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Burning For Gold	By : clover71 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6148 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books and movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: I created an art to go along with this story. You may check it out here: http://pics.livejournal.com/clover71/pic/000f4f1q.

Burning For Gold 2/5, a draco/harry fan fiction by clover71 [LiveJournal username]

Rating: MA/ NC-17, Warning: BDSM (specifically wax play), post-war

... continued

8 – the kind that you burn from

word prompt: flame

This wasn't really happening. It might be just another dream. Harry was so tempted to hit his head hard against the nearest wall only to wake up from this… this ridiculousness that he was witnessing.

"He's what?" It was hard to keep his eyes from wandering over to where Draco was seated. But he managed to keep his gaze on the psychiatrist that Hermione brought with her instead.

Dr. Haima Chaturverdi sighed. She must've explained it half a dozen times already but none of what she had said had sank in completely. Or maybe Harry was too much in denial. Not that he knew exactly what fixation was, hadn't heard of anything like it, really.

"Look, Mr. Potter. I could go on with a lengthy clinical Freudian explanation but I don't want to confuse you and Mr. Malfoy any further," the muggle doctor said, every word laced with frustration. "I know this may sound ridiculous to you but I'm afraid this is a serious matter. Based on the results of the tests, Draco is suffering from second stage of fixation." The way that good doctor explained how it could cause psychological imbalance made Harry think that Draco had gone mental.

"Okay," Harry said stupidly and his gaze fell on Draco on impulse. Something in Harry's chest twisted when he saw the woeful looked that shrouded Draco as if several dementors were hovering above him. He couldn't believe what he just heard, couldn't believe that Draco was fixated on him. What if… What if… "What um… w-what do we do now?"

There was a strange rigour that thrummed in the air and Harry wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but Hermione and Ron couldn't seem to meet his gaze. Hermione's eyes darted around his small office and Ron seemed to have found the tear on the couch's arm interesting, his fingers pulling on the loose threads.

The silence was only disrupted when Dr. Chaturverdi spoke. "You actually have an option, Mr. Potter."

"Please. Call me Harry." The formality was only adding weight to the oppression that rested on his shoulders and it made Harry shudder every time he heard the doctor address him as such.

"Alright, Harry." The muggle doctor shifted in her seat, her face masked with solemnity that made Harry want to head for the hills right at that moment. "What Draco needs is some form of gratification, a way to satisfy his urges and the only one who could give that to him is his object of fixation." Her eyes bore into his own, as if she was breaking a crack on the surface of his soul. She blinked only once and without faltering, said, "You, Harry."

"I… I can't ask Harry to do that" were the first words that Draco said ever since they all gathered inside Harry's office. "I'm pretty sure there are spel—um… special ways. I could um, I could go to um…" Draco's eyes flitted over to Hermione, fogged with an unspoken message and Harry could only guess that Draco was silently seeking for Hermione's help.

"Therapy" is what Hermione supplied.

"Yes. Therapy." Draco's face brightened a little – better than looking like a ghoul who had been stuck in an old attic for a hundred years.

Harry couldn't help but breathe in hope, anticipating to hear that there were other options that may help Draco without dragging him into it. But the lack of change on the doctor's façade crushed every ounce of his optimism.

"You may, yes," Dr. Chaturverdi told Draco but she hardly sounded encouraging in Harry's opinion. "But there is only a slim possibility it could work. Thirty-five percent of recorded cases didn't respond well to therapy alone."

"What else can we do then?" Harry was curious, not entirely for Draco's sake, no. Just. Curious.

"Again, let me point out that you have a choice to agree or not to" was how Dr. Chaturverdi started and Harry thought that she would beat around the bush, dance around the subject, but he thought wrong. "Because of the fact that Mr. Malfoy's fixation is sexual in nature, you can simply gratify his… well, sexual urges," she said, not losing a thread of professionalism in the manner she spoke.

The way she said 'simply' was too convincing that Harry's first thought was that this process would really be that simple. Then the doctor's words caught up with him. "I can what?"

It was either his voice wasn't loud enough or the doctor chose to ignore him. She went on saying, "First, you must agree to go through a bonding process since this is a progressive treatment. We can't risk having you bail out in the middle of it."

"H-how long exactly would the treatment take?" Harry had to know, right? Because this – Just—It was—This was utter madness. He couldn't just wind his life around someone who… who had been cruel to him all his years at Hogwarts. Okay, maybe digging up the past wasn't the best idea, but still…

"No one can tell for certain" was the only answer that the doctor could give. She did elaborate that this was a case-to-case basis and hoped for the best, which wasn't too heartening.

"How long?" Harry repeated, insistently this time.

"Three… Four months, maybe?" Dr. Chaturverdi cleared her throat and dropped her gaze on the floor. Harry could sense the barrier that the doctor had conveniently wrapped around her breaking. "There are some cases, although rare, that lasted a year."

"A year?" Harry's voice jumped a decibel higher. He could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears. This… this was completely rubbish. "Uh-I c-can't."

Dr. Chaturverdi failed to remain impassive this time. The stoic look on her face melted and was soon replaced with a soft veil of compassion. "Like I said, Harry, this is your choice now. If you refuse, then I can lean on the option of sending Mr. Malfoy to therapy."

Harry buried his face in his hands and heaved a long, deep breath.

"Harry." Hermione's voice, soft and laced with worry, broke through his self-deprecating cogitation, coaxing Harry to look up and drown in the depth of her emotion-filled gaze. "Dr. Haima did point out that therapy isn't a guarantee. I don't think you have it in your heart to let Draco just… just…"

"Go mad," Ron said when Hermione seemed to be at a loss for words, her shoulders sagging as if in defeat.

Before Harry could speak, Draco sprang on his feet, said, "No. Harry… he doesn't need to… I c-can't ask him to do this. I'll just… I'll," then turned on his heel and dashed out of the room.

Harry suddenly felt such an arse, guilt surging through him hot and scorching, like his blood had turned into acid and his entrails bursting into flames.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'

A warm, light touch on his shoulder, almost made Harry jump. Dr. Chaturverdi smiled down at him, something glimmering in her eyes – concern, perhaps, or… or pity. "Think about it, Harry." She handed him a small piece of hard paper – a calling card. "Call me in case you change your mind" were the doctor's last words before she bid everyone left in the room farewell.

The room was quiet for a while. Hermione and Ron's thoughts pulsated in sporadic brain waves that Harry could feel like static against his skin.

"There… there must be something magical we could do. Like um… like the memory charm, perhaps?" Harry knew that was a desperate call, but hell… He was desperate, after all.

"Oh yeah. Of course," Ron said, throwing both arms in the air. "That would be simple, ain't it, mate? Just erase every single thread of your memory from Draco's mind? Were you even listening to the doctor, Harry?"

He was. But Harry must've missed the part that might have suggested anything magical wouldn't work at all. A disarray of thoughts swirled around his head, leaving him perplexed. This must have molded an expression on his face because Hermione rolled her eyes when his gaze fell on her.

"Harry. There are some things in this world that cannot easily be solved through magic. It's just…" Hermione paused, her chest rising and falling as she heaved a sigh before she spoke again. "It's just too risky – too dangerous, Harry. I'm not saying it's not an option. But do you really want to take the risk?"

In all honesty, Harry didn't know. He didn't know what to think, didn't know how to feel. It was as if he was caught in a riverbend and now he was uncertain whether he should choose the path with a smoother course. Or should he be brave enough to follow the white rush of the rough, wild one?

9 – this song is so out of key

word prompt: bridge

Words cut deep, Draco deemed, and Harry's voice still rang in his ears. Even days later. 'I can't.' Those two words quivered within him as a constant reminder of Harry's rejection.

He could hardly look Harry in the eye for the past few days and Harry –- he barely said more than five words to Draco every time they crossed paths. And that didn't happen too often either. It was like… it was like Harry was avoiding him. That was even more painful for Draco to realise.

The lack of close proximity wouldn't have mattered, but the ache it caused, the sharp pang in his chest and the twinge in his gut – like the tip of a dagger was being twisted right through his viscera – had become too unbearable to ignore.

One way to distract himself was to fumble on his guitar, something he learned to play a couple of years ago. He was glad Ron was kind enough to bring it over the other day. "Your mum thought you might need it," Ron had said before launching into a lengthy story about Draco's mum dropping by the ministry when she'd heard from Mrs. Weasley that Ron and Hermione might be visiting Draco during the weekend.

It helped a little, kept at least half of his mind off of Harry for a tranquil part of the hour. It was strange, if anyone would find out, how he'd become a bit musically inclined after seeing the Weird Sisters perform at the Yule Ball during his fourth year at Hogwarts and again during the liberty concert that the Ministry of Magic had thrown months after the war.

Those were memories that gently splashed colors over the dark mantle that had cloaked Draco's life. Memories he'd tucked deep within him like treasure – jewels that sparked a lighter, more motivated part of his being.

It was during that liberty concert when he'd first held Harry's hand in unity, when they, along with the then-students of the school, had sung the Hogwarts' hymn. In one sychronised tune. Inappropriate as it was for the occasion. It was also the first time he truly saw Harry as someone different, rather than in the shape of an enemy that he had sculpted in his mind since first year.

Lost in nostalgia, Draco hadn't noticed someone had entered the room. He stopped strumming as soon as he felt the presence behind him.

"I didn't know you could play" was what Harry said warily.

Nonchalance had served as Draco's shield for the past couple of days. He raised a shoulder in a half shrug, pretending Harry's presence didn't have any effect on him. "Just a hobby," he said and plucked on a string to hide his discomfort.

"I didn't know you could sing well, too." Harry's voice was wrapped with awe and coated with a rather thick layer of sincerity. Or maybe Draco had only imagined it. But the words made his head spin, his cheeks burn and his heart pound wildly.

"I was singing?" He hadn't noticed it, really. Perhaps he was too caught up in his musings that a song had unconsciously spilt out of his mouth somehow.

"A few words here and there," Harry said, striding closer to him, close enough for Draco to notice Harry's eyes were fogged behind his glasses and there were dark shadows underneath. "It was… nice."

Draco muttered, "Thanks," a bit wryly and perfunctorily. This was usually the point when invisible barriers would come crashing down around Harry and would make Harry take a step back, leaving Draco in a puddle of tangled emotions. They had been dancing the same routine for a week now and Draco was getting tired of this rubbish. He tried to ignore the tight knot that settled somewhere between his abdomen and chest.

"I uh…"

"What do you want, Harry?" Draco mentally cringed at how harsh he sounded but did his best not to show any emotions, just like what Harry had been doing.

"Listen, Draco." There was resoluteness in Harry's voice, quite ironic to the way his hand rubbed the back of his neck and constantly shifted his weight from one leg to another. "I'm not going to badger you," Harry said and the voice inside Draco's head couldn't help but blurt out, 'Oh, thank goodness!' "I just want to talk."

Draco's hands began to tremble and his breathing came in short, sporadic cadence. He slid his guitar off of his lap and gently laid it on the table beside him as a silent gesture to let Harry know he was ready to listen.

Harry started out with "I um…" then slid his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie. The eyes behind the spectacles shifted around the small flat before meeting Draco's own. "I talked to Dr. Chaturverdi. She explained to me what must be done. And I—"

"Harry—"

"No, please, Draco." Harry raised a hand in gesture to stop Draco from saying anything further. "Please. Let me finish. I've done a lot of thinking. And I know this is a huge thing. It's… it's going to be a heavy obligation for both of us once we're bonded. I just…" Harry rubbed a knuckle against one eyebrow and pushed his glasses up with the same finger. "I just want my conscience cleared. So… so I decided to do it."

"Do you even realise what you're saying?" was what Draco asked, his voice cracking because Harry had taken two strides further toward him.

"Yeah." There was nothing blasé about the way Harry shrugged his shoulders this time and he took another not-so-tentative step. And another. Until there was barely half a foot gap between them.

"A-are you sure?" Draco could feel the steam of nervousness billowing off of him. He was too weak to keep his fucking shield up, no longer able to protect his self from possibly getting scorned.

"I'm sure." Harry didn't give Draco a chance to react. He swooped down and pressed his lips against Draco's. It started out with a light touch, their lips brushing gently. Of the many threads of thoughts unravelling in Draco's mind, the one that stood up was 'shoot, I haven't brushed my teeth' but these threads dissipated like vapor when the kiss turned sloppy and demanding and uncoordinated and… 'crap'… hot.

Something unfurled in Draco's chest and he felt lighter. Freer. Then there was an invisible pull that drew him closer to Harry, as if a metaphorical bridge slowly rose to close in the distance that constantly grew between them during the past week.

When Harry pulled away, his green eyes sparkled and his lips curved up into a smile that sent a hot stream rushing throughout Draco's body. "I hope that was all right."

Are you kidding? No words could form coherently enough in his mouth so Draco just bopped his head, nodding once.

Harry slid his hand warily into Draco's, leaned closer and said, "Let's do this right," like a song of promise and love echoing in his ear. Harry's breath was hot against Draco's skin, sending a jolt of frissons all the way down to his groin.

Draco felt a gentle tug. He rose to his feet and let Harry lead him to his bedroom.

10 – trying harder just to even

word prompt: fake

A battle of pros and cons exploded in Harry's head as if there were dozens of voices screaming at him, half of it telling him that this was a huge mistake and would throw him into the deepest pit of regret. Half of these thoughts though coaxed him to go with the flow, wheedling every part of his body to submit to this… this mind-numbing hunger. And thirst.

When he'd kissed Draco, he hadn't expected this feeling that sprouted from his core. Something inside him had ignited, making him lose control. Now, he wanted more. And more. And more.

Embarrassment clawed at his conscience when he'd realised that he had almost dragged Draco all the way to the bedroom. Fortunately, Harry managed to remain cool despite his heart pounding like a sledge hammer against his ribcage.

He now hovered over Draco whose back was pressed against the mattress. He had already discarded Draco's shirt and his own, had slid Draco's pants down which now pooled on the floor. His fingertips traced the lovely shape of Draco's lips and the sharp angles of Draco's jaw. God, he was beautiful. The thought made Harry shudder – not with disdain but with yearning. With want.

His mouth descended on Draco's, his tongue prodding tentatively against Draco's slightly parted lips, seeking permission. When he felt Draco's jaws relax, felt Draco's lips part more, Harry didn't waste a second to probe Draco's mouth, mapping every indents and every curves and every corners, tasting Draco as if he had always wanted this.

Something curled in his belly and Harry reluctantly pulled away, thinking, 'shit, I'm really, really enjoying this.' And he couldn't. He shouldn't. This was just… He was supposed to be doing this to help Draco. Nothing more. Fake. That was it. This should be nothing but feigned emotions, feigned urges.

Why then did it feel so real?

With shaking fingers, Harry slid off his glasses and got on his knees to deposit it on the small bedside table. He watched Draco for a while. The soft beam of moonlight that pierced through the partially opened curtains caressed the pale, soft skin of Draco's torso, glistening against a thin layer of sweat.

"Damn," Harry murmured before lowering his body, his skin gliding against Draco's, their lips locked once more in a hurried, clumsy kiss.

Harry could feel Draco's hands fumbling on the fly of his denims, could feel the struggle to pull them open. 'Fake.' He reminded himself. 'Just an obligation', he thought as his hands covered Draco's, helping him get rid of the bloody trousers.

When he felt Draco's hand cup his erection through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs, his hips jerked in response, arching against Draco's touch. Sounds – embarrassing and… and titillating – ripped through Harry's throat the moment Draco started stroking.

'Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.'

Cusses whirled around Harry's mind in dizzying speed. His breath, he noticed, had become erratic now, like Harry couldn't decide whether to draw in air or push it out of his lungs. All he knew – all he was aware of was this fire burning hot deep within his belly and he wanted more, wanted to feel Draco's cock hard against his palm.

Harry pulled the waistband of Draco's boxers down unceremoniously. His vision – blurry as it may – could make out the shape of Draco's erection, making Harry's mouth water and suddenly wanting his tongue pressed against the length.

Scared, but with steadfast determination, Harry curled his hand around Draco's shaft and gave a not-so-gentle tug, earning a hiss and an erotic blend of "shit, oh shit, Harry. That feels good" to fall from Draco's perfect lips.

"Shit," Harry hissed, unable to hold out any longer. He leaned down, wrapped his lips around the head of Draco's cock with caution, still uncertain what must—should be done and belatedly decided to let his instincts lead him. His eyes slid closed as he pushed down further, letting his tongue glide against the surface of the shaft, feeling the silk-like skin against his lips and his tongue and enjoying the way Draco tasted.

Slowly and gently, Harry pulled back, letting Draco's cock slide out of his lips.

"Fuck. Fuck, Potter," Draco said with a hiss, his chest rising and falling when Harry gazed up. Harry stroked Draco's erection lazily, eliciting a series of curses spilling out of Draco's mouth. "Shit, Potter, that was… that…" Draco's hands fisted the sheets beneath him.

The sounds that Draco made encouraged Harry to lean over and lap at Draco's erection then dragged his tongue slowly from the base to the head. Then he closed his mouth around the heated flesh once more, humming in appreciation, liking how Draco felt, how Draco tasted – all masculine and so, so Draco.

Harry's head bobbed, gradually increasing his pace, coaxing grunts and moans and other sounds that would surely echo in his ears hours after out of Draco. He felt fingers tangling in his hair, felt the slight tug – the silent gesture for Harry to stop before he heard Draco say, "Ha-harry. I… I w-want t-to feel you inside me."

'Like shit, no way.' His eyes snapped open, lips still wrapped around the thick, throbbing length and Harry felt his own dick stir.

If Harry's head had been spinning, he now felt like he had been caught in a violent whirlpool. He knew this was coming, knew this was part of it and knew it had to be done. His own words whistled in his ears now, thoughts of 'shit, shit, shit' ran endlessly in his head.

He came prepared, of course, knew what he needed – what to do but Harry still had to ask, "Shit, Malfoy, a-are you sure you want this now?"

"Please" was all that slipped through of Draco's lips and it sounded like a chant that echoed in Harry's ears, making Harry reach down for his trousers to grab the condom and small bottle of lube he'd stuffed in his pocket. He made a quick work on slicking his fingers, rubbing them until the cool liquid warmed up enough before pressing a fingertip against the puckered flesh between the crack of Draco's ass, stroking the skin gently while his other hand worked on Draco's penis.

"You okay?" Harry asked a little breathlessly and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when Draco nodded almost frantically in response.

The moment Harry pushed a digit through Draco's entrance, everything that happened next were a blur of moans and gasps and skin-to-skin friction and burning flesh and cusses and Harry's name spilling out of Draco's mouth.

~ tbc ~
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Burning For Gold