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Conscience	By : sordidhumors Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15279 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: This story is based on "Harry Potter, " the novels and subsequent films created by JK Rowling, licensed to various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. This e-publication makes no profit.

Chapter List
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SUMMARY: Harry has a nightmare.

WARNINGS: dream-sequence non-con, a dash of incestuous four-way, fellatio

DISCLAIMER: Rabbit Will Run music and lyrics by Samuel Beam, licensed to and released by Warner Bros. and 4AD 25 January, 2011.

PODCAST: This chapter is now available for download as a podcast, read by yours truly. There are two versions; one with just the narrative itself and the second with a brief musical introduction. Your choice.

For this and all other podcasts, visit: http://www.mediafire.com/?3qa7tzx5bx1d5

CONSCIENCE:

BERETTA –

RABBIT WILL RUN

...A rabbit will run, and a lion has nothing to fear

We bricked up the garden and oh, what it means

We’ve all kissed a virgin as if she were clean

And I still have a prayer, despite all the colors I’ve seen

And judgment is just like a cup that we share

I’ll jump over the wall and I’ll wait for you there

Well past the weeds and our vision of things to come

We’ve all heard the rooster and all been denied

And we’ve seen through the haze and the spit in our eyes

And I still have a prayer, a well-weathered word to the wise

“Rabbit Will Run”

Iron & Wine

The fire flickered hot and crackling at his side, sending light and long shadows to dance across the red blackness inside his eyelids. The air was full of woodsmoke and the musk of wet earth, rough warmth of night surrounding him. Somewhere in the distance a hawk screeched, descending on its prey.

A hand crossed his stomach, calloused and strong, dwarfing him with its size. The touch was at once familiar and unknown—it haunted him that he should recognize it but could not. It felt good, though, running the length of his abs and ribs with delicate care, seeming to count the ridges of him as it went. Reluctantly, Harry forced open his eyes.

Night sky met his eyes, cluttered with brilliant twinkling stars, the pleasant picture rimmed by the tops of tall pines and not a cloud in sight. The orange light of the fire didn't quite reach the tree line, making them little more than looming shadows in the dark, more black than green. He looked to his side to find Dmitry smiling up at the sky, brawny arms behind his head. The Thestral tattooed on his arm was stirring, galloping down beneath the collar of his shirt. The fabric seemed to bubble, showing the beast's path down his broad chest and flat stomach, slipping below his belt. Dima shook his leg, banishing the Thestral as it ran out his pant leg and off into the night.

That auburn head turned toward Harry, smile broadening to a full-on smirk. But his eyes were far away, looking not at Harry but just beyond him. Harry twisted around to see Nebojsa behind him, his hand still gliding up and down Harry's chest.

“Is there another blanket?” he asked. “It's awful cold.” Gooseflesh pricked his arms. His fingers were chilly and numb, his limbs uncooperative as he stretched to retrieve the woolen camp blanket down around his shins. When he laid back down, Nebojsa slipped an arm behind his neck, reaching out to touch his cheek with those long, ghostly fingers. His skin was rougher that Harry expected—somehow he thought Nebojsa would be genteel and refined, like Draco. There was dirt beneath his nails, his hands smelling of firewood and horses, whisky and magic. He leaned, hovering close to Harry's face, long nose and bright blue eyes taking over the sight of moon and stars.

“Shhhhh,” he cooed. His hand drifted down to Harry's neck, thumb grazing the stubble of his jaw. The side of his thin mouth quirked up ever so slightly, like he was pleased with what he saw. And then those lips descended on his, meeting in the softest, most gentle crush.

“Er—no,” Harry managed, a hand to the man's sinewy shoulder and pushing him away. His lips didn't want to leave, moving over Harry's with quiet insistence, asking for more from the kiss. The harder Harry pressed, the stronger Nebojsa became, the closer he got—until their chests pressed, bodies flush against one another. Nebojsa was bigger and just as strong. Another set of hands held him down at hip and shoulder—Dima, chuckling softly. “No,” Harry said again. “Draco.”

Neither of them stopped. Dmitry worked Harry's shirt up to his armpits so that his skin met the night air. His nipples hardened to nubs, standing at attention. The hawk cried again, making off with its meal. The couple had a meal of their own. Nebojsa had Harry well pinned to the dirt, straddling him, mouth working a shivering wet path down his neck.

“Stop it!” Harry shouted. “Not funny!”

Dima's big hand shot out, closing tight around Harry's throat. The man took the slender line of his boyfriend's neck in his other hand, crushing a soul-searing kiss to his thin lips. Their mouths opened again and again, tongues meeting frantically. Harry could feel the Serb's arousal against his stomach, pressing into him as it grew. The men kissed right in front of him. Harry couldn't breathe; he kicked and struggled to no avail. A new set of hands pinned his hips to the ground, his legs held to the ground by what could only be a third man. Steady hands worked the buckle of Harry's denims, dragging his trousers and pants down past his knees. He was utterly exposed, his bits hanging out for the taking.

Nebojsa rolled off him, still kissing his boyfriend over Harry's torso. They each had an impossibly powerful hand on him, keeping him still. He looked down to see Misha between his legs, honeyed eyes glazed over near to black. The boy stared hungrily, frank gaze gone primal and dark, roving over Harry's body. With a sort of awed reverence, he took Harry into his mouth, slurping and sucking with his eyes shut tight.

“Stop! Please, please stop!” Harry pleaded. He didn't want to be hard, didn't want to be turned on, didn't want Nebojsa's thin wet lips trailing down his neck or Dima sucking on his nipple, bucking greedily against his thigh. But they wouldn't stop no matter what he said, no matter how he shouted or begged. “No! God, no! Stop!”

He started to cry, still thrashing with all his might. Fat tears ran down his cheeks, helpless sniffles interrupting his screams. He was close. He couldn't imagine coming like this but it seemed inevitable. He kept begging, voice breaking, praying they might just stop before....

At the cusp of orgasm, he managed a wandless Light Shield, knocking the men from him. There was an audible thud as they hit the dirt, sprawled out and disoriented from the shock of magic.

Harry grabbed at the woolen blanket, trying to cover himself. He felt so ashamed, dirty, used... raped. They were raping him. It was cheating on Draco and he didn't want it. He let out a sob that shook his shoulders, doubling over as the shameful tears tracked down his face in earnest.

“Harry? Harry, are ya okay?” Draco was right above him, fragile fingers splayed out over his chest and kneeling over him. Those fond silvery eyes were wide in panic, lips swollen and red, Harry's cock wet and spent between his spread legs. He started putting the jumbled pieces together.

“You were...” Harry mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Yeh were enjoying it an' then...” the blonde trailed off, laying his head against Harry's chest and listening to his stampeding heart. “Was it one a' yer nightmares?”

“No, not one of those.”

Draco's brows drew down in concern, pale fingers tightening against Harry's pec. “Yeh kept sayin' 'no' and then my name. Wot were ya dreamin' about?”

“Nothing important,” Harry said, trying to roll away.

“Bollocks,” Draco insisted, pinning Harry down to the mattress and staring him down with narrowed eyes. There was just a hint of ardent warmth to his face from the dying embers in the hearth. He looked really and truly beautiful—the last thing Harry wanted to see after a dream about cheating on this perfect creature and physically enjoying it. Never mind that it was Draco sucking him off in reality. Draco could always make him come. It was a very sick gift of his.

“I'm fine,” Harry spat the words, pushing Draco off his chest and folding his arms. The blonde flopped to the old mattress with a squeaky bounce. “It was just a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it,” Draco replied, propping himself up on his elbow in preparation to listen. It was hard not to talk to him when he gave Harry that look, so open and dear, eyes lighting from the inside. He was so clearly in love.

“I dreamed that Dima and his brother were... taking advantage of me.” He couldn't manage to include Nebojsa out loud. But why not? The Serb had been doing the same as Dima. Why should he be excluded from the post-nightmare finger-pointing? “It was just a bad dream,” Harry asserted. “It doesn't mean anything. It's not like I'm attracted to them or anything.”

“I didn't think yeh were, Oh Straight One,” Draco shrugged playfully, sneaking a hand under Harry's folded arms and toying with the coarse hair in the valley between his pectorals. “Not tha' it would be a problem. I'm attracted to lots a' people—doesn't mean I'm gonna run off an' shag 'em.”

“Dima and Misha are my mates, Draco. Good looking mates, I guess. They just don't do anything for me, sexually,” Harry unfolded his arms, placing a hand over Draco's. He sighed, shrugging a little. “Honestly... I think Nebojsa is more attractive.”

“See? I prefer the brothers,” Draco quipped with a classic Malfoy sneer.

“You would,” Harry said a little waspishly. “You've already slept with one out of three.”

“And Vuk was very attractive, too,” Draco said blandly; even his tone refused to be drawn into an argument at this hour. “Are ya in the mood ter be an arsehole about this or can we drop it?”

“What am I being stupid about?” Harry asked honestly, not entirely sure where he'd set Draco off. Conversation was a veritable minefield that would only get worse as time went on, especially with the war and choices Harry would have to continue to make on Draco's behalf. He usually tripped over sensitive things, stumbling along without a clue. At least now he was asking for some direction. He wondered whether Draco would provide any, given the opportunity. The blonde was just as secretive as Harry.

“I've slept with other men. Women, too. You haven't,” Draco pronounced these facts as though he were reading from an ancient almanac, like they were articles of information no longer relevant to the modern world. “Can you get over that? I'm happy with this,” his eyes flicked between their bodies, silvery gaze settling on their joined hands resting over Harry's heart. “I don't fancy sleeping with anyone else. Do you?”

“No,” Harry replied quickly.

“Good,” Draco flopped back beside him, curling his hand on Harry's chest so that their palms pressed. He wound their fingers together in a familiar contact, sighing as his bony frame sunk into the softness of the bed. “I've learned a valuable lesson, here: don't perform sexual favors on Wonder Boy while he's sleeping.”

“I've learned a lesson, too,” Harry said back, smiling weakly.

“Yeah? What's that?”

“Next time I'm having a sex dream that feels real, I'll just go with it and deal with the shame later.”

“Good boy,” Draco let out a happy breath, dropping his head against Harry's shoulder. Within seconds, he was snoring through his mouth. Harry had never heard a sweeter sound. Time to return said sexual favor.

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Conscience