Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Building With Worn-Out Tools	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 54266 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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.

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Chapter Thirty-One—Private Business

            Harry sat back and looked around his bedroom—well, the room that Draco had given him—for a moment. He thought he had done most of what he should do for today. He had written a letter to Ron and Hermione that explained the truth behind his and Draco’s relationship, as promised. He had owled Rita Skeeter to tell her she could have an interview with him only if she brought her regular quill and not the Quick-Quotes one. He had told Bill, as politely as he could, that his opinion on Harry’s marriage really didn’t matter to Harry, and he expected to receive no more post about it.

            But there was one more thing that he wanted to do. He just wasn’t sure that Draco would let him do it if he knew about it. He would probably insist that he didn’t need any protection, and Harry was simply exaggerating the amount of danger he was in.

            But the lines from Ginny’s letter hovered, ringing like bells, in the back of Harry’s mind. I will hunt you down as soon as Harry is safely away from your side. Fear me.

            She probably could not hurt Draco. The wards on the Manor were thick, and Draco was an accomplished Dark wizard who would not hesitate to use a long list of curses which Ginny wouldn’t even know. And there were always house-elves Draco could summon if he were truly in danger.

            But, for all that, the words lingered and troubled him. Perhaps she meant that she expected Harry to get tired of Draco, leave him, and then she would strike; the rest of the letter stated that. She could also mean that she would seek to hurt Draco the moment Harry did something else than stick religiously by his side.

            Harry remembered the lurch of sick feeling in his stomach when he realized Narcissa was gone, and why. He never wanted to feel that for Draco.

            So he wanted to confront Ginny, and make her understand how much danger she would be in from him if she contemplated making a move against Draco. But to go beyond the wards would be to alert Draco that he was doing something like that, and Draco was likely to feel either irritated or insulted that Harry thought he needed protection.

            Harry cursed under his breath, then sighed and strode for the door of the room. It seemed the best thing he could do on this occasion, as on so many others, was to go talk to Draco. If he would be insulted or irritated, then it would probably be best if Harry didn’t contact Ginny at all.

            He grinned self-deprecatingly to himself as he shut the bedroom door behind him. Honesty seemed more difficult for him than it should be. Of course, a large part of that was Ginny’s influence.

            Well, he wouldn’t let it remain and separate him from the man he—

            Well—

            Felt a deep liking for, at the very least.

*

            Draco glanced up with curiosity from his correspondence when someone knocked on the library door. The house-elves would simply appear instead of knocking, of course, and his mother was as likely to walk in and demand he pay attention to her as anything else. And Harry should feel comfortable enough not to need to request permission to enter. So it must be Narcissa in one of her formal moods.

            “Come in, Mother,” he called.

            But Harry opened it, and Draco rolled his eyes a bit. Harry should understand that the Manor was his home, too. At least he hadn’t made any move to head back to his small house in Hogsmeade, or Draco might have had to throw a tantrum.

            “Yes, Harry?” he asked, laying aside the letter that begged him to take up a divorce case with adultery on both sides. The Potter case, and in particular the news that he had not let the kidnapping of his mother stop him from pursuing it, had been good for his professional reputation in many ways; it had brought him attention from those people who might have thought he wasn’t strong enough to take on a particularly bitter case before. On the other hand, many of those bitter cases were bitter because both parties were blithering idiots, committed to hating each other beyond winning peace or money for themselves.

            “I wanted to ask you a question.” Harry grinned and sat down on the edge of the desk, carefully moving a parchment out of the way when it would have bent beneath him. “I couldn’t make up my mind, and then I reminded myself that you’ve always been rather good at helping with that.”

            “I am,” said Draco, pleased that Harry had recognized it. “What was the question?”

            “I want to warn Ginny off from ever harming you the way she said she would try to in her letter yesterday,” Harry stated bluntly. “But I thought that might insult you if I did. Would you be insulted?”

            He cocked his head, and a beam of light from the lamp caught in his eyes, turning them an almost supernatural green. Draco caught his breath, but refrained from pulling him down for a kiss. Harry should be the one to initiate the next move between them, or Draco thought it likely that he would be stuck doing everything forever.

            “I hadn’t expected you to care quite so much about my opinion when you were planning one of your insane risks,” he murmured.

            Harry made a frustrated noise and sprang to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the desk. Draco folded his arms and sat back. That fascination had sprung up in him again; he had no idea what Harry was about to say next, but he wanted to find out.

            “I meant it when I said I would consider your perception of unnecessary risks.” Harry spun on his heel and glared at him. “I know you don’t trust me, still, because I took so long to come to a knowledge of what I wanted—“

            Draco tried to interrupt. The problem was that he didn’t trust Harry to speak up, which was rather different than the problem he was proposing. But Harry rambled straight on as if he hadn’t noticed.

            “But I want what’s between us, and I’m committed to this, and I won’t back out of it, and—“ Harry waved his arms in the air, his magic crackling around his skin, as though he were seeking for words in a language he barely knew. Then he shook his head, violently enough that his own hair stung his cheeks, and glared at Draco with the same depth of ferocity Draco had seen in him when he confronted his wife.

            “I care about you,” he said. “If I haven’t said I love you yet, it’s because I don’t want to lie, and I’m not sure. I can’t do anything about how fumble-footed I am compared to you. You’ve had more lovers than I have, I know.” The jealousy in his voice pleased Draco at a level he hadn’t known existed. “You’re more graceful in your manners, you know things about the wizarding world that I’ve only just begun learning, and you’re strong in ways I can’t match.

            “But I shouldn’t have to match them! Or at least I should have to match them with the opposite, those things you don’t have. I shouldn’t have to measure myself against you constantly, and find myself lacking, and know that I can’t do anything about it because we’re so fundamentally different.”

            “I never said that I found you lacking, Harry,” Draco murmured.

            “Yes, you did,” Harry reminded him, and his eyes were glowing like a leopard’s, the way Draco had seen them flame before he went after Blaise in the Three Broomsticks. “There was something about how I insulted you by assuming I was ordinary, and how the sex was unsatisfactory, and—“ He exhaled sharply. “I simply feel that no matter what I do, it’s not enough, and I’ll be blamed because of what it lacks!”

            Draco shrugged. “You are the one who feels that way,” he said, “not me.”

            Harry lifted his head and stared at him again.

            “Fine,” he said, and Draco could hear undertones in his voice echoed by the leaping, sparking magic. “Fine. If I can’t guess what will match your standards anyway, if I can’t be honest enough with my words and my feelings to satisfy you, and if, no matter what I say, you still don’t think I care about your opinion, then I’ll do something. I’m better with actions than words, anyway.”

            Draco assumed he was about to leave the Manor and hunt down Weasley, and he opened his mouth, frowning, to protest—

            But Harry jumped closer, leaned across the desk, cupped the back of his head with one hand, and kissed him.

            Well, Draco thought for a moment before the physical sensations reared up and consumed him, this is different.

*

            Harry didn’t know what he was doing.

            Draco had made all the introductory moves before, and until this moment, Harry had only ever made love to women—well, one woman. He was probably doing things all clumsy and all wrong; there was probably some kind of subtle and sophisticated art to kissing a man that he didn’t know, and any moment Draco would spit his tongue out with disgust.

            But Harry was tired of feeling second-rate because he couldn’t make himself understood as well as Draco. He’d told Draco he’d talk to him about the risks of his profession, and now Draco confessed himself surprised that Harry would talk to him about the risk involved in going after Ginny. It frustrated Harry to no end.

            And since he didn’t know the subtle and sophisticated art involved in kissing a man anyway, he would just have to do his best, and hope it was enough. He could hardly pretend to expertise he didn’t have.

            He moved around the desk as soon as he could, so that Draco wouldn’t have to strain his neck trying to reach him, and then pushed him against the back of the chair, because he liked to kiss better that way. Draco was gasping, and Harry eased back so he wouldn’t run out of breath, but pressed impatiently forwards again a moment later.

            The more he kissed, the more difficult it was to stop kissing, as if Draco’s mouth exerted a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. He cupped Draco’s jaw in his hand, and that wasn’t so different from kissing Ginny, was it? He fluttered his fingers in light tickling touches down Draco’s neck, remembering from the unsatisfactory sex that his throat was extraordinarily sensitive. Sure enough, he gasped some more in a way that didn’t have anything to do with losing breath, and Harry briefly took his mouth away from Draco’s to lave the pulse point.

            So far, Draco hadn’t said anything to encourage him, but he hadn’t said anything to encourage him to stop either, and Harry decided to trust the gasps. Besides, if he did things properly, Draco would be wordless anyway.

            He kept his mouth busy on Draco’s neck while easing his arms around his shoulders, aware of his own growing excitement and also that the library’s carpet, while comfortable enough on the feet, had wood or stone under it and wouldn’t be so comfortable on a back. So he reached out, found the weaknesses in the internal wards that Draco had woven in for him, and Apparated them both to Draco’s room; it had the larger bed.

            The world shifted and blurred and dazzled around them, and then they’d arrived and were collapsing backwards onto the bed; Draco took his weight with a grunt. Harry felt a surge of glee. Ron had once argued that it was impossible to kiss someone during Apparition, because he’d tried it with Hermione and nearly Splinched himself. Harry had never persuaded Ginny to try it, but he had thought it was possible, and here was the proof.

            Then he gave his full attention to Draco.

            His shirt was an annoying distraction, but Harry’s magic rushed helpfully in to take care of it, and it was gone. Harry would have liked to stare and admire the muscles and pale skin and even the scars revealed then, but his impatience had coalesced into a driving force. He let his fingers and tongue trail over Draco’s chest instead, noticing the ticklish places and lingering there especially, even when Draco squirmed. He only chuckled and moved lower when Draco was literally shoving at his head with his hands.

            They had never gone this far or been this intimate in the unsatisfactory sex, but Harry had been quite good at satisfying Ginny with his mouth. And wherever this crazy new confidence had come from, spinning around inside him to complement all the other emotions, it made Harry think—perhaps falsely—that men and women might not be so different or subtle or sophisticated at this after all. Draco was certainly pushing eagerly enough, though he had to know Harry was inexperienced at giving a blowjob.

            Harry paused and thought about the word, while his magic slit Draco’s trousers down the sides and tossed them away, followed by his pants. It just made his mouth water as if he’d smelled mustard, instead of putting him off.

            Maybe he was gay.

            And maybe words didn’t matter right now.

            He licked his lips a few times to wet them, and then slid down a bit further, grateful that he’d thought to come here—the bed was much softer on his knees than the library floor would have been—and took Draco into his mouth.

*

            Draco was caught somewhere between surprise and joy, and he had already remained in that state longer than he had thought a human being could.

            When Harry decided to move, it seemed, he moved.

            And if this was the consequence that came of rowing with him, then Draco would just have to do it more often, that was all.

            He gasped when Harry began to suck him; it was true there was more saliva on his skin than there had been with most of Draco’s other lovers, but Draco would not dream of asking him to stop. There was also more licking, as if Harry hated the thought of leaving his cock alone for more than a few seconds. There was sliding, as Harry figured out the comfortable depth for an erection to go down his throat. There was moving and teasing and playing from side to side, as if Harry wanted to figure out how flexible he was. And there was solid enthusiasm behind every swallow and every hum and the way Harry’s fingers had risen and toyed with his navel, which to Draco was most important.

            His hands had gone somewhere. He wasn’t sure where. They might be pushing down on Harry’s head or flopped bonelessly on the bed beside him; surely no one could have expected him to keep track of them at a time like this, anyway? His throat was nearly hoarse with his gasping, when he would have expected Harry’s throat to be the main affected party.

            He knew his hips were thrusting, but he was utterly incapable of stopping them or apologizing. From the way Harry’s head moved, he was compensating for that, anyway, since his mouth never left Draco’s groin once.

            Pleasure flew around his chest like a score of dragons, and Draco rode the sharpening and deepening of it with an excitement that was almost painful. Just as he had not known one person could hang between surprise and joy for so long, he had not known that he could desire to come so much and yet want to put it off, so that he could see just how keen the sensations would grow.

            It came to an end, of course, but so suddenly that he had no time to warn Harry, either. Suddenly, his vision filled with dazzling white-gold spots, as if he’d looked too long into the sun and acquired afterimages, and his body jerked and bucked and knifed in most unflattering and embarrassing ways, and then his throat loosed one final shout.

            And all the world was pleasure.

*

            Harry swallowed thoughtfully. He supposed that semen tasted no worse than female lubrication fluid, really.

            He leaned back from Draco and waited for him to recover. It took long moments, which just made Harry feel all the more smug. The smugness dissipated, however, when he realized that the mounting pressure on his cock had returned. He’d been able to ignore it as long as he had a distraction, but now…

            “You prat.”

            Harry glanced up, his self-doubt returning in a rush, wondering if he’d hurt Draco in some way. But Draco was glaring at him with eyes so bright that nothing he did could make the expression forbidding.

            “You’re still dressed,” Draco insisted, and then pulled at his shirt.

            The confidence returned, and Harry hoped he hadn’t let the doubt show on his face. So they would tease each other in bed. He should have expected that, really, and he’d even started it by teasing Draco on the way down his body.

            “Of course I am,” he said, and leaned back, arching and not missing the way Draco’s hungry eyes trailed down his chest, even as he began to unbutton his shirt. “I had to complete my conquest, didn’t I?”

            “Shut up, and get those off,” Draco said, who had evidently decided that today was the day to emphasize his prepositions. He yanked again at Harry’s shirt, flinging it impatiently to the side before Harry could even discard it, so that it caught on his left elbow and hung ridiculously off him. Harry laughed at him and then managed to shake it off completely.

            Draco just went on watching, so Harry stripped his trousers and pants off more slowly. He ignored the small, impatient growls that came from Draco. If he had wanted Harry to go faster, he could have asked, after all.

            He turned around and knelt in front of Draco when he was naked, gathering his own cock up in one hand and squeezing sharply at the base. Now that the cloth constricting it was gone, his body felt more sensitive than ever. Harry didn’t quite want to come at his own touch, though it would have illustrated how excited he felt over just sucking Draco off.

            “I want to make love to you,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

            “You’re already doing that,” Draco said, his face soft for a moment.

            See what happens when you choose your words carefully? Harry’s brain scolded him. Just say it straight out, then. If nothing else, his expression ought to be fun to watch.

            “I want to bugger you,” he said, and grinned, because Draco’s eyebrows and jaw had respectively gone north and south at the same time. “Fuck you. Stick my—“

            “I understand, Potter, I think,” Draco said sharply, and swallowed. “I just—I didn’t think you would dare do that, so fast.”

            “It can wait, of course,” Harry said, and sat back, changing his light touches on himself to light strokes. If Draco didn’t want to let a virgin near his arse, Harry couldn’t exactly blame him—and the rejection that he would have felt a half-hour ago was nowhere in his soul now. How could it be, when Draco’s eyes shone with absolutely unconfined lust? “Perhaps you’d rather watch me bring myself off. Judging by the look in your eyes, you’re quite a fan—“

            “Damn it,” Draco said, and lunged across the bed, and slammed their mouths together. Harry wrestled him to his back at once, of course, because Draco was still somewhat lax from his orgasm, and Harry was physically stronger anyway. He grinned to himself. So he hadn’t got flabby after all; what had given Draco the strength in their former contests was his eagerness for the prospect.

            Beneath him, Draco gasped and arched his hips to rub his groin against Harry, and things ceased to be amusing. Harry moaned and arched back, pressing downwards. For a moment, he remembered how brilliant it had felt to rub off against Draco when they’d done something like this before, and how brilliant it would feel now, when he desired honestly and was sure that he was honestly desired—

            And Draco whispered, “Oh, yes, use whatever word you like for it, but do it.”

            Harry managed a grin as he tilted his head. “Great,” he whispered. “What do you have?”

*

            Draco shook his head. It seemed hard to call words to fill his mouth, instead of saliva. That was all Harry’s fault, of course. The bastard was still coherent because he hadn’t come yet.

            That would change when he got inside Draco, of course, Draco was interested in seeing how fast.

            “I use a spell,” he said.

            Harry nodded seriously, and then rolled off the bed to fetch his wand from his trousers. That gave Draco a chance to admire his arse, which he did, especially since Harry had to bend over and spend a moment searching his pockets. Next time, he’d be inside there, and the thought was enough to make him twitch, though sadly enough he couldn’t get excited this soon.

            Harry came back with the wand and carefully aimed it at Draco. “The incantation?” he asked.

            Draco gave it to him. It was a more thorough one than he usually used, but then, usually he was with a more experienced partner. He wanted to enjoy this, not be confined to a deeply padded chair for the next week.

            From the look Harry gave him as he recited the lengthier incantation, he might suspect that, but he didn’t appear to resent it. Draco doubted that his partner’s comfort was unimportant to him.

            Draco gave a deep groan when he felt the spell, traveling up his lower body like a wave of warm water. It relaxed him more than he would ordinarily have liked, but he did trust Harry, whatever the prat thought, and so he wouldn’t need to spring up from the bed in a hurry. Besides, in addition to the relaxation, the spell increased the languor in his muscles, sharpening his pleasure. He laid his head back on the pillow and smiled as Harry gently eased his fingers down and into him.

            Harry had his head cocked and his lip between his teeth as he felt about. Draco grinned up at him, and noticed that he flushed when he did that. Did the sight of his smile affect Harry that much, then? What a pleasant thing to discover, and what a pleasant way to find it out.

            He shuddered when Harry finally bumped when he was looking for, and arched his back, squirming desperately on the blankets. “Yes, that’s it,” he said. Whenever he bottomed, his body had a slightly embarrassing tendency to decide that it needed something larger filling it immediately—at least once his pleasure was extreme enough. “You can—go ahead.”

            But Harry, maddeningly, didn’t seem reassured, and used another finger or maybe two—Draco was rather more occupied with how his body felt than maths—before he finally nodded and sat back on his heels. Then he carefully lifted Draco’s legs, leveraged them in place on either side of his collarbone, and pushed slowly forwards.

            He gasped, and the look of absolute contentment on his face was everything Draco could have hoped for. For long moments, he rested there, his breath heaving, as if that much of pleasure was going to conquer him, and then he moved again. Draco grinned at him, and lifted his arse encouragingly, until he couldn’t tell who had done the more work to get Harry comfortably seated.

            “Ah,” Harry said, that disturbing eloquence having deserted him at last. His hands slid away from Draco’s legs, though they remained balanced, and dropped to the bed with a heavy smack. He was breathing so hard that Draco would have been concerned if he hadn’t recognized half the heaviness in the gasps and moans as pure and overwhelmed ecstasy.

            “This is so good,” Harry said finally, his voice thick with rapture. “It was never—it’s never been—like this—ah—“ His hips twitched a bit, and Draco pushed himself backwards in invitation.

            Harry didn’t wait for a signed letter, the way he might have just a short time ago. He pushed back in response, and then he lifted his hands to Draco’s legs again and was pushing steadily, rocking in a slower rhythm than Draco had thought his desperation would drive him to, because he just always had to do what Draco didn’t expect, it seemed, even in this. He was half-sobbing, but never with enough breath behind it to make it sound like he was in distress; his head was thrown back, and Draco wished there was some way he could stretch up to lick the tendons in his throat.

            Even though he was feeling arousal slowly whirl through him, Draco knew he wouldn’t come before Harry did. It just meant that he would be excited and ready while Harry was, in turn, sleepy and relaxed from his orgasm. And then it would be his turn, and then perhaps it would be Harry’s turn again.

            Draco had to wonder how long they might be able to keep this going.

            Harry had reached some breaking point, or tipping point. He suddenly stiffened, his eyes flying open, and then he began to pump his hips in earnest, his moans flaying his throat from the sudden passage up it, his hand—

            His right hand had left Draco’s leg and was creeping around his cock, tugging gently on it, smearing aside the come that still clung there.

            Draco yelped, even though it felt good, and he wasn’t oversensitive. “What are you doing?” he managed to demand.

            Harry slitted one eye open. “Making you—come—before me,” he managed to pant.

            “Oh, no,” Draco said. “You can’t—“ That would just be too much, given that this was Harry’s first time with a man.

            Harry gave him a shark’s grin and then began to stroke and push at the same time, so that Draco was finding pleasure in more directions than he knew existed. It was not fair, but given that Harry had once managed to coordinate searching for the Snitch and dodging an enchanted Bludger, Draco supposed it shouldn’t have been surprising.

            But it was still unfair, and Draco gritted his teeth, fighting the pleasure as much as he could, determined to win this competition. When he could remember to, in the maze of distractions he was currently encountering, he clenched his inner muscles down, and that made Harry gasp most wonderfully. Just a few more times, Draco was certain, and he would win—

            “You realize,” Harry breathed, “that we’re fighting while I have my cock up your arse?” And then he bent down towards Draco’s chest, as close as he could come in this position, and breathed out a blast of warm, gentle air.

            Draco cried out in surprise and felt climax seize him and drag him into a blind white fall just seconds before Harry gasped and followed. For long moments, he felt too good to realize he’d lost, and then he was too weary to do anything but flop over next to Harry and pinch his back in retaliation. Harry just grunted, which Draco did not feel was a sufficient response to his anger.

            Because he was. Very angry, obviously. How dare Harry care that much, show that much dedication to overcoming his formers fears and…and having sex with him…

            Draco yawned. Sleep had taken pleasure’s place in most of his body, and he knew he was falling down. Probably faster than Harry, too, since that seemed to be the order of the day.

            But he was certain that he would have a grand plan of revenge when he woke up. Perhaps he would dream about it, and then Harry would feel what it was like to melt.

            Just as soon as Draco woke up.

*

            Harry stroked Draco’s shoulder in the last few moments of consciousness left to him, his eyelids drooping and a much better feeling than even the height of the orgasm he’d just experienced coiling inside his chest.

            So that was what it felt like, full-on lovemaking with a partner you cared about and desired.

            Harry had never known.

            He yawned and let his head fall somewhere between Draco’s shoulder and his flank. No need to worry about awkwardness right now, or not being good enough. This, Harry thought, had been more than satisfactory.

            He did shift, before he fell fully asleep, to put his arms completely around Draco. It felt right.

            And if he had a silly grin on his face when Draco snuggled closer in response, well, someone was not awake to taunt him about it right now.

*

            Zzz: The use of Veritaserum in the courtroom is more restricted (just as the use of offensive magic is), or no one would ever get anything done. It can be used outside the court, as Draco did to Ginny on the beach. Besides, getting your opponent to drink something you offered them is highly unlikely in a court case like this.

            Amai: Well, Harry has taken that first step now.

            Slytherin Nerd: I, too, find it hard to picture Draco breaking down, unless the physical and psychological pressure on him is extreme (as it was in the sixth book). That’s part of the reason I made him as self-confident as I did.

            Soria: The story will probably end on Chapter 32 or 33.
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