Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Under the Manor	By : WillGirl Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13318 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I make no claims to Harry Potter, either books or movies, and all rights belong to JKR. No money or other recompense is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Harry sat nervously on one of the impossibly elegant chairs. He had been right, earlier: it was far more comfortable than it looked like it had any right to be, and he sank down into the creamy cushions. His eyes kept flitting over to Draco, sprawled elegantly across his dark green bed. He had one elbow bent, his head propped in his hand, and the smile on his face was extraordinarily sharp.

He snapped his fingers and Harry almost jumped out of his chair at the CRACK as an Elf suddenly appeared in the room.

It looked clean, and uninjured, and nothing at all like Dobby, but Harry still cringed at the thought that the Malfoys still had House Elves. Something like grief stabbed at his heart, but Harry pushed it away; he couldn’t deal with that right now, and Dobby’s loss—like so many others—was something that would always hurt.

The Elf bowed in front of Draco, said, “Master,” in the same haughtily subservient tone that Kreacher used, and waited patiently for instructions.

“Tea,” said Draco, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “Or perhaps something stronger?”

Harry shook his head.

Draco’s smirk twitched. “Tea then,” he said, then added, “and a bottle of the 1287, too.”

“Of course, Master,” the Elf said, and bowed again, its long ears nearly touching the floor. There was another CRACK and it was gone.

Harry reached out to twitch the heavy velvet curtain open a crack so that he could look out the window because it made an excellent excuse to avoid Draco’s eye.

A series of elaborately manicured gardens spilled away into the night several floors below him. Harry couldn’t make out much of them in the darkness, but he could tell that they were large and sprawling and impossibly well-maintained. He supposed that with a house this size, and grounds to boot, more than one House Elf would have been necessary, but he hated himself, a little, for never thinking to ask Dobby if he had any compatriots that had wanted freed as well.

The Elf reappeared after a few moments, still bowing and scraping, and deposited a tray with a tea pot and two cups, and a dusty bottle and two tall crystal glasses, on the table next to Harry. It tucked the book it had moved out of the way under its arm, bowed again, and disappeared with another CRACK.

“Pour the tea, won’t you, Potter?” Draco suggested languidly.

Harry did so, only then realizing that that meant he would have to carry Draco’s cup over to him, over to the bed. “All set,” he said, hinting for Malfoy to come and get his cup himself, and then realized that Draco coming over to him to get his tea didn’t sound much better, so he stood up quickly, sloshing tea into the saucer, and carried it to the bed.

Draco caught Harry’s wrist in his long, chill fingers, stilling the rattling cup. “Why thank you, Harry,” he drawled, still smirking, and plucked cup and saucer from his hand.

Harry hated the blush that crept up his cheeks. “No problem,” he muttered, and jerked back towards his seat, but Malfoy’s fingers hadn’t released his wrist yet and he didn’t get far.

“Now,” Draco said, shifting to sit upright enough to drink the tea, if he wanted to, “that gives you something to fiddle with while you stammer, so why don’t you tell me what it is you want that makes you despise yourself so?” His voice was casual, his smirk smug and almost knowing, and Harry felt the overwhelming desire to punch him in his pointed face.

Instead he allowed himself to be pulled down onto the bed. He sat rigidly, although the teacup rattled again in his hands when Draco passed it back to him. Malfoy settled down beside him and slightly behind, resting casually on his elbows. Harry tried to edge away but there was no way to move on the squishy mattress without spilling all of his tea down the expensive comforter, so he sat still again.

“I...I don’t know what you mean,” Harry demurred, not meeting those cold grey eyes.

“Potter, if you keep whinging on like that with your silly little lies, I will put Veritaserum in your tea just to save us both the time.”

Harry glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare,” he growled.

“Wouldn’t dare what—dose an Auror, or bespell the Great Harry Potter? Because I think we both know that I don’t much give a damn about either of those things, now do I?” Draco grinned. “Besides, think of all the interesting little nonsense I could learn if you swallowed a few drops of a truth draught...”

Harry scowled but said nothing; he wasn’t stupid enough to protest that Malfoy couldn’t have something like that within easy reach, and certainly not in his bedroom; no matter how carefully controlled a substance it was, Harry was sure that Draco had some on hand at all times, maybe literally. Veritaserum was just the sort of thing that an arrogant Slytherin like Draco Malfoy would keep in those poisoner’s rings of his.

“Now, not that I don’t love little games like this, myself,” Draco continued, “but Gryffindors like yourself aren’t generally very practiced at them, and so far you haven’t been playing impressively at all. How about if, before I get so bored I hex you just to stay awake, you muster up some of that oh-so-lauded courage and tell me the truth?”

He smirked, and Harry thought quite seriously about just hitting him.

“Potter...what have you got to lose, telling me?”

Harry blinked. That was true; did it matter what he confessed to Draco Malfoy, of all people? Was there a single horrible, secret sickness that he could tell Draco about that Malfoy could actually judge him for—and even if there was, would he care what Malfoy thought? Certainly no one else would ever believe him, no one that mattered, even if he blabbed Harry’s secrets to the whole world.

Between Draco Malfoy and the Boy Who Lived (Twice), there was really no contest; even Rita Skeeter wouldn’t give the former Death Eater’s words a second of credence.

Harry took a deep breath and said, quietly, staring into his tea, “I enjoyed it.”

“Beg pardon?” said Draco.

“The...the last time I was here, in your house,” Harry said, gesturing down, to the floors beneath them, and the cellar below that. “I enjoyed...what you did. A little.”

Draco’s face was utterly inscrutable. “I see,” he said, his voice toneless.

“I mean, it—it hurt,” Harry said, “and I hated you, and me, and everyone for making—for forcing that to—for all of it. But...but at the same time, I...it kind of...”

“You were turned on, were you, Potter?” Draco asked softly. The smirk was back, the knowing smirk that danced in his grey eyes.

“I...yes,” Harry whispered. His cheeks were flaming, but the rest of him felt frozen.

“I thought so,” said Malfoy smugly.

“You—what?”

Draco pointed languidly to Harry’s crotch, and Harry shifted the teacup to cover his lap as best he could with the small saucer. Draco smiled. “I thought it had looked like you were—”

“You bastard,” said Harry, “I didn’t think you’d seen!”

Draco’s smirk was unbearable.

“Great,” Harry muttered, disgusted with himself.

“Potter...I know a little more, now, than I did then,” Draco said slowly. “I took you dry and hard, unprepared and virginal; it must have been horrible. How much worse do you think it would have hurt if you hadn’t been aroused even a little bit?”

“I...I don’t know...”

“You’ve been hating yourself for five years over this, haven’t you?” Draco guessed accurately.

Harry nodded.

“Merlin’s sake, Potter!” he exclaimed. “Only you could fucking blame yourself for getting raped!”

“But I enjoyed it!” Harry cried. “It should have been awful—it was awful!—but I enjoyed it!”

“Oh yes,” said Draco, “how dare you. Pleasure from sex? How terribly naughty.”

“But that...that wasn’t just sex,” Harry explained, “that was—”

“I know what it was,” snapped Draco, and his face had gone blank, his eyes dark. “I was there,” he snarled, “in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I can’t forget,” Harry said quietly. “I try, and I just...just keep seeing you. Feeling you.”

Draco stared at him in silence for several long heartbeats. His face had settled back into that inscrutable Malfoy Mask and Harry could read nothing in the mirror-like gray of his eyes.

“You didn’t ever want to pay me back in kind, did you?” Draco asked quietly. “That wasn’t...that wasn’t what this was about.” Something flickered behind the mask; something weak that trembled. Harry shook his head. “You just wanted to feel...” Draco paused, “what?”

“I...I wanted to feel...you,” Harry whispered. His hands had curled into fists around the delicate saucer of the teacup. Most of the hot liquid had sloshed out onto his knees at some point, but he hadn’t noticed; he could feel the cooling, wet warmth now, his jeans damp against his skin, but the sensation seemed to come through a veil from very far away.

“Huh,” said Malfoy.

Then he smirked, the moment of vulnerability gone. “What’s the matter, Potter, your little Weaslette too sweet to give it to you rough? Or are you afraid to tell her that’s how you like it?”

“You leave Ginny out of this,” Harry growled, his voice dangerous. “You don’t even say her name, not ever. You understand me?”

“Sure,” said Draco, clearly flustered a little bit in spite of himself at the vehemence of Harry’s response. “If you like,” he shrugged, trying to brush it off, “whatever.”

Harry nodded stiffly. He couldn’t think about Ginny right now. He hated himself enough all ready, without thinking about her.

“So,” Draco ventured, almost tentatively, “so is that what you’re here for, then?”

Harry looked at him, his green eyes going wide behind their glasses. “You...but...you mean you want to...?”

“I was going to let you fuck me as hard as you wanted to in order to salve my conscience and soothe your pride,” Draco said flatly. “You think I’m going to change my mind about this whole little escapade just because you want it differently than I expected?”

Harry stared. “What?” he said.

“Merlin, you are thick,” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes.

He leaned forward, his cold eyes fluttering closed, and he kissed Harry. It took him completely by surprise and he found his lips parting involuntarily. Draco’s tongue swiped inside, tangled with his own; that half-forgotten fire thrummed through Harry’s veins again, that fire that felt like ice.

Harry gasped and returned the kiss, his hands reaching out to pull Draco in tighter; his fingers tangled in that impossibly pale hair and he held on, not letting the other man pull away. The delicate teacup slipped from his lap and snapped when it bounced off his shoe onto the thick carpet, but Harry couldn’t hear it over the pounding in his ears.

When at last they pulled back they were both breathing heavily and a faint flush colored Malfoy’s pale cheeks. He reached up, his dexterous fingers sliding Harry’s glasses gently from his face. Draco folded them shut and placed them neatly on the footstool, on top of his robe. Then, his face unreadable, his eyes fixed on Harry’s blurry ones, he slowly unbuttoned his pale green shirt.

Harry watched, fixated on the small motion of fingers on buttons, then leaned forward quickly to tug his battered trainers off. They didn’t belong on the impossibly thick, rich carpet of Malfoy’s room, but Harry didn’t care any more if he looked rumpled and out of place. The promise of that horrible, hurtful, hateful bliss awaited, and it was too close now for Harry to fight its awful pull.

The rest of his clothes soon joined Harry’s shoes in a messy pile beside the bed. It took Draco longer to undress, the pale man taking his time and folding everything neatly before he set it aside on the footstool, next to the robe and slippers.

Harry watched; half-hungry, half-curious. Draco had certainly gained back some of the weight he had been missing the last time Harry had seen him naked. He still looked unhealthily skinny, but his ribs were nearly smoothed away now beneath the pale muscles of his chest. The skeletal quality around his hips and collarbones was likewise gone, although it seemed to be lurking just under the surface, as if Malfoy was just one skipped meal away from the recurrence of waif-dome.

The harsh scars on his chest were still there, of course; would always be there, where Harry had etched them with his malice and his mistake. They were joined, now, by scars on his right arm, up near the bicep: four long, fine ones along the outside of the arm, and one shorter, deeper one underneath, like someone with very long, claw-like fingernails had grabbed him roughly, and made him bleed.

Harry glanced at Draco’s other arm and saw that the Dark Mark was faded now, like he had expected, although still plainly visible against Malfoy’s pale skin. Harry looked closer, wondering why it looked a little bit different, and realized that the thin lines of scars dotted that arm, too, running straight across the Mark. The dark gray brand shone right through them; it would take more than scooping out a bit of flesh to remove something that had been put there by magic as dark as Voldemort’s, but it occurred to Harry that Draco had tried, anyway.

He kept that arm angled in against his body as much as he could, and Harry wondered if it was the Mark he was trying to hide from Harry’s view, or the marks that crisscrossed it.

He decided not to comment on either arm; on either patch of private scars.

The rest of Draco was just as pale and smooth as it had been before; his hair just as light and fine. Harry, by contrast, felt quite shaggy, although he knew that he wasn’t, really. He had always figured that he was about average, really, when it came to body hair, although granted all of his was quite dark, and thus pretty obvious against his pasty tan.

“What the hell is that, anyway?” Draco asked suddenly, his fingers reaching out to rest against a red, shiny circle on Harry’s chest that had no hair at all.

“Horcrux scar,” Harry said automatically. “The locket burned into me when Voldemort showed up to kill us, and Hermione had to cut it off.”

Draco blinked, not really following that truncated explanation, but nodding all the same. He didn’t try and pry further, so Harry decided not to mock him for still flinching at the sound of his Dark Lord’s name.

“Don’t we make a pretty picture,” Draco said drily.

Harry laughed. “Don’t worry, Malfoy,” he reassured his old enemy, “you’re still as pretty as I ever thought you were.”

“Why thanks...I think,” he drawled beneath an amused eyebrow. “Of course,” Draco continued, because he couldn’t lose the verbal advantage if he could help it, “you’re the one who wants me to fuck you until you scream, so...”

Harry flushed darkly, but he could hardly protest that assessment. In fact, his cock warmed and twitched at the thought. Harry felt sick, but tried to ignore it; there was always the possibility, wasn’t there, that tonight would get that awful, twisted wrongness out of his system, and leave him free of it at last...wasn’t there?

“Just shut-up and get on with it,” he growled.

Draco laughed. “Patience, Potter,” he purred, and leaned in for another long, dizzying kiss.

It was, Harry decided as Malfoy pulled back, definitely not as nice as kissing Ginny, but it held a heady, icy charm all its own. And his body certainly responded to the kiss eagerly enough, although Harry wondered if that wasn’t at least in part because of the memories that the taste of Malfoy in his mouth conjured up.

He shuddered, but self-loathing wasn’t going to stop his erection now any more than it had that awful, wretchedly wonderful night all those years ago.

Something clicked in Harry’s distracted brain and he paused. “Wait...were you...” he hesitated. “Were you—earlier, in the bar?—were you...well, seducing me into, into raping you?”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose you could put it like that.”

“There’s something wrong with you, Malfoy.”

Draco nodded agreement easily, but then his lips curled into a sly smile. “Just with me?” he asked.

Harry flushed.

Malfoy laughed: a low, cold chuckle that raised the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck, and raised something else low in his groin. His breathing quickened, and this time, he was the one who reached out and drew Draco in.

Harry ran his fingers lightly down that pale, scarred chest, and Draco groaned into the kiss. It was slower and deeper this time, the both of them probing at the other: tasting, testing. Harry sucked Draco’s thin lip in between his own and teased at it with his teeth. Malfoy shivered.

He suddenly pulled back with a gasp. “Wait,” he panted, “wait...”

Draco slipped off the bed, still graceful somehow despite his own evidence of growing arousal, and tugged his dressing gown off the footstool. It fell around his shoulders like silver water, silky and clinging and somehow still incredibly sexy, even though it hid his slim form from Harry’s view.

“What are you doing?” he asked stupidly.

“Just wait,” Draco said, shaking his head. He walked quickly across the room, out of the door.

Harry sat awkwardly on the bed, suddenly acutely aware of his nakedness and vulnerability. What was he doing here, in Malfoy Manor of all places, completely alone? No one knew he was here, no one would ever think to look for him here, if something happened...

Harry reached over the side of the bed and fished his wand from the pile of his clothes. He looked around for somewhere that would be within easy reach, and finally placed it on the small nightstand beside Draco’s bed, setting the wand down carefully between a small silver clock and a thick black book whose embossed title was written in runes. Harry didn’t want it rolling off onto the floor in case they, well, bumped the table or something...

There was the sound of a door opening, and then the clinking of glass as if someone were rummaging through a collection of bottles, and then the door closed again. Light footsteps padded towards Harry across thick carpet, and then Draco walked back into the room.

“What the hell?” Harry asked, trying not to seem nervous. If Malfoy wanted to embarrass him, or create blackmail, or...

Draco held up a small glass bottle. A pale liquid sloshed thickly inside it. “Trust me, Potter, you’ll be glad I thought of this,” he said smugly. “Just because you apparently like it rough doesn’t mean you want it that rough—and if you do, you’ll just have to adjust, because I’m not doing that to someone again now that I know better, not even to you.” Faint disgust colored his pale face, and it took Harry a minute to work out what Malfoy was talking about so vehemently.

“Oh,” he said, and felt his face grow hot. “So that’s—is that—um...”

“For lubrication,” Draco said, apparently not in the least embarrassed himself. “It’s technically a mild salve, for sunburns mainly, but it should work adequately for this purpose as well.”

Harry’s cheeks were flaming as he nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Draco snorted. “For Merlin’s sake, Potter,” he smirked, “grow up.”

Harry scowled at him. “Sod off,” he said.

“If that’s what you want,” Draco shrugged, and took a step backwards.

“Oh you fucking tosser,” Harry snarled, and grabbed a handful of silky gray robe to stop the other man from moving away from him. Draco snickered. Harry yanked him back over to the bed and pulled him down onto the soft comforter next to him. He ran his hands up the inside of the gap in Draco’s robe and gently slipped it from his pale shoulders.

The silky fabric dropped in a watery puddle and Draco allowed Harry to gently tug him away from it and forwards into a kiss. They somehow ended up lying prone on the bed, Harry on his back and Draco pressed on top of him. Harry moaned and edged upwards, rubbing his growing erection against the smooth friction of the other man’s pale skin.

Their legs tangled and Harry rubbed harder, his fingers twining in Draco’s moon-blond hair, and he pulled their lips together for another long, hard kiss. Icy fire shot through Harry’s veins and he moaned again, although the sound was muffled by Draco’s mouth moving tightly against his own.

“Draco—please—it’s—oh—Merlin, Draco—” he panted.

“First names again, is it?” the other man said, somehow still able to form full sentences when Harry had already been reduced to gasping stutters.

“Don’t be a bastard,” Harry growled, “just do it!”

Draco laughed at him but Harry’s next admonishment vanished in a gasp when he felt cool fingers brush lightly across his hot groin. The fingers traveled slowly, gently, like they were mapping an unfamiliar surface. The exploratory touch was enough to send Harry’s eyes rolling back in his head and his breathing sped up hungrily. “Draco, please!” he gasped again, only hating himself a little bit for the desperate whimper in his voice.

Draco sat up, pulling his unanticipated warmth away from Harry, and then his fingers pulled away too, forcing Harry to bite his lip to keep himself from actually begging the other man to come back. Draco’s hands closed around Harry’s legs and Harry moved easily, letting the thinner man sort their tangled limbs until Draco sat perched between Harry’s legs. His knees jutted up on either side of Draco’s skinny hips and Harry’s toes curled tightly in the soft cloth beneath them.

Anticipation coiled hot and anxious in Harry’s gut and he swallowed hard against it.

Draco plucked the small glass bottle from the bedspread and unstoppered it with practiced ease. Harry restrained the urge to mock him for being a swot; only someone who played with potions far more than homework had ever required could have tapped the vial so smoothly. Now was not, however, the time to risk derailing current activities with some other tangent of discussion, so Harry said nothing.

Draco poured a thick puddle of the viscous liquid into his palm then dropped the bottle with casual unconcern over the side of the bed. The thick, soft carpet cushioned its fall, or Harry assumed it must have, because he did not hear the tinkle of breaking glass. Draco dipped the fingers of his other hand into the liquid he was holding and leaned forward, and then Harry didn’t care about anything else at all.

Cool, dripping fingers swirled a teasing circle around his arsehole and Harry nearly yelped. Then they slipped inside and he did cry out, and bucked his hips up involuntarily, questing for more. It hurt, just a little bit, as he was stretched suddenly around the two long, thin digits, and Harry bit his lip to restrain a groan of pleasure. He dug his fingers into the smooth cloth beneath him and tried to pretend that it was tangled around his wrists, and that there was nothing he could do to stop that agonizingly blissful invasion of his ass.

Draco was curling and stroking with his fingers, hesitantly at first, then with increasing speed and force as Harry gasped with ever-increasing pleasure. He suddenly spread the boney digits wide, inside, stabbing out in opposite directions, and Harry’s cry of discomfort was nearly lost beneath his growl of delight as he arched forward, pressing himself deeper onto Draco.

“Oh, please,” he moaned, and Draco pulled his fingers out sharply.

He glanced at the thick, sticky liquid coating his hand, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Hand me your wand, Potter,” he commanded, and Harry did so without thinking, although he regretted it the instant the sliver of wood left his hands.

But Draco merely performed a basic cleaning charm to leave his hands free of the sticky salve and then leaned up over Harry to place the wand back on the small side table. Harry couldn’t hide the way his breath quickened as Draco moved over him; the other man glanced down and his pointed face twitched into a smug smirk.

Harry couldn’t have that, so he grabbed Malfoy’s chin with one hand and his hips with the other, and pulled him down for a hard kiss. He ground their hips together, rubbing up hungrily against Malfoy, and felt the other man shiver in response. Draco might have been able to swallow his own gasp of pleasure, half-muffled already in Harry’s mouth, but he couldn’t hide the way his body responded.

When he pulled back it was Harry’s turn to smile smugly.

Draco arched a disdainful eyebrow and smoothed his ruffled hair. Harry just grinned.

He angled his hips upwards, invitingly—hungrily—and locked eyes with the cool grey ones looking down at him. “Come on,” he said, “what are you waiting for?”

Draco studied him for a minute in silence, his face inscrutable. Then he shrugged. “Nothing at all, I suppose,” he said, and leaned forward.

Harry’s whole body arched with burning, blissful tension at the sudden stab of penetration. He cried out, raw and hungry and hurt, and grabbed at Draco’s shoulders urgently, pulling the other man in closer. Draco grunted and thrust again and Harry’s senses exploded around him like fireworks made of crystal and ice.

Long fingers closed around Harry’s wrists and pulled his hands away from the pale, thin shoulders; Draco forced Harry’s arms down upon the bed and pinned them there, his fingers loose but the grip tight and unshakable, and he held him down while he thrust deeply inside him.

Harry purred.

He struggled, just a little bit, just enough to make it feel like he was fighting, but not enough that he risked making Draco think he meant it. He didn’t want the other man to get skittish, and think that Harry was really trying to free himself; if he thought that, he might stop, and Harry couldn’t have borne that.

That stabbing bliss was digging into his ass again, making his every nerve feel like it was on fire, and even better than that, it was happening despite his (minute) efforts to stop it. There were hands on his wrists, pinning him down; there were legs pressed between his own, slim hips forcing his thighs apart; there was Draco looming over him, his pointed face hidden behind that cold mask again. Only the faint tension around grey eyes and thin lips paid testament to the exertion he was forcing out upon Harry’s half-unwilling but utterly unresisting body.

“Oh Merlin,” Harry gasped, “harder!” and Draco obliged.

Harry moaned, his world narrowed to the feel of the wet, hard shaft forcing its way inside him, and the faint pressure upon his wrists. Harry felt tight and helpless and so incredibly full; this wasn’t the agony it had been the last time, with the pleasure swamped beneath layers of excruciating pain, but the pain was still there, mingling deliciously with the heady pleasure.

Draco dug in hard and rough and fast, and Harry writhed gleefully. “Harder!” he shrieked, and the rhythm of penetration sped up, stabbing at the tight core between Harry’s legs; slapping against his ass with sharp, fast smacks, stinging and delightful.

Harry’s legs curled around Draco, urging him in deeper, further, harder. The other man obeyed, plundering Harry’s ass with harsh intensity. Each thrust felt like a thick knife piercing Harry’s insides, forcing him to open wider than he had ever imagined possible. Harry moaned again, the cry trembling and helpless and sounding exactly the way he felt.

He could hear harsh, fast breathing in his ears, and it took him a while to realize that it was Draco he was hearing, and not himself. Something wet and salty that might have been sweat but might have been something else fell on Harry’s face and dripped away down his chin. Harry arched his neck up, blindly questing, until he found Draco’s lips and captured them with his own. The other man moaned into the kiss, trembling even harder than Harry.

Draco pressed himself into Harry, the kiss desperate and lonely and searching for something that Harry couldn’t name. One of Draco’s hands slipped from Harry’s wrist and cupped lightly at his face, the fingers stroking Harry’s cheek gently.

Harry raised his freed arm and caught Draco’s, feeling the slick lines of scars move under his fingers. He slid his grip up Draco’s Marked wrist until their fingers met and entwined, griping one another tightly amidst the soft blankets. The cool shock of metal at Draco’s knuckles slid like ice over Harry’s fingers and he shivered at the touch of the elegant silver rings and the burning, even icier flesh beneath them.

Draco gasped into Harry’s mouth and that rough, stabbing rhythm sped up, became irregular; he dug even harder at Harry, making the other man moan and writhe with the pleasure of his painful penetration. Draco was shaking so hard that the first spurt of ejaculation hardly stood out against the trembling violence of their coupling, but then hot stars erupted within Harry, and Draco cried out, a tiny involuntary plea of ecstasy.

Hot, thick bliss exploded in the tight confines of Harry’s straining tunnel, thrusting and stabbing and filling him to the brim and further. Harry yelled, the pain and pleasure mingling in a heady cocktail that had his own cock sputtering and spilling over from nothing but the friction of Malfoy’s tight stomach scraping over it, and the stabbing bliss pounding into Harry’s tortured ass. His body moved without him, the limbs jerking and shaking, clutching at Draco; his ass clenched tight, drawing out Malfoy’s orgasm, sucking hungrily at every last drop.

They gasped together, writhing and thrusting through the last, sputtering whimper of ejaculation, then collapsed as one upon the bed.

Harry burned all over, trembling and exhausted and sore, but nowhere more than deep inside. Draco still lay within him, soft and limp now, but still filling Harry’s tender, wrenchingly aching hole. He could feel the hot warmth of the other man’s cum inside him and he shivered; it stung, or he did, from their violent, passionate embrace. Abused muscles shook, spasming lightly around the blissfully alien organ that had been stabbed between them.

Harry wrapped his arms around the other man’s thin shoulders and drew light, invisible patterns upon the damp muscles of his back; along the sharp outlines of shoulder bones that rose into crisp relief with each panting inhalation. Harry squirmed, pulling them closer together, delighting in the way that his own hot, slowly cooling cum felt as it dripped between their scarred chests.

Draco pulled back and Harry let him go, reluctantly. Harry loved cuddling; would hold Ginny for hours afterward, until they both fell asleep, tangled in one another’s arms. And it wasn’t that he wanted to do that with Draco, certainly not—but he didn’t want them to separate so quickly, either.

But Draco rolled over, and groped for Harry’s wand on the nightstand—Harry didn’t protest, although he knew he ought to have; should have hated the arrogant, proprietary way that Malfoy closed his hands over Harry’s wand, like he had any right to touch it—but the feeling of Draco’s warm cum leaking down between Harry’s legs when the plug of his cock pulled free was too delightful for Harry to think about anything else.

The way his stretched, savaged anus burned at the sudden absence of Draco within it; the way the lingering pain tingled all the way up Harry’s spine...he shivered, and within the dull agony he found nothing but delight.

Then he gasped in dismay at the unwelcome coolness of a cleaning charm: the cum vanished, the sticky evidence of their excruciatingly wonderful exertions, suddenly gone. Harry bit his lip to keep from pouting, but Draco did not seem to have noticed.

He dropped Harry’s wand heedlessly to the table and collapsed back with evident exhaustion on the bed. His gray eyes were closed and his scarred chest rose and fell slowly, tiredly.

Harry glanced sideways and saw the slashed, Marked arm at last displayed freely, lying limp and pale between the two of them. He couldn’t stop himself, he leaned in for a closer look.

The scars were not all the same. Some of them were no more than thin, raised lines, like those that would be made by a very sharp knife. Two or three were jagged, harsh, like the skin had not been cut so much as torn. A few, though, were the same smooth, shiny lines that crisscrossed his pale chest: deep gouges where the flesh had been sliced out, and even Dittany had been unable to bring it back.

Harry felt strangely cold and lay back on the pillows without speaking. The thought of Malfoy sectumsempra-ing his own arm in his desperation to carve the Mark off of it had stolen from Harry any words that he might have planned to say.

The two scarred, wounded men lay next to each other on the bed, but not together. The thin gap of air between their arms might have been a solid wall or an endless gorge; there was no way to cross that gap, so Harry did not try, and instead there was only silence.

I just want to thank everyone for all of the wonderful reviews. They really are the reason I'm still writing this; if you people hadn't pointed out the potential for continuation, this would only be a one-shot. It's because of you that I'm still going, so I hope you're all still willing to come along with me while I figure out where this is going to end, because I really do have no idea. I just hope you like it. Thanks!

Also, CJB, you should write that idea of Draco being recruited to be an Auror. Because that's not at all what I'm doing here, but it sounds awesome. So you should do that, yeah.
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Under the Manor