lomonaaeren | Part Eight of 'Siege Mentality'- No More Delays

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Part VIII. No More Delays.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, and lay there in warm contentment for so long that he began to wonder what had happened. Normally, he never woke like this. His own bed seemed to have problems that caused him to toss and turn and constantly wake up with pains in his neck or side no matter how he enchanted it. He had even bought a new bed, only to have the same thing happen. Hermione teased him about just not knowing how to sleep after so many years of waking up to rush straight into danger any moment.

Besides, he didn’t have someone to share the bed. He’d had a few one-night stands since Draco left, but no one who could make the experience of sleeping any more comfortable for him.

And now there was definitely someone in the bed with him.

Harry turned his head slightly, his hair tickling what felt like a nose and making someone sneeze. The person moaned sleepily, smacked his lips, and flung an errant arm and leg over Harry’s side, mumbling all the way. Harry thought he could make out the existence of several words idly threatening him with the loss of his limbs if he didn’t stop making noise, which was pretty rich considering that he was the one who sounded like a hungry dragon hatchling.

And then memory came back, and Harry closed his eyes with a deep exhalation and a feeling of happiness that swirled in the middle of his chest like hot chocolate.

“Draco,” he murmured, reaching back until his hand tangled in soft blond hair and stroking back and sideways. He knew that would wake Draco up; he reacted to the mussing of his hair like a cat whose fur was rubbed the wrong way. “I want to talk to you.”

A powerful hand caught his wrist, and Draco hissed into his ear, “You’re just lucky that I slept so well I’m in a good mood and willing to hear what you want to say before I kill you.”

Harry smiled lazily. If there was one thing he was confident in, it was his power to bring pleasure to a partner. He hadn’t had as many lovers as someone like Draco probably had, but he could concentrate on those few and coax them into ecstasies that they hadn’t experienced before they shared his bed.

And now it was Draco’s turn to feel that.

He rolled over.

*

Draco didn’t like stirring from his comfortable sleep. It felt better than he had ever imagined sleep could. Certainly, as his broken memories from his years in France returned to him, he knew that he had spent far too many nights staring at the ceiling whilst thoughts about heritage and identity ran riot through his head.

Now he knew that he wouldn’t ever have come to peace with those thoughts, at least not without outside interference—which had been one of the things that allowed the curse to manifest in the first place. His Black ancestor had probably realized how insecure he was and tried to give him a gift that she hoped would place him in more accord with his mother’s family.

Not that it worked the way she intended.

But Harry was whispering his name and didn’t seem to understand his need for peace and quiet, so Draco determined that he’d have to show him. Especially when Harry started messing up his hair. Didn’t he understand that Draco would look undignified enough in the morning, given how charms to keep his hair straight and unmussed tended to come undone during the night? There was no need to make it look worse.

He caught Harry’s hand and whispered, “You’re just lucky that I slept so well I’m in a good mood and willing to hear what you want to say before I kill you.”

Harry lay still for a good minute, and Draco was impressed with himself. The threat was effective, then, and he would lie down meekly and go back to sleep, so that they could enjoy—

Then Harry rolled over, freeing himself from Draco’s hold with a twist that they probably taught him in Auror training, and began to kiss Draco.

No, be accurate, Draco chided himself, the way his mother or father would have. Harry pinned Draco to the bed with his lips. His mouth was open from the beginning—apparently, he considered close-lipped kisses gauche—and his hands sliding down and dipping under the shirt Draco had worn to bed as if they’d been lovers half a dozen times. His fingers flattened and fluttered on the bare skin, and then rose to make circles around Draco’s nipples. Just one circle, and his nipples hardened. Draco knew that he’d flushed, and a fairly fiery blush at that. What would Harry think of him, so responsive to someone he’d only kissed the day before, someone he’d never shared a bed with?

He and I have never been lovers. There are bound to be misconceptions.

But when he finally opened his eyes and looked, Harry was giving him a lazy smile, the visual equivalent of a drawl, that made Draco’s protests dry up. Harry leaned in again and nipped at his mouth, first the left side and then the right, to make sure they got equal attention. His fingers continued moving around Draco’s nipples, then closed in when Draco had almost got used to that and pinched. Draco squeaked, arching his back. He flushed some more. That was a reaction to being touched there that he’d never managed to get rid of, no matter how he tried.

“I think,” Harry said, his lips so close to Draco’s mouth that Draco was surprised he could hear the words, “that we’re both overdressed. Let’s remedy that, hmmm?” And his tongue ran across Draco’s again in a teasing, playful lick that would have made Draco painfully hard if he wasn’t there already.

Draco squealed something wordless that Harry must have taken for acceptance, because the next moment he was enthusiastically pulling off Draco’s shirt. His hands immediately returned to Draco’s nipples. Draco writhed and panted and finally pulled Harry’s hands away from him. “Stop that,” he whispered harshly, “or I’ll come before we’re undressed.”

The smile Harry gave him a moment later was enough to make all the playing with his nipples seem insignificant. “Really?” Harry whispered back, his breath too warm on Draco’s skin. Draco wished he could do something other than writhe, but it seemed to be a lost cause. “We’ll have to do something about that.” He licked his lips, and his eyelids drooped over his eyes, changing his expression in a way Draco had never imagined they could. Of course, he’d mostly thought about Harry in a sexual capacity before he’d left Britain and not after. “But some other time,” Harry added, making Draco sigh a little in relief. “I want to enjoy you fully this time. Trousers off.”

Draco sat up to drag them off, his heart beating frantically. With arousal and anticipation, of course, he thought, looking at Harry, who sat back on his heels and stared at Draco avidly as he started unbuttoning his own shirt, but with something more than that. Relief at being wanted, maybe, by someone he’d so strongly wanted for himself.

He’d had other lovers. But each time, Draco had thought he desired them more than they desired him. He had no fears that Harry would fail to make an equal return.

The advantage of having a lover who is more Gryffindor than Slytherin, he thought as he shrugged off his shirt, and tried to ignore both the urge to laugh giddily and the thought that such school distinctions didn’t matter anymore, with them as old as they were. Harry watching him made him feel young.

*

Harry had to swallow several times as Draco undressed. God, he was going to drool if he didn’t watch out, and how would Draco take that, when he was probably sophisticated in ways that Harry could only imagine?

But Harry still looked forwards to finding out what those sophistications were, so that he could appreciate them properly and blend them into his ideas of Draco’s pleasure.

Draco’s body was far from perfect. The scars Harry had given him from his Sectumsempra were still there. So was a series of parallel slashes across his right shoulder that had healed into an odd silvery color and which made Harry wonder if a magical creature had scratched him. He was thinner than Harry remembered. Of course, it’s probably hard to get enough to eat when you’re running away from creatures of your imagination. And he was dirty still from their adventures in the country of black sand.

But that didn’t matter. What did was that Harry was finally seeing his idea of the unknown become known. He had wanted to know what Draco looked like. And now he did, and seeing it made him swallow again with wonder.

Draco was naked when Harry had only shrugged his shirt off. Well, that made sense, Harry thought, soothing his own impatience. He’d had a head start with his shirt already off. And then Harry gave in, because at the moment he simply couldn’t give enough attention to undoing his trousers, and reached out to caress Draco’s cock.

Draco gaped and then fell backwards with a silly kind of tumble, as if he was really surprised that Harry would want to touch him that way. He cocked his head over his shoulder and looked up with slow blinks, then propped himself on one elbow, so he could watch, along with Harry, as Harry’s hand slowly and insistently stroked him.

Harry hummed softly. Draco’s skin was hot as fever under his fingertips, and the slightest squeeze or poke made him arch the way he had when Harry touched his nipples. “I see this part of your body is sensitive, too,” he whispered.

Draco gave him a distinctly unimpressed look. “Of course, you idiot,” he said. “What you’re doing—ah—ah.” And then he fell silent and lost himself in mindless trembling for a moment, because Harry had increased his strokes as punishment.

Harry levered himself carefully forwards, pushing until Draco lay on his back and Harry rested on top of him, chest to chest. More shifting around let him find a comfortable angle where he could go on stroking Draco despite their position, and he applied several soft kisses to his cheeks and chin and lips as he touched him.

Draco was making soft little puffing noises now. Sometimes, his eyes crossed. He reached up and grasped Harry’s hair, as if he meant to direct his head to give him firmer kisses, but his pleasure made his hands weak. Harry chuckled and went on delicately torturing him, noticing what touches made Draco gasp and which he squirmed away from, and increasing the first category.

“Harry.” Draco whispered at last, and Harry thought he’d been struggling to say the words for at least two minutes. “I’m going to come.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” Harry said solicitously, pulling back despite the fact that that was torture for him and removing his hand from Draco’s cock. Draco let out a disappointed whine that continued only until Harry reared back and began to pull off the last of his own clothes.

Draco lifted one hand to shield his face, as if he thought he would be blinded by such beauty. Harry rolled his eyes at him and smiled.

“Tease,” Draco said.

“Oh, never,” Harry said, and let his voice get lower the way it’d been trying to for some time. He was amused to see Draco arch again just from his words. “A tease promises what he won’t deliver—or what he can’t, to use the term I think is the more accurate one. I’m going to give you everything you can handle, Draco.”

*

Draco shivered at the look on Harry’s face, but without a hand on his cock or fingers playing over his nipples, he felt more than competent to respond verbally. “Really?” he asked, arching a brow. “And how would you know anything about what I can handle?”

“I know you,” Harry said easily, and dragged his trousers and pants down together in one fluid motion, just as Draco had done. Draco scowled. They really do teach him everything in Auror training. “I know the way you squirm and gasp, now. I know that you pretend to be harder than fuck, but you’re soft underneath. Well,” he amended, as his eyes came to rest on Draco’s erection again, “some places you’re harder than fuck.”

“Soft,” Draco snarled, and then pounced on Harry and dragged him back into a kiss. Harry writhed, his feet still caught in the puddles of his trousers. Draco pressed him down and held him there, determined to keep him still until he apologized for implying that Draco was weak like some sort of girl.

Harry slid a leg neatly between Draco’s and rubbed his thigh against Draco’s cock. Draco dropped his head forwards, thoughts growing vague and hazy. He was almost humping Harry’s leg by the time Harry pulled it away and pinned him to the bed in turn.

“I know you,” Harry went on whispering, as if their previous conversation had never been interrupted. “I know that you need something more than just desire. And that’s what I’m prepared to give you, Draco. We were friends. We’re going to be lovers now.” His eyes were brilliant as he reached over and picked up his wand. A flick, and a puddle of lubricant covered his wand hand. Draco tried not to think about how many times he must have used that spell, if he could do it nonverbally. He could have used it for wanking as well as having other lovers, he argued with himself. “God, I want you so much.”

Draco had been going to respond sarcastically, but Harry’s last words disarmed him. He could only lie there gasping as Harry wriggled his fingers, moving the lubricant around evenly, and then slid his hand down to Draco’s entrance. His eyes were hooded again, full of distant fire.

It had been a long time since someone had penetrated Draco, but he spread his legs willingly and lifted his arse when Harry’s finger circled and dived in. He’d used more than enough lubricant, to the point where it squelched and Draco laughed. Harry smiled faintly, but he never took his eyes off Draco’s, and his finger never stopped moving. Draco wondered idly if he’d be the kind who wanted Draco’s legs over his shoulders, or if he’d prefer it with Draco on his hands and knees. They’d discussed sex and men during their conversations before Draco had moved, but Harry had been so shy about discussing his preferences that Draco had almost begun to believe he was reserved in bed, too.

Not reserved, Draco figured out as Harry’s second finger nudged in beside the first, both of them pumping so regularly and strongly that Draco could have mistaken them for Harry’s cock if they were thicker. Just private. There was nothing shy about the way he watched Draco’s face, greedy for every hint of expression, but there was also a kind of intensity that Draco couldn’t imagine experiencing outside the bedroom. It would set nearby people on fire and make Harry even more pursued than he already was.

Draco abruptly swallowed. He had just remembered that he knew nothing of Harry’s life in the years since they stopped exchanging letters. What if Harry had a regular lover, or someone he’d broken up with but would go back to after he’d rescued Draco? He had every intention of keeping Harry, but it might not be possible.

Harry leaned down then and began to kiss him with such force that Draco had to stop worrying and devote a lot of time just to breathing. Then Harry pulled back and shook his head. His fingers never stopped their steady pumping.

“Don’t doubt me,” Harry whispered. “I can’t tell you how long this feels like it’s been coming, now. I won’t desert you. I don’t want anyone else. No one else could compare to you, Draco.”

Things lovers had said to him before, and yet Draco had never taken them so seriously. And it was impossible to believe Harry was joking, with the way his eyes widened and his pupils dilated and his mouth opened, baring his teeth. Really, he looked like a predator hunting down prey.

Draco found such attention absolutely irresistible. Not enough people in his life had looked at him like that. When Harry pulled his fingers—three, now—out and then slung Draco’s legs over his shoulders as he knelt between his legs, Draco didn’t even feel a trace of surprise. He let his head tilt back as he accepted Harry’s cock, though.

And before thought dissolved into a whirling spray of colors not unlike a Portkey’s transport, he discovered that there was no way he could mistake Harry’s cock for his fingers.

*

Harry groaned and halted, panting. It wasn’t the position, although his legs were bent a little awkwardly and the weight of Draco’s thighs on his shoulders made strained muscles he didn’t realize he had ache.

The heat between Draco’s legs was so wonderful, so overwhelming, that Harry thought he could come before he got his erection more than halfway in. And he’d just remembered, again, that this was Draco he was fucking.

As he’d told Draco, he knew him.

He looked down. Draco looked more than a little dazed, his eyes shut, his head tossed back, a line of sweat making its way from one eye to the corner of his jaw.

This was Draco. His friend. The person Harry had immediately known could not be a murderer, no matter what Kingsley’s evidence said, because that wasn’t the way Draco worked.

And he was having sex with him.

That realization made Harry’s balls tighten more than the heat inside Draco had, and he had to rest for another few minutes before he began probing forwards, in quick little jabs that Draco echoed with soft cries of encouragement.

I wonder how long I’ve wanted this, he thought dazedly, as he finally settled with his balls pressing against Draco’s arse. I wonder if I thought about it even when Draco and I were just learning that I liked men. I wonder—

And then Draco lifted his legs and clamped them down heavily on Harry’s shoulders, and Harry decided that intellectual abstractions could wait.

It was wonderful, in a way that few of his lovemaking experiences had been. They made the bed jolt and creak, of course, and at one point, the first time Harry hit Draco’s prostate, Draco’s foot flailed and nearly poked out Harry’s eyes with his toenails. Draco gasped and moaned and cried and in general stretched his mouth open like a dog trying to eat a frankfurter. His eyes rolled back in his head, and sweat dripped from Harry’s hair onto his face, and their bodies clashed and slapped and squeaked together.

It was wonderful anyway.

Harry felt a relentless surge finally racing up from his groin into his belly, and suddenly realized that he hadn’t been stroking Draco’s erection. He hastily reached out and gripped it, rubbing two fingers along the head. They were the same fingers he’d used to probe into Draco, so they still had smears of lubricant, and Draco writhed luxuriously and then came with a rush that made Harry grin.

A few moments more, a few thrusts later, and he succumbed to his own orgasm. Pleasure twisted through him like hot wire, and left exhaustion in its wake. It took an effort for him not to just slump forwards and probably crush half Draco’s ribs. Instead, he braced himself with his hands on the bed whilst Draco slowly dragged his legs off Harry’s shoulders.

Both of them panted in silence for so long that Harry felt his throat drying out and began to worry about Draco’s reaction. Would he mind the fact that Harry hadn’t said a word whilst they fucked and had stared at him the entire time and hadn’t touched him until the end? He raised his head, shook his hair out of his eyes, and stared down at him anxiously.

*

Draco had been a little uncertain, but the moment Harry’s gaze met his, he felt as smug as he had before they went to sleep. No one who looked at him like that was planning to give him up any time soon.

And there’s the small fact that the sex is wonderful, and I don’t plan to give Harry up, either, he thought, as he reached up, snagged his fingers in Harry’s hair, and dragged his head down for a kiss.

“Love,” he breathed against Harry’s lips, and Harry’s eyes became full of low fire again, and Draco’s stomach clenched in relief and satisfaction.

Never mind the creatures. Never mind the curse. Never mind the fact that Draco still didn’t know how to get his ability under control.

All he has to do is fuck me like that all the time and I won’t be able to accidentally think of transporting myself anyway.

Part Nine.