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Black Phoenix	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21568 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Four—Reclaiming
            Drowning.
            Draco was drowning.
            Harry’s skin beneath his hands was warmer than skin should be, gleaming from behind as though it was a transparent film over pearly fire. The magic made Draco’s palms tingle constantly as if they were waking up from being trapped under something. The way Harry’s hair brushed over Draco’s fingers left sparks behind.
            Draco bent his head and fastened his mouth at the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder. Harry hissed under his breath, and for a second his hand flexed in the air as though he didn’t know what to do with it.
            Then he gripped the back of Draco’s neck and wrenched his head up. Draco let him do that, licking his lips. Harry stared, leaning forwards, and a senseless babble of sound came out of his glistening mouth.
            Draco ducked his head and let his eyelashes flutter. “I don’t speak Parseltongue, remember?” he whispered, and his voice came out even huskier than he had planned on.
            Harry tilted him backwards. For a second Draco thought he would fall on the stone floor and tried to brace himself, and then he felt something soft but substantial beneath his back. He relaxed. Of course Harry wouldn’t let him fall, and the magic that bonded Harry to Hogwarts and made him lord of this place could create a bed if it wanted to.
            The blankets under Draco were soft and furry. When he looked down, he saw they were also black, with streaks of white and silver in the fur here and there. He doubted they were really the skins of animals, more something Harry had conjured for the occasion.
            Once Draco saw their color, though, he couldn’t help himself. He was a showman; it was the one part of his campaign that Rosenthal seemed to think he needed no help with. Draco spread his legs out, slowly, kicking so that his robes fluttered back a little. Then he tilted his head until he had almost buried his hair in the blankets, and offered his hands and his throat up to Harry. He knew very well what he would look like, all that pale against all that black.
            “Don’t you want me?” he whispered, when Harry hovered and stared but didn’t descend to put his hands and mouth in the places that Draco most wanted them.
            And Harry descended on him.
*
            Harry couldn’t believe how hungry he was. Yes, he had wanted Draco for a long time now, and it seemed that someone always came along and interrupted him before he could do all the things to Draco that he longed to do. But still, that didn’t account for the force that made his blood pound against his ears and his fingers twitch again and again. He felt like a Dreamless Sleep Potions addict that he’d arrested when he was still an Auror. The addict had banged against the bars of his prison and screamed that he needed more of his potion.
            And Harry needed more of Draco.
            He took his shirt off first, because that was in the way of all the skin on his chest that Harry wanted to touch. He saw faint silvery scars there, and one that looked as though Draco hadn’t had it Healed in time. Harry traced his fingers over them, back and forth, and Draco hissed. Harry grinned. You do so speak Parseltongue.
            He might even have teased him about it, except his mouth could be put to better uses. He leaned over and began to suck on Draco’s collarbone, making Draco arch and give another kind of hiss, in the most delicious way. His hand flailed out as if he would stop Harry, and Harry caught it and guided it to the side. Then he went right back to sucking as hard as he could, and Draco’s body danced and writhed in response, and Harry found that he really liked that.
            He was Hogwarts’s lord and could do things to make it respond, but being Draco’s Lord was…better.
            “God, I love you,” he mumbled against Draco’s skin, against his nipple that made Draco writhe again, against his collarbone that stood out soft and silky beneath his skin, against his leg that he wandered down towards. But to get to his leg, he had to tug off Draco’s shoes, and then his trousers, and then his pants, and that still left Draco’s robes spread around them like another blanket. Harry frowned. He had never noticed how many clothes wizards wore before, almost as if they wanted to make sex difficult.
            But when he waved his hand, the clothes tore themselves off with a quickness that startled Draco but didn’t hurt him, and folded themselves in the corner. Harry grinned at Draco’s expression and bent his head so that he could suck, this time, on the skin behind Draco’s knee.
            Draco liked that. He was so hard that Harry wasn’t surprised when Draco turned to the side and began to rub himself against the blankets, but he had to stop that, because making Draco come was only for him. He reached out a hand and captured Draco instead.
            And once he felt that, he forgot all about going slow.
            Shit, Harry thought incoherently as he watched the writhing expressions on Draco’s face. His jaw had fallen open and he gaped. Then he gasped as Harry stroked him, slow and steady. Harry sped his hand up, and Draco’s eyes shut and he began arching his hips mindlessly, without pattern, just trying to get off.
            This was all the power that Harry wanted, for now. The rest of the world could go hang.
            He banished his own clothes the same way he had Draco’s, and checked the locking charms on the door one more time. No way was he letting this be interrupted. He might incinerate the unfortunate person who tried.
            Then he climbed into the bed with Draco, and bent down to kiss that gaping mouth. Draco turned his head back towards him, and they collapsed into their kiss.
*
            Draco didn’t know how he was going to recover after this. Recovery was something that happened to other people.
            People who didn’t have Harry Potter getting ready to fuck them.
            Draco had wondered if Harry would know what to do. None of the newspaper articles had so much as breathed a hint that he’d ever had a male lover before this, which was a good thing, as Draco would have had to hunt down that lover and obsessively compare himself with him if they had. But he could have learned it since he started thinking about taking Draco to bed, or Draco might have to teach him.
            Draco wasn’t sure what idea made him hotter, actually.
            It turned out that Harry reached to the side and dipped his fingers in a pot of something glistening on a table close to the bed—a table that hadn’t been there a moment ago, any more than the bed had been—and when he slid them down and towards Draco’s arse, they were convincingly sticky. Draco sucked in a breath and spread his legs further. He kept running into barriers, the humped blankets and the sides of Harry’s knees.
            It didn’t matter. With the way Harry’s eyes burned him, Draco didn’t know if he could display himself enough to answer the hunger in that gaze. Or the hunger that seared through him, and made him arch his hips and wriggle to get closer to Harry, his erection thrusting at him until Harry reached down and circled it with another slick hand.
            Draco took in a breath that burned his lungs going down, and thrust. He glided through Harry’s fingers, and he couldn’t tell with what, the oil Harry had fetched or his own body’s gleaming liquid.
            That shouldn’t have made him yearn, either, but it did.
            Harry smiled at him, heavy-lidded with desire, and slid his finger into Draco’s arse. Draco relaxed. It was hard to do that, most of the time, but most of the time, he didn’t have Harry looming over him and the promise of something wonderful as soon as he did manage to relax.
            Harry took a little whistling breath, and pushed his finger deeper. Draco licked his lips, and arched his body until it felt as if he would fly off the bed. Harry reached out and placed his hand in the center of Draco’s chest, stroking, holding him down. He shook his head when Draco pushed up again and whispered, “If you go now…I can’t…”
            I’ve reduced the all-powerful Dark Lord of Hogwarts to stammering.
            Draco was fucking ready then, and the way that Harry kept probing and pushing at him with that one finger didn’t help, just made it worse. He pushed himself back into the bed, and Harry smiled a little. Then Draco pulled himself away, and Harry looked as if he was close to panic.
            “No more,” Draco said. It was a challenge to convince his throat and tongue to work, but then, they didn’t have Harry’s mouth right there to kiss, so they would just have to do something else to get what they wanted. “No—more. Stop teasing me. Come and fuck me.”
            Harry gaped at him as though he had never seen Draco before. Well, he hadn’t seen this one, Draco thought, the one begging Harry to fuck him. Draco hadn’t met him before, either, but he rather liked the bloke.
            He planted his heels on the bed and wriggled his hips at Harry. Harry’s eyes promptly lit, and he almost growled. His slick hands slid up to Draco’s hips, and he seemed to have got rid of that stupid hesitancy. He aimed and pointed and pushed, and Draco arched again, although this time he knew he couldn’t get away and he had no intention of doing so.
            Harry burned inside him, a lot like his breathing did. Draco reached up one groping hand and gripped Harry’s arm, holding him in place.
            “Too much?” Harry whispered. Or panted, really. Draco snapped his eyes open to see Harry leaning over him, breathing like a dog.
            “A lot,” Draco said. It was all he could say, because then his throat seemed to squeeze shut on the rest of the words. He closed his eyes and squeezed Harry’s arm in turn, murmuring what weren’t words but just sounds.
            Harry seemed to interpret them correctly, at least, and pushed ahead. Draco felt him pierce further and further inside, and he shuddered, hips banging down on the bed again. His legs followed, at least until Harry seized them and hauled them up on his shoulders. He was bending Draco almost in half.
            Draco loved it.
            “Now,” Harry said, and either his magic had told him that Draco wanted him to move or he just couldn’t wait any longer himself. Once again, Draco wasn’t sure which would be hotter.
            Harry began to rock, so hard that the bed shuddered and sang around them. Then Harry paused for a second, and the bed steadied itself. Draco chuckled, or thought he did. He wasn’t sure that the noise made it all the way out of his throat.
            Harry bent down, panting. Draco opened his eyes and found Harry leaning on him, chest to chest, approximately. His forehead wouldn’t touch Draco’s, but it came bloody close. And the tension and the strain flooded Draco as much as the pleasure, and he opened his mouth and extended his tongue.
            It couldn’t touch Harry’s, but not for lack of trying. Harry smiled at him, and it seemed that any question he could have asked, wanted to ask, would try to ask, dissolved into nothingness. Draco leaned his head back on the pillow and nodded gracious permission that came out like desperate permission.
            Harry did chuckle—he could get full breath to do it, the bastard—and began to thrust. The sheer pleasure of having his Lord inside him filled Draco for a second, and it was good.
            Then Harry began to hit his prostate, and it was almost unbelievable.
*
            Harry watched Draco’s eyes shutting despite themselves, his head lolling back. Draco was having a good time, Harry thought. He didn’t need to worry about that. And he didn’t need to worry that he didn’t enjoy it himself, either. The pleasure was striking, up from his spine and down his shoulders and around his groin.
            He didn’t need to worry about anything, in fact, except continuing to make sure that Draco had a good time.
            Harry half-shut his eyes and threw his back into it. Draco groaned beneath him. The bed did, too. Harry sent a little more magic into the stones, requesting that Hogwarts not let them fall in the middle of having sex. The bed stopped groaning.
            Draco started panting as though he was having a heart attack. Harry snapped his eyes open and leaned down to see what was happening.
            Draco stared at him, glazed and cross-eyed, and whispered, “Were you—were you using magic? It felt good. Do it again.” It sounded like it had taken a miracle to for him to get even that much of the words out coherent and whole.
            But his wish was Harry’s command, and Harry did do it again, running his magic into the blankets on the bed and making them softer. Draco called out sharp and clear at the end of it, his back arching off the blankets and down into contact with them as though he didn’t know whether it was a pleasure or a torment.
Or both.
Harry leaned down and sucked at Draco’s throat again. He liked doing that. He liked throwing his back into it. He liked thrusting and watching Draco thrash in response, his mouth open and his tongue dangling down until it almost touched his cheek. Draco gasped and hissed, and Harry picked up the pace. The bed danced beneath them, but still didn’t break.
Harry felt a tightening in his balls and his back, and finally realized what was missing, what he hadn’t done yet, and what he ought to have done. He reached down and began to stroke Draco’s cock, trying to time them, as best as he could, to his own rough thrusts. That way, both of them sort of got stroked at the same time.
Sort of. Harry reckoned that he didn’t have to make sense when he was blowing Draco’s mind as much as he obviously was.
            Draco froze again, and humped the air so hungrily that he nearly slammed Harry in the face, and began to come. Harry hadn’t known—
            He caught his breath and began to hammer his hips home. Not something he’d planned on, but he hadn’t known—
            It was so satisfying to be inside Draco when he came, to feel the tight squeezing and the pleasure and know that he was the one who had given it to Draco. Who was still giving it to Draco. He trembled and urged himself on, and finally collapsed over Draco, leg muscles giving out.
            He almost lost track of the moment when he came, pleasure and satisfaction were so mixed together that he couldn’t take them apart. He whimpered into the pillow and thrust once more into Draco, who felt limp and relaxed and receptive.
            He didn’t have much time to lie there, though, because Draco began to kiss his neck. Harry laughed softly and turned his head. “You still have the energy for that?” he mumbled, or something like it, because he didn’t have the energy to move his mouth around the words. “I didn’t do it right.”
            “You did everything right,” Draco said, by his ear. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. His magic was running and dancing through his body, but he didn’t want to use it right then. He thought he didn’t have control of it, and would probably blast something to smithereens.
            “Mind sleeping like this?” he asked. It must have been clear enough, because Draco laughed into his ear.
            “No.”
            And Harry let go, and slipped into the first sleep of pure bliss he’d had since he became a Dark Lord.
*
            Draco stroked Harry’s hair, and shivered a little.
            He had come over to tell Harry about politics in the Ministry that his allies had found, and had forgotten it completely when Harry started speaking to him. Maybe that was just as well. His entire body was still tingling pleasantly, and that wouldn’t have happened if he had kept straight on course.
            Draco kissed Harry’s head, behind the ear, and rolled over. He was plenty warm, with Harry draped on top of him and the blankets puddled around them like miniature fortress walls. He just needed to ease the angle of his neck a little.
            The pillow behind him suddenly humped up and did that. Draco started and glanced at Harry. No, he was asleep. Draco didn’t think anyone could fake those shattering snores.
            Draco glanced around uneasily. “Thank you?” he asked, because there was no way he could make it a statement. Was Harry’s magic watching out for him even when Harry himself was dead to the world?
            There was no answer, except the pillow growing a little more comfortable and firmer behind his neck. Draco swallowed and lay back down again, because that made as much sense as anything else.
            It was…
            That was blazingly beautiful, was what it was.
            And it made his Ministry news seem as petty as Draco’s aches and pains.
            Draco smiled and closed his eyes. No one can hurt me, not here, with him.
*
CareLessLover: Thank you! And yes, you were right.
Anon: Thank you! Harry hasn’t finished dealing with magical creatures, but it makes sense for the merfolk and the centaurs to be the first, since they actually live close to Hogwarts.
Hermione is shocked and grieved by some of the things she’s been hearing about Harry, but also thinking about contacting him again.
BAFan: I thought about putting the phrase “the devil on his shoulder” in the story, but I’m not actually sure that wizards would know about that phrase.
I wouldn’t promise sex and then not deliver it.
SP777: …You’ve read all my other stories and you think flying snot is the grossest I can get?
I would have a cat if I could, but I do like birds more.
Genuka: And Draco is perfectly happy about that.
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Black Phoenix