![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Non-fluffy Advent fic, part 11
I didn't have time to write an advent post today, but I really wanted to write this one. So, er, hello 2am! Also, apologies for typos etc. It is late.
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count (this part): ~790
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
<<part 10
11.
The sky was still dark when Harry woke up, feeling more hot and squashed than normal. Draco’s leg was hooked over his, and a hand lay resting on Harry’s chest. Harry closed his eyes, willing himself back to sleep, but his dreams were still vivid and it didn’t take long to give up trying to sleep. For years, Harry's only dreams had been nightmares: the dead, gazing at him mournfully, or talking to him softly as he walked to his own death; the hideous thing that the final Horcrux had become, writhing on the floor in the waiting room when he died; green curses flying through the air
But now he had lived enough of a life since the war that he could also have anxiety dreams about completing reports on time, or getting lost in the archives room. Some dreams made him happy – the one he had woken from had been of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, ready for Christmas. Lights twinkled, mulled wine flowed, and the tables were heaped with mince pies and turkey and shiny red Christmas crackers.
Perhaps it was time to get a tree, and decorate the house. Mid-December was acceptable, wasn’t it? Not too late, not too early. Harry pondered this for a bit, before deciding that he might as well get up.
The Pensieve. Why not look at a memory now? Harry disentangled himself from Draco, then wrapped a blanket around himself made his way down the creaky old stairs.
As usual, falling into the memory was unnerving. Warm golden light filled the bedroom: a setting sun, casting long shadows across the room. The bright white lines of Draco’s body were clear, as were the fuzzier dark lines of Harry’s. They sat on the bed, fingers tracing each other’s bodies. Not the first time they had been naked together, but the first time they’d taken their time like this. Really looked at each other.
Harry’s fingers ran down the fine silvery lines of Draco’s chest, only just visible in the long rays from the window. Draco’s thumb swiped over Harry’s round scar, the one left by the Horcrux pendant. And then, slowly, it circled the skin on Harry’s chest. It grazed nipples and ran through hair, finally rising to Harry’s mouth and lips. Harry kissed Draco’s thumb, and then each of his fingers, and then down along his arm, across his chest, down to his navel and then, finally, to the straining pink-hard cock below.
The blanket fell from Harry’s shoulders as he watched, his breath held almost painfully, as he kissed Draco’s cock, and licked it, and lapped at his balls before taking it into his mouth. Oh! He breathed again, in rhythm with the head bobbing in front of him. But then Draco made sound, a sighing groan, that drew Harry’s attention.
Colour heated Draco’s face and neck, and his lips were parted while his eyes were closed. He swayed, almost, as the subtle movements of his jaw and face betrayed just how much he was enjoying himself. This was better than any dream, and Harry’s hand found its into his pyjamas for a series of long, slow tugs. But then Harry stopped: he wasn’t going to wank off to a memory like this. Not when Draco was asleep upstairs. Warm and soft in bed.
Instead, Harry watched, keeping as still as he could – almost as though he didn’t want to disturb the two men in front of him – while Draco’s voice grew louder until he groaned through his climax. The Harry of the memory sat up, his lips swollen and shiny and a look of sly satisfaction on his face.
The memory faded, and Harry shivered in the dark and the cold of the living room. He bottled the memory up as quickly as he could, then took the stairs two at time to get back to Draco.
Draco squirmed when Harry climbed back into bed.
“Cold feet. Gerroff.”
Harry kissed Draco on the cheek. “I watched the next memory.”
“You what?” Draco half-opened his eyes. “Why are you waking to tell me—” Understanding lit his face. “Oh, you did, did you?”
“Yes.” Harry slid a hand, slightly warmer now, over the hard edge of Draco’s hip. “I did.”
“Well in that case,” Draco said, his hot fingers finding Harry’s aching cock surprisingly quickly, “I think I know why you’re here.”
Harry grinned. "You dirty fucker, sticking that memory in."
"But you liked it?"
"Oh yes, I did." Harry kissed Draco. He no longer felt cold, not when rubbing and grabbing and grasping with a sleep-heated and most wonderful man.
Harry walked into work half an hour late, and Robards shouted at him, but he didn’t care. He smiled all day.
>>parts 12, 13, 14.
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count (this part): ~790
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
<<part 10
11.
The sky was still dark when Harry woke up, feeling more hot and squashed than normal. Draco’s leg was hooked over his, and a hand lay resting on Harry’s chest. Harry closed his eyes, willing himself back to sleep, but his dreams were still vivid and it didn’t take long to give up trying to sleep. For years, Harry's only dreams had been nightmares: the dead, gazing at him mournfully, or talking to him softly as he walked to his own death; the hideous thing that the final Horcrux had become, writhing on the floor in the waiting room when he died; green curses flying through the air
But now he had lived enough of a life since the war that he could also have anxiety dreams about completing reports on time, or getting lost in the archives room. Some dreams made him happy – the one he had woken from had been of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, ready for Christmas. Lights twinkled, mulled wine flowed, and the tables were heaped with mince pies and turkey and shiny red Christmas crackers.
Perhaps it was time to get a tree, and decorate the house. Mid-December was acceptable, wasn’t it? Not too late, not too early. Harry pondered this for a bit, before deciding that he might as well get up.
The Pensieve. Why not look at a memory now? Harry disentangled himself from Draco, then wrapped a blanket around himself made his way down the creaky old stairs.
As usual, falling into the memory was unnerving. Warm golden light filled the bedroom: a setting sun, casting long shadows across the room. The bright white lines of Draco’s body were clear, as were the fuzzier dark lines of Harry’s. They sat on the bed, fingers tracing each other’s bodies. Not the first time they had been naked together, but the first time they’d taken their time like this. Really looked at each other.
Harry’s fingers ran down the fine silvery lines of Draco’s chest, only just visible in the long rays from the window. Draco’s thumb swiped over Harry’s round scar, the one left by the Horcrux pendant. And then, slowly, it circled the skin on Harry’s chest. It grazed nipples and ran through hair, finally rising to Harry’s mouth and lips. Harry kissed Draco’s thumb, and then each of his fingers, and then down along his arm, across his chest, down to his navel and then, finally, to the straining pink-hard cock below.
The blanket fell from Harry’s shoulders as he watched, his breath held almost painfully, as he kissed Draco’s cock, and licked it, and lapped at his balls before taking it into his mouth. Oh! He breathed again, in rhythm with the head bobbing in front of him. But then Draco made sound, a sighing groan, that drew Harry’s attention.
Colour heated Draco’s face and neck, and his lips were parted while his eyes were closed. He swayed, almost, as the subtle movements of his jaw and face betrayed just how much he was enjoying himself. This was better than any dream, and Harry’s hand found its into his pyjamas for a series of long, slow tugs. But then Harry stopped: he wasn’t going to wank off to a memory like this. Not when Draco was asleep upstairs. Warm and soft in bed.
Instead, Harry watched, keeping as still as he could – almost as though he didn’t want to disturb the two men in front of him – while Draco’s voice grew louder until he groaned through his climax. The Harry of the memory sat up, his lips swollen and shiny and a look of sly satisfaction on his face.
The memory faded, and Harry shivered in the dark and the cold of the living room. He bottled the memory up as quickly as he could, then took the stairs two at time to get back to Draco.
Draco squirmed when Harry climbed back into bed.
“Cold feet. Gerroff.”
Harry kissed Draco on the cheek. “I watched the next memory.”
“You what?” Draco half-opened his eyes. “Why are you waking to tell me—” Understanding lit his face. “Oh, you did, did you?”
“Yes.” Harry slid a hand, slightly warmer now, over the hard edge of Draco’s hip. “I did.”
“Well in that case,” Draco said, his hot fingers finding Harry’s aching cock surprisingly quickly, “I think I know why you’re here.”
Harry grinned. "You dirty fucker, sticking that memory in."
"But you liked it?"
"Oh yes, I did." Harry kissed Draco. He no longer felt cold, not when rubbing and grabbing and grasping with a sleep-heated and most wonderful man.
Harry walked into work half an hour late, and Robards shouted at him, but he didn’t care. He smiled all day.
>>parts 12, 13, 14.
no subject
And thank you for all your comments - it was great knowing that you were reading along. I am woefully behind myself, as you can see, so I am doubly impressed at you keeping up with advent fics. :)
no subject
no subject