lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2008-04-21 08:24 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2008-04-21 08:24 pm
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Chapter Nineteen of 'Changing of the Guard'- Passionate Surrender
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Chapter Nineteen—Passionate Surrender
Harry gasped into the kiss as he felt Draco wrestling him towards the bed. Draco’s emotions leaped and danced around him, one moment brilliant with anticipation, the next moment cloudy with lust. It was like being in the middle of a lightning storm where the darkness was just as likely to hit him as the radiance was.
Not that you’re much better, said the part of Harry that never lost control, far away behind the curtains of fire and the sound of tearing cloth as Draco pulled his shirt off. Of course, since the shirt had been under Harry’s robes, this did not progress very far towards getting him naked. Look at you.
That part of Harry had never had much influence on his actions, though, and so Harry drove his mouth into Draco’s, delighting in the click of their teeth; drove his hands into Draco’s back, propelling him closer and further into the kiss; drove his whole body into delight and eagerness and hard determination to win this time. There had to be a way to have sex with Draco and yet make him want never to see Brian again. There had to be a way, and Harry would find it.
Draco pulled away from him and flicked his wand. Harry’s robes crumpled smoothly to the floor. Harry thought the spell had slit them up the sides. He didn’t mind. He had more where those came from, and he had Draco in his arms again at the moment, naked save for his undergarments. Harry pumped his hips, scraping his erection against the cloth covering Draco’s cock, and groaned.
The sound might have told Draco how much he liked the sensation, but it was just as likely to be the net of coiling emotions around them, shifting back and forth, washing them both with waterfalls of strength and longing, light and color. Draco’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes actually sparkling, like the grass after a storm. He reached down and squeezed Harry’s cock. “You like that?” he asked.
Harry growled—of all the stupid questions to ask—and lunged forwards, at the same moment angling himself sideways so that he caught Draco behind the knee with one foot. Continuing the whirl, he turned so that he kept his balance whilst knocking Draco onto the bed. Then he fell on top of him, shivering in wonder as he felt the scrape of Draco’s stubble against his face and heard his hiss, half-pained and half-lustful, from the impact of Harry’s weight.
It was the best position Harry could think of. From here, he could control everything that happened and win the competition between him and Draco. He knew based on previous experience that he could survive this overwhelming onslaught if he gave Draco a blowjob. He drew Draco’s pants down—
And then he realized that his emotions were telling Draco everything he felt, and, as strong hands seized his shoulders and waist and flipped him, that Draco had no intention of letting him win.
*
Potter’s eyes were brilliant with passion. Draco suffered a momentary spasm of regret that he didn’t have time or a hand to spare to cast the spell that would change them to green. Potter wasn’t wearing a glamour or he would have sensed it and dispelled it by now; that left Transfiguration to keep his eyes the blue of Brian’s. But Draco would still have enjoyed overlaying the blue with a temporary green color, just to get a better idea of what his partner looked like as himself.
Potter would feel his regret, but not know the source of it, just as Draco felt his steely determination to win this contest but didn’t know why he thought he had to win. Draco felt safe in feeling whatever he wanted as he stared at Potter, whom he knelt over now and pinned to the bed.
“I said we’d do things we hadn’t before,” he whispered. This time, he was going to have Potter. He wanted to see what that would be like whilst these emotions sliced and dived around them. He shuddered as magic flooded over his cock, wondering for a moment what it would be like for it to bind both of them when he was buried inside Potter.
“But we know already just how good I can make it for you when I use my mouth,” said Potter, and arched his neck, baring his throat temptingly. Draco’s breath caught. How much of this seduction did he learn in the past ten years and how much is natural? How much of him is real, but hidden behind the barriers of my own prejudice? I never really knew him. “Why not have that happen again?”
Draco let a small smile wash over his face. “Scared to be on the bottom, Brian?” God, he’d nearly said Potter. And he was not ready to let the knowledge slip free from his mouth and mind.
Potter hissed at him, his cheeks flushing richly, his forehead flexing so much with his frown that for a moment Draco thought his scar would bend away from its Transfigured disguise back into its real self. “It has nothing to do with fear,” he said, pitching his voice at a level that made Draco’s hips pump in spite of himself. Potter’s eyes rolled back as Draco’s erection brushed against his stomach. When he went on, his voice was at least breathy, to Draco’s satisfaction. “It has everything to do with wanting to make you feel good.”
“And what about you?” Draco reached out and stroked the side of Potter’s neck with the back of his knuckles, feeling the connection between them come alive again as Potter shook with pleasure, and Draco’s pleasure fed on his and flooded back, until Potter’s belly was soaked with precome. “Don’t you want to know what it’s like to forget words with my cock inside you? Don’t you want to know the way I make love to someone I’m actually interested in? Can you feel it?” He lowered his voice and shifted so that his cock once again brushed on Potter’s stomach. Potter arched towards him in a way that made Draco’s throat ache. “Can you already feel me inside you?”
*
Harry was dangerously near to doing something he hadn’t done for twelve years: saying “Fuck it,” and acting without thought for the consequences.
But that’s not quite true, is it? asked that little in-control part of him that watched and did not approve of all these goings-on. You started to lose control the moment you let your magic show because your anger at Lucius just couldn’t be contained.
Harry heard a shrill whining sound. He looked at Draco, and then realized he was making the sound himself. He didn’t know when it had started, and when he tried to stop, he couldn’t. He shivered, excited by the thought of giving in to impulse like this, though the little voice shrieked at him and tried to get his attention.
“Let me,” Draco whispered, and trailed his fingers down the side of Harry’s neck again, this time locating the spot on his ribs that he had touched when they danced together. Harry’s whining sound mixed oddly with the noises of his panting and squirming against the sheets. Draco said nothing more, just let the sounds of Harry’s own pleasure speak for him.
And then the pleasure was not quite enough anymore. Harry could feel Draco’s own anticipation to be inside him seeping through the barriers of Harry’s will, softening the earth under them, making them topple. His mouth fell open and his tongue curled out. He flushed at the thought of the picture he must make.
Draco held his eyes, and Harry realized he wasn’t at all amused; instead, his hands were trembling with the effort of holding himself back.
And Harry let go, as another part of him, this one primal and further from the surface than the small voice, had known he would from the moment Draco pinned him to the bed. He wanted this, he needed it, and he didn’t want to wait. He lifted his head and welcomed Draco in with mouth, eyes, tongue, lips, hands. He offered himself instead of his concern for his partner’s pleasure, and by the way Draco’s eyes took fire, that was the kind of invitation he had really been waiting for.
*
Draco thought he knew what werewolves felt like when there was a full moon out. He wanted nothing more than to howl, telling the world that Harry Potter was his, that a man who had proven himself brave and clever and manipulative and strong in ways Draco could never have imagined was laying down his defenses and letting Draco do whatever he wanted.
Mixed with his triumph was a certain desperation. He had to have this, more than once. That meant treating Harry in a way that would cause him to return to Draco’s bed. Draco could not remember the last time he’d been more concerned with the amount of future interest his partner would have in him than the immediate future.
He bent down and carefully began to lick Harry’s right nipple. Harry shivered again and licked the side of Draco’s face in response. The trickle of saliva joined the sharp tingles of anxiety running over Draco’s skin as he thought of the ways this could go wrong, and he nearly lost himself in sheer feeling.
But though he planned to accept and return the invitation Harry had given him, he wasn’t going to let his body simply succumb to sensation. He had done that last time. It would become boring if it happened all the time.
So he kept part of his consciousness lodged on the way he was making Harry feel, noting the way that the other man’s fingers tightened in his hair, the way he locked his legs and bucked up when Draco located a certain spot on his hip, the way the pleasure in Harry’s mind increased almost to the point it knocked Draco unconscious when he reached for his wand and conjured lube. Harry, it seemed, had quite a good imagination.
Of course he does.
Draco, from the place where he was kneeling between Harry’s legs, looked up at his lover’s face, and suffered yet another desire, this time much stronger, to reach for his wand and cast the spell that would restore Harry’s real appearance. It was wrong that Harry lay in his bed, so open, so trusting, and yet wore a stranger’s face.
“You’re—“ Draco said, and then stopped, with his mouth open, shaking his head helplessly as he slicked two of his fingers and reached for Harry’s entrance. His magic was doing a better job of making his meaning clear than words could. Shivers and shadows of purple and gold danced along Harry’s skin and through their minds, absorbing the earlier anger (though there would be a reckoning for the insults Harry had flung at him later) and smoothing out a rippling wave of wonder.
Harry swallowed, and for a moment, his eyes darted away from Draco’s.
Rethinking his deception? Draco slid one finger into Harry’s body, reveling in the way that the other man tensed up just a bit before he relaxed. This intrusion wasn’t painless, but it wasn’t enough so to make him rescind his invitation. Good. I hope so. I want him. I can’t help but want him. I want him forever. This isn’t enough. And bed isn’t enough. I want to know what he’s really thinking when we’re not having sex. I need—
And then he froze and uttered a helpless little whimper of his own.
He had forgotten that the magic would find a new conduit when he reached into a new part of Harry’s body.
*
Harry rolled his head back, his vision exploding with images of red and black and white, his ears ringing. He had thought the magic powerful when he and Draco kissed and it could roll from tongue to tongue. That was nothing compared to what happened when Draco reached into the most intimate part of him.
He was suddenly feeling Draco’s emotions from the inside, as if they had briefly traded minds. He started and drew back, feeling for one moment as if he should be building barriers, but then he found them rising, sheltering the most fragile parts of his mind from any contact. Many of them remained open, however, and Harry could feel his past emotions—fear and cunning and anger and sorrow and love—reaching out towards Draco, gleaming like freshly offered sweets.
And Draco’s emotions—impatience and disgust and the harsh contempt with which he’d treated himself until he managed to learn patience and a heart-deep strength and rage—reached back, traveling over Harry so that nothing Draco had felt, it seemed, was strange to him. He might not have been able to imagine himself in the situations Draco had faced and survived; now he could.
And the pleasure.
One must not forget that, Draco—Harry—Draco thought hazily. Perhaps it came from both their minds, because it was the sort of thought they could have shared easily. The physical pleasure coiled around them, binding them together, traveling in a spiral, driving Draco’s anticipation higher and then returning for Harry’s, increasing Draco’s hunger and then reaching for Harry’s, and Harry’s body already stung and trembled with a sensation near to pain.
Harry shoved himself back onto Draco’s fingers, no longer fearing that he would be degraded in Draco’s eyes for doing so. He could feel Draco so clearly, after all. He felt only a kind of awe, and a trembling rapture that he feared meant he would come the moment he entered Harry’s body.
“Come on,” Harry whispered. “I don’t need much. The feeling will take care of any discomfort.” The words felt heavy and clumsy compared to the silken, invisible, wind-swift rush of emotions, but he couldn’t count on Draco learning the truth from his mind. Actual thoughts, rather than feelings, still seemed rare between them.
You should be grateful—
And then that voice ceased to exist completely when Draco spoke. Harry could feel his own muscles trembling, as if they were tuned to the cadences of Draco’s words. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured. “I never want to hurt you.”
“It’s hurting now, Draco,” Harry said. And that was true. Wonderful as all this sharing was, humans were not meant to live with such keenness forever. Harry was already longing for what came next, the movements that would both ease the pain and cement their sharing. “Please, please, normally I wouldn’t ask for this, but I have to, please, come on—“
Draco’s hands smoothed gently down his sides, causing Harry to give gasps like a wounded animal when he touched places that normally felt ticklish. “Shush, it’s all right, I know,” Draco whispered. “Legs up now.”
Harry thought he put his legs up so fast that his foot nearly struck Draco in the jaw, but if so, Draco managed to avoid it in time, and didn’t say anything about it. Nor did his emotions convey anger or resentment as he pressed forwards. There was only a shining determination to get the job done right—
And then Draco was easing inside him, and the magic found yet another conduit.
*
Draco thought his heart might explode before they finished this. It was certainly pounding fast enough to burst, and adrenaline flowed like a riptide under the constant exchange of emotions between him and Harry.
And now the magic was braiding their minds together. One moment Draco felt the sudden slide, the fullness, the sharp pain of being breached; the next moment he was consumed, and knew Harry was as well, in the heat and the tightness around him. He leaned his forehead on Harry’s shoulder and panted, overwhelmed. His arms shook. He wondered if he would be able to hold Harry’s legs up.
Flash, flash. There was Harry’s certainty that he would, because this position was their path to the pinnacle of sensation and out through it; there were his own shoulders confirming that Harry’s legs still rested across them. Alternating sensations, and once again, both had felt them both.
Draco shivered as he began to move, hearing a groan of pleasure that seemed to have ripped its way out of Harry’s guts. Was it going to be this way every time they made love? He would fear losing himself, if it were, leaving bits of his own personality stuck and starred here and there in Harry’s like shattered bits of a blade.
As if in answer, the movement of the magic changed, and Draco realized it was strengthening them as individuals even as it reached out and tied them into a single strand. His own memories were available if he sought them, faster and clearer and sharper than they normally were—on the edge of pain, as Harry had said.
Or thought. Or felt. Or as Draco had said, or thought, or felt. The memories of the experience within the lovemaking were blurred, which was only appropriate, because this passion really belonged to them both.
It was as two people that the magic brought them together, neither one entirely subordinated to the other, their strengths and their weaknesses gathered and gleaming like gems in a net. Of course there was still the sex as well; Draco gasped as he thrust deeply, and felt Harry push back to meet him, impatient and daring as if they were both on brooms above the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. But the sensations of pleasure existed alongside the mingling of their minds. Draco reached forwards and back, and both of them existed, shining for him, sharing the world he created.
That he and Harry created together.
Draco was horribly afraid that his eyes were blurring with tears; what he could see changed from moment to moment, however, sometimes clear and sometimes bleary, and so he was not sure. And then Harry’s acceptance reached for him again and kindled him into acknowledgment that it was all right if he was crying. Harry wasn’t certain that the thick drops of hot liquid sliding down his face were all sweat, either.
And Draco, driving himself higher and higher with pleasure and elation and delight and exaltation, found the secret he was clutching suddenly intolerable. The magic had made them surrender nothing they did not want to surrender. Thus Harry still held the secret of his identity, and he still didn’t know that Draco already knew. This lovemaking could not reveal what they did not freely wish to reveal.
And now—
Call it a side-effect of the magic. Draco could, later, if he wanted to scold himself. Call it an effect of blurred thinking. In some ways, Draco’s mind was clearer than it had ever been in his life, but surely no one could be completely sane in the midst of an experience like this.
But Draco chose to call it his own decision. He let the barrier down in his mind, and blasted Harry with recognition, with longing, with memories of Harry Potter’s green eyes combined with the poise and strength he had seen in the last few weeks. He let Harry know the one secret he’d been holding back from him.
And in that giving of himself, he gave something else, too. His legs tensed, and then he was frozen, shaking, as he shot his orgasm into Harry’s body. The painful pleasure fused with the relief that he had finally told Harry the truth and their relationship would have to change now hurtled him into something better than happiness, better than joy, better than pleasure.
Draco existed for one moment only in it, and then fell away, fluttering, like a windblown autumn leaf. He sagged over Harry, eyes shut, not opening them yet to meet the other man’s gaze only because he was so tired. It had nothing to do with regret over his choice.
Regret didn’t exist right now.
*
Harry felt a bubble of panic fill his chest when he realized Draco knew. There could be no doubt about that. It was knowledge and a thought Draco had sent to him, specific wording—Brian Montgomery is Harry Potter—and then images of him from the ancient past combined with the actions of the man Draco should have known only as Brian.
But with that came longing, and the determination to let Harry know that Draco knew as a matter of pride and honor and curiosity. There could be no mistaking this for a gesture of conquest. It could not transform their act of lovemaking into a ceremony of hidden laughter, where Draco had planned all along to put Harry in this vulnerable position and then humiliate him.
Draco desired Harry for himself.
And the moment he really understood that, Harry began, helplessly, to come.
The orgasm tore through his body again and again, pulses of release that always began just when he thought they’d finally ended. He was quivering, strung tight, half-dreading how good he felt even as he craved it. God. How could someone bear this and survive? Maybe there was a reason that this magical connection between two people was rare outside the simple rarity of two powerful wizards or witches perfectly desiring each other in the first place.
But still, he could not have wished the moment undone. He came back to himself sweat-soaked and pinned beneath Draco’s weight and deliciously exhausted and with his fear and anger and self-loathing just beginning the climb back into his consciousness.
He braced his elbows beneath him on the bed, not knowing how he would move, just knowing that he had to.
Draco lifted his head and pinned Harry with a calm gaze. Harry had never seen anything like it. Trapped emotions didn’t move behind that gray color like fish under glass, the way it usually happened with Draco. They were part of the serene surface. Draco had thought through what this revelation would change, and it didn’t matter to him. Or, at least, the consequences were foreseen and accepted. He still wanted Harry.
Harry flinched. He couldn’t help it. He recoiled from Draco even as the memories of the magical connection and the emotions they had shared drew him forward, saying all the different kinds of yes there were.
He wasn’t—he wasn’t—no one wanted him for that. Harry Potter was not whole enough to want, in either sense of the term. When he fucked men in his own guise instead of inside one of his personas, they were either Muggles or wizards who never quite saw his face and certainly never saw his scar.
Draco might want this, but his determination that they should relate to each other openly met and clashed, as it had to, with Harry’s equally strong determination that they should not do this.
Harry kept his breathing light, even, not yet looking away from Draco. Doing so might alert him to what Harry intended to do: Summon his wand and Obliviate Draco. It was the step he had been reluctant to take with Narcissa, because someone else might have noticed something off in her behavior, but he knew everything there was to know about Draco’s knowledge of him. It had all transferred to his head in that one blinding moment of revelation.
And then—
The same part of him that had insisted he could not withdraw emotionally from Draco after their encounter at Clothilde Castle, a tough remaining kernel of Harry Potter, forbade him to use a Memory Charm.
Harry’s breath stopped. He couldn’t betray what they had just shared. He couldn’t pretend that it didn’t exist. And he couldn’t take the memory away from Draco, either. It would have been a sin. And whilst he had been known to engage in crimes, he had never sinned against the most fundamental principles that guided him.
Draco began slowly to smile, as if the pale, frightened look even Harry could feel on his face were the signal he had been waiting for. Then he reached out and put a hand on Harry’s sternum, fingers spread towards his heart.
“Good,” he said evenly. “We have much to talk about, and I prefer we do it with our own faces. Will you not change yours, Harry?”
Chapter 20.
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