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Nature of the Beast	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 48976 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Forty—Acceptance and Actions
            “I wanted to ask you something,” Harry said, perhaps a week after that first meeting where they had taken the initiative and explained their relationship to the reporters like mature adults.
            Like Veela and mate, Draco thought contentedly, and looked up at Harry. “What is it?” The bond was soft and shimmering with emotion, so flickering and silvery that Draco found it hard to tell what Harry was feeling. Or what he was about to ask.
            The longer Harry waited, though, and the more silent he was, the more important it felt to Draco. He laid his book aside and gave Harry his full attention. Harry had been reading the book Draco had bought him on Veela and mates again, but he laid it aside with his own soft sigh when Draco cocked his head at him.
            Harry frowned as if he was considering a complex set of runes, and finally said, “The next time we—have sex, I want to be on top.”
            Draco spread his wings before he could help himself, and crooned. Harry stared at him. Well, what did you expect? Draco asked, speaking down the bond because he wanted to, and because there was no way he could convey the measure of his amusement and love aloud. A tirade?
            I don’t know what I expected, Harry admitted, and reached out to run one hand down Draco’s right wing. Draco ducked his head and encouraged him to do that some more with little wriggling motions of the wing, so Harry did. The harder his hand rubbed, the more Draco had to admit he liked it. He added an encouraging chirp when Harry would have stopped.
            This is so unlike anything I expected, I still don’t know all the words for it, Harry added. I didn’t know the answers to half the questions that those reporters asked last week. Not until the words were coming out of our mouths, anyway.
            Good thing that you had me there to give the answers to the ones you couldn’t answer.
            Harry rolled his eyes, and Draco ducked his head and pushed it against him while maneuvering his wing closer to Harry. Do you want to go have sex right now? Draco added helpfully.
            Harry flushed a brilliant red. I mean—we need to prepare some more for the wedding, don’t we? It’s not like I’ll know the right thing to say to Helena just because, and Daphne might be there.
            Daphne will be at home, Draco disagreed. Where Helena agreed to leave her.
            We don’t know that she—I mean, we didn’t discuss—
            We discussed Daphne not appearing in any place where the two of us were. Draco leaned forwards. And I hardly think she would care to attend her mother’s marriage to a Muggleborn.
            Harry sat there as if he was thinking about this. Draco rolled his eyes enormously, and didn’t care if Harry saw him doing it.
            If you want to insist on changing our agreement with Helena now, for the sake of a daughter that she barely sees anyway, you can do that, Draco said. But neither she nor I would take it kindly.
            Harry opened his hand slowly. Draco knew that he wasn’t letting go of any lingering affection for Daphne, of which there had never been any in the first place, but he did think Harry was letting go of the conviction that there was something special and sacred about everyone, a little piece of good in all of them.
            Draco met Harry’s gaze, and waited until Harry was definitely looking at him, instead of past him at his nose or hair. Then he said, insistently, You don’t need to care about everyone on the planet to think of yourself as a good person.
            Harry’s smile took a minute to creep out of hiding, but it was sincere when it came. I know what it’s like to have gulfs dividing you from people in your family, people who should stand with you, he muttered as he leaned in to kiss Draco. I just didn’t want Daphne to experience that.
            Draco lifted a hand to toy with Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck, delighted with that sentence being in the past tense. And now maybe we can think about other things, instead of people who should barely occupy our time? One particular thing he liked about their bond was that it let them talk to each other without stopping the kiss.
            Harry laughed down the bond, and partially aloud if the tickle against Draco’s lips was any indication, and kissed him harder. Yes. Other things. Important things.
            From the way his hands reached out and smoothed down Draco’s wings, Draco thought he was going to enjoy those “important things.”
*

            Harry hadn’t realized how much he could turn Draco into a pile of mush just by touching his wings.
            Of course, when they first bonded he hadn’t wanted to, and then it seemed Draco was always using his wings to shelter Harry, protect him, fly him around, or show off for him. Harry hadn’t particularly thought of his wings as sensitive, even though he had seen now and then that they were.
            But now Draco was lying on his bed on his stomach, with his wings spread, and Harry was learning exactly how sensitive they were.
            When he brushed the feathers along the top curve, Draco shivered and arched, and his wings quivered like the petals of a flower in Aunt Petunia’s garden. When Harry turned and slid his hand along the bottom curve, near where the wings joined Draco’s back, Draco turned, and Harry saw muscles that he thought were flight muscles bunching and sliding together. When Harry cupped his hands around a feather and blew on it, Draco jumped as though sparks were striking his nerves.
            He rolled half-over and stared up at Harry with such dazed eyes that Harry took pity and bent down to kiss him. Draco seemed to return to himself, mostly, as his hands slid up and down Harry’s arms, and he murmured, “You don’t have any idea how good that makes me feel. Or how good I want you to feel in return.”
            “Oh, I might,” said Harry quietly. His mind was ringing with echoes of Draco’s reflected pleasure, and he took a moment to bask in the realization on Draco’s face before he bent down and kissed the side of his face, then his neck, then his hands, and spread him out on his stomach again.
            Draco went with it, though he was almost twitching with the desire to kiss Harry. Harry smiled a little. Well, this was about what he wanted right now. They would do what Draco wanted another day.
            Draco jumped. Harry paused, thinking that he might have touched a really sensitive area by mistake where he was idly running his fingers along Draco’s spine. But Draco only surfaced and turned his head, eyes starving.
            “You want to do things to me,” he murmured, while he said the same thing down the bond, so that his loud and mental voices overlapped each other and produced a ripple in the middle of Harry’s mind. I’m so glad you do.
            Harry smiled again and crawled onto the bed. They had taken off their clothes as soon as they entered the room, and although Harry had been a little shy about it at the time, he was glad now. It meant he could do what he wanted to Draco even sooner.
            Draco slid a little to the side, half-crushing one wing beneath him, as if drunk, and Harry frowned thoughtfully for a moment. Then he nodded and whispered as he caught Draco’s hip and rolled him back onto his stomach. “Turn to face the pillows.”
            “I can’t see you?” Draco whined, even as he ducked his face into the sheets and obediently turned with Harry’s pushing.
            “Not this time,” Harry said, and smiled at him. He knew Draco would feel that down the bond, maybe even hear it in his voice, if he couldn’t see it. “Just think about all the other times that we’ll have to do that.” He ran an appreciative hand down Draco’s back, mostly to see it bunch and flex, and look at the smoothness of the skin, with the exception of two raised scars and the mounds where his wings rose.
            “And this is what I want right now,” he added, when he saw the motion of Draco’s lips as if he would object again.
            Draco relaxed with a hiss. That changes things, you know, he told Harry over his shoulder.
            “I know it,” Harry muttered, and began to reach for the lube.
*
            Draco did his best to relax. He knew Harry wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, and the kind of pain that he might cause accidentally would bounce into the bond, so he could stop the minute Draco felt it and he felt it, too.
            And he knew that the vulnerability he was feeling was nothing compared to what he would have felt if he was on his back and his wings were pinned beneath him. Sometimes his Veela instincts were useful, and sometimes they could fuck off.
            Harry laughed warmly down the bond. This is a point where I want them to be around, so I can see what happens when I do this, he said, and even as he slid the fingers of one hand into Draco’s arse, he reached forwards with the other hand and tweaked a feather on one of Draco’s wings.
            Draco spread his wings involuntarily. They stretched out and flapped, and he bobbed a little on the bed.
            Harry laughed again, and Draco discovered another advantage of the bond: he could tell indubitably that the laughter was not at him. He dropped his head into his folded hands and exhaled. Everything felt soft and hazy.
            “Think about what it’s going to be like when I’m crushing my face into them as I move,” Harry muttered. “And I want to touch them all the time.”
            Draco let his wings droop fully open when he heard that. He could be appreciative of a mate who wanted to touch his wings all the time, he thought. Yes, he could.
            He remained still as Harry slowly moved a palm up and down his back, and then Harry leaned forwards and let his face rest on the feathers. Draco shivered. He had always known his wings were sensitive, but he had thought light touches like the ones Harry had been using were the most pleasurable.
            But no. This was better. Far better.
            Harry was working in and out of him with his fingers, panting harshly, and Draco had always thought that, the first time he had sex with someone else inside him—if he ever did—then he would concentrate mostly on that odd sensation. Not even his bond with Harry could possibly prepare him fully for it, when it was so strange. But instead, he found himself leaning his head on his arms and living for the moment when Harry crushed into his wings. And he would be doing it soon over and over again, in constant thrusts.
            And then Harry was ready, and rose in a sudden rush of grace and power—Draco could feel the thoughts racing through his head—and pressed into him. Draco groaned, his attention shifting suddenly to his arse. He knew, he knew it wouldn’t hurt that much, but the sensation of fullness overcame everything else.
            His hand caressed the sheets, and a second later, Harry seemed to pick up on what he was thinking. His hand touched Draco’s wing lightly again, then curled as firmly around the edge as though he intended to take a handhold and steer Draco with it.
            Draco bucked nearly hard enough to throw Harry off, but Harry bore down with his knees and rode the buck. He was grinning and swearing at the same time, from the sound of it. Draco tilted his head back and screeched.
            Harry hesitated—one second. He seemed to turn to their bond in the next moment, as Draco had hoped he would, and realize that that screech had been like the cry of a hunting bird, far away from a sound of pain.
            He squeezed one more time, and then he was inside Draco and gripping both his wings, and leaning forwards again and again, pressing his check against them, running his fingers across back and front at once. He swayed away, but he would come back with the promise of pleasure always renewed.
            Draco shuddered and lifted his wings higher and higher, spreading them and thrusting them out. Harry responded with soft murmurs and harder thrusts of his own, and Draco rode the waves of sensation the way Harry was riding him.
            Draco gave a single hard push against the sheets. He was going to come, or he was going to fly. Maybe he was going to do both at once.
            He found he didn’t care which one it was.
*
            This is wonderful.
            The thought flashed and flared through Harry’s own mind, trailed like a comet by the thought, I know I said we could do other things, but I hope Draco wants me to do this all the time. Or at least most of the time.
            Draco squirmed and crooned underneath him, and Harry thought he had overheard the thoughts and approved. Well, the approval was more than implied, or Harry wouldn’t be here, he thought, as he hammered in again and crushed his face into the feathers at the same time. They shed a faint, fragile scent around him, dusty and thick with implications of sweetness. Harry found himself holding his breath, and he let it out again so he could breathe in more of that scent. He wasn’t going to hurt Draco. He had already learned that.
            He bobbed back and forth. His hips ached. His legs ached. Draco was twitching and flailing beneath him, as though he wanted to take off. Harry leaned a hand on his hip, and heard the thoughts racing around his head. He wanted to fly.
            “Do it,” Harry whispered to him, and Do it.
            The thoughts splintered in Draco’s head, thick and clogging, and twisted. Harry found himself catching his breath as Draco leaped beneath him and came, at the same time as his wings clapped open and apart and flapped down in a cupping motion.
            Harry smiled and closed his eyes. Then he started racing towards his own orgasm. His hand was on Draco’s wings, and he pinched and pulled gently at the softest feathers. He caught a glimpse, as the wings flapped up again, of Draco glancing at him over his shoulder. His eyes were softer than the feathers.
            He hooted, once.
            Harry shouted as pleasure raced up his cock, coming the other way. Draco was—was focusing that damn Veela pleasure-giving magic through his arse, and Harry was as helpless in the onslaught as he had been when he was on the bottom.
            Trust Draco to get his way about this, he had time to think, along with the feeling of being breathlessly whirled up and dropped like a winged seed, before he came.
            It was exhausting, actually. Harry rested his face on Draco’s wings just because he was so tired, and felt the last drops draining out of him with a complex shudder. His hands pressed and ground down on Draco’s hips. He knew he’d leave bruises.
            Draco gave a contented warble beneath him. His thoughts washed back and forth in Harry’s head, and Harry knew that he didn’t care.
            Harry finally pulled back enough to pull out. He could manage that, he fiercely told his trembling muscles. He could manage crawling to the side, and lying down, and closing his eyes, and slinging an arm over Draco’s back so Draco would know he was held and wanted and loved.
            He wasn’t sure he could manage much else.
            Draco turned his head towards him. His eyes said a lot. His fluttering wings said more. The bond said most of all.
            You are my love.
            And that was better even than “you are mine,” which Harry had thought he would begin the conversation after their wild sex by hearing.
            He smiled, and relaxed.
*
Meechypoo: It is too bad, but at least Harry and Draco have learned how to handle that.
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Nature of the Beast