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The House That Lovers Built	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14853 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Six—For the Best

At least there was a hot meal waiting for them in the middle of the kitchen table: steaming, slick slices of delicate roast beef, with potatoes beside them, and soft, warm carrots, and some crunchy green bits that Harry couldn’t identify by name but which sure smelled good. He ate so fast that he nearly choked, and Malfoy reached out and touched his arm to calm him.

            After that, Harry reminded himself that Malfoy was in a towel on the chair across from him, watching, as Harry swallowed, and made himself calm down and swallow a bit more slowly. A bit.

            Malfoy polished off his own side of the meal first, even so, or perhaps he wasn’t hungry. And he sat there watching Harry, until Harry stirred and glanced up. “What?” he asked.

            “I think I know what the house is going to do tomorrow,” Malfoy said.

            Harry shuddered and glanced around at the walls. “Don’t give it ideas.” He swallowed more of his meal, the beef beginning to cloy and cling in his throat now. He didn’t want to listen to what it seemed Malfoy was about to say.

            “I’m predicting, not giving it ideas.” Malfoy leaned over the table, and Harry unwillingly looked at the blond stubble on his chin. “It’s going to make us take food from each other’s fingers, and eat that way.”

            Harry rubbed his face. “Won’t that make a mess?” he muttered, thinking of gravy and juice dripping all over the table.

            Malfoy laughed. “I don’t think the house cares about that, not when it has the spells that bring us the towels and clean up the messes already,” he said.

            Harry nodded and put down the fork. Not only was most of the food gone, so was his appetite. “All right. Then what do you suggest we do? Just think about it so we can be ready for it?” He had to admit that was an all-right strategy for him, and his muscles relaxed. It would be easy.

            “No,” Malfoy said. “I recommend that we practice now.” He used his fork to scoop up a small amount of carrots and held it out.

            Harry stared at him. Malfoy looked back with calm, ancient eyes, and moved the fork closer to Harry’s lips when Harry refused to say anything or open his mouth.

            Harry stood and pushed back from the edge of the table. “I’m not hungry.”

            “You’re hungry enough for this to work,” Malfoy said. “And if we do it on our own, maybe the house won’t force us to, because we’ll have already done what it thinks it wants.”

            Harry shuddered. “Then it’s likely to come up with something even worse.”

            “I can’t force you,” Malfoy said easily, his fork still waiting. “Of course I can’t. But I do think that it’ll be a lot easier if we yield now, if we do this instead of acting stupid and insisting that we can’t. No more stubborn fights like the ones we had today.” He hesitated, and then tried to smooth down and pretend that he’d just said all he had to say, but Harry caught the hesitation and glared at him. Malfoy sighed and added, “My potion may take as much as a fortnight to finish. And we could get free much earlier, I think, if we went along with the house.”

            “Malfoy.” Harry leaned forwards and spoke in friendly concern. “Listen to yourself. You want to go along with the house? Where’s the Potions master who was so willing to have his own way that he cut into his flesh and blood?”

            “Right now?” Malfoy gave a rippling stretch that almost made the towel slide off his shoulders, and Harry glanced away, flushing. “Trapped in a house that won’t let him go until he does some ridiculous things to satisfy it.” He sighed when Harry continued to look away. “Look, Potter. The house only wants us to perform certain actions. It can’t alter the way we feel. It can’t make us—I don’t know, what are you afraid will happen? That you’ll become so addicted to me that you can never get out of bed again?”

            Harry spun, because dangerously dangling towels or not, that wasn’t the kind of challenge he could let Malfoy think he’d get away with. “Of course not! I only think that I want to share—I don’t want to have sex with you!”

            Malfoy nodded. “You’re afraid of your first time not being special,” he said.

            Harry rubbed his fists into the table and wondered if his face would ever stop burning. “You make me sound like a child,” he muttered. “Look. I’m not—it’s not as though I have fantasies of being special and making love to someone in a bed made of pink clouds while twittering bluebirds fly around us. I’m not bloody sixteen anymore.”

            “I know.”

            Malfoy’s voice had deepened. Harry sat back and forced himself to meet his eyes. Malfoy sat there, looking at him, not moving, except for the fork of carrots trembling a little in his hand, but his gaze wasn’t neutral, the way Harry had assumed it would be.

            “Look,” Malfoy said back to him, as though he assumed that repeating what Harry had said was the way to get on his good side. Harry narrowed his eyes and started to respond, but Malfoy stretched out his free hand and delicately rubbed the veins in the back of Harry’s hand. “I find you pleasant to look at. Arousing to touch, once I got over my stupid fear about admitting it.”

            “Why did that happen?” Harry demanded. “How did you go so fast from not wanting to say anything about it to doing this?” He gestured at the way that Malfoy was playing with his hand.

            “I think,” Malfoy said, his voice descending, “that it was because you didn’t laugh at me. I still find humiliation very hard to stand. But with you, I don’t have to stand it. And that interests me. You can think it’s a silly reason, but this version of you is someone I wouldn’t mind sleeping with.”

            Harry looked at Malfoy’s eyes again, and tried to ignore the odd feeling of standing naked on a high rock with a clean wind blowing. It was ridiculous that looking at Malfoy could give him sensations like that, anyway, and reminded him of the sixteen-year-old that he had so earnestly disavowed being.

            “So,” he said. “What you’re saying is that we’re both good-looking blokes, and we’ve grown past the children we used to be, and there’s no reason not to sleep together and try to convince the house to let us out early for good behavior.”

            Malfoy laughed, an almost noiseless pant with his eyes narrowed, his nose lifted, his tongue curling out. Harry watched him, and swallowed. His erection had never gone all the way down, and now it made him feel as though he wanted to rub against the chair—not that he would ever do anything so humiliating with Malfoy watching.

            “A good way of putting it,” Malfoy said, and reached out to hook his fingers in Harry’s hair and tug his head closer.

            Harry opened his mouth to protest that they’d been going to eat carrots, but he tasted Malfoy’s tongue instead, and it was good.

            Useless to pretend that his body didn’t want what it wanted, and this was all about the body. Harry told himself that the reason he was still practically a virgin was his uptightness. He might not think of sex the way he had when he was sixteen, but he was still too preoccupied with waiting for just the right time, for just the right person, for making too much of it.

            Now, he leaned in and let himself go.

            He liked touching Malfoy’s neck, and at least he could get his hands in position to choke the life out of him if Malfoy taunted him about this later. He stroked up and down Malfoy’s throat, his fingers lingering near the collarbone, and Malfoy hummed and said Nice so many times that Harry almost changed his mind about strangling him.

            The table was in the way, and they really needed the bed for this, always assuming the house didn’t shrink it on them again. When Malfoy stood up, dropped his towel on the chair, and tugged Harry along towards the bedroom, Harry followed, and didn’t even think too much about how Malfoy was naked. He’d already seen Malfoy naked more than once now, after all.

            When they got to the bedroom, Malfoy was the one who tumbled Harry on the bed first. Harry tried to take back control by grabbing his shoulders, but Malfoy took his hands, kissed both of their palms, and said, “This will be good. Trust me.”

            Harry didn’t, particularly, but enough for this. Just the body, he repeated to himself as he spread his legs and leaned back, letting Malfoy climb up so he was kneeling in front of Harry, between his thighs. Just sex.

            And so far, it felt pretty bloody brilliant.

            Malfoy skimmed his fingers up and down, up and down, until it started having the same effect on Harry that the light touches in the bathtub had and he squirmed for Malfoy to hurry up and touch him. Malfoy knew it without being asked this time, and ducked his head down, mouth opening to lap where Harry most wanted him right now.

            Harry closed his eyes. There were some things that he could cope with and some things he couldn’t, and watching while Malfoy sucked him was on the second list.

            But Malfoy was good. His tongue changed direction, his mouth grew warmer or tighter or looser at a suck, and his hands were brilliant at coaxing Harry to spread his legs or lift his knees or touch himself right in front of Malfoy’s fingers. Harry breathed faster and faster, and wondered why he had waited so long to try this. At the moment, the reasons for holding back and clinging to his virginity seemed very far away.

            “Harry.”

            Harry knew that Malfoy had said it, that he hadn’t just imagined hearing it, and his stomach spasmed. He gasped and reached down, not sure what he was aiming for, but Malfoy moved to the side and ensured it was his head that Harry brushed and clung onto, his mouth that Harry was poised above.

            Harry scrambled and slipped. He shuddered through all the orgasm, not sure he liked it, even when he was also sure the pleasure was almost overwhelming. That was the problem, though. It was so deep. Was it like that all the time?

            If so, sex with someone he actually liked might kill him.

            He dropped his head back and panted at the ceiling when he was finished, and Malfoy’s fingers brushed against his groin, smearing in the liquid, rubbing it in circles. Harry was sure that he didn’t like that, so he sat up and caught hold of Malfoy’s wrist.

            Malfoy looked up at him, and Harry had to shut his eyes, because there was a little bit of him at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth. He leaned in to capture his mouth and stroke his tongue up and down, grimacing at the taste. He would have to get used to it, though. He had no doubt that Malfoy expected him to return the favor.

            When he started to slide down towards the end of the bed and tug Malfoy up, though, Malfoy resisted. Harry blinked at him, and Malfoy cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that you want to do this?” Malfoy asked. “It’s a difficult task for virgins, especially keeping their teeth out of the way.”

            He wasn’t even out of breath, which was more than Harry could say for himself. He held his breath for a second until he was sure that it was properly reined in, and then said, as nice and normal as he could be, “All right. Is there something you would prefer me to do, instead?”

            “This,” Malfoy said, and pushed Harry directly back where he had been. Harry hissed as he landed in the wet spot. Malfoy rolled his eyes and grabbed his wand to dry it, which made Harry wish he’d kept quiet. If he never had to repeat the experience of having a wand pointed at his cock again, it would be too soon.

            Malfoy didn’t seem to notice Harry’s flinch, or decided it would be a good idea to keep what he thought to himself for right now. Of course, Harry thought, as Malfoy leaned over him and stared into his eyes like a lion deciding where on the body to start eating, if he insults me, he must know that he has less chance of getting off.

            “Stay still,” Malfoy whispered. “Or thrust back, if you like.” He smirked, a whip-like smile that chased his mouth into an expression that much more resembled the one Harry was used to seeing. “A lot of people I’ve been with can’t keep themselves from doing it.”

            The last thing Harry needed was the reminder that Malfoy had been with lots of people and this was his first time. He scowled back and would have opened his mouth, but Malfoy bent down and kissed him at the same moment as he began to rub his groin against Harry’s.

            Harry gasped and wriggled. But it wasn’t due to Malfoy’s prowess, whatever the bastard thought. It was because his groin still ached and tingled from oversensitivity, and Malfoy seemed to pick out the spots that ached most and choose them for the unexpectedly rough ridges of his own cock, the bumps of his hips.

            Malfoy moaned. Harry stared at him. Malfoy’s mouth had fallen open, his breath heaving out so fast Harry was surprised he could still keep on all fours. He was flushed a dangerous, dark red; his hair dangled around his ears; his head dipped down and his mouth sought Harry’s again as if he was about to faint.

            It must feel a lot better to him than it does to me, Harry thought, and reached down between Malfoy’s legs before he could stop himself, taking Malfoy in hand and rubbing gingerly back and forth.

            Malfoy gasped and tossed his head back, eyes rolling, fingers clenching down as though he was going to tell Harry to stop.

            Instead, he whispered, “Go faster. Go harder. More to the sides. Think of how you like it when you wank.” His hips surged forwards, butting into Harry’s, and Harry took a deep breath and stroked while trying not to think that, yeah, he was wanking Malfoy.

            And he liked it. He liked watching Malfoy’s flush deepen until his face was purple and he was bedraggled and wispy and disheveled and sweaty, and he came with a grunt and a collapse straight onto Harry’s chest.

            Harry closed his eyes and wiped his hands on the sheets behind him. He was too tired to use his wand with a Cleaning Charm and hope that it would have any degree of accuracy.

            Malfoy rolled off him when Harry heaved and pushed him, and said some mumbling words that Harry couldn’t interpret. Harry started to roll over to the side. Maybe the house would give them more room in the bed now that they had done what it wanted.

            Instead, Malfoy caught his wrist and lifted Harry’s hand to his mouth again, turning it over, kissing the pulse, the palm, and each of the fingers. By the time he had finished, his eyes were open and he was licking his lips.

            “I want to,” he said. “Again.”

            He rolled Harry beneath him and reached down for him, and Harry yelped and batted his hand away. “I can’t yet,” he said between gritted teeth. “Too sensitive. Sex maniac,” he added, because the smile hadn’t disappeared from Malfoy’s face.

            “Then let me ride your leg,” Malfoy countered.

            Harry hesitated. But really, as long as Malfoy was rubbing himself off against Harry’s leg—which was what it sounded like—then what harm could it do? At least it meant no one would touch Harry’s groin again right now, and it might finally calm Malfoy down so he could go to sleep.

            “Fine,” he said, laying back and spreading his legs so that Malfoy could climb on top of one and get it between his own legs, which he did with a delicious groan that seemed to make Harry’s chest ripple, as well as Malfoy’s. “If that will shut you up.”

            Malfoy chuckled breathlessly and shifted into position, settling himself with a small bump and a groan. Harry leaned his head to the side. Malfoy could satisfy his desire, but Harry had no intention of watching him while he did it.

            But somehow, he ended up doing exactly that, staring as Malfoy’s head snapped up and down and his hair flew back and forth. He was riding fast, his face screwed up in a way that made Harry wonder whether he was getting any enjoyment out of it. He made several small noises and resettled himself each time he made one, then went on riding.

            His mouth hung open near the end, his hips pumping and flexing until Harry lifted his hips to echo them. Malfoy opened his mouth and smiled lazily at him, holding out one hand as if he was going to invite Harry to share in his pleasure.

            His hand made a long swing and completed the arc at the top, holding it there as he shuddered and came, following the descent of his orgasm with a descent of his body. Harry shifted far enough to the side that he nearly fell off the bed, but he didn’t want Malfoy breathing all sour and sticky into his nostrils, thanks. It was going to be bad enough sleeping in the same bed when the house insisted on crushing them together.

            But Malfoy lay beside him, snoring already, his hand in place on Harry’s hip. Harry cast a Cleaning Charm before he dared crowd any closer. Malfoy didn’t stir. Harry sighed in relief as he laid his wand aside; maybe the house would be satisfied with this and not make them do anything else in the morning.

            So. He’d had his first sex. And survived it.

            Malfoy was right. He’d been making far too big a deal out of nothing.

*

            delia cerrano: That’s an interesting interpretation! I have other people saying that Draco is the one acting too high and mighty around Harry. I always enjoy seeing how readers read things, and why.

            Fjellnord: Thank you! This story usually updates every Monday.
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The House That Lovers Built