Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Determined Frame of Mind	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16811 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
Thanks for all the reviews!

Chapter Twenty-Two—All the Love

            Draco did not think he’d ever been so excited in his life. He had to hold himself still and carefully so he wouldn’t shoot in his pants and ruin things too soon.

            He understood what this meant to Harry, and that Harry could summon that kind of trust for him, and so soon after such an ordeal, only made it mean more. He ran his hand over Harry’s cheek and up into his hair, scratching and digging in the way that he knew Harry liked. And, for the first time, the other man let his head fall and his body go limp with delight without a hesitation first. He was no longer worried about looking weak in Draco’s eyes.

            Draco licked his lips to rid himself of drool and bent his head down to whisper into Harry’s ear. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

            Harry opened his eyes, and they were beautiful with hunger, cloudy with desire. “Let’s,” he said, and entwined the fingers of his right hand with Draco’s.

*

            Harry paused on the threshold of the bedroom, because this time Draco had decided to pin him to the door while he bit the back of his neck.

            Harry moaned, unable to believe the sensations that simple gesture called up from within him. His body was lightly tingling, which reminded him of being under the glamour of wandless magic that he had used to fool the wards on his cell.

            With the oh-so-minor difference that reacting to this tingling won’t get you killed.

            And then Draco’s teeth drove a little deeper, and Harry cried out. His hips moved, trying desperately to scrape his cock against the door, but Draco was holding him at just the wrong angle to give him that kind of pressure.

            “Draco,” he whispered.

            “I know,” Draco said, licking the back of Harry’s neck in between words. “Soon.” And then he drew Harry away from the door and towards the bed.

            A flash of pain briefly made him jerk, but Draco already seemed to have anticipated that he might still be feeling whatever Scrimgeour’s Blasting Curse had done to him. The blankets Harry sank into were even softer than he remembered, brushing against his skin like clouds. By the time he finally came to rest, his back was sending him nothing but signals of comfort and happiness. Harry wriggled to get more comfortable.

            Draco lay down on top of him.

            He’d done that on the couch, too, of course, but this time it was different. Harry reached up and entwined his fingers with Draco’s, forcing himself to gather in every nuance of a heavy body on top of his. Ginny had been no featherweight, but she’d been different; she’d held herself diffidently, always ready to shift in a moment if Harry wanted to move. Draco settled into place as if he were perfectly assured that he had a right to be there.

            Knowing Draco, he probably does think that.

            Draco was gazing at him with shining eyes. He lowered his head and brushed his face against Harry’s, and even the prickle of beard stubble was exciting in a way it hadn’t been before. Harry’s hips moved upwards in an involuntary thrust.

            And then he felt Draco’s cock.

            There had still been some hesitancy when he touched Draco before. He couldn’t quite forget what someone else would say if they saw him, a heterosexual man who’d never had any reason to question his sexual orientation before, touching another man’s skin in apparent worship or sucking him off. They were always laughing in the back of his head, those Aurors who made jokes about friends being gay or bent if they exchanged a look that went a little too long or spent the night at each other’s flats.

            That was gone now. Harry humped again, eager for that to be inside him. He knew it wouldn’t be painless or easy, but that was part of the point. He wanted what Draco would do to him to prepare him quite as much as he wanted to be thrust into.

            Not because it was a man. But because it was Draco.

            “Come on,” he whispered, and focused as much of a frown as he could on his lover’s face. “Why are you taking so long?”

            “I want to look at you,” said Draco, in a voice as rough as if he were pissed, which made Harry fall silent and blink up at him.

*

            Draco was willing to try all sorts of things in bed with Harry, even things that he’d refused to lovers in the past. This was different, because he trusted Harry not to take advantage of or hurt him—or run off in the morning to sell stories of a Malfoy’s deviant tastes to the Daily Prophet, as some of his more Slytherin ex-lovers might have.

            But he thought his favorite position would always be lying on top of Harry like this, aware that he was sheltering Harry from any damage that might come to him from another person entering the room.

            And sheltering him from another person’s line of sight, for that matter.

            Draco flexed his neck, then bent it so that his face was lying alongside Harry’s. From this angle he could see the pulse jumping wildly in Harry’s throat, and hear the sharp, short breaths he was pulling and releasing through his mouth. Drops of sweat glittered among the fine dark hairs scattered around the curve of his jaw.

            No one else could see them now. Not ever again. Draco could not think about Ginny Weasley for any length of time, because his jealousy and his contempt at the thought that she’d given Harry up for any reason were both too wild to be handled.

            Focus on your lust again.

            Oh, yes. That, he could do.

            He lifted his head again and rolled his hips gently, brushing their erections together just to test Harry’s reaction.

            Harry gave a desperate sob, and his lips moved in what might have been a prayer or a curse. Then he murmured hoarsely, “I’m sorry, but if you keep moving like that, I’m going to flip you over and pin you to the bed, and then I will not be responsible for my actions.”

            Draco let his weight settle more heavily. “You’d try,” he said softly. “Don’t you think I can keep you in place if I want you there?”

            Harry smiled at him, an expression more powerful than anything in Draco’s recovered memories. “Yes, you could,” he said. “And you don’t have to use your physical strength.”

            Draco had rarely wished with more intensity that it was possible to simply rip off a male lover’s clothes and take him.

            But he reminded himself that slowness was its own reward. He wanted Harry mindless beneath him by the time he was done—because Harry had so rarely had someone he could trust enough to fall that deeply with, because Harry deserved it, and because it would be a new experience for Draco, too, to enter that mindless state alongside his lover instead of holding himself coolly back.

            Draco began to tongue Harry’s neck, slowly. Harry stretched his head back with a slight gasp, baring his throat. Draco let himself smile, just enough to permit Harry to feel it, and then slowly unbuttoned his robes.

            Harry didn’t move from the nearly spread-eagled position that Draco had put him in, but lay still, hands and feet pointing towards the corners of the bed, his chest heaving with quick breaths, his eyes shut. Draco smiled, and wondered what Harry would think if he could see it. Draco knew it probably had more of a dark edge than normal, but seeing willing compliance like this…

            To reward Harry for it, he used his tongue on every inch of skin he exposed. He kissed Harry’s shoulders, then worked his way towards the edge of his collarbone and felt the taut press of the bones against the flesh. He rested his fingers above the fluttering pulse and timed the pattern of its beat, and tapped his tongue on Harry’s throat in answer. He sucked strongly at the upper portions of his torso, leaving bruises almost as dark as the one decorating the back of Harry’s neck.

            He wasn’t entirely satisfied with that as a decoration, to tell the truth. It was out of the way, so much so that other people would barely see it—and if anyone else did look closely, Draco wanted to know about it—but he had the feeling that Harry wouldn’t agree to carry an obtrusive bruise on his face each and every day.

            He became aware he’d stopped when Harry made a noise of protest. Draco peeled his shirt and robes further down his flanks, giving him a new cushion to rest on, and then lowered himself further and fastened his lips on Harry’s right nipple with no warning.

            Harry had reacted to this only mildly when Draco tried it in the past. Now he threw his head back, and his jaw worked in what looked like a silent scream. Draco smiled, and sucked, and Harry gasped out incoherent, mumbled pleas for more, and then for Draco to move to the left nipple. Draco did, nipping this time. Harry only reacted more strongly to the use of teeth.

            He does that when I bite his neck, too. Draco licked around the outline of Harry’s muscles contentedly. I bet he never knew that about himself, or at least he would have denied that he liked pain if anyone asked him.

            At last he reached Harry’s waist—though only after he had licked the line of hair leading down from Harry’s navel into sticky submission—and rested a hand on Harry’s groin. He lifted his head to meet a pair of green eyes so far gone they were probably seeing the dark side of the moon at the moment.

            “You still want this?” he asked, taunting, with a false solicitous note in his voice. “Because if you don’t want it, I can stop—“

            “Damn it, Draco,” Harry said, impressing Draco with the amount of breath he had left, “what part of inside me did you not understand?”

            Draco laughed, and then attacked the remaining cloth in the way with an impatience that he thought could have been understood by anyone in his place.

            Except that no one will ever be in my place, ever again.

            More than one of Draco’s lovers in the past had told him that his extreme possessiveness was a sign of a dysfunctional relationship. Draco had ignored them all. While they were his, he required that they be exclusively his. When they left, as they always did, then he could look back and laugh at his own emotions.

            Not this time, though. Since he never intended to leave Harry or be left, Draco thought his feelings only normal and appropriate.

            And he had meant what he had said in hospital all those months ago. A straight man could go bent for Harry. What could be expected of a curved man but that he would wrap himself around Harry, cradling him safely in the middle of all his intense energy?

*

            Harry had ascended up pleasure, through ecstasy, and to a height from which he thought he could see joy.

            True joy had been so rare in his life. Adventures carried more danger than happiness. When he had defeated Voldemort, his major feeling had been relief. He had enjoyed lovemaking with Ginny and her companionship, but again, it had been enjoyment. He had always thought that joy was something separate from all that, only to be experienced in brief moments and suddenly. He could certainly never hang onto it.

            But now it was here.

            And the moment, impossibly, stretched and did not depart.

            Harry looked down. Draco had opened his pants at last and was staring at his cock with an overwhelmed expression on his face, which Harry did not think was all for the body part. After all, Draco had seen him naked before, and erect before. Draco had probably not thought they would ever come this far.

            For all his confidence, for all his pride, he needed the evidence of it happening in front of him as much as anyone else did.

            Harry felt the joy turn purple inside him. He bent down, catching Draco’s cheek and his attention in the same instant, and kissed Draco’s mouth, slowly, carefully, sweetly. His lover’s mouth opened under his, eagerly sharing the reassurance he might not even realize Harry was offering.

            Then he gave Harry a little nudge in the stomach with his elbow, and muttered, “Who’s supposed to be doing the lovemaking, anyway?”

            Harry stifled a laugh, and blinked at him instead. “I thought we were sharing it equally.”

            “We are,” said Draco. “But we’re doing that by your letting me do what I need—“ He froze a moment, as though he were startled to hear his own words, or ashamed to say it aloud. Then he shook his head a little and finished, “And what I want to do.”

            “Says the person who can’t be arsed to get himself naked yet,” Harry said, and then lounged back on the bed to watch. He wondered for a moment if Draco’s undressing this time would be different because of what was going to happen.

            And then he knew it would be, because Draco’s eyes opened wider than they had before and he lifted himself off the bed in one fluid motion.

            Harry had been aware that Draco was graceful, in the way that he was aware Draco was blond. It was one of those facts about him that mattered at certain moments and had less than zero relevance at others. After all, Draco’s grace hadn’t won him victories on the Quidditch Pitch or given Harry the trust to let Draco make love to him completely before this.

            But now, as he began to undress with a series of sinuous movements that simply would not stop flowing into one another, which had no end, Harry was glad for the bed beneath him. He might have weakened and collapsed otherwise.

            Harry himself tended to undress with a precise economy of motion, at least if he had the choice. Draco made it look like a dance, like a work of art performed and enjoyed for its own sake. Harry swallowed, and then realized that had done no good, because his mouth was still as dry as if he had eaten dust for lunch.

            “Draco,” he whispered.

            Draco, in the middle of a bend that whipped the shirt off his shoulders and loosened the rest of his robe buttons so that that garment joined the shirt on the floor, gave him a faint smile. The scars from Harry’s Sectumsempra spell gleamed across the middle of his chest. Harry might have taken a moment to feel guilty about them, but he didn’t have a moment. Draco’s eyes held his and wouldn’t let them go.

            For the rest of his undressing, Harry was only aware of those eyes, though he shivered now and then when a particularly graceful bend caught his peripheral vision. His limbs were weightless, and his mind buzzed, and he felt rather as he did in the moments right before he went to sleep. Anything could startle him out of this mood and bring him back to wakefulness, but he didn’t think anything would.

            He’s so beautiful.

            That realization was not hard. The second one was, and dawned slowly, washing over him like the edge of a gentle wave.

            He’s looking at me like I’m beautiful, too.

*

            Draco grinned slightly in triumph. It seemed that Harry was finally realizing that they should have done this a long time ago.

            Maybe in sixth year. That would have solved a lot of our problems right there. I would certainly never have let him take a lowly Auror’s job in the Ministry, and then he would never have had the chance to fall under the Cassandra Curse.

            Still, there was no sense regretting lost chances, not with the rich and endless possibilities opening up in front of them.

            Draco knew the exact moment when Harry’s attention finally shifted away from his eyes and to his cock. Suddenly, Harry’s face flushed, not exactly a blush so much as a red tracing of excitement, and his breath stuttered.

            Draco leaned against the bed, stroking himself. God, that felt good, but the thought of the bliss to come, and the fact that his passion had retreated from the edge a bit, fed him patience. He separated his fingers, allowing the head to peek through them, and then flicked his thumb, drawing Harry’s attention to the clear liquid that coated it.

            “That’s what will go inside you in a moment,” he said, and then cocked his head. “Having second thoughts?”

            “Never again,” Harry said, and then blinked and seemed to feel the need to clarify that. “Never with you.”

            Draco nodded, and climbed onto the bed. For a moment more, he gazed at Harry, wondering if he would like asking Harry the question or having Harry sense what he wanted more.

            Harry sensed what he wanted, as it turned out. He lay back against the pillows and smiled at Draco for a moment. Then his legs parted.

            It was all the sexier because it was obvious that Harry had no experience in seduction. He just wanted to do it, so that was what happened. Draco hissed under his breath and reached out a hand to cup Harry’s arse.

            Harry’s eyelids dropped half-shut. “Yes,” he said, as Draco let his fingers tickle the sensitive skin around his entrance. He squirmed, and Draco guessed he was on that edge of sensation where the tickling became a sensual brush.

            “So beautiful,” Draco said.

            Harry popped open one eye as if he would deny that, but Draco had already bent aside for the lubricant he had taken to keeping in a table next to the bed, ever since he and Harry had started sharing it on a regular basis. Draco came back rubbing it across his fingers, and circled Harry’s entrance again. Harry went back to moans and coos of approval.

            When he thought it was time, Draco slid one finger gently inside, keeping up the soothing petting with his other hand.

            As it turned out, he needn’t have worried.

*

            Harry arched his back as the finger slid in. It felt too solid in him, too real, too present, and he almost wanted to cry out for it to be taken away again—

            But then he would lose the reality and the experience it promised. And Harry wanted to get used to them, the same way that he wanted to get used to having joy in his life on a regular basis.

            He braced himself on the pillows, and, when Draco glanced up at him in concern, shoved himself firmly down on the finger.

            That made him hiss. But it also cut away any layers of gauzy uncertainty that were still keeping him separated from Draco. Harry had never been this awake before, because he had never had so much to cope with.

            He panted, exhilarated, remembering for a moment the eleven-year-old he had been, and the wonder of the moment when the broom had jumped into his hand. This wasn’t as easy as flying had been, but it was just as new.

            “Another,” he whispered.

            Draco ignored him and began to move his finger. Harry hissed again, but nodded his acceptance. This was another sensation altogether, and he could see that he needed time to get used to it before Draco introduced a second finger.

            It—

            It wasn’t too bad.

            Or, no, it was new all over again, and Harry had to close his eyes and open them several times before he realized that nothing in his past experience had really prepared him for this.

            He didn’t feel like a girl, the way he had assumed he would. Women didn’t need to have this done to them. And he didn’t know, having never asked Ginny and being horrified at the mere thought of asking Hermione, if women felt the need to part their legs more the deeper something traveled inside their bodies.

            Draco added a second finger. Harry thrust himself backwards again, and wondered if that should be embarrassing, and then decided that he was the one doing it and he should damn well have the right to not act embarrassed if he wanted to.

            “Good,” Draco said, his voice unsteady. “Very good, Harry.” His fingers moved deeper inside and curled, and Harry was introduced to the sensation of knuckles brushing against him along with fingertips. He whimpered and pushed back with interest.

            A third finger.

            And then—

            “Yes,” he said, and rocked, grateful now for the pillows that Draco had insisted on putting behind him. He could hear Draco muttering a soft spell and then feel added support under his hips where another pillow had probably floated. He didn’t care. They meant nothing next to whatever protrusion in his body Draco had brushed before and was now regularly hitting. “Yes.”

            “That’s your prostate,” Draco said. “It’s your fault that we never got far enough before for you to feel this.”

            Harry cracked an eye open. “No, it’s your f-fault for not describing it w-well enough—yes!”

            Pleasure and joy built together in him now, and Harry wondered if he would have an orgasm before Draco ever got inside. But evidently they had taken the right amount of preparation time by the Malfoy watch or else Draco had lost his own patience, because he was gently removing his fingers now and taking Harry’s hips to urge him into place.

            Harry spread his legs wider and lifted himself as much as possible, wondering if his curiosity or his desire was greater.

            And then Draco was easing into him, and he found out.

            Desire. It was eating him from his groin up as Draco shoved, gently but insistently, deeper and deeper. Harry didn’t feel pierced or impaled or any other silly word that Ginny had sometimes gasped out when they were in the depths of lovemaking. He just felt as if there were someone inside him.

            At once the strangest sensation he had ever felt and the most compelling, he thought, and attempted to wriggle closer.

            “This angle is awkward,” Draco whispered to him, voice husky. He didn’t stammer the words, but he did have to pause and take awfully deep breaths before each one. “Put your legs over my shoulders.”

            Harry promptly did. The thought of what he would look like to someone who entered the room tried to surface in his head, but was drowned out by the remembrance of the wards and the house-elves.

            Draco stopped, panting and leaning over him, sweat plopping from his forehead onto Harry’s chest. Then he began to thrust.

            And Harry knew in an instant that he liked this better than any other thing he’d ever done, because Draco trusted him enough to thrust roughly, urgently, knowing that Harry would object if he were at all uncomfortable.

            Harry wasn’t uncomfortable. There would be pain and soreness later, but only in the way that there was always pain and soreness after he used his muscles for exercise. He squeezed back and rocked his hips as much as he could without letting his legs tumble off Draco’s shoulders.

            He wondered for a moment what it would be like to do this to Draco, and then the joy swept in, and he concentrated solely on what was being done to him.

*

            Draco had thought at least part of his greed would be cured once he was inside Harry. Instead, he felt it growing. Indeed, he was already dissatisfied that there wasn’t a way they could somehow both fuck each other at once. The look of dazed bliss on Harry’s face made him long to experience the same wonderful things.

            He thrust, to make up for it.

            And almost immediately he was caught up in the wild motion that usually didn’t affect him until later in a session with a lover, no matter how intense, unable to stop, his hips snapping forwards and then retreating just as swiftly, his breath scraping in a frenzied manner past his own ears, his hands gripping Harry’s ribs in a way that would leave more marks still. Harry was breathing like a long-distance runner, his eyes opening and closing without pattern.

            Draco leaned nearer, feeling the pressure of those squeezing muscles, and imagined what it would be like to do this again, and again, and again, and never have Harry falter in matching him stroke for stroke and pace for pace—

            And his orgasm was already overwhelming him; his body would reach the tipping point where he couldn’t hold it back in a moment. Startled, he cried out and reached for Harry’s cock. He had totally forgotten to touch it for some time now.

            Harry cried out in answer, the ringing shout of a racer as he crossed the finish line, and began to come.

            Draco watched for long moments, more than seemed possible, as white liquid sprang copiously across Harry’s chest and stomach, rising and falling in rich streams. Harry was still crying out, though more softly and at shorter intervals now, with pleasure. His eyes were shut tight, and his body closed again and again and again on Draco.

            Draco felt a moment’s smugness that he had made Harry come without even touching his cock.

            The smugness spun him higher than his orgasm, though that, which smashed him like a wave of his own power deployed against the Obliviate and carried him beyond simple extremes of happiness, was quite pleasant, too.

*

            Harry opened his eyes slowly. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there with Draco collapsed half on his chest and half across his arse. He found he wasn’t that eager to move. Even limp, he liked the sensation of Draco’s cock inside him.

            He only stirred because Draco had said, “I reckon you’ll agree that you aren’t straight now.”

            Harry smiled at him, and ran a hand through that flopping, mussed blond hair. Draco looked so pleased with himself Harry had to say something to remind him earth existed. “I’m not,” he said.

            Draco nodded. “Curved or bent, then?” he asked, as if he had been laying bets with himself on the answer.

            “Neither,” said Harry, and waited a moment as the perfect brow crimped, then added, “Slanted.”

            “What?” Draco huffed. Harry thought he might have tried to cross his arms if the position he was in hadn’t been ridiculous for it. “That doesn’t make sense.”

            “It does,” Harry said firmly.

            “But it doesn’t mean anything.”

            “Since I’m the slanted one,” Harry said, “and not you, I get to decide what it means.”

            Then he gave in and moved carefully backwards and up so that he could kiss the outraged look on Draco’s face. Draco did look close to cute when he had to remember that he didn’t know everything in the world.

*

            Dezra: Thanks! Hopefully the openness in this chapter pleased you, too. ;)

            McAbacus: Well, it won’t continue long, since the story will be finished tomorrow!

            YoukaiHakkai: Well, I have two plotty WiP’s coming up in the future.

            Thrnbrooke: Thanks for reviewing!
- 21
- 22
- 23
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Determined Frame of Mind