Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Harry, Draco/Astoria, Harry/Ginny, background Ron/Hermione, mention of Draco/OMCs
Word Count: ~4,200/~37,000
Content/Warnings: post-war, post-hogwarts, auror Harry, professional Seeker Draco, blow jobs, fingering, first time, anal sex, rimming, intergluteal sex, comeplay, switching, fuck buddies, epilogue-compliant
Summary: More than a year after the end of the war, fate seems intent on pushing Harry and Draco together.
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Previous Chapter on LJ
Months passed, and Draco put Astoria's proposition out of his head. He wasn't ready for that life yet, and his time had not quite run out. As expected, Astoria had been thrilled with the drafting table, and eagerly set it up in one of the spare rooms in Draco's wing. Many a night Draco would come home from training to the sound of gentle Italian music and the sight of Astoria sketching dreamily down the hall. It filled Draco with an almost uncomfortable warmth, having somebody to come home to. Even if that someone wasn't male. Wasn't Harry.
The downside to Astoria being around so much more was that she inevitably noticed his frequent overnight disappearances. Draco had taken to sleeping over at Harry's flat after he started shagging him blind. It just seemed polite, really. Draco ignored the voice in his head that felt the need to bring up the fact that Draco had never been so concerned with etiquette with any of the other men he had fucked. Thankfully, though, Astoria never asked him where he went, and never called attention to his absence, save for the occasional raised brow and knowing smile.
In March, Draco's manager called him over and told him that Hemsley was planning on officially retiring soon, and that they were ready for Draco to be the starting Seeker in the upcoming match against the Tunstill Tornados. Draco nearly wet himself with excitement. The night before the match he felt like he might actually vibrate out of his skin with nerves. Luckily, Harry was there to calm him down, offering his arse up to Draco's furious passion until they both collapsed in a sticky, sated mess.
Though they couldn't interact, Draco knew that Harry was out there in the crowd, watching him start in his first game. It filled him with an inexplicable happiness, knowing that Harry's eyes were on him. Somehow, he was sure that Harry would not be following the Chasers with the Quaffle or the Beaters swinging their bats. No, Harry's eyes would be on him the entire game. It made Draco feel invincible.
He had never flown so well in his life, dodging Bludgers and weaving around players all while scanning the skies for a flash of gold. When he finally spotted the fluttering Snitch, he raced forward without a second thought, distantly noting that the Tornados' Seeker was nowhere in the vicinity. Draco scooped the Snitch out of the air like it was nothing, and it almost felt too easy. Then he heard the crowd chanting his name, thousands of Puddlemere fans cheering him on, and Draco knew there had been nothing easy about this, nothing simple about getting to this point.
His team swarmed him when they touched down, a swirl of blue and gold back-slaps and gruff hugs and approving eyes. It might not be invitations to their children's Christenings, but it was a start.
Draco stopped to answer the media's questions, knowing that positive exposure would be key in reforming his public image. He did his best to stay humble and grateful, praising the work of his team, and the faith of his manager for offering him this opportunity. By the time he got to the changing rooms, they were empty. Draco didn't bother changing or showering; he could do that later. Instead, he grabbed his bag and Apparated.
Harry was waiting for him by the sofa when Draco appeared in the living room. His eyes dilated as they swept over Draco, still clad in his Quidditch gear.
"Did you see that catch?"
"You were brilliant," Harry growled. A beat, two, and then they were both moving, bodies crashing together in the centre of the room, their lips snagging in a passionate kiss.
"Fuck, Draco, the way you fly," Harry moaned between kisses.
"Yeah, God, it's obscene." Draco smiled against Harry's cheek, pressing fervent kisses along his jaw and the column of his throat.
"You're so graceful. Powerful. All I could think about was you fucking me. How your hips twist and roll as you slam into my arse. I can still feel it, still feel your cock in me from last night."
Draco shuddered, his mind going hazy with want. "Salazar, Harry, are you trying to kill me?"
Harry's only response was a guttural groan as Draco scraped his teeth along his jutting collarbone. This was not enough. Draco wanted more, needed more. His hands slipped down and squeezed Harry's arse, and Harry shuddered in his arms.
"Uh—" Draco looked around, trying to find a horizontal surface. "The sofa arm, bend over it."
Harry scrambled over, dropping his trousers, but hesitating next to the sofa. "I'm still—erm—a little sore. I don't think I can…"
"I won't fuck you," Draco assured him. He only wanted to look, to feel the taut globes of Harry's arse.
Harry nodded and leaned over the arm of the sofa, propping himself up on his elbows and sticking his arse up in the air. Draco's mouth went dry. He slid his palms up over hairy thighs and tugged Harry's pants down to expose his arse. Digging his thumbs into the crease, he pried Harry's cheeks apart. His blood rushed south as he exposed Harry's hole, pink and swollen and well-used from the memory of Draco's cock. Draco wanted to sooth it, wanted to wash away any lingering aches. Before he even registered the thought, he was on his knees. His movements were somewhat stiff and awkward, constrained as he was by the braces and guards of his uniform, but it didn't stop him from taking in the sweet musky smell and the way Harry quivered beneath his hands.
"What're you doing?"
Draco licked at the crease between Harry's arse and thigh, his tongue flicking closer and closer to his true goal. "Don't worry, you'll like this."
He didn't give Harry time to respond before he swiped his tongue up over Harry's rim. The flesh was hot and wrinkled, strangely pleasing. More pleasing were Harry's breathy gasps as Draco did it again and again. Draco could feel the muscle relaxing, letting him in as he sucked and licked. Draco wanted so badly to bury his cock in this tight, sweet place, but he didn't want to hurt Harry. And Harry seemed to quite enjoy this if the way he was moaning and trembling and bucking back against Draco's face was any indication.
Harry whined in frustration, and Draco realised that his position made it difficult for him to wank himself while Draco ate him out. Luckily, Draco had zero problem helping him with that particular problem. He slid his hand up Harry's leg, his fingers teasing at Harry's inner thigh until they reached the thick base of Harry's cock. The angle was a little awkward, but Draco managed, letting Harry move his arse back against his tongue with graceful rolls of his hips while Draco worked his prick. Draco hadn't ever done this before—his back-room hook-ups never left much time for foreplay. He'd never mourned the loss, but now, with the feeling of Harry's arse around his tongue and the heady scent of Harry's arousal filling his nostrils, he couldn't imagine not having this. Harry's cock was fever hot and so fucking hard in his hand, and Draco shivered to remember the feel of it stretching his mouth wide. He moaned hungrily into Harry's arse and twisted his wrist. With a sudden shout, Harry came.
Harry slumped against the sofa as he reached his peak, his hole pulsing under Draco's tongue as his cock emptied into Draco's hand. Draco's own cock was aching with the need to come, and he pushed himself off the floor, tearing open his trousers with his clean hand to pull out his cock. Slicking himself up with Harry's release, he slapped the head of his cock against Harry's saliva-drenched hole. It would be so easy to slide inside, and Draco had to exert every last ounce of his willpower to resist temptation. He was too close anyways. He wouldn't last more than five seconds inside the gripping heat of Harry.
Instead, he pressed Harry's arse cheeks together and thrust his cock into the tight channel they created. His cock head caught on Harry's relaxed rim on every thrust, and he knew that if he asked, Harry would let him press inside. It still blew Draco's mind, sometimes, the trust that Harry placed in him, the things he let Draco do to him. He was gorgeous and eager and so, so willing and sometimes Draco thought, in another world, if he were braver, then maybe…
His orgasm came on him suddenly, nearly bowling him over with the force of it as come spilled between Harry's cheeks. Harry's arse was a mess, the skin red and smeared with saliva and come. Draco had never seen anything hotter.
He swirled his fingers through his release, rubbing it onto Harry's skin. "Fuck, you're filthy."
Harry looked at him over his shoulder, green eyes sparkling under sooty lashes. "Whose fault is that?" He pushed himself up.
"You seemed to like it well enough." Draco grabbed his wand, reluctantly casting a cleaning charm on the both of them. Harry smiled warmly.
"I did, yeah. You've never done that to me before." Harry collapsed back against the sofa in obvious satisfaction and summoned a large, comfortable looking blanket from the corner. He looked pointedly at the empty end of the sofa, before covering himself. Draco began to peel off his Quidditch gear, not wanting to climb onto the sofa in the rigid uniform.
"I've never done it before at all. But I wanted to, with you." Draco didn't know why he had admitted his inexperience when usually he tried so hard to come off as knowledgeable and worldly. Harry didn't seem to mind. His face creased into a small little half smile at Draco's confession.
"That was a hell of a game," Harry said, gesturing at the growing pile of Quidditch gear on the floor.
Draco grinned. "It was, wasn't it? And I won us the match."
"You did at that. I reckon your father's got to see the merit in your playing now, what with the way the fans were chanting your name."
Draco grimaced. That would be the logical conclusion, but though he had yet to speak to his father since the match, he knew that would not be the case. "One would think," he said sullenly. "Merlin help me if I ever have children."
Harry looked at him thoughtfully, as Draco climbed under the blanket on the couch. Their bare legs brushed together, and Draco saw his resulting shiver mirrored in Harry. "Do you want children?" Harry blurted out.
Draco paused, thrown off guard by the question. That was the kind of thing you asked somebody you were serious about, wasn't it? It was a way to gauge long-term compatibility. Though Astoria was well aware that he only intended to have the one child, and he certainly had no designs on her. No matter how practical it may be. "You know, I don't think anybody has ever asked me that before."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Why not? Don't you and your friends talk about that sort of thing? The future, your plans."
Draco smiled grimly. "No, my friends and I have never been prone to long discussions about our future plans." There was no point in talking about the future when it had already been all mapped out. None of Draco's friends had been under any illusions about what their roles in the world would be. They would do whatever their parents expected of them. "I suppose that's because it doesn't really matter."
Harry's eyes softened, as if he'd heard exactly what Draco had left unsaid. His hand found Draco's and a rough thumb caressed the inside of Draco's wrist. A comforting gesture that both soothed and terrified Draco. "In the grand scheme of things probably not. But I think it probably matters a lot to you."
Draco laughed, the sound only a little bitter. "No, I meant that whether or not I want children is irrelevant. I will have to procreate, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter."
Harry opened his mouth as if to respond, but then sighed and closed his mouth. He looked at Draco again with those penetrating eyes, before continuing, "Okay, but say you didn't need to produce an heir or continue the bloodline, or any of that. Would you still plan on having kids? If you had a choice, what would you choose?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe not." Draco let out a gusty exhale of breath, heart racing at the confession. "As it is, I only want to have the one. One child, one heir. Perhaps I wouldn't even want that, if I had a choice. I…" He paused, trying to find the right words for the indecision that churned in his stomach. "I haven't had the best role models in my life, particularly when it comes to father figures." Draco had always tried not to let himself think about the reality of a child, that he would be a father someday. He didn't want to lose himself in the paralysing fear that he would fuck it all up, that he would make all the wrong choices with his child, as he had made all the wrong choices as a child. He didn't want his son or daughter to feel towards him the way Draco did towards his parents, towards his father especially. He wasn't sure he could avoid it though. It felt inevitable. What if, despite his best efforts, he still turned into Lucius? What if, in thirty years, his child burned with the same simmering mixture of resentment and pain and fury and fear that he felt for his own father, unsure if he wanted to curse him or fall at his feet and beg for his love and forgiveness? Draco didn't know if he could bear that.
"I didn't grow up with the best father figure either. I don't think that means we're doomed to make the same mistakes." Harry flashed a wry smile, and Draco's own fears were temporary overshadowed by the same fury that had overcome him when Harry had first shared the story of his childhood. Those Muggles were everything his father had taught him to loathe and fear. He knew that not all of them were like that, but he still didn't know how Harry could have been raised by those monsters and still have fought so valiantly to defend them and others like them. He was right though. Harry would not make those same mistakes with his own children. He would be a brilliant father.
Draco wanted to believe that applied to him as well, that Harry overcoming his upbringing meant the same would hold true for Draco. He knew it was a completely different situation. Harry had resisted from the outset. He had rejected the vitriol and poisonous thoughts and beliefs held by his relatives. His innate goodness had shone through. Draco was not sure he had innate goodness. He was weak. He had worshipped his father, had followed him blindly into the darkness. Even now, he could feel his seething hatred for Harry's Muggle relatives burning through him, a lifetime of prejudice whispering that Muggles were stupid and common and dangerous. He fought against the instinctual thoughts, but it frightened him that they were still there, that they were still the first thing he reached for.
Draco nodded, hoping that Harry hadn't noticed his internal struggle. He could tell that wish was futile by the concerned glint in Harry's eye. Harry always had been too damned observant for his own good. "I suppose you want a whole gaggle of children, then?" he asked, hoping to distract Harry from any probing questions.
Harry grinned, the distraction taking hold. "I don't know about a gaggle, but I definitely want kids. At least two, maybe three or even four. I've always wanted a big family. Babies laughing, children running down the stairs, dogs yapping, and moody teenagers slamming their doors. I want it all." He smiled broadly up at the ceiling, the joy of this future written so clearly across his face. Draco's heart hurt at the sight of it. He told himself it was only the certainty that he was envious of. It was only that Draco wished that he, too, could be as confident in his ability to raise children, as pleased with his lot in life. Instead, all Draco could see was Harry and a flame-haired wife surrounded by a horde of happy, ginger babies. Jealousy seethed in his gut.
"You'll make a good father," Draco finally managed. It was true. Draco thought he did a fairly good job of masking the bitterness underneath the words.
"Yeah?" Harry's face creased into a gentle, pleased smile, and he looked Draco dead in the eye, expression earnest. "I don't think you'll be as bad as you think. The fact that you're even worried about it says a lot, you know."
Draco's insides squirmed uncomfortably with the praise, with the faith that Harry was putting in him, faith that Draco didn't feel he deserved. "Yes, well, why don't we talk some more about how wonderful I was in the game today. Talking about children is ruining my afterglow."
Harry's hand squeezed Draco's, but he followed Draco's change in conversation. "The way that you dodged that bludger from the Tornado's beater was a nice bit of flying."
Draco grinned, eagerly latching onto a subject that did not lead to thoughts of the terror of parenthood. He did his best to ignore lingering tightness in his chest at the idea of Harry being a father. It was not a surprise, really; Draco had always assumed that Harry wanted a big family.
It was simply another item on the long list of reasons why Harry and he would never work. Not that Draco had ever been considering a relationship between them in the first place. That would have been ridiculous.
In the year plus that he and Harry had been doing...whatever it is they were doing exactly, there had been several times that one or the other of them had to cancel. Pansy would break up with her newest beau and need to go out for drinks, or the Aurors would send Harry off on some extended mission, or either of them would be in a mood and wouldn't feel up for company. The point was, it was hardly the first time Draco had received an owl from Harry, letting him know that he would not be around that night. This time, it was for some last minute Weasley dinner to celebrate the recent promotion of one of their many children—Draco could hardly be expected to keep track. So it shouldn't have surprised Draco, shouldn't have filled him with an almost unbearable disappointment. It was only one night. Draco could survive without sex for one night. Before this arrangement with Harry, he had survived rather a lot of them.
As he lay that night in his bed, tossing and turning fitfully, unable to fall asleep, Draco thought that maybe it was time for him to admit, if only to himself, that it was no longer only about sex. What started as a casual hookup several times a week, had turned into Draco spending most nights in Harry's bed. Draco had grown so used to falling asleep next to him, had grown so used to the warm, sleepy weight of Harry curled against him, that he was finding it near impossible to sleep alone in his own coldly comfortable bed.
Draco had never invited Harry over to the Manor, for obvious reasons, but lying now in his bed, having Harry with him was all he could think about. He could practically taste the warm salt of his skin, feel the solid grip of his hands, see the perfect arch of his spine. The sex was fantastic—the best that Draco had ever had—and it only seemed to get better as time went on. Now he knew that he could make Harry shudder and shake just by licking at the sensitive skin behind his right knee, and Harry had quickly discovered that nothing got Draco as desperate as a long, messy, drawn-out blow job.
It shouldn't be like this between them, it shouldn't feel so intense and uncontrollable. Though Draco supposed he shouldn't be surprised—when had things ever been simple between them? Harry had always gotten under his skin, and Draco had no idea why he had ever thought this would be any different. Draco's entire body burned for Harry when they were apart, and his hands constantly itched to reach out and touch when they were together.
If that was all it was, though, if Draco was only dealing with an insatiable lust for Harry's body, then it might have been manageable. Unfortunately, Draco had also become unbearably attached the rest of him. When they weren't fucking on every available surface, they were talking and bickering and laughing. Draco found himself confiding in Harry, spilling his deepest secrets, somehow knowing that they would be safe with Harry. More bewildering, though, was that Harry confided in him in return. He told Draco about dying in the Forbidden Forest, about his nightmares, about the terrible guilt he felt for all the deaths in the war, all the people he had lost. Draco knew he was hearing confessions that only a few privileged people had heard, and the fact that Draco was one of them...he didn't know what to do with that sometimes.
How could Harry trust him like that? Give him his body and his secrets like Draco was somebody to be trusted. As if Draco hadn't spent years of his life making all the wrong decisions, proving that he wasn't worth the kind of faith that Harry was putting in him. He wanted to think Harry some kind of naïve, too-trusting fool. What kind of a man told his fuck buddy his darkest secrets? What kind of a man traded confidences with somebody he barely liked, with somebody he did not even care for?
That was the problem though. Harry was not a fool, he had never been too-trusting, and Draco was beginning to feel quite certain that he did care for Draco, rather a lot. All the conflicted, overpowering feelings he had been having for Harry...well, Draco had been seeing them reflected right back at him in Harry's eyes. He felt it in the almost reverent way Harry would touch him late at night. He saw it in the way Harry's eyes would soften and his gaze would turn fond whenever he and Draco traded insincere barbs. He knew it by all his casually thoughtful gestures, like how Harry always had Draco's favourite brand of wine on hand, despite the fact that Harry hated the taste.
Draco started this thing between them knowing that there was an expiration date. He was always planning on getting married, and a relationship with a man was never in the cards. Not for him. The fact that the man in question was Harry Potter was only further proof that there was never going to be anything real between them. Just because there were feelings involved now, didn't mean anything had changed.
So why did Draco feel like things had? Why did he feel like his whole world was crumbling around him? He had never been all that enthusiastic about his future, about marrying and procreating and fulfilling his familial obligations, but he had been accepting. It was what it was and there was no point getting worked up about it. Now, though, the thought of leaving Harry behind, of suppressing who he was for the good of the Malfoy name, filled him with impending dread.
Was it really so impossible, being with Harry? Sure, neither of them had admitted anything close to deeper feelings, nor had they told anybody that they had been...enjoying each other's company. It would be difficult, dealing with the media and Harry's friends. Draco would probably be disowned, and who knew how the rest of the wizarding world would react to their Savior shacking up not only with an ex-Death Eater, but a man at that.
The thought of the repercussions had Draco's stomach in knots. He was being an idiot and an idealistic fool. Did Draco really think he could give up everything—his family, his friends, and what little progress he had made towards repairing his family name? And for what? For Harry? Did he really think that Harry would ever sacrifice so much just to be with Draco? And more importantly, did Draco really want him to?
They didn't want the same future. Harry wanted things that Draco could never give him. Children, a family, a real home. All he would get with Draco was, well, Draco. And Draco would come with a lot of nasty strings attached.
It was beyond fantasy, but it didn't stop Draco from dreaming. As much as the idea of being with Harry terrified him, he was beginning to think that the idea of being without Harry terrified him more.
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