is going to work nicely.”
            He deliberately exhaled on the word nicely , and watched Harry arch his neck to the side; he was so hard that it made his hands shake. He steered Harry to the edge of the desk, and parted his legs. Harry let him, with a negligent grace so strong that Draco had to pause before he gripped Harry’s cock. He would shame himself if his hands were shaking when he did that.
            Harry swore softly and leaned in so that his head was resting on Draco’s shoulder as Draco stroked him. One movement up, one movement down. Draco didn’t look away from those swiftly glazing eyes, and only when Harry reached out to grasp his wrist did he stop stroking.
            “I thought we were going to do it in the chair,” Harry breathed into his ear. “And there’s me wasting a Cushioning Charm and everything if we didn’t.”
            Draco laughed, glad that it sounded normal. His voice wasn’t as affected as his hands, then. “We were,” he said, and moved backwards and sat, kicking off the trousers that wanted to puddle around his feet. Harry had done a marvelous job with the Cushioning Charm, even distracted as he was by the way Draco touched him. “Come here, then.” He patted his lap.
            Harry paused a moment, his eyes so bright with mischief that Draco opened his mouth again. Then Harry seized his wand and cast a charm that went too fast for Draco’s eye to follow.
            And Harry floated off the desk and onto Draco’s lap, his legs spreading wide so that he sat down right on the tip of his cock.
            Draco gasped aloud, not least because he knew Harry hadn’t had any stretching or lubricant yet. Then he realized the spell was keeping Harry hovering just above his cock, barely clenching the tip in his hole. Draco tried to thrust, but he wasn’t at a good angle, so he had to watch as Harry took his wand and held it at a delicately wicked angle himself. There might have been panting involved.
            Harry cast the necessary spells, never taking his eyes from Draco. Draco wondered how many times he had cast them in the past, how many people he had—
            But no. He knew that Harry hadn’t been with anyone like this since Frank. His last regular lover had been female, and all the Muggles, he had only used his mouth on. Draco didn’t think Harry would have lied about that. They had to have some trust in each other.
            Draco would be the only wizard inside Harry’s body in months. He reached his hands up, clasped Harry’s hovering ones, and whispered, “Now?”
            Harry nodded and leaned backwards to lay his wand carefully on the desk, out of reach of crushing. Draco nearly succumbed to his own orgasm at the view that leaning gave him.
            Harry winked at him again and positioned himself with a gentle kick, floating down onto Draco and letting him into his body, bit by bit.
            Draco grasped Harry’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. Random thoughts flickered and flashed through his mind like sunbursts. This had been what Frank was complaining about? This? This was the man who supposedly lay still and let someone just take him? This was brilliant, this was warm, Draco never wanted to share Harry with anyone else again—
            “You should see your eyes.”
            Draco twitched. Harry’s voice was low and husky, if not as breathless as Draco suspected his own would have sounded if he had tried to speak just then. Harry leaned forwards and kissed him, mouth trailing all over Draco’s lips and chin before he sat back with a wheeze.
            “Looking at me as if I’m the sun you revolve around.” Harry shook his head and put a hand on his cheek. “I’m just me, you know.”
            With savage strength, Draco leaned forwards and kissed him in turn, driving Harry back until his shoulders slammed into the desk. Harry cried out, but the pain and pleasure mingled in his voice until Draco honestly couldn’t tell which was which.
            “You don’t get to tell me what you’re worth,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear. “You don’t get to, because we know that your assessments of yourself are always wrong. Now, fucking ride me.”
            Harry flushed, the red marking his throat all the way down to his chest, his nipples, his breastbone. Draco reached out and flicked the center of his chest, above his heart. He felt Harry’s heart speed up so frantically that for a moment, Draco wondered if Harry would be able to do as he’d asked.
            And then Harry raised himself up a little, with his hands on the arms of the chair, and began to ride him.
            Draco’s groan came trembling up from the heart. His hands rose and found their places on either side of Harry’s body, not to hold him steady or still—there could be no doing either—but to feel him, to hold him, to be sure that he was really there and it wasn’t all going to dissolve into a glistening dream any second.
            But Harry’s soft, huffy breaths passing over his hair and his shoulders, and the shine in Harry’s eyes when Draco opened his eyes and found Harry’s face near his, said he was real.
            Draco’s nails scratched and drew small trails of blood as he pulled them up and around, settling his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry grinned at him, and leaned forwards to lick the corner of Draco’s jaw. Draco jerked back, nearly hard enough to tip the chair over.
            “Careful,” Harry murmured, with the edge of laughter in his voice, and kept gyrating his hips, riding Draco with such care and such skill that the thought of past lovers came creeping back into Draco’s head again.
            But he shook his head against the temptation to ask questions, to compare himself—or to compare Harry to anyone he’d had in the past, either. His hands had finally found a comfortable purchase, and he spread out and flexed his fingers, tracing up and down the curves of Harry’s shoulder blades, cupping and caressing. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and he gave a breathy little grunt.
            “I didn’t know you liked this so much,” Draco whispered, to distract himself from the wonderful warmth at his groin, and squeezed and stroked.
            “Not many people—ever found—that place,” Harry said, and abruptly his head went back, the tendons in his neck straining. Draco almost sat up in alarm, a little frightened that he might have done something painful to Harry, but no, the simple wash of warm breath and the noisy mumbles of pleasure told him it was the opposite.
            “You’re the first,” Harry went on, working his eyes open and looking at Draco with such a soft, shining gaze that Draco felt greater pleasure touch his brain. “You’re the first, in—so many ways—that matter.”
            He ground and squeezed down then, and Draco felt his body leap to the occasion, warmth rushing through him. But Harry almost didn’t need to. Draco was already more than halfway there, from hearing what Harry had said.
            He was the first. He might not be the first to be with Harry altogether, or the first he had dated, or the first he had touched, but they shared a bond that no one else could mar or threaten.
            Draco halted Harry’s bobbing by main force, leaning in to kiss him. Harry, his glasses slipping down his face, his cheeks slick with sweat, opened his eyes wide for only one moment before Draco’s lips swept over his, and then they closed, and Draco raised his other hand and played trembling fingers over trembling eyelids.
            “Draco,” Harry breathed.
            Draco, thus addressed, thought he might as well do some of the work. He braced his back against the back of the chair and his arse against the Cushioning Charm and thrust up, once, so hard that he shuddered with the effort.
            But the effect was well worth seeing.
            Harry froze with delight, the tendons in his neck straining out again, and his fingers settling on Draco’s shoulders as though he wanted to leave bruises. Then he gasped, and the way his arse tightened, and the quick, warm splashes on Draco’s stomach, declared well enough what had come to claim him.
            Draco leaned forwards and thrust again and again into him, balancing Harry precariously on his lap, seeking both his own pleasure and to lengthen Harry’s. Harry clung to him, teetering, jaw slack and lips glistening, noises coming out of his mouth that were too soft to hear. Draco only knew that he was making them because he could feel them against his own lips.
            “You’re so,” said Harry, with the kind of contentment that came with not even being able to finish a sentence.
            That was the sort of contentment Draco wanted, the sort he liked, the kind that was necessary to him. He leaned in and held Harry so close that Harry would have hurt him trying to escape. Harry only looked at him in a way that said he didn’t want to escape, that this was the end, the end of the road for him.
            Draco came.
            It seemed to last a long, long time, but maybe that was just the interval between one blink and another while he sat there with his eyes fastened on Harry’s. Then Draco slumped forwards, and nearly carried Harry back into the desk. Harry laughed and made him sit up, steadying them both even though he was the one on Draco’s lap.
            “You’re so much more than I knew I wanted,” said Harry, his hands smoothing down the sides of Draco’s head, along his temples and into his hair, down to his shoulders. His voice was soft, his fingers poised so that his nails scratched just the slightest bit. “How do you manage to be so brilliant? None of the others were ever this brilliant.”
            Draco had to smile. It was the sort of praise he wanted most to hear, but couldn’t ask Harry to give, knowing as he did Harry’s feelings about his other lovers.
            But this did make a perfect opening to address something he’d been wondering about. Draco adjusted the hold of his arms so that it was more comfortable for both of them, but Harry still couldn’t escape, and asked quietly, “And how do you feel about it now? What happened with Andy?”
*
            Harry shivered, hard. In truth, he had forgotten about Andy and the pain and torment he had confessed to Draco only a short time ago. He had spiraled so high that he had lost sight of the ground he’d taken off from.
            But the sudden reminder of where his passion had come from and what could have happened with it made him feel as though his throat was sticky and slick with blood.
            He would have reared back and tried to do something about both the passion and the remains of the passion all over him, but Draco’s arms were stronger than they looked. And when he twitched, Harry was forcefully reminded that Draco was still inside him—still inside, and not about to go anywhere.
            And that they had got here without Harry raping anyone. He had unleashed more of his own passion than he’d used in years, and Draco wasn’t frightened.
            Either Draco had some of the same sort of wandless Legilimency that Snape used to have, or he was simply good at following the twists and turns of Harry’s mind, because he smiled and shook his head. “Not frightened at all. I’d like to go again, if I had the strength.”
            Harry smiled before he knew he was going to. “I wore you out, then?” He pretended to preen, and was a little shocked at how naturally the gesture came to him.
            “You did,” said Draco. “Well, my cock.” He leaned forwards, his hands resting on the desk behind Harry now, and his eyes were close and warm and insistent. “Not the rest of me. I don’t think I could ever be tired of looking at you.”
            Harry, swallowing back the protest he wanted to make, looked into Draco’s eyes. Draco’s face was so loose and relaxed and soft. He not only wasn’t frightened, Harry knew that he wouldn’t think twice about going to sleep in the same bed as Harry. He was probably looking forward to it, too.
            Harry reached out with one cupped hand, not sure what he was going to do. Draco made the decision for him by turning his head and placing his cheek in Harry’s palm.
            “I’m not going to say that you never did anything wrong in the past,” Draco murmured. “I don’t agree that it was rape, but maybe you think so.” He looked Harry directly in the eye, and Harry shut the mouth he had opened in instinctive protest. “But what interests me is what you can go on and make of yourself, not what you made of yourself in the past.”
            “The past connects to the present, though,” Harry pointed out. “You have to know that, or you wouldn’t have had to spend so much time…” He paused, not able to think of a word for what Draco had done that didn’t sound insulting to either him or Draco. Then he knew, and wanted to slap himself for not thinking of it earlier. “Healing me. You wouldn’t have had to heal me at all.”
            “I like healing you,” Draco said.
            Harry stared at him. “Right,” he said, after a long moment when Draco didn’t get it, thinking of the expression on Draco’s face when he had laughed at the notion of Harry raping Andy, of the way he had been so exasperated with Frank and Harry for still caring about Frank, and the fights and insults they’d had even after this began.
            “I get the good consequences as well as the bad ones.” Draco winked at Harry and lounged back in his chair, his arms spreading. He thrust up at the same moment, and Harry winced a little. He knew that Draco just meant it to remind Harry that he was there and involved in the moment, but his arse was getting a bit sensitive.
            “Ah,” Draco said, as easily as though Harry had spoken aloud—there was that wandless Legilimency again—and he stood up, pulling Harry off his cock. Harry hissed and resisted the urge to reach for his wand at once and cast a Cleaning Charm that would get off most of the stickiness. Draco might misunderstand the gesture.
            “I think we need a shower,” Draco said, and steered Harry towards the door on the far side of the room. Harry would have pushed him away, or possibly punched him, and insisted that he could walk on his own, but in fact, he found that he was bowlegged, and limping, and his arse hurt insistently. Well, it had been a while since he’d done this. Veronica, of course, had never wanted to fuck him from behind, and Frank had complained so much about Harry lying there like a limp fish that he hadn’t done it often.
            “I will never understand why your other lovers thought you weren’t passionate,” Draco said, as they reached the bedroom door and he ushered Harry into a wilderness of blue-green tile and gleaming glass and marble. Harry shook his head a little, dazed, and nearly fell when Draco pushed him into the shower and turned on the water. Harry caught the wall, but it was a near thing.
            Luckily, Draco was there a second later, supporting him and smiling into his eyes. “Well? Why did they think you weren’t?” He turned Harry around, slapping his hands casually into place on the wall. “Stay there.”
            Harry would have straightened up, but he quickly discovered that they were at the perfect angle, with his arse thrusting out, for Draco to reach down and smooth his hands along the places that hurt. He had some kind of liquid on them, probably enchanted wash, that eased the pain immediately. Harry sighed and rested his forehead between his hands. The hot water splashing down on his spine and back helped, but the real magic was those hands.
            “Are we really going to talk about this here?” he muttered.
            “It’s hard to think of a better spot,” Draco said. “Unless you’re going to tell me that you had a lot of shower sex that this is raising bitter memories of.”
            Harry snorted hard enough that he felt something come out of his nose, and had to tilt his head back to make sure that the water cascaded over his face and cleaned that, as well. “No. Actually, now that I think about it, everyone else is conventional compared to you.” They really had been. Some of that was just their personalities, Harry thought. Veronica was a bit anxious in bed, and Frank always wanted things to fit some imaginary standard, and even Ginny, although she had relaxed some after she’d been with Harry for a while, had been far more conservative about things like sexual positions than Harry had ever thought she would be.
            “Ah, the adventurous one. It’s a position I’ve always enjoyed.” Draco moved closer and lowered his head to breathe into Harry’s ear. “But I find that I don’t enjoy it as much when I think that I was the only one who bothered to discover that you’re as passionate as fuck and can actually enjoy the sex when your partner gives a damn about you.”
            Harry winced, and was silent. That only lasted until Draco worked a few fingers through the tight, messy strands of his hair and pulled. Harry yelped and spun around, one hand raised protectively to his head. “Arsehole!”
            Draco smiled and smoothed his hands up and down over Harry’s cheeks. Harry had to close his mouth lest wash and soap get into it, and he blinked continuously as the water poured down his face, but he didn’t think that diminished the force of his glare.
            “No,” said Draco. “That would be Frank.” He reached around Harry, tugging him closer, so that his fingers could rest on Harry’s cheeks. “And what I just fucked.”
            Harry leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder and shook it. He was sure that he was going to laugh in a minute, and that was—that was so incredibly wrong.
            “Tell me,” Draco whispered into his ear. “You know that you can tell me anything?”
            “What about things I don’t know the answers to myself?”
            “Well,” Draco said, “I’ll guess the answers then, and you can tell me how close I’m coming by your reactions when I speak.”
            Harry lifted his head, sure now that this was a bad idea, but Draco was calmly proceeding, and honestly, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to stop him. Maybe he was more curious to hear this than he had realized. Draco wasn’t an objective observer, but he was an outside one.
            “I think a lot of them expected you to be a certain way,” Draco said. “Maybe from dating you, maybe from hearing about you before they dated you, maybe from knowing you at Hogwarts or in the Aurors.” He gave Harry a glance that told Harry he hadn’t forgotten about Ginny, but then again, neither had Harry. He was merely less obsessed with her than Draco was. He blinked innocently at Draco, and Draco sighed in disgust and continued. “They thought you were splendid.”
            Harry blinked again at the unexpected adjective. “But that would mean they expected me to be passionate.”
            “No,” Draco said, and his hand rested more heavily against the back of Harry’s neck. “It would mean they expected you to be perfect.”
            Suddenly, this didn’t seem as fun anymore. Harry tried to pull away, but Draco held him gently, always firmly, in place, and continued.
            “They thought you would be more than an ordinary wizard in every way that mattered. That you would be calmer, a better fighter, more in control of yourself, a better flyer, more powerful, more patient, more gracious, more generous, more honest, and above all the petty little human irritations like emotions.”
            “Passion is hardly an irritation,” Harry mumbled.
            “Not to everyone,” Draco agreed at once, and gave Harry the sort of grin that wouldn’t allow Harry to misunderstand who he was talking about. Harry smiled back, reluctantly, and Draco went back to smoothing Harry’s shoulders up and down with one hand. “But to some people—and you might have had the bad luck to run into those people—perfect control is more attractive. Or maybe they thought that you would be the perfect hero and take care of them before they even voiced a desire.”
            Harry hesitated, thinking of Frank and the way that he expected Harry to read his desires out of his mind, even though Harry had always been horrible at Legilimency. There was Ginny, who had hero-worshipped him before she loved him.
            There was even Jacquelyn, who, he thought, had had a hard time looking at his scars because she had thought he was so good at fighting that he never lost a duel.
            “Fuck,” he muttered.
            “Yes.” Draco gently moved his own head until they were eye-to-eye again and Harry couldn’t hide. “You might have met someone like me, someone who could accept you as you were, and wanted the passion, too. But it’s harder for you, because you defeated the Dark Lord and became a hero when you were one year old. That was always going to prejudice your chances of finding an accepting relationship.”
            Harry paused. “Why does it sound different when you say it?”
            “What do you mean?” Draco was gazing at him steadily, only blinking a little when drops of water soaked his eyelashes.
            “It sounds different when you say something like that,” Harry said. “But when I think it, that I should have known I would have trouble finding a normal relationship because of the Boy-Who-Lived thing, I always end up depressing myself.”
            “We are different people,” said Draco, and cast his eyes quickly down Harry’s body, smiling a little. “Something I, for one, rejoice in.”
            Harry snorted. “Wanker.”
            “Not always,” said Draco, and reached down, trailing his fingers around Harry’s body towards his arse. He had either cast a spell on the wash in his hand or it had certain inherent pain-soothing properties, because Harry found the slight sting in his crack easing and then vanishing. He sighed and dropped forwards, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder again.
            “It sounds different because I’m the one saying it,” Draco whispered into his ear. “And because I only blame you for things that are your fault. Not your fame. Not your inability to reach the standard of perfection that only exists in my head.”
            Harry wanted to say something in defense of his other lovers, but honestly, at this point he knew that Draco wouldn’t listen. And it was wonderful to stand here, being petted and healed, and listen to Draco whisper words that could excuse him.
            Partially. What had happened with Andy was still complicated, Harry thought, not just a result of excessive passion. But letting his guilt cripple him wouldn’t help Andy, and wouldn’t help him.
            And Draco wouldn’t stand for it, anyway.
            “Do you have a standard of perfection?” Harry finally thought to ask, his voice a bit breathy as Draco’s fingers skated over his hole and down around his balls. He spread his legs a bit, letting Draco’s hand roam where it wanted.
            “Oh, of course,” Draco said immediately. “But I don’t even reach it most of the time. It’s just a bright and shining star to wish on.”
            Harry snorted again. “But you come closest to reaching it, of course.” He could be comfortable with that, he thought. As Draco had said, they were very different people. If Harry couldn’t reach Draco’s standard, well, that was okay. He might not want to.
            “You come the closest to reaching it of anyone I know,” Draco softly corrected him, whispering the words into the nape of Harry’s neck.
            Before Harry could rear his head back and demand to know why, Draco’s fingers slipped inside him. Harry had to hold onto Draco’s arms to keep himself upright. Draco made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.
            “Yes, you’re good,” he said, sliding his fingers deeper. “You’re very good. And you don’t have to fear that you’re too much for me. That was what happened with Frank, wasn’t it?”
            Harry shut his eyes. Only Draco would insist on having this conversation now. “Stop talking,” he whispered.
            “Not right now,” Draco said. “In a minute.” His fingers stroked deeper, and Harry’s groan almost obscured Draco’s words. “Andy happened first, and you were worried after that, worried that you might hurt someone else with your excessive passion. So you went too far the other way.”
            “No, Frank also c-complained that…”
            That I hurt him when I was on top, Harry was trying to say, but Draco shook his head against Harry’s shoulder, as soft and resistless as a hurricane, and Harry shut up. “You just lay there and let him do what he wanted. But he wasn’t satisfied with that, either.” For a moment, his hand that wasn’t inside Harry tightened warningly on Harry’s back. “I wouldn’t be, either. For what that’s worth.”
            “Do you hate Frank or not?” The sentence sounded deep and masculine in Harry’s head, but came out in what was definitely the most high-pitched voice he had ever used.
            Draco drew in a deep, satisfied breath, and said, “I could have been him since the war, if I hadn’t learned to be reasonable. So the scorn and the contempt are well-earned.”
            And then his reaching fingers sent a burst of pleasure through Harry, and he was sagging again. This time, Draco maneuvered him so that he was standing facing the wall, his chin and chest against it, his arse thrust out, while Draco’s fingers probed deeper, and deeper.
            I’m going to come again. I can’t.
            The two thoughts blazed through Harry’s mind at the same time, and then Draco’s fingers went deeper still—how much room was there inside his arse, anyway?—and Harry knew he was going to, and he turned and tried his best to muffle his opening mouth against the wall, as gently as he could, without breaking any teeth.
            “It’s all right,” Draco breathed into his ear, and if he had some sort of evil plan, it was belied by the way that his fingers moved in Harry’s arse. Harry opened his mouth further, and the tile did hit his teeth, and then he came.
            It was sudden, short, and brilliant. Harry discovered that his stomach could feel like it was on fire without him feeling ill at all, and then Draco’s arm curled around his waist and hauled him upright again. Harry leaned back against Draco, swearing softly. He felt Draco’s hand dip into his groin and gently clean away the new mess there. Harry let his head fall further back, exhausted and drained.
            “Some people can appreciate everything you are, passion and longing and past and the rest of it,” Draco whispered into his neck, and pressed a kiss there.
            Harry managed a shaky snort, and then opened his eyes again. “Then maybe someone who appreciates me can take me to bed?”
            Draco smiled, and hauled him towards the door of the shower. Harry stumbled a little on the way, and Draco compensated at once, pulling him up.
            “I don’t even know if you got clean,” Harry muttered, distracted, and heard Draco sigh behind him.
            “And sometimes I don’t admire the way that you always need to think of everyone else before yourself,” Draco said, pressing one hand on his shoulder as though that would make Harry forgot about him. “Go to sleep, Harry, for God’s sake.”
            The way they were going, and the way he felt, Harry honestly thought he might have fallen asleep before they hit the bed.
*
            Draco curled up beside Harry and studied him as he lay there, asleep, one hand curled underneath his cheek. It was a pose that Draco hadn’t seen Harry take on before, but then again, the number of times they had slept together had been limited.
            Draco reached out and touched those fingertips he could just see from underneath Harry’s cheekbone. They curled at once, reaching for him. Draco sighed and leaned his head on the pillow, which changed the angle of his view but still allowed him to look at Harry.
            Really, it was ridiculous, what had happened to Harry in the past. The world ought to be swarming with people who could appreciate him. People who would know what he had done and honor him for it, people who would flatter him with attention that wasn’t meant to be flattery, people who would only want to take care of him further if they learned some of the more hidden aspects of his past.
            But instead, the world swarmed with selfish people who wanted a hero to take care of them. Maybe they thought Harry was so used to it that doing it one more time wouldn’t seem like a burden to him.
            Draco had to roll his eyes as that particular thought came to him. And they’re very nearly right.
            Draco thought of himself as one of the better people. Not unselfish, not always honest or good, but at least someone who wasn’t convincing himself that the world just happened to revolve around him. He could need more from people than they gave, but he knew that at least part of that was the depth of his own needs, not some character flaw on the part of the person he wanted. The one good effect of that thing on his left arm was that he was used to being judged, and he didn’t need to constantly convince himself he was a good person and blameless. He knew he’d done far worse than have a few innocent needs.
            Everything had come together to plague Harry in a perfect storm, it seemed. The fame that isolated him from people. The lovers who had wanted to be taken care of and never wanted to need to say anything. The past that meant Harry was so afraid of being left alone that he tried to mold himself into whatever other people wanted, and of course failed. Because everyone would fail who came so close to what the needy idiots around him saw as perfection and then required them to do something for themselves.
            Draco’s hand tightened on Harry’s hip. He started and looked down. He hadn’t been aware that he’d reached out like that, or that he was even touching Harry.
            It was…it was the strength of his own need that frightened him in this case. He’d taken the risk to invest a lot of himself in Harry, and now he would suffer if Harry left him. Not irrevocably, not to the point of taking revenge like Frank, but enough that it would hurt.
            Well, you always knew that you might find someone you couldn’t hold onto a cool distance from.
            Draco curled up closer beside Harry, and listened to his breathing. He didn’t need to think forever of what Harry had lost, or what he might lose, if Harry woke up someday less enchanted with the idea of Draco taking care of him than he had been. He could think of what he had done that no one else had done: experienced Harry Potter’s real passion, and not been rendered delicate and shrieking from it.
            Draco smiled. He wouldn’t say this aloud to Harry if Harry didn’t want him to. His desire was to make Harry feel better, not make him agree with every one of Draco’s opinions. Making that happen would take longer than their combined lives.
            But he was free to think whatever he wanted in the privacy of his own head, and privately he thought that Harry had been too intense for some of his lovers. So they talked about vengeance, and they talked about rape, and they fled the country, and they whined.
            They shouldn’t play with fire if they don’t want to get burned, Draco thought, and rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder, and went to sleep.
*
            “Auror Potter? There’s someone here to see you.”
            “Of course there is,” Harry muttered. He was still trying to get caught up on some of his paperwork that had piled up during the few days he was out with his injury, and then there were the new cases that had come in since, and the business with Andy’s letter. And now of course there was someone waiting to see him—probably a witness in one of the new cases, by the important expression on the face of the trainee who had interrupted him. Trainees were sometimes deputed to carry messages, but not ones from fellow Aurors or the Minister, where the memo would do just as well.
            The trainee hovered there and continued to look important. Harry managed not to roll his eyes, and instead stood up and nodded. “I assume that they want to meet in an interrogation room? Which one?”
            “Number three, Auror Potter.” From the breathless tone in the trainee’s voice and the way she tilted back her head to look up at him, there was more than a bit of hero-worship there. Harry held back his sigh with an effort, but he thought he managed to nod her away pleasantly enough. At least she had given him the number of the room, so she couldn’t prolong their association by leading him there.
            Harry strode up the corridor, mentally revising the cases in his mind and wondering which one could have produced a witness he wouldn’t have known about. He had barely opened the door and stepped inside, though, when he had to stop.
            Frank stood there, and his arms were folded and his gaze so direct and malicious that Harry’s mouth dried out.
            “I know about the little spell that your new whore cast on me,” Frank said softly. “A spell that’s illegal since the war, I’ll have you know. And a spell that I suffered from for days before I figured out the right way to get rid of it.” He shifted closer and snapped his fingers at the door. “I think you’ll want to close us in here, Harry. You wouldn’t want everyone to hear what I have to say about Malfoy, will you? And in the meantime, we can discuss…terms.”
*
thereader71: And I’m afraid that I’ve left you with another cliffhanger, but at least this one will be resolved a lot more easily, because I know exactly how the last chapter of the story has to go.
SP777: Thanks! Maybe I’ll use that idea in a story someday.
delia cerrano: The problem is that Frank would have to know about the details of Harry’s final time with Andy, and there’s no indication that either one of them ever told.
polka dot: I certainly didn’t mean to suggest Harry was perfect. Draco thinks he’s much better than he really is, but Harry thinks that he’s much worse, so somewhere in the middle lies the truth.
Jen: Thanks!
CareLessLover: I don’t think it’s as rough as it could be, because Harry is still scared that he might hurt Draco, but it was definitely wilder than any Harry’s had in a long time.
Jessica: Well, this will be the last chapter I end with a cliffhanger, because Chapter 17 ends the story.
Bickymonster: Okay, thanks for letting me know. That probably happened when I was trying to update.
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