Work Text:
“Are you into guys?”
Draco almost choked on his own breath. When Potter had knocked on his door – at 9 pm, mind – Draco thought he might be dreaming. Or Hallucinating. He’d been lounging on his bed for a while; it wasn’t a far reach to assume. Besides, why on Earth would Potter of all people intentionally come into his room to speak with him? “What?” he asked with scrunched brows. So verbose. So elegant. So fitting of a Malfoy.
“Are you into guys,” Harry repeated.
“Close the damn door,” Draco hissed. Potter did, with an infuriating smirk on his infuriating face. “What the hell are you on about?”
“Just curious.”
“But – why? Where did that even come from?”
“My brain,” Harry snarked. He received a highly unamused look, which only earned Malfoy a grin.
“You – you can’t just ask people things like that out of the blue.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” Draco didn’t have an answer. “You just can’t!”
“That’s not a reason,” Harry pressed. “So, are you?”
Draco looked away with angry, reddened cheeks.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then?”
“You take it however you bloody well want, Potter,” Draco spat defensively.
There was a moment of silence. Then Harry said, “I am.”
“You are what?” Draco snapped, glaring at him.
“Into guys.”
The blond’s heart skipped a beat. Potter had to be going somewhere with this, but for the life of him, Draco couldn’t figure it out. “… Good for you?” he said slowly.
Harry had the faintest tinge of a flush, the only sign that he was a little nervous. “Could be good for you. If you wanted.”
Draco was stunned. And extremely confused. And gaping. Malfoys didn’t gape! “Are you really propositioning me, Potter?”
Harry shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah.”
Yeah? Yeah? That’s all Harry bloody Potter had to say?! And so casually! As if he wasn’t talking about fucking his former rival and bully with his former rival and bully. The nerve! “Why?”
Harry shrugged again. “N.E.W.T.s are stressful and I wanna fuck it out. But also because I just want to.”
Draco’s jaw was shut now, but his eyes were as wide as saucers. “But – why – I don’t – why do you want to do that with me?”
“You could just say ‘no’.”
“I’m confused!”
“About what?”
Draco gestured wildly at nothing. “How is this not confusing? How would you react if I came up to you out of nowhere saying I want to – to fuck you?”
Harry grinned a little. “I’d probably kiss you.”
Draco emitted a high-pitched noise that was somewhere between a surprised squeak and an incredulous growl.
Harry’s grin grew, a little wickedly. “Is that a promising sound?”
“Potter!”
“What?”
“Stop talking in circles and give me a straight answer!”
“I have been!”
“That stupid grin says you know that you absolutely have not been,” Draco growled. “This isn’t normal for you and I don’t have all night to figure you out, so be direct or so help me Merlin.”
“I don’t even know what’s normal for me,” Harry argued nonchalantly. He didn’t want to push Malfoy too much, so he relented. “Never have. But I finally have control of my own life for once – much like you – so I’m going to do what I want for a change. I’ve always lived for other people, never myself. I’ve been controlled and manipulated and used my whole life. I never had time to figure out who I really am. Now that Voldemort’s gone and there’s nothing more I have to do, I’m going to do what I want to do. And I want to do you. Or the other way around. Like I said, you could just say ‘no’.”
That made sense. It came as a surprise that Potter understood Draco’s inability to control his own life. Most people couldn’t see that, and now that the war was over, they didn’t want to. They wanted to villainize him, even though their saviour testified and vouched for him. Fought for his freedom. But one thing still didn’t make sense. “But why me?”
Another shrug. “You’re hot. And I like you.”
Draco was gaping again. He was going to catch flies, he could hear his mother saying. His cheeks were hot even though Potter didn’t necessarily mean he had a crush on him. “You shouldn’t like me, you should hate me. Do you not remember how I treated you and your friends? The things I did in the war that got people hurt and killed? Doesn’t any of that ring a bell?”
Harry’s eyes softened. “Does ‘I can’t be sure’ ring a bell?”
Draco had nothing to say to that.
“You were raised by a supremacist and forced into a cult. You saved our lives, Draco. And, by proxy, the entire world,” Harry reminded, repeating what he’d said at Malfoy’s trial. “Besides, you haven’t acted like you used to at all, this year.”
Draco’s heartbeat sped up at the sound of his first name on Potter’s tongue. He sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. “Why on Earth do you like me, Potter?”
“Because you treat me like a regular person. You’ve never worshipped the air I breathe. You can piss me off more than anyone, sure, but you’re not exhausting to be around – which most people are, for me. It’s refreshing among the tens of thousands of people who just want the chance to be in my presence so they can brag about it for the rest of their lives,” he said bitterly. Then his voice quieted. “Yeah, you were an arsehole of epic proportions. But you didn’t almost kill me.” He tried and failed to push down the storm of guilt and shame that arose every time he thought about what he’d done in Sixth Year. He looked away. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”
Up until that last thing, Draco had just been shocked. But the mention of Sixth Year, and Potter’s guilt permeating the room, transformed that into a wave of… anger? Panic? A mix of both? Something else? He couldn’t pinpoint the emotion. He stood, pointing angrily as he walked over to Potter. “No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to bring that up after talking about fucking me.” His finger pressed accusingly against Potter’s chest. The git raised a brow. “Or me fucking you – whatever!”
Harry just smirked up at him and leaned into that finger.
Draco peered into those sage-green eyes, searching for even an ounce of deception. When he found none, he decided to test the waters. He snaked a hand around Potter’s waist to his lower back and pulled him close, pressing them together.
Harry grunted softly from surprise and the shock of arousal that pulsed through him. His hands had automatically found Malfoy’s hips.
“You really are serious,” Draco murmured in awe.
“’Course I am. Admitting I want you is more than enough fuel for you to go to the Prophet, or for you to spread rumours around the school. Shouldn’t that be telling enough?”
Another question arose, one that felt like knives in Draco’s chest. “Do you want me, or do you just want the only person who won’t go tattling because I don’t care about your stupid fame?”
Harry’s gaze softened yet again; he felt the need to tread carefully with his next words. “That’s part of who you are, though. I wouldn’t like you if you didn’t have that quality. So I guess kind of both, but really it’s you.”
Draco didn’t know what to make of that answer. So he did something utterly and outrageously unhinged.
He kissed Harry Potter.
Draco kissed as if he were a starving man. Because if he were honest with himself, he’d had the hots for Potter for years. He just didn’t want to be a casual pity fuck, or the last possible choice. But it didn’t seem like Potter thought that about him, what with the way the golden boy was keening.
Harry pulled their hips even closer together, which apparently was the right move because he was suddenly pressed up against the wall and gods did he love it. His body went into some sort of autopilot. His hips moved on their own, searching for more stimulation. His hands were full of Malfoy’s perfect arse and he didn’t remember moving them there. His throat was emitting sounds he didn’t even know he could make, and he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed because it drove Malfoy crazy.
Draco nearly lost his mind at that first roll of their hips. He’d started a rhythm, chasing the feeling because he couldn’t get enough. If they both came right then and there, it wouldn’t matter; he didn’t plan on letting Potter leave until they’d both come at least three times. “Gods. You make such pretty sounds,” he murmured against Potter’s lips, because now that they were finally kissing each other, they weren’t going to stop anytime soon.
“Take me to bed and you’ll get to hear the full symphony,” Harry sassed breathlessly.
Draco didn’t need to be told twice.
With a yelp, Harry was lifted off the ground. He quickly wrapped his legs around that slender waist as he was carried – carried! – over to the bed, his arse in Malfoy’s firm hands. Malfoy all but dropped him onto his back before straddling him and Harry wasted no time getting rid of their shirts. His hands gripped Malfoy’s hips – but then he saw the scars. His breath got caught in his throat, guilt flooding him once more.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
It was gruff, and definitely held a warning, but Harry wasn’t put off. If anything, he was spurred on. He reached up and traced the longest scar with his middle finger. Slowly, gently. Almost lovingly.
Draco sucked in a breath, muscles fluttering under Potter’s touch. He didn’t know why he was reacting like this, and why he wasn’t angry. He didn’t know why Potter didn’t look disgusted. He supposed, though, that the look on Potter’s face now was far better than the guilt from moments ago. The problem? Draco was completely entranced by it, and he had no idea what it even was. “Why are you looking at me like that, now?”
Harry’s eyes found Malfoy’s. “Like what?”
“That. Like the scars are…” Well, he didn’t know. But it almost made him squirm with discomfort.
“Beautiful?”
Draco’s breath hitched. Was that what that look was? “Why do you find them beautiful?”
“Why are you asking as if they’re ugly?”
“Because they are.” He immediately regretted saying that at the sight of Potter’s wounded expression. He didn’t mean to change the mood, and he hated that he put that look on Potter’s face. He also hated that he hated putting that look there. Why would he hate that? They weren't friends, or anything else even though he wanted them to be. He needed to get a better grip on his stupid feelings. Clearly he'd been right all along about feelings being stupid. Case in point right here.
Harry’s heart hurt. He hadn’t known Sectumsempra left scars. Though he really should have. He’d had enough nightmares about it, many of which showed Malfoy with big, ugly scars at the end. But aside from in his dreams, he’d pushed those thoughts deep into his subconscious. He didn’t want to be responsible for marking someone’s body and making them hate themselves. He didn’t want Malfoy to be self-conscious of them. Or think they made him ugly.
Harry placed his palm in the middle of Malfoy’s chest and willed himself to not let his emotions go any further than the stinging in his nose. He swallowed the lump in his throat, then spoke directly to the back of his own hand. “I didn’t know what that curse did. I swear to you. I’m so sorry I disfigured you. That I did this at all. That I almost—” He had to swallow again, pausing until he was able to speak. He appreciated that Malfoy didn’t interrupt. “—killed you. I’m sorry that thinking they’re beautiful is upsetting to you. That I killed the mood. And for doing this after you told me multiple times not to bring it up. I just – I had no idea that scarred you, and…” Harry’s eyes roamed over the scars again. “I wasn’t prepared to find them so beautiful.”
There was so much going on in Draco's head and heart that he didn’t know what to feel, or how to respond. Those words meant so much more to him than he cared to admit, even to himself. Without thinking, he gently took hold of Potter’s left arm and turned it over, revealing the self-inflicted scars he already knew were there. The whole world knew; ever since the war ended, Potter stopped using glamours and shying away from short sleeves. Seeing them up close, and being allowed to look, to touch, was… quite different to catching glimpses from across a room. Potter may not hide them, but he didn't let anyone's eyes linger, either.
And yet, he was letting Draco.
So Draco looked. There were so many. Most were white. Many were raised. Some were brown or pink; still healing. Draco wondered how fresh those were. He wondered why Potter did that to himself, and why he wasn’t ashamed of them. "Do you find these beautiful?"
Harry was not at all expecting any of what occurred after his monologue. He fully expected Malfoy to get angry. Maybe kick him out. Or shut him up with a kiss and rip the rest of their clothes off. But to go soft? To treat him gently, gaze at his scars like they were as beautiful as Malfoy’s, and turn his own thoughts about Malfoy’s scars around on him?
Though, to be fair, he’d said he found Malfoy’s scars beautiful. Not all scars. Still, it was an interesting thing to ponder. “No,” he answered softly, “I guess not. But I did this to myself. You had yours done to you unwillingly in an awful situation that should never have happened. Yours come with terrible memories, I bet. I can't imagine what it might feel like to have someone do that to you and think they wanted you dead.”
Draco mulled that over for a moment. “I suppose they do,” he said carefully, not wanting to hurt Potter but also refusing to lie. “But whatever made you cut open your own skin can’t be full of great memories, either.”
Harry’s eyes closed briefly from a wave of hurt at the thought that he’d given Malfoy terrible memories associated with visible scars. Then he gave him a small smile. “Touché.”
“Why don’t you hide them?" Draco asked suddenly. He’d wondered that ever since the Prophet came alive with the news; multiple people had seen Potter’s forearm that summer and at least one of them went to the newspaper about it. Quite a few articles had been published after that, including a few with blurry photographs of Potter's arm. ‘Bloody vultures,’ he thought.
“It was exhausting, remembering to apply the glamour for so many years. I don’t wanna do that every single day for the rest of my life just so I can wear short sleeves.”
Draco’s eyes widened. “How many years?”
“Er… a lot. But. I also don’t care about what people think of me, anymore.” This was a little strange, Harry had to admit; talking to Malfoy about scars of all things. Self-harm scars, at that. He didn’t even talk to Ron and Hermione about it. Not even when they found out and peppered him with questions until he snapped under the pressure. He’d apologised, and they’d never bothered him about it again. It would’ve been different if they’d asked out of curiosity, but they were woefully ignorant about the concept and Hermione especially had urged him to go to a Mind Healer. That was what had made him snap.
That Potter glossed over Draco’s question was very telling, and it made Draco all the more curious. But he didn’t press. “Even though many of them think it’s to show them off? That you do it for attention?”
Harry wasn’t oblivious. He knew what people thought of him. It did bother him, but he’d been working on not letting it; he was done living for other people. Though he very much hoped that Malfoy wasn’t one of those people, and was honestly afraid to find out. “Do you?”
Draco’s eyes flitted between Potter’s. “No.”
A relieved breath escaped Harry’s lips. “People can think or say whatever they want about me. Only those who care to find out the truth know the truth.”
“If you don’t care, why ask what I think?”
Harry was silent for a moment while trying to find the right words. “I care about what some people think.”
Draco’s brows scrunched in confusion. “Why me?”
“I don’t have an answer for that,” Harry said honestly. “Same with Ron, Hermione, and a few others. I just don’t know.”
“You’re close with them; of course you’re going to care about what they think.”
“Maybe with you, it’s because we’re not close. Maybe… it’s nice to have at least one other person, who’s not already a friend, not give a shit about what I’ve done. To keep me in my place, feet grounded on the floor. Remind me to keep my head on straight. And at the same time, not judge me for ‘cutting my own skin open’, as you put it.”
Draco looked at him like he’d grown three extra heads. “And you think I do that?”
“You do. Now are you gonna fuck me or not?”
A predatory grin slowly morphed onto Draco’s face. “So impatient for my cock, Potter. Who would’ve thought?”
Harry flushed, but didn’t deny that. He was impatient. “Shut up.” Malfoy’s grin became a smirk and Harry was hard again just from that. He took his arm back and untied Malfoy’s joggers, then cursed himself for being in jeans. Thankfully, Malfoy made quick work of them.
Draco lifted himself up so they could clumsily shove the rest of their clothes off because let’s face it; he was just as impatient. The moment he saw Potter’s cock, his brain left his body. He was staring, somewhat wide-eyed and slack-jawed, and he knew it. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Until he glanced up at Potter’s face, now prettily flushed from both arousal and embarrassment.
“Jesus, you’re big.” Harry’s brain wasn’t faring much better, thanks to the view of the blond’s thick, pretty cock and the awed look on his face. Awe all for Harry.
Draco smirked. “Still want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” Harry breathed without an ounce of doubt. Before he knew it, he was being swallowed down. A gasp punched out of his chest on a sharp exhale, eyes going wide as Malfoy took him further and further until his nose was in Harry’s curls. He felt the back of Malfoy’s throat and it took everything he had to not buck his hips. The blond pulled away, the flat of his tongue pressed firmly against Harry’s cock while he hollowed out his cheeks. A flick of the tip of his tongue made Harry’s abs jump.
A few more bobs of Draco’s expert mouth had Potter squirming. He pulled off and, with a cleaning spell as the only warning, pushed Potter’s legs up and dove right into rimming him.
Harry’s back arched off the bed with an, “Oh, fuck.” Usually people asked before doing something like rimming – or so Harry thought – but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. He probably would’ve gotten embarrassed if he’d been asked. Besides, he liked that Malfoy did as he pleased. It took the thought process away from him and let him just feel. He writhed as he pressed against Malfoy, gripping the sheets while open-mouthed and panting. For a brief moment, a wild thought crossed his mind – he was literally being fucked by Draco Malfoy’s tongue. Would wonders never cease?
“Gods, you’re a slut for my tongue,” Draco murmured against Potter’s arse, the vibrations of his voice making Potter shiver. “I bet you could come just like this.”
“Yes,” Harry moaned. “Please.”
Draco licked a slow stripe over him. “Please, what?”
“Ah – please, Malfoy.”
His tongue circled Potter’s hole. “Wrong answer.”
“Please. Please, I dunno what you’re asking.”
“You’re a smart boy. Figure it out.”
Another lap. “Please – fuck – Sir?”
Draco paused, momentarily affected. “Oh, now that has a lovely ring to it. I should let you off the hook just for calling me ‘Sir’.” He breached him again, but agonisingly slowly.
“Malfoy—” The tongue stopped, and Harry whined in frustration. He didn’t know what the fucker wanted. Though… maybe… “Draco, please. Fucking please.” That did it. Suddenly he was being tongue-fucked again, and without mercy. Malfoy’s hand found his cock and started jerking him off, which didn’t take long. His orgasm slammed into him like an onslaught of tidal waves, wet and warm on his stomach and chest.
His legs were being lowered. A cleaning charm rolled over his abdomen. Without thinking, Harry sat up and, with a dark gaze fixed on Malfoy – or, Draco, he supposed – he got to his knees and began blowing him.
“Don’t you want to recover first?” Draco’s voice sounded shaky even to his own ears. He braced himself with one hand on the bedpost while the other threaded into Potter's softer-than-it-looked hair.
Potter didn’t answer. He brought a hand up to grip the base of Draco’s cock and proceeded to give him what was honestly the best blow job of his entire existence. His legs were vibrating when he came, which Potter swallowed every bit of. "Fucking hell, Potter. You suck cock like you were made for it," he said breathlessly.
Harry’s head was swimming as he pulled off to look up at him. He would have smirked, but the praise did something to him that he couldn’t place. So instead, what Malfoy – Draco? – nah, Malfoy – received was a dark, pleased gaze full of promise.
The blond raised his brows. “Like it that much, do you?” This angle gave Draco full view of the scars on Potter’s thighs that he'd noticed earlier, but his eyes didn't linger. He’d been trusted with the knowledge that they even exist and he wasn’t going to screw that up.
Embarrassment flushed Harry’s cheeks. “Maybe I just needed a minute because I went straight from an orgasm to blowing you,” he sassed.
“Or maybe it’s just me,” Draco shot back with a smirk.
“Maybe it is,” Harry challenged.
Draco’s eyes flashed. Potter was going to be the death of him. All of that scarred, tanned skin on display; all of those lean muscles; those blown, slightly dazed pupils; that wanting expression; that drop-dead gorgeous body kneeling at his feet – all of it was for him, and it was absolutely killing him. He tugged on Potter’s hair, bringing Golden Boy to his feet. “On the bed.”
Harry grinned. “Yes, Sir.” The blond’s eyes flashed again and Harry loved it so much that he decided to make them do that as much as he possibly could. He stretched out on his back and crossed his arms behind his head.
They all had singles in the new dormitory, but Draco closed his drapes anyway as he crawled between Potter’s legs. He tended to feel exposed, otherwise – even in his own space – and sex was somehow different from what they’d already done. Don’t ask; even he didn’t understand how his brain worked.
“Setting the mood?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.”
“I’m not a barbarian, Potter, and comfort is everything in the bedroom – unless of course negotiated otherwise.” Potter raised an intrigued brow, but Draco wasn’t about to explain BDSM to him right then; he refused to get derailed just as he was about to fuck the lights out of Harry bloody Potter. “That doesn’t mean I’m a romantic. I know you didn’t grow up in a gutter but you should at least know that much.” Draco’s tone was haughty, bordering on snooty, but Potter wasn’t taking it seriously at all if the shit-eating grin on his face was anything to go by.
Now Draco was, in fact, an enormous romantic. But Potter didn’t need to know that. In any case, at least the bed curtains offered some sort of a buffer against Hurricane Pansy; no matter how strong his wards were, she was chaotic at best and he’d rather not run the risk of her barging in.
Harry snorted and released his arms to run his hands up Malfoy’s sides. “So basically a romantic.” He felt such glee at the perturbed look on Malfoy’s face. He wiggled his hips teasingly, then felt a lubrication charm and spread his legs wider.
“Such a good boy,” Draco purred, ignoring the ‘romantic’ quip. “Who knew you could follow directions so well? Where have you been hiding that ability all these years?”
Harry rolled his eyes but smirked despite himself. “Why would I fight against what I want? Now are you gonna give it to me or do I have to beg with your name, again?”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Sometimes. Depends on who, what, when—ohh fuck.” Two of Draco’s long fingers had slid into him and curled, effectively rendering Harry speechless.
“Oh so you do have an off switch.”
“You could’ve just kissed me. Jesus,” Harry panted as Draco pumped his fingers.
“And you could shut up and enjoy the process instead of trying to goad me. Trust me, Potter; it’ll be the best fuck of your life no matter what, but egging me on isn’t going to get it to you faster.”
“But bickering with you is so much fun, especially when it makes you narrow your eyes – yeah, like that.” Harry grinned again. Then suddenly he was being kissed and his brain emptied as quickly as it had the first time Malfoy ground against him. “More,” he murmured against those surprisingly soft lips. “Can take more.” So he was filled with a third finger, hips bucking when they brushed against his prostate.
Draco had to admit, it felt amazing that Potter enjoyed bickering with him. And when Potter begged for him. And that Potter was hard for him. And Merlin did he hate that. Sure, Golden Boy wanted to sleep with him and probably would want to again after this, but that didn’t mean he had feelings for him.
Draco did.
And Draco was screwed.
He swallowed how the moans and mewls coming from Potter made him feel. How beautiful Potter’s face was as he was filled with Draco’s cock. How his eyelashes fluttered, how kissable his parted lips were, the desperation in which he gripped Draco’s back, the tightening of his legs around Draco’s waist. “Breathe,” Draco murmured, pausing halfway to let Potter adjust. “Relax.”
“I know how sex works,” Harry said lightly, a little defiant, but exhaled anyway. He’d meant for it to come out stronger than it did, but it was breathy and he really couldn’t care less.
The smallest of smirks pulled on the corners of Draco’s mouth. “I know, but as you pointed out earlier, I’m big. Not huge, thankfully, but I have to be more careful than most.”
The amount of care and gentleness Malfoy showed in prepping and filling him spoke volumes to Harry. It was a side he never expected to see from the Slytherin, if it even existed at all. He felt oddly honored to witness it. He felt Malfoy’s arm hook around his leg, pushing it forward to open him up a little more. Harry let out a breath as the blond pressed forward, but it turned into a moan when their lips met. “I fully expected you to brag about your size,” he admitted when they broke for air, when Malfoy was fully seated inside him. And holy cow, was that a crazy thought. He was having sex with Draco freaking Malfoy. How was this even real?
A pang sliced through Draco’s heart but he knew he deserved it. There was no way anyone but those closest to him would know that he would never judge another man, or himself, by the size of his cock. His behaviour had alienated him, and made many severely distrust him. It was something he had to live with, and though he took responsibility for that, he hated it. “I’m just full of surprises.”
Harry looked back and forth between Malfoy’s eyes and had to admit that they were stunning. He also saw something he didn’t like that he desperately wanted to change – pain. Maybe a bit of regret. He hadn’t meant to hurt him; it was just a bit of banter. But now he had to fix it. “You are.” ‘Good surprises,’ he hoped his eyes conveyed.
Draco blinked. They were just two simple words, but it was the tender way they were spoken and the way Potter was looking at him that made all the difference. ‘Don’t you make me fall for you, you bloody wanker,’ he thought. ‘Don’t go saying things like that.’ But instead of a snappy retort, he felt himself blushing. ‘Fuck.’ Cover blown by a stupid, involuntary bodily function. What did blushing even accomplish? Why was it even a thing? It never did anything but get people into trouble. He started moving before the knowing look in Potter’s eyes could get him into any more trouble.
Success. Potter’s eyes fluttered shut and he arched his back, head tilting backwards as Draco pressed into him again. It punched a little stuttered breath out of him that had Draco definitely falling. Hands roaming up his body had him falling harder. Nails dragged down his back, making goosebumps rise on his arms. Teeth nipped and sucked on his bottom lip. Lips kissed him like life depended on it. The heat of Potter’s body surrounding him was almost deafening. And it all had Draco completely gone for him.
An urge came over him and he let his body take over. A gentle hand took hold of Potter’s left arm and lifted it, turning it just so. He marveled at the scars while maintaining a slow, even pace. Potter understood the assignment; he held his arm up instead of letting it go deadweight, instead of making Draco bear all of the effort.
Harry wasn’t sure what was happening, but he didn’t object. It was curious, strange, and a bit nerve wracking, but it felt… good. He hated when people stared at his scars, but this felt different. He didn’t feel judged. He didn’t feel like he was about to be given an apprehensive speech about therapy. He didn’t feel like an object on display. Not even as Malfoy’s fingertips brushed over the topography of his arm, the tenderness of it making his heartbeat quicken.
“Are some of these because of Sectumsempra?” Draco asked softly. Potter’s expression told him the answer. His heart clenched from sadness and guilt, even though it wasn’t his fault that Potter did this to himself. “How many?”
The lazy thrusts helped ground Harry and he was grateful for them. He hadn’t wanted to tell Malfoy the truth, but he knew it was written all over his face. He glanced at his arm. “A lot.”
“Is that part of why you don’t cover them?”
Harry hesitated, “Yes,” he whispered.
Then Malfoy did something so utterly bizarre that Harry had no choice but to fall head over heels for him right then and there – he kissed the scars. Harry inhaled, sharp but quiet. Dark grey eyes caught his for a brief moment before more kisses trailed up his arm to the leisurely rhythm of their hips. His heart was racing now, completely mesmerised by the enigma before him. Then his arm was guided to the bed, elbow bent, scars facing up. Fingers grazed the ridged scar tissue from wrist to elbow as if memorising it. Harry took a shuddering breath; this was a lot. And it was heady. He saved the world and therefore gained hundreds of thousands of fans who worshipped the ground he walked on, but he’d never felt more worshipped by anyone than he did in that moment.
Draco had lost himself to his heart. He’d fought hard and valiantly, but in vain. The emotions flickering across Potter’s face helped; they were impossible to misunderstand. Draco still had some doubts, but at the very least, it was clear that Potter felt more than simple attraction for him. So he let go. He stilled his hips to shift his body for a better angle, sent him a look that silently said, ‘Your scars are beautiful, too,’ and leaned down to pour his emotions into a kiss. The whimper that came out of the other boy’s throat spurred Draco on. He slid his palm back up Potter’s arm and into his hand, threading their fingers together. When the kiss broke and he looked at those captivating eyes again, his breath got caught in his throat.
Harry had no words for the emotions all of that made him feel. Hermione could give him a list of every single emotion known to man and he still wouldn’t be able to pick them out. All he knew was that they were strong and passionate, and that he never wanted to let go of Malfoy.
Draco.
“Draco…” Harry whispered. That was all he could make his throat do. It was heavy and light at the same time and held both questions and statements he couldn’t speak. And yet Draco understood.
A brutal pace was set of quick, deep thrusts. Not fast but not as slow as before, and much more intimate. Full of emotion and intent. Draco reached his orgasm first and clenched his jaw to hold it back; he wanted to come with Potter. “Come on, Harry,” he murmured a bit desperately, trembling from the effort. He didn’t have to wait long.
They panted in each other’s necks as they came down from the high, still connected, still holding hands. Eventually Draco moved, if only to rest their legs; Harry’s were shaking, too. He pulled Harry into his arms and they stayed like that for what felt like ages.
“What if my answer had been ‘no’ to whether some of these were because of what I did to you?” Harry asked out of curiosity, a while later, and a little apprehension.
“It wouldn’t have changed my response.”
“And if I had led with ‘I have feelings for you’ right from the start?”
Draco gave him an unamused glare. “It would’ve bypassed a lot of awkwardness and confusion, you git.”
Harry grinned. “But then we wouldn’t’ve had all that fun, bickering buildup while getting to know each other so intimately.”
Draco whacked Harry’s face with a pillow, the sound of cackling now muffled by triumph.