scarlet_malfoy: (harry and draco hugging)
posted by [personal profile] scarlet_malfoy at 06:11pm on 25/12/2008
Title: You Turn Me Around
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,000
Author's Notes: This fic was written for [livejournal.com profile] suonguyen for the [livejournal.com profile] livelongnmarry fundraiser. She asked for: Protective Harry, Bottom Draco, Cursed Draco (not sexual in nature, maybe something affecting his health or magic), a little bit of angst, Post-War, EWE and winter. [livejournal.com profile] lap_otter, my moglieaisai for life, helped to inspire me at the end with a bit of RPing. I love her to death! [livejournal.com profile] suonguyen, when I said that at the latest this would be a Christmas present, I didn't think it actually would be! But I hope you enjoy this, anyway. =) I had a lot of fun writing this.


~*~*~*~



He wants to meet me at the Leaky Cauldron, but I put a stop to that plan right away. Is he insane? Does he realize how ridiculously unsafe that would be for him, and more importantly, me? Without my magic, I don't leave the Manor very often. The last time I ventured to Gringotts for a meeting with the goblin in charge of the Malfoy account, I was abducted. Seven wizards barely out of Hogwarts forced me into an alley off the main street and if Potter and Weasley - not his best friend, but the lone twin - hadn't been sitting outside that deathtrap of a shop to witness the whole thing, and if they hadn't decided to intervene, I'd probably be dead.

Thank Merlin for the Golden Boy. How many times would I have died by now if not for him? I wish this question didn't go through my head as often as it does. All the implications of it and how much I owe Potter and how much I can't possibly pay back. There's precious little I could do that he might appreciate, now. Definitely nothing that he would benefit from. Can you imagine a Squib saving the life of an Auror?

I'll tell you this: I've a new found respect for Muggles and all they accomplish without magic. Being stuck inside the house so much and relying on the house elves for the simplest of tasks drives me crazy, but at least this newest Potter problem gives me something else to focus on. Mother says I've inherited the - and I quote - Malfoy Obsessive Personality, and leaves the room sometimes, she's so sick of hearing me talk about it. She thinks I'm running myself into the ground contemplating things that hardly matter.

But it does matter. How can it not? When has Potter ever not mattered?

Pans gets to hear all my ramblings when she visits. She thinks I have a thing for him - which may be a bit truer than I'd ever admit out loud - but she listens to me, no matter how many times she's heard it all. The girl's been there for me through thick and thin, and I love her to death. She's one of those people I wish I could fall desperately in love with, but being gay pretty much rules out any and all chances of that. Really, how perfect would it be?

Speaking of perfection. I'd always thought the thing between Little Miss Weaselette and Potter was hilariously cliche. Girl grows up hearing heroic tales of Boy, Girl meets Boy, Boy saves Girl's life, Girl and Boy fall into stupid cliche love. The Weasley clan has claimed Potter as their own since day one, which makes it all the more predictable and easy. It's all so fucking easy for those people.

Boy grows up hearing nightmare-inducing tales of Boy. Boy meets Boy. Boy sees something in Boy that Father's never mentioned, that Boy has more of than Father's ever had - kindness, modesty, potential. But Boy wants none of Boy. Boy almost kills Boy. Boy saves Boy's life. Boy notices how hot Boy is. Boy saves Boy's life again.

None of which is easy to reconcile, really. None of it makes sense the way it should. I never noticed Potter until after he saved my life. I clung to him on that fucking broomstick and put my life quite literally in his hands, and he didn't let me down. Not in any respect did he fail me, unlike someone else I could name.

All right, I will name him. Why the fuck not? My father. Lucius Malfoy. The one I'd been trained to follow all my life and the person I should have naturally been able to trust and keep me safe. It wasn't my father, but Potter - the one I'd been warned against my entire life - who ended up keeping me safe. I haven't visited Father in Azkaban once in the three years he's been there, and Mother has never pushed me to go, though she still asks me every Sunday if I want to join her. I wish I could make her eyes light up by saying yes, but we both know that day is a long time coming. In any case, it isn't today. It also isn't tomorrow, because apparently I have plans tomorrow.

Boy wants to meet Boy in the Leaky Cauldron for lunch.


Draco,

Hey. How are you doing? After last week, I bet you're still a bit shook up. I looked into the situation at work and found out that it was hardly the first time you've been attacked. I asked to be appointed to your case. There's more, but I'm a shite writer so I hope you'll meet me tomorrow for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron so I can tell you more. Is noon okay? Let me know. Hope you're well.

Harry Potter



I sit at my desk petting his over-friendly owl, wondering over the fact that he wishes me well, and that he wants to be appointed to my case. I didn't even know I had an official case. I feel an overwhelming urge to send a poisoned fruit basket to the Ministry, but I refrain.


Potter,

Are you insane? We absolutely will NOT be meeting at the Leaky Cauldron. After last week, indeed! You're a moron. But you're welcome to join me at Malfoy Manor for lunch. Noon is just fine. I'm intrigued, to say the least, about my case and all the 'more' you speak of. It had better be good.

D. Malfoy



I know that sounds pretty harsh, but he'll realize I'm being sarcastic. I apologized rather profusely and repeatedly last week after he saved my skin, but he just shrugged it off, saying my intense gratitude almost made up for the last time I never thanked him. I'd gone stone cold for a moment until he starting grinning like an idiot, clapping me on the shoulder and telling me he was joking. Let me say that again: he was grinning like an idiot, and clapping me on the shoulder. In case you think you might be going insane, this truly is regarding Harry Potter and me. It really, really is.

I don't know that we're friends, but I do know that we're both growing up and out of the past, and out of the notions that there are strict lines between the white and the black, the good and the bad. I feel like that line has been breached so many times in my life. I honestly can say I have been seeing in shades of grey since my first real meeting with Harry Potter. It was hard growing up with what I'd always been taught was good and realizing that I myself thought other things were better, and struggling to maintain both ideas inside the same head. No one ever warned me that I might change when I went away to school, or that there was a possibility of forming opinions of my own. No one told me that not all parents should be revered as if they hung the fucking moon. I realized soon enough that mine shouldn't have been, but for years I still wanted them to be. I still loved them. I still gave everything I had for them, and tried to get them out of the hole they'd dug for themselves.

I've never talked about it with Potter, but I have the feeling he already knows. He's one of the only people in the world who doesn't look sideways at me when they see me on the street, and who might not believe that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Do you have any idea how many times I've had that fucking phrase shouted in my face? It's those moments I'm almost glad, in retrospect, that the Ministry took away my magic. I'd have Hexed so many of those ignorant fucks, it isn't even funny.

When Potter arrives for lunch the next day, he is decked out in all his Auror Robe splendor. He looks so much older than he did just last week, when he'd been wearing simple black robes. I let Dibby open the front door, but I stand just inside to greet him. He's got snowflakes in his hair, and after he stomps his boots to get the snow off and comes fully into the entrance hall, I see he's got them stuck in his eyelashes, too. It is a rather long walk from the front gate.

"What's that?" I ask, noticing the brown leather box he's carrying.

He smiles down at it almost conspirationally. "A briefcase. There are several magic-sensitive documents inside. I couldn't shrink the pages without them realizing I'd snuck them out of the office."

I laugh, and he looks surprised. "You'll just get a slap on the wrist if they catch you, I'm sure." He looks like he wants to argue, but I turn. "Follow me. Dibby will prepare lunch. Do you take sugar in your tea?"

He follows me, and we take a seat across from each other in the Tea Room. It's far away from the drawing room, which I'm sure Potter wouldn't love revisiting, and it's also got a great view of the gardens, which are turbulently full of Christmas and lights and Faeries in December. It's a better view at nighttime, but during the day it's pretty awe-inspiring, too. Mother and I are both beyond glad that she set the Christmas charms to reoccur each year on their own, as it would have just been depressing to know neither of us could do a thing to recreate them. Potter likes them too, it seems. He's still staring out the tall windows when lunch appears in front of him. I pop a grape into my mouth before clearing my throat, and he turns back to face me.

"So, Potter. What's the news?" To tell the truth, I feel slightly nervous about hearing the news. I busy myself by adding another spoonful of sugar to my tea and stirring it while he deliberates. He stares at me all the while, following the movements of my hand. I offer him the sugar spoon, but he shakes his head.

"I'm fighting to get your magic back."

I drop the spoon into my tea, and it splashes on the white tablecloth.

Harry actually grins. "I'm putting together a proposal, and I want you to take a look. It's for both you and you're mum."

I don't believe him. I'm kind of in a state of shock, really. Three years. I've spent three years without magic. I haven't cast a single spell or brewed a single potion. I've had to learn a whole new way of life. The first few months were hell, after spending my entire life given the amazing privilege of a wand. It was an enormous shock realizing how truly lazy most wizards and witches are, and how much they take for granted. I've come to know the satisfaction of a job well done, and I've grown used to the idea that it will be seven more years before I can perform magic again. I've accepted it as best I can. I never left any room for hope that there could be a way to change it.

"I don't understand," I say, finding myself gripping the edge of the table. Potter reaches down to get his brown box, and he lays it down on the table next to his plate.

"It's really very simple. I don't think the Ministry is taking into account your safety, or the safety of any of the other former Death Eaters they've issued this punishment. You can't be expected to live out the rest of your sentence here at the Manor, just because it's the only place you feel safe. You shouldn't have to live that way, Draco."

Despite my shock, it's impossible to ignore the fact that this is the second time he's called me by my given name. The first time in the letter he sent me, but this time out loud, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Why does the return act of calling him Harry seem so intimate and wonderfully wrong?

"First of all," I begin, and do not go on, but I do roll up my left sleeve and let Potter take a good look at my inner arm, letting the clear skin there speak for itself.

Potter's eyes widen, and he eventually looks away from my arm to look me in the eye. "Fuck, Draco... do you realize what this is going to do for your case?" He opens his brown box with a click, and removes a small stack of papers and a quill. Amused, I watch as he begins to scrawl hurriedly, rolling my sleeve back up and crossing my arms in front of me on the table.

He lays the quill down on the table and looks up at me again so sharply I almost jump. "I'm also glad on a more personal level, you know. I didn't know for sure, and you know, at this point obviously it wouldn't have mattered all that much, at least not to me, but really... well, you know."

I find it a little hard to believe that it wouldn't have mattered to him if there had been a Dark Mark on my arm, but I don't push it. The fact is, there isn't one and never has been one, and so it doesn't matter what he hypothetically might have thought about it. I remind myself that if there were someone who might understand, it would be him.

"Thanks," I say softly, still a bit lost inside my own head. And I really am lost. Why? Why is Potter doing this? What reasons does he have to want to do something like this for me, of all people?

"Are you okay, Draco?" He says it again. My name. It's hard to look him in the eye and think of something to say to him at the same time, so I look away, and notice a single little blue faerie who's strayed a bit too far from the garden. She keeps fluttering into the window, over and over again. It's almost hilarious.

"I'm fine. It's just really difficult to understand... well, that is to say... Potter, just why are you doing this?" I finally turn back to look at him, and it doesn't seem that he's even faltered in his constant gaze.

Constant. That's a good word to describe Potter, I decide. He's a constant kind of friend, a constant force, constantly good. Constantly surprising me. He seems stunned that I don't understand why, and that's a surprise, too.

"You saved my life," Potter declares, shaking his head slowly from side to side as if he cannot possibly comprehend my ignorance in the matter. I feel faint. I feel as if the world has turned upside down since Potter entered my house. I what? "You saved my life the night they brought us here, and Hermione and Ron and Luna and Ollivander's life, too. Draco, I'm not trying to pull the 'Harry Potter' card for my own benefit at all, but... the fact that you saved my life? While that's immensely meaningful to me personally, it is also going to make one hell of a difference in the Wizengamot's decision to return your magic to you. How can I not help you? You've done nothing wrong, and they should have given you a trial three years ago instead of slapping this ridiculous punishment on you. I'm only sorry I wasn't more aware of the situation then. I'm very sorry, Draco."

"You're insane!" I'm shaking my head now, too. "Potter, I did the least possible I could have done in order to help you. I didn't even know if I wanted to help you. I was confused, I was a mess. How can you even say that I... because you saved mine, and I just... twice!"

"You did what you could, and it was enough. Please call me Harry. If you'd done anything more obvious, Voldemort might have killed you. I'm sure you were only... being... Slytherin." Harry ends on a weak note, looking up at me through his fringe as if I might be offended or something.

I'm not offended at all. I'm up on my feet suddenly, laughing quite obnoxiously and I'm sure Harry's confused. He stands too, facing me without the table in between us. "Potter, you're still insane. But if you want to try to swing it on technicalities, I guess I'm not complaining."

He raises an eyebrow at me, taking a step closer, which probably isn't a good idea. I'm almost shaking with nervous excitement at the prospect of having Harry Potter representing me in court, which is a situation in which I can almost see no way in which he wouldn't win. The wizarding world still worships the ground he walks on, and it's also true that he doesn't pull the 'Harry Potter' card often. Merlin! He knows it, too, he knows the awesome power he has. And he wants to use that power for me. If he gets any closer to me, I'm afraid I might kiss him. I'm nearly drowning in positive energy, which is something I can honestly say I've never felt before. It's hard to stop myself from moving forward, but I manage it.

He's fishing in his robes then, and he pulls out a wand. I'm on the defensive for about half a second until I realize he's holding the handle of it out toward me, and that it's mine. My old wand. My heart starts to race at the idea of touching it again. It's not like I expect it to work for me or anything, but even just the familiar feel of it would be comforting, I'm sure.

I don't find out immediately, because Potter's moving forward again, and this time he's definitely invaded my personal bubble. "I'm sorry I didn't give this back to you sooner," he says quietly. He presses the wand into my hand, his fingers resting on top of mine and I can't tell if the odd spark I feel is the fault of the wand, or because of Harry's warm skin moving over mine. All I know is that he lets go, and I let the wand fall to the floor. I move my hand forward again to take his hand in mine.

"Potter, I don't know how to thank you. What can I do?" I'm amazed that my voice is as calm and smooth as it is. Inside I feel like I'm about to explode.

"You can start calling me Harry," he whispers, and I wonder how and when he became close enough to be able to whisper into my ear. I shiver as his lips ghost the shell, and I am not sure what is happening.

"Harry," I say, unable to move. His name on my tongue, so foreign, sends a jolt through me. I feel frozen, as if any movement I make could completely destroy this. "Aren't you - " a tongue decides to explore the perimeter of my ear as well, and I gasp. "Aren't you engaged?" And since when are you gay? What the fucking fuck?

I feel him pause for a moment in his ministrations, but he does not pull away. "I was for a couple of weeks, before I came out to Ginny. We just - didn't want a big thing about it in the papers. We figured we'd wait until one of us had found someone else to make it public."

"So... you're gay?" I ask, feeling hands grip my waist and gently guide me towards the wall, next to the fireplace. I feel the warmth of the fire on the backs of my legs before I hit the wall.

"I'm very gay," Harry replies solemnly, and his eyes are upon mine. I don't know what to do with myself at this news, or at the feel of his fingers edging their way beneath my shirt. "Is this okay?"

I don't answer. Instead, I kiss him, and hope he gets the message. It's one of those kisses you imagine could only occur in your fantasies, and I know that sounds ridiculous, but maybe there is something cliche about Harry Potter and I, after all. He's all warmth and touch, and his lips open up immediately beneath mine. He kisses amazingly well, with the perfect blend of lip and tongue. There's pressure, but not too much. It's like he doesn't want to break me or something.

Well.

I slip my hand in between us to touch him through his trousers and robe, and I shiver at the feel of him, already half hard. I find that the first feel of someone else's cock really gives an idea of how things are going to play out from that moment on. If there had been any question before of my intentions, I hope my action has made them clear.

He bucks his hips against my hand in a quick spasm that he seems surprised by, as if his movements are somehow out of his control. "Hell, Draco," he gasps against my mouth, kissing me with bruising force and pulling my shirt from my trousers, unbuttoning it in earnest now.

I can feel him growing harder in my hand as he finally pulls my shirt open, and I rub him through his trousers, which are fast becoming a huge annoyance. I pull my hand away only momentarily in order to let the shirt fall to the floor, but he still moans as if I'm depriving him of oxygen or something. I smile, watching as he hurriedly removes his own red robes and the shirt underneath. I just trace the outline of his cock, quite aware of my own growing arousal. I'm harder than I can ever remember being, perhaps because I'd envisioned this moment in my mind so many times without ever thinking for a moment that it would become a reality. I'm kind of worried about having a heart attack, the damn thing is pounding that quickly in my chest. He feels so damn good.

His fingers trace my nipples and my head falls back to meet the very solid wall. He laughs softly, running his hands up higher to touch my cheeks and glide through my hair. Then he starts kissing my neck, and he's against me suddenly, flat and pinning me against the wall, trapping my hand tight between us. The sudden sensation on my cock is enough to make me gasp, which would have been embarrassing if he hadn't, too.

It's impossible not to move against him after that. He slips a knee in between my legs, and I move my hand out from between us to grip his waist and pull him closer to me with every thrust forward. His cock hits my thigh, grinds against it through the impossible fabric, and for me too it is just not enough. Not enough by far, but I can't bring myself to stop the glorious friction. Harry speeds up, and suddenly my breath is a staccato rhythm because of the pressure of him against my chest, and I'm completely unable to control the short bursts of air that are forced through my lungs each time his body collides against mine.

I have to stop it though, because I this is not how I want it to happen. I want to come with his cock buried deep inside me, and I want him to fill me up when he comes. I want to be face to face with him like this, want to feel his hands all over me.

My hands drift between us again, and he stops, breathing heavily and pulling away slightly to see my face. "No one's going to walk in on us, are they?"

I smirk, unbuttoning my trousers and slowly stepping out of them. My cock makes an obvious tent in my boxers, and Harry looks down. "Mother is shopping, which means she won't be home until dinnertime, at least."

"Good." Harry kneels down without preamble and is face to face with my cock. I fall back against the wall as he eases down my boxers and licks one long stripe from base to tip, and I shudder. My hands push back against the wall, but there is no leverage to gain. My boxers are around my ankles and there's nothing I can do but look down and watch him take the head into his mouth. His hands ease their way up my thighs and around to the back of them, and then they are gripping my arse, pulling me forward until I'm completely sheathed in his mouth. He does something amazing with his tongue and I throw my head back against the wall again with a grunt of pleasure.

The slow slide of his lips as he eases my cock out of his mouth makes me want to scream. His tongue is fluttering all around the head and one of his hands is feeling its way between my cheeks at the same time. Just one finger is making teasingly slow circles around my opening and I spread my legs a little wider, sliding slightly farther down the wall.

I look down, watching him suck me off. His eyes are shut and his face his flushed, and his jaw is stretched impossibly wide each time he takes me back into his mouth. I am shaking above him, struggling not to come right then and there, and I am not sure if it's the fact that I haven't had a proper blow job in several months or if it's that Harry Potter is giving me the best blow job of my life. Harry is kneeling and his own cock is sticking out of the hole in his boxers, hard and red and jolting forward every couple of seconds. I want to reach down at touch him again, skin to skin, but it's then that Harry's finger enters me for the first time.

I cry out at the feel of him inside me, even just that little bit of him. He must have cast a lubrication charm at some point that I missed, because there is no resistance, only the sweet glide of him opening me, fucking me with his finger. He finds my prostate and touches it once, and I dig my fingers into his hair and bite down hard on my lip. He is still sucking my cock, using his tongue all along the underside and the head and then there are two of his fingers inside of me and I know that I cannot last much longer like this.

"Stop, stop... need you in me, Harry," I mutter, hoping he is able to stop on his own because there is no way I can bring myself to physically stop him, not when I'm this close and not with that glorious mouth around me. I'm so close I'm trembling, my hands gripping his hair are shaking.

He stops sucking, kissing the head of my cock before letting it go and looking up to meet my eyes. He is still fucking me with his fingers and with each inward thrust my cock moves, bobbing just inches away from his mouth. I am coming apart at the seams above him, but I do not let myself look away from his intense gaze.

"You're absolutely gorgeous like this," he says, and his fingers do not pause as he speaks. "I've been dreaming about this for years, did you know that?" My eyes grow wider, but I do not say anything. I can't, not with his fingers hitting me there every two fucking seconds. "I've been thinking about what it would be like to fuck you ever since we ran into each other last week."

"Then do it," I whisper, my words accentuated by each inward and outward motion of his fingers. Slowly he gets to his feet, kissing his way up my stomach and chest and neck and eventually his fingers are out of me and I feel so utterly empty. I moan at the release and finally take his cock into my hand, rubbing the precome with my thumb and fisting slowly his entire length. I feel him shudder against me and I wrap my other arm around him, pulling him closer. My cock gets caught in the fabric of his boxers and it is so sensitive that I gasp.

"Can I Apparate us to your room?" he asks, and I nod. His arms encircle me and I am still holding his cock when we go. I have no idea how he knows where my room is, but I just assume it's some Auror thing he can do and go with it.

As soon as we arrive, I kick off my boxers and Harry removes his, too. He is staring at my bed hangings and duvet, which are both black. "Where are all the snakes?" he asks.

I laugh. "Spent a long time contemplating my bedsheets, have you?" He just nods, pulling me against him again. Our cocks meet between us and I buck once against him. "Have you thought about fucking me in my bed?"

"Fuck, yes," Harry says, almost a hiss in my ear. He is pushing me backwards towards the bed and I let him. My knees hit the edge and I fall, and Harry is on top of me. The weight of him is amazing, and my legs spread automatically. I shift upward just a bit, enough so that his cock can grace my arse cheeks, so that I can feel him near my entrance. I want him in me so much that the fact that he is not creates a phantom ache. My precome is leaking all over my stomach and I look into green eyes, feel him breathing heavily above me.

"Draco, will you go out to dinner with me tonight?" he asks, licking his lips nervously. I can feel his cock twitching, cradled in my arse and I almost want to laugh.

"You're... are you asking me out?"

He nods.

"You're about to fuck me, but you feel the need to ask me out, first?"

Harry's face colors. "I've been thinking about asking you out since last week, too."

I can't help it. I grab his face and pull him down to me, and I kiss him. He is surprised at first but then he kisses me back, his cock slowly sliding against my hole. "That's a yes, by the way," I gasp, pulling away for just a moment before kissing him again. I feel him smile against my lips. Then I feel the head of his cock catch on my arsehole before sliding away again and Harry's breath hitches in his chest.

"If you don't fuck me right now, I will not go out to dinner with you," I warn, lifting my hips to try to find him again. Harry grins, reaching a hand down to position himself. When he's properly lined up, he grabs my hands in his, pulling them up to either side of my head. He leans down to kiss me and a second later I feel the head of his cock enter me.

I make a mental note to ask what spell he's used, because there is no resistance at all but the friction is glorious and warm. He fucks me slowly at first, only allowing the head in and out of me. I attempt to impale myself further, but he only pulls himself back, and if the bastard weren't kissing me at the moment I would be vocalizing my unhappiness about this but I can only moan in frustration at the denial.

In one swift movement, he enters me fully. The wind is knocked out of me. It burns, but the feel of him completely within me is beyond anything I'd ever fantasized about. It takes me a second or two before I remember to breath.

"You feel amazing," Harry whispers against my lips, and then he starts to move above me. I wrap my legs around his thighs and meet him with every thrust. My hands still gripped tightly in his begin to sweat, and his fingers release mine and we are palm to palm, chest to chest and cock to arse. He moves inconsistently, slowly for a few thrusts and then several short hard ones. Never knowing what to expect makes the anticipation nearly unbearable.

I manage to free one of my hands and I grab myself, stroking in time with his thrusts. His stomach graces the head of my cock as he moves, leaving behind small trails of come. Then he moves differently again, in a small, circular motion. He is not thrusting but simply twisting his hips, making his cock reach into other regions within me, inadvertently hitting my prostate.

I cry out, and it's then I realize that my prostate is what he must have been searching for if the smug look on his face is anything to go by. I want to tease him, but can't really focus on anything other than the fact that his cock is hitting me there again and again, now that he's found the angle. One of his hands pushes mine away from my cock and he grips it himself, timing the strokes perfectly so that there is never a beat without pleasure. Prostate, cock, prostate, cock.

I am moaning and breathing, no longer meeting him for thrusts but simply holding on to him for dear life. He's balanced on one shaking arm but he never falters, never ceases in his fucking or his stroking and I'm so close, I've been close so many times and I'm about to fall over the edge of it now.

With a low cry, my orgasm hits me. I'm arching my back as my come hits his stomach, and he speeds up his thrusts, both hands supporting himself and I know he's fucking me for his own pleasure, now. I ride out my orgasm, meeting him again for each thrust, wanting to make it as fucking amazing for him as it was for me. I look up at him then to find he's looking right back down at me, and I wonder if he's ever looked away.

His lasts few thrusts are deep and fast, and then he's coming, burying his face in my neck. I can feel his cock pulsating, feel him empty himself inside me. I moan at the sensation, realizing I've never been coherent enough to really pay attention to what this feels like. He collapses on top of me, sweaty and warm and I don't want him to take his cock out yet. I love the connection between us, and I love just knowing that he's inside me. I wrap my arms around him and realize how glad I am that he asked me out first.

He kisses me on the cheek before letting his softening cock slide out of me, and I sigh. He rolls off of me, but he pulls me around to face him. I place on hand on his cheek.

"We forgot about lunch entirely," I whisper with a grin.

He grins back at first, but then he frowns. "I forgot the proposal on the table."

"Don't worry. The house elves know better than to move or handle guest's personal items. It'll be fine," I assure him. "Are you all that hungry?"

"Not really." He leans forward to kiss me. "I can't seem to get motivated to let go of you."

"Then don't," I whisper again, wondering when exactly my life decided to fall into place.

...

Boy grows up hearing nightmare-inducing tales of Boy. Boy meets Boy. Boy sees something in Boy that Father's never mentioned, that Boy has more of than Father's ever had - kindness, modesty, potential. But Boy wants none of Boy. Boy almost kills Boy. Boy saves Boy's life. Boy notices how hot Boy is. Boy saves Boy's life again.

Boy and Boy live happily ever after.

The end.

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28
 
29
 
30