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The Name I'll Give to Thee	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 42129 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight—Learning By Experience

            Harry’s mouth was warm.

            There was no reason to expect that it wouldn’t be, really, but Draco found that he wanted to clench his hands in Harry’s hair and haul his head down anyway, to get more of the taste and more of the experience. His hands pressed deeper into Harry’s scalp, his fingers teasing, gently massaging, and he took a step forwards, pushing Harry back towards the bed. He didn’t really think about it.

            Harry’s mouth made it hard to think; that was another good way to characterize it.

            “Wait,” Harry said, and hovered in front of Draco for a moment before he moved away. His eyes were bright, dazed, but comprehension was surfacing all too fast. Draco sighed, but let him go. In the end, he didn’t want Harry making decisions to be with him just out of stupid arousal. He wanted the full, the willing surrender.

            That’s the kind of surrender I would have been satisfied with, if he’d been able to bring himself to give it to me. I want him, I want him to like being with me, but it has to be of his own free will, or it’s not the real prize.

            And I want the real prize.

            “There are still excellent reasons not to do this,” Harry said, raising one cautioning hand when Draco would have taken a step nearer to him. “I mean it. I mean—you said that we basically had to keep the demi-marriage sexless.” He flushed when he spoke that last word, but his gaze was firm, and Draco thought he could grow to like the sight of Harry’s embarrassment quite as much as his normal demeanor. “If we don’t do that, we can’t get divorced. And you do want to get divorced, right? Not be married to me for the rest of your life?”

            Draco closed his eyes. The sight of Harry was bloody distracting, and Harry was right about one thing, if not the others: he needed to make his decisions as the head of the Malfoy family, and not someone in his twenties controlled by his hormones.

            “I want to have heirs someday, that’s true,” he said, working his way through the desires that boiled in the back of his head, dimmed and sat on by the more immediate ones that his days with Harry had given him. “And I want to keep the family safe and secure. I want to defeat these enemies. I want to ensure that the Malfoys will continue after my death.”

            “Well, then.” Harry’s voice was gentle. “This isn’t the way to do that. You want children, to make sure the family is safe. And you want me to have children, because if I don’t, that’s one line of inheritance cut off.”

            Draco opened his eyes and stared at him. “You sound as though it isn’t your family, too,” he said, speaking the first words that came into his head, but he had meditated so much on his own desires just now that he was pretty sure they were true. “It is.”

            Harry blinked and moved a hand through his hair. “That still doesn’t lessen the force of my argument that it would be better to have two male heirs producing children than just one. More secure, anyway.”

            “But your desires for the future of the family matter, too,” Draco said. “Do you want to stay married to me? Do you want to find some way around the issue of heirs rather than getting divorced and then married again?”

            Harry fell back a step. Draco watched him, cocking his head. “That bothers you, don’t you?” he asked quietly. “Being asked to make decisions for your family?”

            Harry took a quick breath. “You’re still the head of the Malfoys,” he said. “You’re still the one who has to make the real choices, the one whose choices count. I’m—I don’t know. I think I only have the power that you did when your father was the head of the family.”

            “What I thought and did was still immensely important to my family,” Draco pointed out. “Otherwise, my father wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to make sure that I had good marks in school and thought and said all the right things.” He edged closer to Harry again. “You think of yourself as powerless? You’re not. But you’re not used to being responsible for other people when it’s not a case of immediate life-and-death. I see.”

            “It’s not that,” Harry said, and sat down on the bed. Draco sat beside him. Harry started a little, but buried his head in his fingers and remained still, in a thinking pose. Draco didn’t say all he was thinking, which was that hiding his face was just as much a means of running away as some of the other things Harry could have done. “It’s that—I’m not used to having a family, and I think I’ll fuck this up.”

            “You told me the Weasleys were like your family,” Draco pointed out.

            Harry nodded, looking down still. “But they don’t have the same kind of connections and ties and obligations to me that you do. What happens if I make another mistake like the one that deprived your mother of her health in the first place?”

            “Thinking about children seems unlikely to do that,” Draco pointed out, and put his hand on Harry’s knee. “As does thinking about having sex with me.”

            Harry swallowed and met his eyes. “But we still have to think about what will happen if we have sex in the demi-marriage. It’ll make it harder to dissolve.”

            Draco laughed gently. “Everyone around us, except perhaps my mother and your friends, already thinks we’re fucking. And dissolving the demi-marriage is as much a matter of private law and ritual as the wedding ritual itself was. I think you’ll find that we need to be concerned about ourselves before anyone else.” He dug his hands into Harry’s hair again, and this time, he hung on when Harry would have moved away. He had already noticed how being close to him affected Harry’s breathing and blushing; time to see if it affected other things as well.

            Harry swallowed, his throat jumping. “I don’t know.”

            “I think you want to,” Draco said softly. “I said that we needn’t sleep together when we began the demi-marriage because I was concerned you would think of it as a requirement of the marriage, and it isn’t. But if we want to, that’s a different matter, isn’t it?” He edged closer, and Harry gave a helpless sound that might have been either snort or laugh.

            “It does seem that I’m born sometimes to get close to surprising people,” he said, and then leaned in and kissed Draco before he could ask what that meant. Draco was glad enough of the kissing not to care right now, though. He looped an arm around Harry’s waist, and kissed back.

*

            Harry was drowning, but in the good way.

            This was Draco, whose face he had seen stripped down to its barest essentials in the demi-marriage ritual. Draco, who had begged him to go forwards with the ritual when the mist was consuming them, and managed to persuade him. Draco, whom Harry had defended and who had let Harry do it instead of arguing all the time. And the man who had given him back himself when Harry might have tried to shut down all his emotions and live mindless for the next five years of his life.

            Of course, this was also Draco, who had made hours of his childhood a torment and had taken Harry from his friends and family into the marriage in the first place. But Harry was opening his arms and his lips to him anyway.

            And your legs?

            The crude thought made Harry flush, but then Draco’s lips and tongue moved in insistently, and Harry was too involved in kissing back to think a lot.

            It had been a while since he’d done this, but he remembered how. He remembered how to brush someone’s cheeks and chin with neat little motions of his hands, and he liked the way it made Draco gasp and shudder. And he hadn’t forgotten the consuming need to be close, either, the way he shifted his groin back and forth and tried to move forwards at the same time.

            This time, his erection brushed Draco’s.

            Harry broke the kiss again and buried his head in Draco’s shoulder, panting. Draco brushed Harry’s hair away from the side of his neck and kissed him there, delicately, exquisitely.

            “That frightens you, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Because you haven’t done it before, and anything is scary until you’ve done it once.”

            “I’m not frightened,” Harry snapped, and Draco’s hands tightened on his shoulders until Harry thought they would squeeze the bone right out of the skin. “Not—not in the same way that you understand fear or would expect me to be, anyway,” he mumbled. “Not that way.”

            “Then tell me what way.” Draco’s arms were still around him, cradling him, holding him close.

            “I just don’t know what to do with myself when I feel you,” Harry said, and that was closer to the truth.

            “Then don’t do anything special,” Draco murmured, and moved back to his mouth again. “Let me do it, and you can lie there and watch me and feel if you want. I’ll hardly mind.” His eyes were wide, his panting breath covering Harry’s mouth with warmth. For some reason, this really excited him.

            Harry blinked, then lay back slowly on his pillows, the way he had when he was eating the chocolate cake. Draco followed him down, and kissed him again, and then began to slip his shirt down his shoulders. Harry shuddered, but kept watching Draco, because he thought closing his eyes right now would make the sensations even sharper, and he wasn’t sure if he could deal with that.

            Draco’s smile was bright and small and delighted. He got Harry’s shoulders bare and began to kiss them, and Harry arched up, and moaned, and grabbed the back of Draco’s head. He wasn’t made to be passive after all, it seemed, and he kissed Draco on the mouth and rolled them over so that he could pin him down in turn.

            Draco laughed up at him, the delight in his smile escaping through the sound. “So much for not knowing how to do anything special,” he said.

            “Shut up,” Harry told him, and kissed his shoulder in retaliation. Draco groaned at that, the kind of full-throated, hearty groan Harry hadn’t heard from him before except when he was injured, and stretched his arms out. Harry rolled on top of him and kissed him again, and again, and again, and again, until he was light-headed and Draco looked as if he would float away.

            His skin was delicious.

            Harry got Draco’s shirt completely unbuttoned, and licked a place where a dark bruise lingered before he could stop himself. Draco gasped, but it didn’t seem to be a bad gasp, so Harry did it again. Draco hummed beneath his breath and managed to bring his hands into play, stroking the back of Harry’s neck and further down, so that Harry shuddered and got distracted, and then Draco was on top again. Harry panted at him, afraid for a minute they would run out of bed, but then he remembered how big the bed was in this room, and dismissed the fear.

            “You’re very good,” Draco told him, head bowed and eyes as bright as a forest fire. “But I really think I want a turn.”

            Before Harry could point out that he’d had a turn just a minute ago, Draco’s hand dipped under his shirt, and yanked it the rest of the way off. Then he began to stroke Harry’s chest with both his hands, palms down, flat, warm, heavy, like he was giving Harry a massage. Harry sighed and spread his legs without thinking about it.

            “You really would give me everything, wouldn’t you?” Draco whispered, and his voice was so choked that Harry looked up sharply. But Draco was watching him, not gasping for breath, and he looked—

            He looked as though he was really fucking turned on, was what he looked. Harry grinned and spoke before he thought. That had to happen sometimes, and he’d actually been pretty good about his marriage with Draco so far.

            “That makes you want to fuck?” he muttered, running his fingers up Draco’s arm for a minute, to see if it made him falter. It did. Draco’s eyes shut and his hands lost their place on Harry’s chest for a second, wandering, mapping territory that wasn’t there. Harry couldn’t help the huskiness to his breath when he spoke next. “The thought of me giving up, giving it up to you? That makes you hard?”

            Draco abruptly twisted and slammed him fast to the bed, holding Harry’s wrists on the pillow now, his eyes wide and his breath coming so hard that he’d start panting in a minute. He leaned down and said into Harry’s face, his gaze wild and raw and blazing, “Yes.”

            Harry blinked. Then, going with the same impulse that had made him say that in the first place, he spread his legs.

            Draco slammed into him again, but this time with his hips and his groin, rutting, his eyes rolling back in his head and his breath escaping him in a series of rapid grunts. Harry lifted his hips and rolled them right back, back and forth and up and down, but made sure never to strain against the hold that Draco had on his wrists.

            That might make Draco less hot, and they couldn’t have that.

            He was carrying Draco higher and higher, Harry could see that. His head was hanging and his hips were thrusting, and his face was so red. Sweat rolled down his cheeks, and maybe some tears. His mouth was open and shining.

            Harry tried to rear up to kiss him, and Draco’s eyes flew open again. He lay down on top of Harry as if to keep him from moving, and stared into his face.

            Harry spread his legs wide, giving in, surrendering, letting Draco see that was what he was doing, and then wrapped his legs around Draco’s hips, and tugged him forwards against him. “More,” he muttered.

            Draco almost screamed, and slammed and slammed and slammed him. Harry arched his head and came before he thought about it, with a cry that probably sounded ugly, compared to the beautiful sounds Draco was making.

            But Draco came in his pants, too, and then reached out and curved his hands as hard around Harry’s ribs as he could, holding him. Maybe he would like them better if they were broken and I couldn’t move anywhere, Harry thought, blinking at him, his own mouth hanging open.

            Then Draco filled Harry’s mouth with his tongue, and it was hard to think. Harry settled for kissing, and his fingers flexed against the pillow the way he would have liked to flex them in Draco’s hair, given the chance. But it was pretty clear Draco wasn’t about to let him go right now.

            Not that I mind. And that’s the weirdest thing, that I don’t mind.

*

            Mine.

            The word swam through Draco’s head, bright and bold red against a background of crimson and gold. Crimson and gold, Gryffindor colors, not that that mattered. Draco could feel the astonished pleasure washing through him, and the still keen and piercing adrenaline rush he’d felt when Harry willingly gave in to him. It was what he had wanted at the beginning of this marriage, but he hadn’t been thinking about sex then. He really hadn’t. It was just—it was just—

            He must have wanted Harry Potter to surrender for a good long time without knowing about it.

            Well, so had lots of people. But Draco was the one he’d chosen to do it for.

            He let Harry up at last, combing Harry’s hair back for him and smiling at him. He wanted to ask if that was really the most intense thing Harry had ever felt, the way it had been for Draco, but he was afraid of the way the words might sound. He bit his lip instead, and was silent.

            Harry wasn’t.

            “Thank you,” he said, grinning at Draco. “I might still have my doubts about whether we should have done this for the demi-marriage, but you’ve gone a long way to settling them.” He stretched his neck up and kissed Draco again, and this time, his tongue was the one forcing its way into Draco’s mouth, then settling down to play lazily.

            Draco stroked Harry’s wrist, and thought about the way he’d had it pinned to the pillow such a short time ago. Harry had given him a gift, and Draco was going to think about that, and remember it, the next time they had an argument about something stupid. Harry had given him a gift that no one could take back. Draco spread his fingers apart, and played with them, and thought about that.

            “What are you thinking?”

            Harry’s voice was drowsy. Draco grinned at him and spread his fingers apart further, stroking the webs between them, rolling so that Harry could breathe a little but couldn’t easily rise from the bed. “So you’re the stereotype of the man who always falls asleep right after sex.”

            Harry yawned. “I don’t know about always, but it’s pretty common.” Then, as Draco was wishing he hadn’t said anything because that was making him think about all the other people Harry had had sex with, Harry rolled to the side and flung his leg over Draco’s hips. “Thank you for a really good time,” he whispered, and closed his eyes, and was gone into sleep before Draco could think of something else to ask.

            Draco framed Harry’s ribs with his hands again, holding him close, caressing up and down on the delicate skin softly, so as not to wake Harry. Harry snorted at him and settled further into the pillows, though. Draco shifted to lie more on top of him, then decided that wasn’t comfortable with the way Harry’s bony hips were poking him, and rolled off again.

            Only then did he remember to cast the Cleaning Charm that removed the stickiness from their groins. He always would have remembered it before, the rare times that he’d been excited enough to come in his pants with someone else.

            Draco leaned his head on the pillow beside Harry’s, and watched the flutter of his eyes behind the eyelids, and touched his cheek now and then when he thought he could get away with it. Harry’s head rolled towards him, and Draco tensed. Harry didn’t wake up, though. Instead, his mouth sighed open and he lay there. Draco touched a finger to his lips.

            Harry sighed, and was still.

            Draco laid down his head beside Harry and closed his eyes. He thought he could rest content, now, with Harry his and so much better, so much more, than Draco had thought this marriage could be at first.

            The things he does of his own free will are the best things.

*

            Harry came awake with what felt like unnatural speed, blinking and shaking his head, but he understood when he saw Draco asleep beside him. Memory returned, then, and the fact that he had woken up with a plan in his head that might take care of some of their enemies was rendered a bit irrelevant. He stroked Draco’s hair and cheek and learned the shape of his shoulder before Draco turned lazily towards him, stretching, and woke into awareness.

            His eyes were still lazy, and so heat-filled that Harry swallowed. Draco drew him in for a kiss before he said anything, and licked at his lips before he pulled back.

            “Morning,” he whispered. He looked around Harry’s bedroom. “Do you want to keep this? Because it would probably make more sense for us to share a bed, now.”

            “I want to keep this, yes,” Harry said dryly. “Since you probably won’t actually be demolishing this part of the Manor, and sometimes we’ll argue, so a bedroom to escape to that’s only my own would be nice.”

            Draco stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed with a faint snort and a shake of his head. “All right,” he said. “But you’re thinking about something—something that makes your eyes light up like that. What is it?”

            Harry kissed him, for the sheer pleasure of watching Draco’s eyes light up and delaying the confession just a bit longer, and then pulled back again. “I’ve thought of a way that we can hopefully get rid of Shepherd, or at least expose some more of the people whose strings he’s pulling,” he said. “And also make that speech Ron advised me to, where I challenge the Ministry to say what they really feel about me.”

            Draco’s eyes were wide and arrested, looking up at him. “You speak as though I’ve already agreed,” he said. “And I don’t want to agree to anything that puts you in danger.”

            Harry shook his head, holding onto his temper this time. “As long as people like Robbs keep coming after me, I’ll be in danger,” he said. “The best thing we can do is to carry the challenge to them, instead of running and hiding. I want you to come with me, but I’ll do it without you if I have to. I just don’t want to,” he added quietly, and ran his hand up Draco’s leg, and waited for his assent.

            “You’ll explain this to me before we do it,” Draco said, as slowly as though he was reading a list of the consequences and couldn’t see the end.

            Harry nodded. “I really do need your cooperation to pull it off, and it would help a lot if you helped me.”

            Draco snorted gently. Then he said, “And you promise that it doesn’t put you in any more danger than you are already?”

            Harry shrugged. “Someone might attack me the moment they hear me speaking against the Ministry. Or Shepherd might send someone else the minute he realizes that Robbs didn’t succeed. I can’t promise I’ll be safe.”

            “I want you safe,” Draco said. “And not just because you’re the family’s strongest asset at the moment, although that’s a part of it.”

            Harry met Draco’s eyes and nodded, acknowledging all that had changed between them. “All right,” he said quietly. “I promise that I won’t take any extraordinary risks. In return, you have to promise me the same thing—even risks that you might take because you think I’m in danger. Can you actually do that?”

            Draco gave him a bright, arrogant smile, and leaned back on his elbow. “Of course,” he said, and pinched a strand of Harry’s hair. “So, what is this famous plan?”

            Harry kissed the palm of Draco’s hand before he replied, and decided that, after all, putting the demi-marriage in danger was worth it.

*

            SP777: Thanks. They're in their mid-twenties.

            delia cerrano: Harry believes it; he's just worried about the consequences.

            Diana: Here it is.

            Rina: Harry would hate that description. And I'm sorry you felt cheated, but since I've brought it this far, I wouldn't change the whole scene.

            CareLessLover: Generally positive, but worried.

            addiena saffir: But it was the end of the chapter!

            BrightSpright: Thank you!

            moodysavage: Thanks! This is actually closer to what Draco envisioned having at first, but in much, much different ways.

            nightlo: There's really nothing that could force them into Stockholm Syndrome, since they're free to come and go as they please. If their enemies are forcing them into it, then we'll see what happens when the threats are dealt with.

            Seiren: Thank you!

            unneeded: Draco might think harder about that a bit later, yes.
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The Name I'll Give to Thee