Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Leopardspaw	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21311 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Eight—Teaching Desire

            Malfoy leaned against and into him as they kissed, and Harry realized that Malfoy was trembling as if he would fall over. Were kisses made out of pure desire so rare in his life?

            Then again, Harry’s ability to read the truth didn’t extend to actions like this, or ones where there was a complexity of motives, which was almost certainly the case here. He touched Malfoy gently, therefore, only knowing that for him, it was desire, and skimming his palms down Malfoy’s cheeks and his sides and his arms and murmuring soft, wordless sounds of praise.

            As though he lost the ability to advance when Harry started responding, Malfoy froze. Harry grinned as he knelt down in front of Malfoy. He knew exactly how to respond to that problem. He reached in and unbuttoned Malfoy’s robes, then unbuttoned the trousers that he found beneath them. Not all wizards wore so many layers, but it didn't surprise Harry that Malfoy did.

            “Draco,” he whispered, to see if he could, to see if it was allowed, and Malfoy shuddered above him and reached a shaking hand down.

            “It shouldn’t,” he said, without almost no voice behind the words.

            Harry reached out and fondled him in silence, up and down, sliding and looping his fingers around Malfoy, who closed his eyes and swayed into him. Harry grinned. A fine compliment, that I can make him melt even before my mouth is on him.

            He knew better than to say that aloud, though. If Malfoy was this nervous and wary when Harry had done nothing but touch him, he wouldn’t appreciate Harry’s sense of humor and would snap himself back behind the shell again.

            How can anyone not appreciate my sense of humor? That’s something we’ll need to work on. Harry opened his mouth to engulf the head of Malfoy’s prick instead, swirling his tongue slowly back and forth, and then sucking all at once just when Malfoy looked as if he was going to relax.

            Malfoy cried out, and his hips jolted forwards. Harry moved easily with the buck, because he had expected it, and went to serious work, moving his jaw back and forth in gentle patterns that wouldn’t tire him out.

            “You can’t,” Malfoy gasped. Since his hands didn’t come down to push Harry away—they were gripping the sides of the bookshelf Harry had pressed him against instead—Harry reckoned that it was a protest against the universe instead of the specific thing that Harry was doing.

            And, well, Harry had given up listening to protests against the universe when he survived the Killing Curse the second time. He reckoned that his survival was the biggest fuck you to the universe that he would ever be able to personally give in his lifetime, and it really didn’t need any more of them.

            He leaned in closer, looping his arms around Malfoy’s arse, drawing him in. He liked doing this, sometimes and when he was with someone he liked, and his tongue stroked and his muffled voice murmured, while his mind danced on the way Malfoy had stared at him when he took Corinna’s sapphire, how Malfoy had reacted to his signals at once when Harry told him Flint was lying, the arrogance and the cleverness of Malfoy coming to hire him in the first place without telling him exactly why he wanted Harry.

            Malfoy, Malfoy, always Malfoy.

            His tongue worked and lashed until Malfoy tightened all over, and his jaws clamped shut as though he wouldn’t come if he could just keep his tongue between his lips. Harry pulled back a little to gasp, and then set to work earnestly again, making sure that Malfoy would keep neither orgasm nor sound to himself.

            And Malfoy didn’t, unexpectedly generous, though he tilted his head back and voiced the sound as a long, deep groan instead of the squeak that Harry was imagining it might be. Harry pulled back, still licking, and enjoying the unusual taste in his mouth.

            Well, unusual because he so rarely did this sort of thing now. Not unusual because Malfoy had some kind of trait that made him taste nice.

            But I’d be perfectly willing to taste him again, Harry thought, as he leaned back on his heels and reached for his own dick, half-closing his eyes in anticipation of how good his hand would feel on it.

            Then all motion stopped. Harry looked up, and blinked. Malfoy had moved, although Harry hadn’t heard him and he should have with all his expensive Auror training, kneeling down in front of Harry and catching his wrist. He was still staring at Harry’s mouth, and Harry laughed in spite of himself. “I’m afraid that I can’t give you any more of that until you can get it up again,” he said. “Which I don’t think even you can.” He paused, struck by a sudden thought. He’d never done this to someone who was a Potions master before. “Unless you have a potion for that kind of thing?”

            “Potions like that are dangerous, not the jokes you think they are.” But Malfoy didn’t say it as if he was angry, and his eyes had moved from Harry’s mouth to his own eyes.

            Harry stared back, and then gave a little protesting tug on his wrist. “Do you mind? You got off. Don’t be selfish.”

            “I wasn’t intending to,” Malfoy retorted, and then stripped Harry’s trousers and pants off with a single twist and pull of his fingers that seemed supernatural, until Harry saw the wand in his hand, and grinned. He sprawled back on the floor, tucking his hands behind his head and spreading his legs so Malfoy could enjoy the sight.

            He knew better than to ask Malfoy if he enjoyed it, of course. Malfoy was still on the edge of “magnificently angry,” and that kind of question would either piss him off or scare him off—and then make him angry that he had been scared. In this case, Harry’s best tactic would be to let Malfoy’s eyes convince him.

            Malfoy stared at Harry, and a sharp sound came out of his throat. Harry would have called it a bark, except it was smaller than that, and hungrier. And as Malfoy’s legs moved apart in return, Harry saw a small stirring between them.

            I can work miracles.

            He laughed, drunk, and then Malfoy was down on him, gripping Harry’s stained hands in his as though he could acquire the truth spell from simple contact and make Harry be quiet that way.

            Harry twisted urgently as Malfoy’s hands gripped him and began to pull, shutting his eyes when it got too intense to keep them open. Of course, Malfoy, bastard that he was, immediately stopped. Harry glanced up at him, and found Malfoy rocking back on his heels, one hand creeping between his legs.

            “I want your eyes open when I’m fucking you,” Malfoy whispered, and went back to stroking, giving Harry the full benefit of his long fingers and broad palm. Harry moaned, but obediently kept eye contact. It was a long time since he’d been with someone, but even longer since he was with someone who would bother to order him around like this.

            He liked it, the way he liked everything about Malfoy right now, from his reluctance to touch himself as he came back to life to the way that his eyes flickered, quicksilver-grey and quicksilver-swift, back and forth from Harry’s face to his groin.

            Because it was coming from Malfoy, he liked it.

            And that meant he had to groan harder, had to arch up and present himself to the touch of Malfoy’s hand, had to watch him because he said so and because Harry wanted to and liked it, had to touch back, sliding his hand over Malfoy’s and feeling the tendons and the bones flexing, the miracle of his fingers, the smoothness of his nails, the—

            Throwing his head back, he satisfied himself in one long rush. It seemed to last longer than usual, but what made it good was holding Malfoy’s gaze the whole time, even with his eyes narrowed and his head straining back to the limit his neck could support.

            He was already on the floor, so he didn’t need to collapse when he was done. He grunted and stretched, and finally closed his eyes, because Malfoy had taken his hand off Harry’s dick. His hand was trying to collapse forwards, and he laughed wearily, because it seemed some part of him always had to go limp.

            “That may have been a mistake.”

            Harry didn’t open his eyes, because he had heard Malfoy move this time and knew exactly how he would be standing: with his arms folded and his back to Harry, staring absently at the far wall. But thoughts would be racing behind his face, not absent at all, thoughts of regret and what would happen now that they had enjoyed each other.

            When Harry just didn’t see why anything needed to change at all.

            "I'm still your employee, and you're still my employer," Harry said, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head, bending his body to the sides so that he could tilt out all the aches that would otherwise crop up in his muscles. "Nothing's changed. We can go on from here. And meanwhile, I still need a shower, and I don't think showing up at the Ministry before tomorrow would solve anything anyway. It's been a long day." He climbed slowly to his feet, enjoying the luxury of sleekness and slackness in his muscles. He'd had sex plenty of times, but encounters that left him this satisfied were rare.

            "How can you just let it go?"

            Harry paused and blinked at Malfoy. Malfoy stared back at him, back arched so that he looked as posed as a tragic victim about to leap to his death from a building. Harry shook his head slightly.

            "You mean what we did for each other?" he clarified. "I'm not letting it go. I'm just saying that it doesn't need to affect the way we're hunting for information about your father."

            Predictably, Malfoy snarled and began pacing. "This should never--just because you told me that you found me attractive and I analyzed your self-blaming--"

            "It happened," Harry said. "I don't have a Time-Turner and neither do you, since all of them were destroyed at the Ministry in my fifth year. Blame your father for that, if you like, since he was the one who came after me and fought in the battle that caused their destruction. Sit here and chew over what we did for half the night, instead of enjoying it, and make yourself short on sleep so that you'll be vulnerable to your enemies when we go in front of them. You'll definitely make me wish never to repeat that, since you're so boring." He turned and walked towards the door to the bathroom, shaking his head.

            Malfoy was utterly silent behind him.

            That's one way to solve a sexuality crisis, Harry thought, and shut the door firmly.

*

            Harry leaned nearer the mirror and concentrated on flattening his hair with gentle palms. He wouldn't succeed in making it lie down completely, of course, but what was important was to appear to have made an effort. In the same spirit, he straightened the hang of his scarlet robes around his shoulders and made sure that the folds were neat and crisp.

            "Potter."

            Malfoy stood in the doorway of his bedroom. Harry tilted his head at him without taking his eyes off the mirror. At last he nodded, satisfied his appearance was as good as he could make it, and turned around. "You had something to say?" he asked.

            Malfoy squinted as though Harry had cast a Dazzling Light Charm on himself. Then he said, "You look professional."

            "That's the idea, when you have a professional Auror working for you," Harry said dryly, and made to move past Malfoy towards the door.

            Malfoy stepped in front of him. Harry looked silently at him, but Malfoy said nothing, instead standing there with his head lowered and his nostrils fluttering like he was a snorting bull. A night on the couch--he'd refused the bed--obviously hadn't done him much good.

            Harry nodded. "So this goes one of two ways," he said. "Either you say what's hammering against the inside of your mouth and we both go our own ways, or you challenge me to the duel you're hankering for and lose. Then perhaps we can go on the hunt that you did hire me for without you feeling like you need to prove yourself."

            Malfoy shook his head. "You shouldn't have slept with me," he said.

            Harry rolled his eyes up, but no, the ceiling of his house hadn't changed. They still stood in an ordinary house, in the ordinary world, and that meant the past hadn't changed, either, despite Malfoy's desire for a Time-Turner.

            "As I recall, you were the one who came up and kissed me first," Harry pointed out, with a self-control that he thought was really admirable of him, since it held in the fit of laughter or anger that wanted to break out and carve sharp rents in Malfoy's skin. "Shouldn't you have known better?"

            "I didn't know I would regret it then," Malfoy said. "You could have realized I would and stopped me."

            Harry blinked at him, and then the laughter came out anyway. He sagged against the wall, careful to tilt his head to the side to avoid the punch that Malfoy tried to give him out of, Harry suspected, sheer frustration. Malfoy's fist hit the wall instead, and made a small shower of plaster drift down. Harry went on giggling, and Malfoy finally settled for folding his arms and glaring at him.

            "You innocent," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't know what you thought you were doing, or if you sleep with people and then regret it all the time. Maybe it's part of your sexuality. Hermione would remind me that people like stranger things, and that I need to respect everything someone likes."

            Malfoy's face was entirely pink by now, verging on red, and Harry liked it. He thought it made Malfoy look more human. It certainly made him look more kissable, though Harry knew he would hate being told that. "What are you babbling about?"

            "Merely this," Harry said, standing up and casting a spell that would readjust his robes to the state they had been in before he started giggling at Malfoy's stupidity. "That you knew before you kissed me that I was attracted to you, and also that I did things, like attacking Corinna, which you thought were stupid and dangerous. What made you think I would hold back if you kissed me? You're the adult one, the responsible one, at least according to the way you looked at me. Why should I be regretful with you? Why should I lie? I won't." He bothered to look closely at the air around Malfoy for the first time since he'd blocked the door. "And you don't regret it completely. There's the fading light of a lie there, one of those that shows up when you're uncertain about what you're saying."

            Malfoy turned his face away.

            Harry moved away from him, towards the front door. He knew how easy it would be to keep walking, go through the door and simply leave Malfoy behind. He would never find Harry, not if Harry didn't want to be found.

            And there went any chance that Malfoy would actually pay Harry for the work he had done so far with that contact information. Which might mean also losing the chance that he would ever be rid of his stupid curse.

            Harry sighed and leaned for a moment against the front door. It was more than that. Anger Malfoy too much, and he would lose a chance at knowing a man he already admired, a man who was more resilient than Harry had thought, from his reaction to Harry's attack on Corinna yesterday. He could have a skillful lover and someone whom he also liked to please if he bent his stubborn neck a little.

            There are some things that are impossible, though. If he insists on changing everything and not investigating at my side because we slept together once, what else will he do when danger appears? Is he going to walk away, or interfere when he shouldn't, because he can't trust someone who finds him attractive?

            Can he even trust himself?

            Harry shook his head in irritation and turned back. He would apologize to Malfoy for what he had said, not for sleeping with him. He refused to say sorry for things he wasn't sorry for.

            Malfoy met him in the middle of the drawing room. He had his head turned aside, as though the blank surface of Harry's telly was fascinating to him, and he spoke in a low, rapid mumble, his hands opening and closing.

            "We should go. We'll investigate. I'll bow to your expertise when it comes to Aurors and the names of those who guard Azkaban. You'll bow to my expertise when it comes to my father and confronting him."

            You think we'll confront him today? Harry wasn't so optimistic. But it was more of a peace offering than he had expected, and at least a way to work together. He nodded.

            "I'm sorry for what I said," he added, as he turned away. "You're not the coward or the denialist of reality I was picturing, or you couldn't have decided that you would make a new life for yourself after I fucked everything up with Corinna yesterday."

            He had to strain his ears to hear Malfoy's quiet words.

            "I'm more like that than you think I am."

            Harry raised his eyebrows, and kept his hand on his wand as they left. If Malfoy felt that way, Harry might find himself loaded and charged with more work, simply because Malfoy could still hesitate at a crucial moment.

            But Malfoy had also told the truth, and for that, and for the sake of Malfoy himself, Harry would labor on at his side.

*

            alexkdp: Thanks for reviewing!

            unneeded: Since he might have to deal with Malfoy's feelings at the same time, Harry isn't feeling as sanguine as he was right now.

            SP777: Harry was kind of curious about who would win in a duel, as well. Although he's by no means disappointed with what did happen.

            polka dot: Harry's breath isn't now.
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