Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Rising of the Stones	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13237 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Draco found himself gasping and writhing on his pallet far sooner than he’d expected, especially since he had no idea if Potter had experience with men before.
It appeared that once Potter decided to do something with his whole heart, then he went ahead and threw his back into it.
For example, right now he was sucking on the ridge of Draco’s collarbone. If someone had asked Draco, he would have said he wasn’t one to care about things like that. Fucking and cocks, that was what he liked to talk about.
But now—
And Draco’s back arched and his mouth opened and he made a sound that wasn’t a scream only because he wouldn’t call it that, although perhaps it was better to call it that than a yelp. Potter had slipped one hand down inside his robes and found Draco, curling a loose fist around him.
There was no lube, except the wetness that was already gathering on Draco’s erection, and it was so simple, not sophisticated, with the tricks that Draco had come to expect with other lovers. And yet, he was writhing. He was shuddering so hard that he couldn’t get his mouth to open and speak Potter’s name.
It was so hot.
Potter shifted to the side, and suddenly he was lying on top of Draco, hard hip to hard hip, elbow almost in his groin. Draco gasped and stared up at him. His eyes were as green as the earth he commanded, and Draco reached up with a trembling hand to touch his shoulder. It fell short, back, and his hand curled into its own fist.
“What do you want?” Potter asked, and oh, Merlin, there was an edge to his words that could have been Parseltongue.
Draco didn’t have the words right now. He wasn’t sure that he could force them through his chattering teeth anyway. He settled for showing Potter, rolling him to the side and shoving harder on Potter’s wrist so that his hand was pressed between Draco’s thighs. Then he squeezed and thrust with his hips, and watched the faint smile, perfect for a sphinx, that flittered across Potter’s lips.
He lifted his head and kissed Draco, and Draco’s head spun so badly that he had to close his eyes.
Potter spoke again, and this time, it was definitely Parseltongue. Draco made an incoherent noise and squeezed and clasped with his thighs—and not just to keep Potter’s hand in place. He was going to come far too fast if he didn’t. It was insane. No one had ever affected him like this.
Of course, he thought, opening his eyes and watching the hot mist of his breath mix with Potter’s as he lay there half-beneath Draco, no one else is like Potter, either.
“Faster,” Draco finally managed to gasp, when he realized that Potter was alternating between slow stroking and simply holding. He thrust himself, and Potter gave him a lazy smile and held him still with a simple tilt of his palm.
“What do you want?” Potter whispered. He rolled Draco back a little to the side and raised himself, so that their faces and their chests and their groins were all on a level. He paused a moment, then flicked his tongue out and tapped it against his own lips, so close Draco could feel a ghost of its wetness, but not actually touching him.
Draco groaned pathetically and leaned forwards, but Potter leaned back, and fuck, that smile. “Use your words, Draco,” Potter chided. “In any language you like, but speak.”
Draco wished he did know Parseltongue, so he could torment Potter the way Potter was tormenting him. But the only thing he could do was say, “Fuck me,” and watch the way Potter’s eyes widened and grew so clear that it was like staring into fire through glass windows.
He never expected me to say that, no matter what the language, Draco thought, and then he fell to the pallet as Potter—Harry—pushed him roughly back.
Yes, Draco thought, stretching his arms over his head, as Harry started pulling off his robes. I like that distinction. Potter was the one who had teased him in school, and maybe the one who had teased him now, at least if he kept it up. Harry was the one who panted at him and got his hands tangled in Draco’s robes, as if he had forgotten what a sleeve was.
And the one who bowed his head and crushed Draco’s tongue in a kiss, and then pulled back and hissed again.
Damn it. Draco pushed up with his thighs and arms and chest, and then finally Harry was pulling his robes over his head. He kept his handiwork up, rubbing and squeezing, and Draco cried out, sharp and short.
He had almost come.
Harry found his mouth again as his robes came free, and began kissing him so much that Draco nearly forgot about his own objective. But not for long, when he reached up and found that cloth was in the way. He grabbed Harry’s shirt and jerked at it, making him grunt in question as their mouths were pulled apart.
“Come on,” Draco said, and panted, and didn’t care about the breathy edge to his words, or how desperate he sounded. Because the important thing was that he get Harry naked, and if he had his wand, he would have used it. “Take—your robes off. I want to see.”
He didn’t understand why Harry paused a moment, unless he had scars that he assumed would scare Draco off. But Draco was lying bare-chested in front of him now, and he still bore the silver marks Potter had inflicted with that Sectumsempra spell. So he could bloody well get naked and satisfy Draco.
Finally, the clothes did come off, and even though he wanted Harry completely open to him, Draco took a moment to admire the outline of his cock against his simple cloth pants. When it sprang free, Draco groaned and reached out, grasping in both hands.
Harry bucked up against him, his eyes wide and wild, and Draco barely let go in time. He thought Harry would have come if he’d waited another moment.
Draco didn’t want that any more than he wanted to do the same thing himself. He lay back and arched his hips up, practically waving the cock in Harry’s face.
“Come on.”
Harry fell on him.
It was such a blaze, such a whirlwind, that Draco lost his head and grabbed at Harry, hands reaching and clenching and almost tearing into his hair. Harry kissed him again, but they twisted to the side so Draco could have his cock where he most wanted it, and that made him lose hold of Harry’s mouth.
Harry cried out as Draco slid his cock between his thighs. And somehow Draco got his hand away from Harry’s shoulder, shaking and with his thoughts dissolving, and found his wand, and cast the right incantation, one that slicked Harry’s legs with lube.
After that…
Draco knew he was almost wrenching Harry’s shoulder out of joint, the way he was riding him, but he couldn’t stop. Heat rushed through him, and up against him Harry shifted and shoved and moaned. Draco finally did manage to bend down and suck in his mouth again, and Harry stiffened against him and gave a single, thick gasp.
Then there was more warmth as he came against Draco, and Draco bowed his head and let himself fall, finally, into the whirl that had been waiting for him.
They gasped against each other, and for a long moment, there was no sensation other than that. Draco let his head slump forwards until his brow was resting against Harry’s breastbone. His hand smoothed up and down and around skin so slick with sweat that it felt almost clammy.
“That was…intense.”
Harry’s voice was hoarse. Draco raised his head and gave Harry a smile he knew he was lazy. “That’s the only word you can come up with for it?” Well, his voice was hoarse, too, so he supposed both of them were affected. He rolled to the side and wriggled his hips and flank a little into the cool moss, closing his eyes.
He did make sure to keep one hand, as if casually, on Harry’s arm. He thought Harry would probably pull away and start talking about soulmates and the way that he could only love one person again soon.
But maybe the love they’d made had finally broken past that stubborn barrier in Harry’s mind. Instead of transforming into Potter again, he shifted closer to Draco and sighed hard enough to make Draco’s lips twitch a little.
“I don’t—I didn’t know it could be like that,” Harry whispered. “I think most of the time I was thinking about the long-term consequences, you know? Whether this felt right, and was right, and was destined.”
“Good God, Potter,” said Draco, before he thought. “You must have been just the most romantic partner in bed.”
Harry laughed, a sound that was as unfettered as any Draco had ever heard him make. “That was what Ginny said sometimes.” And then he stiffened in that way Draco had thought would happen and muttered to himself, “I shouldn’t be talking about her with you.”
“As long as you don’t go running back to her and talk to her about me,” Draco said lightly, “then I’ll consider this okay. An owl to her and your other friends might be acceptable, assuming that you want to tell them we’re together now.” On the one hand, Potter was so fundamentally honest (and intent on martyring himself) that Draco couldn’t imagine him keeping this secret.
On the other hand…
They know Potter doesn’t have a soul-mark, now, or at least Granger and Weasley know, and I assume they probably told Weasley’s sister. What are they going to say about him staying with someone who does?
Draco shrugged and draped his chin over Harry’s shoulder. It didn’t matter much. If they came up with arguments telling Harry he ought to leave Draco, then Draco would fight back against them, and cling to the one he wanted. And if they thought this was a grand idea, Draco would proclaim his enthusiastic agreement, and even call off his family’s feud with Weasley.
This is what I was missing.
Draco hid a smile and ran his fingernails down Harry’s back. He gasped and shook, and Draco had the feeling he would have stirred back to life if it hadn’t been too soon. Draco nodded and sucked a spot into place on his shoulder.
This is what everyone told me I should have with my soulmate, and this is what it would have been missing. This intensity—it’s a perfectly fine word, yes—and this desire, and this way that I want to make him make all those sounds again.
“I do want to know one thing,” Harry whispered, and his finger reached up and traced the sucking mark that Draco had given him, as if he couldn’t believe it was there.
Draco opened his mouth to comment on the way Harry’s hands shook, and then remembered the way that he had thought he would never have this. He turned the words into, “Fine. What question is it?”
“Do you know who your soulmate is?”
“Would I have decided to reject them if I didn’t know who it was?” Draco asked dryly.
Harry turned and nodded at him. His eyes were bright enough that Draco squirmed a little. “But I want to know—I want to make sure you won’t change your mind,” he said in a rush. “Because, just because other people you knew didn’t have grand romances with their soulmates—maybe you could. Maybe you could have a good life.” He held up his hand when Draco opened his mouth in outrage. “Listen to me, please.”
Draco shut his mouth and eyed him. Fine. But it’s a great favor. And someday you’ll have to listen to me.
“Already—it’s strange, but already I think I would do anything to make you happy.” Draco would have scoffed at the words coming from anyone else, but Harry’s eyes were so brilliant, and his voice trembled a little, and Draco inclined his head and listened. “I want to make sure that you won’t be happier with someone else, even if you don’t think that right now. Would you ever want to try it?”
“No.”
“You do know a lot about your soulmate, then.”
Draco paused. He’d been ready to rail at Potter’s ignorance and drive to sacrifice himself, again, but it was Harry who looked at him now, his eyes narrow and speculative, and his face a little pale. Draco settled for nodding and leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I knew even before I saw her that she had a—certain reputation. There’s no reason for me to tie myself to her when she’s lazy, unambitious, and sacrificed what gifts she had to a temporary good.”
Harry huffed gently in his ear and began to stroke Draco’s shoulder. Draco tried to hold still and not show how very good it felt. “I thought for a minute that you were saying she had a reputation for sleeping with people or something. That would be a little hypocritical, considering what we just did.”
Draco nodded, but did say, “This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often, Harry. I mean—not that I’ve never had sex before. But I am discerning. And.” He paused, then raised his head when he felt Harry’s hands tighten on him in inquiry. “I’ve very rarely had sex this good.”
Harry didn’t smile, but his eyes were beaming for him. He leaned forwards and kissed Draco again, and Draco regretted the swelling in his lips that meant he had to ease Harry backwards.
“And you needn’t think it’s going to be all sex,” said Draco. “Or magic.” He ran his hand absently down Harry’s shoulder, and thought about the strength in the stone hands that had gripped Henson, and shivered. He wondered if there was a way Harry could teach him that kind of magic, even if Draco had to approach it using a wand.
“I know. There would have been more than that even if we were sharing our lives with soulmates.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but decided he would tolerate those little interjections. Perhaps, after being with him for some time, Harry would get over them. “For one thing,” he said, determined to plow ahead, “we have our rebellion against the Ministry to think of.”
Harry’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t pull away or try to make a joke the way he would probably have done before. He met Draco’s gaze evenly. “It’s going to be more dangerous for you, now that de Berenzan knows you’re not loyal to him,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to stay here, or somewhere else that his Aurors can’t find you.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “That theory is proven wrong by the Auror that showed up here, oh, an hour ago.”
“Yes. Fine. Wishful thinking. But I need to know what you want, Draco. I told you. I want you to be happy.”
“What I want,” Draco said. “What would make me happy.” He was silent for a moment, playing with the edge of Harry’s hair. Harry was promptly still, watching him.
He means it. He means it the way most people wouldn’t.
It was that which made Draco sigh, and tell him, even though he thought it might cause another argument. “I want you to stop doubting and questioning yourself so much, and accept that I’m here. I want you to stop imagining soulmates who might lure me away, and thinking of yourself as inadequate. Or someone who has to put himself through pain so that other people don’t suffer. Whichever one is closer to what you actually think.”
Harry leaned backwards with a long gust of breath. Draco watched him, narrow-eyed. For a few moments, Harry’s fingers rapped the cot, and then Draco’s wand, and then their discarded clothes. But he gave no answer.
“One of the other things I want,” Draco said finally, and dug a hand under Harry’s ribs, “is for someone to respond when I ask them a question.”
Harry looked at him and smiled, but Draco thought it wasn’t him Harry was smiling at. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try.”
Draco felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead. “That’s honest.”
“It is. I don’t think I can make all the changes you want. Not at once, at least. Maybe some of them will take years.” Harry reached out and clasped his hands, and although Draco winced a little, he clasped back instead of protesting. “But I’ll take you at your word, and at least say that I’ll take the chance of you being here for years.”
“Yes,” Draco said, hearing the thickness in his voice, and he leaned forwards to rest his nose against Harry’s neck. “Yes, that’s what I was waiting to hear.”
Harry relaxed and smiled, and then he turned his head and kissed Draco’s palm, and they found better things to do than debate philosophy or ethics.
*
SP777: Why, when I've done so many chaptered stories with that theme? ;)
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The Rising of the Stones