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Salt in Our Wounds	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed herein. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Part IX

This is My Face

The night is silent. So silent that I feel like I am suffocating. Even though I hear no sound from the rest of the house, I am certain that Potter is not asleep. At least I hope that he is not, I cannot imagine the humiliation if this thing bothers me more than it does him.
I don�t know why I did what I did. Why I didn�t push him away immediately. How does he manage to affect me in such a way, seemingly erasing all rational and coherent thoughts from my brain? I feel like such a fool, so weak and feeble. So unlike myself. How did I come to be this way? Can pain, defeat, or humiliation really cut so deep into someone that it changes the entire basics of their existence?
When did I permit Potter�s needs to surpass my own principles?
After lying awake for three hours without any success of falling asleep, I sigh defeatedly, pulling the blanket off me and rising from my bed. I need a glass of water.
Clad in only my new pyjamas and my feet bare, the damp night feels colder than it is. I listen for any noise from the other rooms but hear nothing as I quietly make my way to the door. It opens with a soft click, and I make my way slowly through the hallway towards the kitchen.
Walking past the living room, a dim bluish light from inside catches my attention. I peek inside, seeing Potter sitting on the couch, facing the big black box by the wall. A TV I think it was Potter called it.
The previously dark screen is now somehow showing moving pictures inside it, casting a pale artificial light into the dark room. Slowly creeping closer I approach Potter on the couch, only to find that he has fallen asleep. Head tilted slightly to the left, his glasses fallen down on his nose, he sits completely still, breathing heavily. And for a moment he looks exactly like he did in that dungeon, young and naïve and so, so innocent.
As if compelled by a higher power, I find myself leaning over the armrest of the couch, reaching out to gently tuck a black strand of hair away from his face. My chest feels as if it will implode at the intimacy of it all, of the impossible affection raging through my system. I am suddenly thrown back into a moment long ago, a moment that was a mere grain of sand for history but meant the world for two lost boys. And for a stupid, silly second I hope that history would repeat itself, that he would now open his eyes and look at me, give me the cue. And that I would take that step, and that he would kiss me and love me again, and that this time I would not have to regret it.
But the moment passes, and nothing happens. I sigh shakily, letting out all the built-up tension and expectation, the remains of my hope. And I feel the urge to hit myself, to scream at myself for being such an idiot, for behaving in such a disgraceful way. This is certainly not befitting for a Malfoy.
I move away, already stepping past the couch when someone grabs my wrist and holds it tightly. I look down to see Potter, suddenly wide awake and looking up at me, holding onto me like he has no intention of letting go. As if I was able move away with those green eyes nailing me to the floor, cutting through me, body and soul, keeping me unconditionally locked in place.
�Where are you going?�
The words mean nothing. I hardly even understand them. All that means anything to me is that light ring of his voice, flying through the room and somehow finding me, hitting me so hard I am breathless when I finally manage to answer.
�Nowhere.�
And without a word he smiles, pulling me towards him, roughly and gently at the same time. And this time I don�t feel a bit like resisting. I fall down on top of Potter, forcing him down on his back on the couch, my leg between his two and our hips moulded together. He keeps his gaze steady on me, his hand coming up to my face, grazing my cheek gently as he leans in to kiss me. So simple, so sweet that it makes me shudder with contentment and raging want at the same time. A kiss so exquisitely promising that I find myself burning with desire immediately. Before I have time to realise it, I have moved my hands to Potter�s hips, tugging at his jeans while the kiss gets more breathy, more violent, and more wonderful with each second that passes.
Potter trembles slightly as I touch the sensitive skin on his stomach, but he doesn�t let it break his concentration as his hands come up to work on the buttons on my pyjama jacket. He soon grows frustrated and resolves to ripping the shirt open, the undone buttons scattering around us. I grin at Potter�s inability for patience, proceeding with opening his jeans. Finding it hard while lying on top of the man, I try to move, but the couch is narrow and I find myself losing my balance, falling down onto the floor and pulling Potter with me.
He yelps loudly and groans as he lands on the hard floor, but looks rather smug when he realises he has landed on top of me. I could not move from under him even if I wanted to. Something that bothers me less when he straddles me before leaning down to kiss me again, his hand weaving into my hair as he starts tugging at my pyjama bottoms. I realise I do not like the idea of me being naked while Potter is still completely dressed, so I push him away, reaching for his jeans again. For a second he looks a little taken aback, before he realises what I am doing and resolves to chuckling slightly. He heaves himself up before pulling his gray T-shirt over his head, giving me the perfect opportunity to admire his body, so beautiful and strangely ethereal in the bluish light from the TV. I realise that he is certainly no longer the skinny boy I once knew. But watching Potter, I suddenly become aware of the sorry state of my own body.
My chest is no longer in such a bad condition; the bruises have healed well and the few scars are really faint, probably nearly invisible in the dim light. But my back is quite another story.
As Potter now moves to tug at the pyjama top, open at the front but still covering my arms and back, I can�t hold back the unpleasant shiver that travels through my body. Potter immediately notices the tension and he hesitates, gazing down at me with a peculiar expression.
�What is it?� he asks cautiously, unmistakeably thinking that I am going to freak out and run away. Which I probably should, but unfortunately that isn�t the issue this time.
I fidget uncomfortably, trying not to look into his deep emerald eyes but unable to avoid his piercing gaze. �I look a little� different. Since back then.� My voice is quiet, the shame and humiliation burning on my face.
For a minute Potter just stares at me, the confusion obvious on his face. Then his face clears, as he looks down at my naked chest. Eyes as big as saucers he reaches out to run a hand down my chest to my stomach, gentle fingers tracing the small cuts and paling scars there. �Draco�� he begins, and I fight hard not to shiver at the sound. �I didn�t� I�m sorry--�
�No,� I interrupt, placing my hand over his mouth to silence him. �I don�t need you to feel sorry for me.� And it�s true. I don�t need him, I don�t want him to feel sorry for me.
I just want him to tell me it doesn�t matter to him.
He looks like he might have read my mind, his face growing soft and a sad smile appearing on his face. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it again as he looks down at my body again, pondering. Then suddenly he moves, grabbing the collar of my pyjama jacket and pulling it down my shoulders.
�Take it off,� he commands, and I know exactly what he is looking for. I take in a quick breath to protest, but somehow find myself so tired of it all. I don�t want him to see. Yet, I do. My mind wishes him to see and become so repulsed, so frightened that he won�t ever want to touch me again. And my heart aches for him to just make it all go away.
In the end it doesn�t matter what I want. Before I manage to react in any proper way, Potter has wiggled the garment off me, and is sitting back on his heels on the floor.
�Show me,� he says softly, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. I swallow loudly, but am unable to disobey him. Slowly I crawl up, sitting down with my knees crossed, my back turned towards Potter. I close my eyes, asking all the gods I don�t believe in to not take him away from me now.
Potter sits immobile behind me for a long time, and I feel the distance between us expanding with each passing minute. I know what he is seeing. Bruises and cuts, shallow and deep, old, already paled scars, wounds that are still scabbing� all marked out on a back that is much too skinny than it ought to be, ribs clearly visible under the pale skin. I�ve seen the image in the mirror here enough times to have the image imprinted on my retina for the rest of my life.
Finally, after what seems like years, I hear Potter move, a small sigh reaching my ear.
�Oh God� Draco,� he lets out in a breath, and I suddenly feel a cool hand pressed against my shoulder blade. I shudder under his touch, feeling my mouth go dry with anticipation and dread.
Then I hear Potter get up on his feet and suddenly he is before me, crouching down and staring at me. I look away, flustered and humiliated, but Potter reaches out to gently cup my cheek, moving my head so that I am forced to look him in the eye. And to my ultimate shock I see that Potter�s eyes are shiny, filled with unshed tears. For a minute I am horrified and confused, until he repeats his previous statement.
�I am so, so sorry, Draco.�
I am shocked when I agnise that he feels guilty. And the thought strikes me as extremely ridiculous. Harry Potter feels guilty because of what happened to me. Draco Malfoy. A Death Eater. I suppress the hysterical urge to laugh.
�I should never have left you there.� Potter swallows loudly, blinking away the tears. �I should have convinced you to come with me, to get away--�
�Don�t be absurd, Potter,� I sneer, disgusted by his display of pity and naiveté. �I had made my choice. And I still stand by it. You couldn�t have changed my mind whatever you did.�
�I could have tried harder!� he exclaims, the raw breaking of his voice revealing just how bad he actually feels. I feel the urge to slap him out of it, make him give it up, forget.
�Just� let it go.� I lean forth, wrapping my hands around his neck and pull him closer. �It has nothing to do with you. Just forget it.�

Make me forget it.

When I kiss him, he trembles beneath my touch, but he doesn�t object. He wraps his arms around me, pulls me as close as physically possible. I find myself clinging to him just as desperately as he clings to me, holding on for dear life, praying that this moment never ends.
I run my hands over Potter�s chest as the kiss grows more heated, my fingers tracing familiar patterns, the feeling resurrecting memories long since dead and buried. Those memories arouse me more than anything else ever could.
I lean down onto the floor on my back, pulling Potter with me. For someone who has always topped, I somehow feel very comfortable and sheltered under Potter. And I let myself get away with it, thinking that maybe, just this once, I can let go of the control.
Potter breaks the kiss to tug at my pyjama bottoms again, pulling them down my hips before I barely have time to react. I gasp as the cool air meets the sensitive skin of my prick, and I suddenly feel very vulnerable under Potter�s scrutiny. Hurrying to amend the situation, I reach out and work my fingers quickly over the buttons on Potter�s jeans before yanking them down. I feel my breath catch slightly at the sight of Potter�s well endowed package, the appreciation going straight to my cock.
Potter slithers out of his jeans before he leans down over me, lips meeting mine as his hand seeks its path down to my crotch. I feel a gasp catch in my throat as he wraps a steady hand around my cock, feeling the flesh in his hand before he starts pumping it in a slow rhythm. I want to reciprocate but find myself unable to do much besides whimper and cry out incoherent words against Potter�s lips. My hands seek their way into his hair, tugging at the thick inky strands not too gently as he continue to tremble under his touch, my body trying to buck off the floor just to get closer, to get more--
And suddenly it dawns on me exactly what I want.
�Stop!� I breathe out, untwining my fingers from Potter�s hair, my hand coming down to move his hand away from my very hard cock.
�What?� Potter asks, his expression a mixture of fright and disbelief. I feel a hysterical chuckle cross my lips, as I give him a quick peck on the lips.
�Fuck me.�
I�m pretty sure that was the last thing Potter ever expected me to say. The last thing I ever expected myself to say, for that matter. Still, now the words have left my mouth, and I cannot take them back. Nor do I want to.
Potter keeps staring at me in shock for a good twenty seconds before I explode with impatience.
�Fuck me. You know, when you take your big, hard--�
�I know what it means!� Potter interrupts me, a brilliant blush spreading on his face. Mercifully, he silences my malicious chuckle with a deep kiss. When he finally breaks it, he looks down onto me with seriousness.
�Are you sure?�
No. And yes. The answer is too complicated for words. All I know is that I want to. So I nod breathily, kissing him sloppily as to seal the deal. Potter chuckles somewhat nervously, before he reaches for his wand from somewhere over on the coffee table, Accioing a tube of some sort of lotion from the bathroom.
He slicks a shaking finger with the lotion, spreading my knees apart gently before he looks at me. �Ready?�
Again, I can only nod, trying to swallow my own nervousness.
Slowly he breaches me with one long finger. It does not hurt as I had feared, but simply feels slightly alien. Soon he moves on to two fingers, and in the middle of the slight pain from the stretch I feel him reach something inside me, something so wonderful that I feel myself practically jolting off the floor. As I lie there gasping, Potter only snickers. He reaches for that same spot over and over again, until I am close to weeping from need.
�Just do it already!� I finally cry out when he doesn�t seem to get the hint. Potter looks at me, serious and slightly concerned once again. But before I have time to start convincing him, he obeys, pulling his fingers out of me and reaching for the lotion again. I hear his breath shudder as he slicks his cock with the ointment, and I try to concentrate on my main task: breathing.
Soon I feel something breach me, something quite larger than Potter�s two fingers. I try not to complain, but a slight groan escapes me as he pushes further and further in. For a moment I feel as if I�m being torn in half, but with it a strange feeling of fullness and completion washes over me.
Finally Potter seems to be fully sheathed, for he pauses for breath and look down on me with concern. �Are you alright?� he asks, his breath quick and his voice tense from the restraint.
I nod, fighting to still keep on breathing. �Yeah.�
He takes one shaky breath before he begins to move, pumping in and out in a slow, steady rhythm. With every stroke I feel more of the pain fade into pleasure, and am just about thinking that it cannot possibly get any better when he suddenly hits that spot within me.
I cry out, my hands coming up to claw at Potter�s naked back as I yell out for him to move faster, harder, there yes there just like that--
Merlin knows how long it lasts. In our little universe it could be a minute or it could be a year. All I know is that he keeps moving, we keep moving, he keeps looking down at me. And I look up into his brilliant green eyes and feel as if I have been whisked into a time turner, for in this little moment in time it feels as if nothing has changed. For he looks at me with those same eyes, overflowing with emotions too fragile to be named, whispering soft words I can never make out over my own heavy breathing. After all this time we move just like then. Like one being, as we were so long ago, as we should have been all these years. As if he was always there, as if we were never separated. Like this, I can almost imagine that everything else has been a mere dream and that this is the reality, our reality, the only thing that is true and pure.
This moment is everything. Too perfect, too much, and never enough. Then Potter looks down at me, his forehead sweaty and his cheeks flushed from the extortion. He breathes heavily, blinking a couple of times as if to get a clear view of me.
�I love you.�
I forget to breathe.
The words he utters linger in the air, seeming to fill the entire space with what they give and demand in return. Then Potter pushes in particularly hard, grunting loudly, and I feel him spill his seed inside of me. And without warning, I am undone.
Crying out in the back of my throat, I throw my head back, biting my lip until I taste blood. I ejaculate violently, feeling the sticky substance on my own skin and Potters. Potter keeps moving inside of me until he has completely emptied himself. Only then does he breathe in properly, falling onto me on the floor as if all his strength suddenly gave in.
The world seems to spin around me, and I have a hard time focusing on anything. I feel certain that I should say something, explain myself, make some kind of excuse for my behaviour. But all that seems able to pass over my lips is the word:
�Fuck.�
Potter�s snort indicates his agreement.

End of part IX
- 8
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- 10
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Salt in Our Wounds