Distorted Exposure

AN: read on.

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When Draco awoke the next morning the deep black curtains had been thrown wide open so that the brightness of the outside world invaded the room. The first coherent thought to enter his mind was that he was unbearably uncomfortable. For the first time, Draco found himself painfully stiff from having slept on the couch and his boxers clung disgustingly close to his skin as if glued to it by his own essence.

Draco grimaced and sat up, noticing as his vision cleared that the room was not nearly as bright as fully open curtains warranted. It was then that he noticed the dreary ash skies and a blurriness that he associated with drizzling rain. The weather itself left Draco feeling put out but then as he glanced about the room once more, taking in the various possessions of his that had found themselves scattered about the room, his heart sank further.

Packing. That was what he had resolved himself to do the night before. It was his luck that Potter had already left for his individual shoot. Nothing but good would come of avoiding the brunet until they had a chance to part ways for good, at least that’s what he convinced himself.

Certainly packing would be a less bothersome affair without the likes of Potter in the room, at his back, to worry about, strolling about causing his body to be irritatingly aroused. But first thing was first, and most importantly at that moment what Draco found he craved more than anything was a strong, hot shower.

Walking stiffly to the bathroom, Draco shut himself in, trying to ignore the fact that the room smelled unmistakably like Harry’s hair and skin. Throwing off his shirt and pants, then peeling away his boxers, Draco turned the water on and stepped beneath the spray. Water just a touch hotter than perfect touched his skin, and Draco relished in the stinging heat that pounded against him. Draco turned to face the water and groaned as it scalded against his semi-hard morning erection.

The discomfort faded away as his skin was left clean beneath the water which ran in rivets down his body. Draco took his time, staying under the spray until his skin began to take on a flushed pink hue and the air seemed laden with steam. When he stepped out from under the showerhead he felt refreshed, clean and oddly determined.

After having preformed his regular morning routines, Draco stepped out into the noticeably less humid main room. Draco found then that he had no real appetite for breakfast (though it was much more likely to be closer to lunch by then) and set about packing with a dull sort of resignation towards the task.

There really wasn’t a lot to do considering how long he had stayed in the room. Whether it was the animosity between Potter and himself or the mere idea of having to share a room, the place overall didn’t look lived in. Draco did have odd things scattered about the room, books and letters, quills and the odd accessory, but then all that just looked to be a part of the room, a part of the set.

The rational place to start was his suitcase, which sat in a corner of the room for easy access whether he slept on the bed or the couch, as it had turned out more often then he would have ever liked. The suitcase itself was the only evidence to the days which had passed, and in the rather messy condition it was in Draco didn’t stand a chance of having it close.

With a sigh that befitted his frustration at being forced to preform such a menial task, Draco set about sorting though the pile of dirty clothes which sat on top. When he had packed the bag, he had packed it quite full and so Draco knew he would have to fold everything quite neatly, dirty or no, to fit it all back in.

As he slowly began to fold the clothes one by one he lamented over the fact that he wasn’t quite as proficient at household charms as the situation required. Anything to keep from thinking of Potter. But even in not thinking of Potter, all Draco could think of was him. For moments, for brief flashes as his determination lapsed, for seconds on end as his mind attempted valiantly to betray his resolution. It was enough to drive any normal individual insane, and that was quite how Draco felt by the time he had folded his way to the neater, untouched part of his suitcase.

In anticipation of a longer stay Draco had packed more clothes then he had ended up using. Not wanting to lay the dirty clothes on top of the clean ones, Draco shifted them to one side and place in the newly folded clothes. By then Draco sincerely wished he could simply have shrunk everything down and avoided the task of handling every piece of clothing he owned, but then everyone knew that sizing charms damaged the fibres of quite nearly all fabrics.

After all the clothes were settled in his suitcase Draco listlessly wandered the room, gathering up the assortment of belongings which had found their way to different areas of the room. Dragging his feet Draco tried not to think of it as prolonging the moment when he would be done packing.

Picking up the last item, a book, from the desk in the corner Draco tried desperately to ignore the flashes of memory that his mind fed him, of being pushed up against said desk, of having Harry’s tongue plundering his mouth with the edge of the varnished wood surface cutting into his back as he was pinned against it by the weight of Harry’s lean, hard body.

Draco shook his head. There was no reason to allow himself to think in such a way. There was nothing to hope for, little left to yearn for and certainly no chance to gain what his body screamed for. Being with Potter stroked a fire within him and yet the overwhelming heat of it all was daunting. What he could have with Potter was only a flitting dream; he had had a taste of what their union had to offer and though he craved to indulge in it, to dive in head first he held on desperately to reality.

Him and Potter. Potter and him. It was too much. Too much to think about, too painful to consider, and the only thing to do was to walk away before he got himself hurt. There was no reason for him to allow someone else to make him so vulnerable. He had never been so irrational as to forego his common sense until Potter had waltzed into his life again after so many years and ignited such recklessness in him.

It had been alright to give in then, tucked away in a remote and untouched mansion, alone with no one else to sate his need but in the real world he was Draco Malfoy and he stood alone. There was no way he could risk being with Potter because despite all he tried to convince himself of, despite the fact that he had consented only to sex, Potter had the uncanny ability of so effortlessly unmasking him, of laying him bare.

It was fine in a world of photo shoots and mindless nights of passion, but in the real world Draco knew he couldn’t allow himself the comfort of waking up in Potter’s arms.

Draco gritted his teeth and lessened the death grip he had on the book in his hand as he noticed his knuckles turning white. Slowly, with precise deliberation Draco walked over to his suitcase and dropped the book, the last of his possessions, on top of everything else in the suitcase. Draco let his mind turn off, in that moment, Draco decided Potter meant nothing to him.

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Harry ate an early dinner before taking a slow walk back to the room. He was exhausted, physically, mentally, well and truly exhausted. And yet he was pleased too, pleased with the work he had done and on a deeper level, pleased that he had taken this chance.

Entering the room the first thing he noticed was that he was alone. That in and of itself deflated his slightly optimistic mood. He wasn’t sure what he had wanted, whether it was a confrontation with Draco he had subconsciously craved, or maybe just a sight of the blond but either way he felt the weight of disappointment.

The next thing he took notice of was the fact that the curtains were still open and what had, early in the morning been a slow humid buzz of rain had turned into an earnest downpour. It was disheartening because Harry had wanted to step outside and feel the fresh air on his skin. So much so that he was even tempted to step into the gale of water and wind outside but thought better of it as the rain lashed against the glass panes of the balcony doors causing them to hum with the force of repeated impact.

With a sigh which sounded almost petulant, Harry threw himself on the bed. Admittedly, even after such a long day he had wanted to see Draco. If he had, in all likely hood they would have fought; after the night before there was little else to hope for and yet Harry yearned to see him. To talk perhaps, though he knew not what he would say if faced with the blond. In fact the harder he thought on it the more tangled his thoughts became.

In any case, Harry suspected that if he were to find himself face to face with Malfoy again, even the most well practised speech would have been thrown out the window. Draco, to him, was anything but scripted, and far from typical. Perhaps, he mused, that was why Malfoy got to him in ways that he couldn’t comprehend. The blond could find his way under Harry’s skin with a few well placed words or even a look and yet Harry was satisfied with the knowledge that he held just as much sway over Malfoy.

Harry yawned as he glanced up at the canopy above his head. Against the black, vivid images of his form entangled so intimately with Draco’s formed, swimming to the forefront of his mind. Harry felt his cock stir and a simultaneous wave of pure exhaustion washed over him. He couldn’t deal with memories of his moments with Draco, not when they seemed so fleeting and distant; untouchable. Harry forced his contemplation of the blond, in all its forms, to the back of his mind.

Having barely managed the feat, Harry found himself oddly concentrated on the idea of packing. After all, his stay the mansion had come to an end. Harry ignored the way his heart sunk, and the almost dull thud of its muted beats. There was no reason to think on it, to think of Draco, of the time that was left, mere hours at most to work out what was nothing more than a mess of emotional barriers, grand delusions and words unspoken. No amount of stewing on his part was going to make the situation better, the only thing for it was to confront the blond when he made his appearance. Harry knew as much and yet he had to work very hard indeed to keep thoughts of one Draco Malfoy at bay.

Deciding he had plenty of time to pack the following day, Harry instead focussed on keeping awake. He wanted to talk to Draco, more than anything he wanted to know that he wasn’t alone in what he felt, and he wanted to mention that things didn’t have to end because the photo shoots had come to an end, that they could have time, time to think things through, though in reality neither of them had admitted, out loud, that there were matters to work out, matters stretching beyond the mere physics of sex. But then just thinking it Harry felt foolish. It was Malfoy after all that he was considering voicing such thoughts to. The same Malfoy who had fixed him with the patented, icy cold Malfoy glare just the night before. Right. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco...

Harry stopped thinking.

The sound of rain was constant, almost soothing in its ferocity. Harry blinked tired eyes. It really had been a long day, not helped in the least by the fact that he had spent most of it thinking of Draco. The blond had really become a sort of enigma for him, the thought wasn’t nearly as revolting as Harry’s reality based comfort required.

Harry blinked. It was really becoming hard to keep up the steady routine of opening his eyes. Harry nodded off for brief moments as he watched the door, willing a certain platinum blond to stroll through. There was a conversation to be had, and unless he was sorely mistaken Draco could not deny that he too had felt something while glancing at those pictures.

His mind was running in loops. He had the distinct feeling of having had such a thought before, several times before. He had to stay awake. It would have been an easier were he not lying on such a comfortable mattress. Harry tried to moved but his limbs felt heavy. Harry allowed his eyes to shut.

When Draco walked in he would wake up, or rather the blond would probably wake him up, disconcerted, angry and probably a little desperate. After all even the pride of a Malfoy could only hold out so long. He knew that Draco had been shocked back to reality after seeing the photographs. Admittedly he had been a little thrown himself, and that he supposed, warranted the cold demeanor Draco had fallen back on. But with the photo shoots coming to an end Draco would feel the need to talk it out, or more likely yell it out, he knew because he too felt the press of time, it was almost like running out of air to breath. He fell into the warm embrace of sleep, confident that Draco would not leave their relationship - if it could be called that - in the air. Draco would surely talk to him, he had earned that much.

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Detachment. That was decidedly how Draco was ensuring the success of his resolution. By compartmentalizing his thoughts and feelings he could effectively do what was expected of him and not have to think about what it was he was doing.

Draco stared into the lense of the camera, and the sound of the shutters meshing was the only thing that registered in his mind. His sight was focussed solely on the gleam of light reflected in the camera lense, dulled by substances coated on to reduce the overly reflective properties of glass which were contradictory in nature to the clarity of a well taken picture.

“Draco?”

“Yes.”

“Is something the matter?”

“You tell me.” Draco said, matter-of-factly. He had thought things had been proceeding well.

“You seem a little reserved.”

“...”

“Let me rephrase that.” Alex said, holding the camera in his right hand and running the other one through his hair. “Every shot you’ve taken today has been bland at best. It’s like you’re not all here. I just wanted to know whether something was wrong.”

“No. Nothing of the sort.” Draco replied shortly. His nerves were already quite frayed and the rather unnecessarily picky behaviour of the photographer did nothing to put Draco at ease.

“Look if something is bothering you then we can do this some other time. Tomorrow or-”

“No.” Draco hissed vehemently. He wanted this over. He wanted to be away, he wanted to get himself to a place where Potter truly did mean nothing to him. There really was no question of prolonging the experience.

“It’s just that you seem exceptionally guarded today, it really doesn’t translate well behind the lense.” Alex said with a sigh, placing the camera on the desk behind him. Draco flinched at that.

“Tell me what to do.”

Alex shook his head. “I hadn’t thought this would be so hard. In fact I expected you, out of the both of you to excel at the individual shoots. I didn’t think that Ren’s direction would be needed in your case. But then I suppose I was wrong.” Alex perched himself on the edge of the desk and regarded Draco with curious eyes.

“I had expected something of equal calibre to yesterday’s shots.”

Draco blinked. He wasn’t going to think about this. And yet he couldn’t simply close his ears.

“Harry was...exceptional.” Alex breathed the last word in a hush, sounding nearly reverent. Draco felt his stomach clench.

“Simply gorgeous. I almost melted in the heat of his pictures. But then you’ll see. He’s really quite perfect. Maybe it was harder to notice you two as individuals when you modelled together but yesterday was an entirely different story.” Alex’s tone was low. It barely registered over the increasingly vibrant buzz that filled his ears.

Draco barely recognized the feelings that welled up inside him. Feelings bound to thoughts meant never to be entertained by reason of resolutions he simply had to keep. Draco found himself wondering when the process of losing his sanity had become such a painful ordeal. Not thinking of Potter didn’t help and thinking of Potter was anything but what he wanted to do and unless he pulled himself together he would only prolong his own misery.

Still there was one precarious line of hope that still remained to him. The knowledge that the moment he thrust himself back in the real world, where the idea of he and Potter brought only to mind the bitterest of rivalries, then he wouldn’t feel quite so overwhelmed at the mere thought of Harry Potter. And the sooner he finished the shoot the sooner he could grab his packed bags and leave.
“Sorry.” Draco drawled at last. “ I lost myself for a moment.”

“Right...” Alex said slowly, as though he hadn’t expected such words to come form the blond’s mouth and Draco found the bubbling anger for the photographer, which had welled up so suddenly in him come to a boil.

Alex picked up the camera, a little doubtful and Draco positioned himself in the throne like chair as he turned his gaze away from the camera and to the shackles and chains that hung from the wall. For a moment Draco wondered whether Harry had been photographed on the set he was in then. He thought he could imagine the ex-Gryffindor shackled to the wall he was looking at. The thought sent a spark shooting through him and Draco heard the frenzied flutter of the camera shutters working overtime.

Alex made a thoughtful noise of seeming appreciation and Draco didn’t stop his mind. Potter meant nothing to him, and so it meant nothing to be thinking of him.

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When mid afternoon rolled around and Alex paused the shoot in favour of both changing sets and getting some refreshments Draco found himself staring blankly at the four poster bed which he so very clearly remembered. It was hard to forget because every time his mind processed the image, flashes of lying entangled and covered, on top of the bed with Harry’s head against his chest invaded every nook and cranny of his functioning brain. And then his mind wiped blank and the process started over again.

Draco turned away and stared at a blank wall, sipping his drink. A tremor, faint but real ran through him, and it felt harder than ever to think of nothing, to make it mean nothing. Then, as if by power of the heavens themselves a thought so brilliantly perfect, so absolutely relieving hit him.

It was midafternoon. Past half way through the day. Potter had finished his final shoot the day before. Harry usually woke around midmorning if he could. Harry didn’t have a lot of stuff to pack. By midafternoon packing would have been an old story. By then Harry would have left. He would have taken his stuff and gone, gone back to his little niche of Quidditch and fame and friends and things Draco needn’t think of because Harry Potter was gone. Gone from the mansion, gone from his life. Gone. Harry meant nothing to him now.

Draco felt the tension fall away. It was odd because Draco felt as though he was falling with it too. Sinking through the air when he should have been worry free and light as a feather. He couldn’t understand it. Harry meant nothing to him. So why was that when he could finally stop thinking about Harry he didn’t even want to think at all.

It was too hard, Draco decided. It was much easier to stop thinking all together. He moved over to the bed and sat himself down. He felt it sink under his weight and knew it was only his weight that pushed the mattress down. He could feel the velvet soft covers beneath his fingers and knew that it was only him feeling them.
Alex positioned the camera. Draco glanced at it and knew that it only saw him. Draco could feel the room as if it were a part of him and he refused to think it was empty, after all, he was still there, and that was all that was supposed to matter, that was how it was supposed to be. That was everything and Potter was nothing. Nothing.

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“You are staying for dinner right?”

Draco caught himself so desperately wanting to say no. Yet social mandate forced him to swallow his displeasure at the idea and accept. The only bright side to the situation was that Potter wouldn’t be there and though Draco preferred with all his being not to be in a house that reminded him so much of what he least wanted to think on, Draco felt he could handle one last dinner with his employers for the sake of a civility he had up until then only exercised minimally.

And so Draco found himself replying in the affirmative despite his misgivings.

“Well dinner’s in about an hour and I’m sure you have some packing to do.” Alex said pleasantly. Draco chose not to correct the photographer, quite glad to have a reason to escape from the unexpectedly exhausting day to the peace of a room that for once he wouldn’t have to share.

Draco took the rather lengthy walk back to the room and found himself standing before the heavy wooden double doors. Now, face to face with the place where Draco had spent at least half his stay with Potter, he found that he was feeling rather despondent about entering the room. Whether empty or not it still triggered memories that, however pleasurable, Draco preferred not to think on for the purpose of his own sanity.

Growling as his own recently bothersome mind set Draco thrust open the double doors and strode in. He was halfway through the room when something hit him with all the shocking qualities of a bucket of ice water being emptied on his head.

Lazing about, paying no attention to the rules and regulations of the much assumed world of Draco Malfoy was one brunet who, though admittedly seeming to have not a care in the world looked over at Draco entrance with a meagrely satisfied smile.

Draco refrained from spluttering stupidly at Potter who was still smiling at him rather infuriatingly but only barely.

“What are you doing here?” Draco spat, as soon as he could form the words.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, sitting up from the bed and looking rather adorably puzzled. Having completed the thought Draco silently swore never again to associate the word adorable with Potter ever again.

“What the bloody hell do you mean, what do I mean?” Draco hissed, his reality crumbling down around him as he stood facing Potter, trembling only slightly. He had been anything but prepared for the situation he found himself faced with, not when he had spent most of the afternoon reasoning out that Potter was nothing because he was no longer in the mansion. The logic, Draco found, failed miserably when the keystone of it just happened to disappear form his reality.

“Er...aren’t I supposed to be here?” Harry asked, looking at him rather peculiarly.

‘No! No, you’re bloody well not!’ Draco wanted to scream but yet again he held back. “What do I care.” Draco muttered instead, turning away from the image of Potter sitting on the bed, legs open just a bit, vivid green eyes watching him.

The torrent outside lashed at the windows and glass balcony doors and Draco wished it wasn’t raining quite so hard because he was suddenly feeling the need to escape into some fresh air. The wind rattled the glass heavily as though in opposition to the mere idea of Draco escaping this unbearably awkward situation.

“So you’re done your shoot?” Asked Potter’s voice from behind him. If Draco recognized the strain in his normally smooth tones he didn’t mention it.

“Yes.”

Distant thunder reverberated through the air though the sky outside remained pitch black and unlit by even the remotest flash of lightning. The glass of the balcony doors glimmered in the firelight as Draco stared out at the storm, watching the water rippling and changing.

“Then this-”

“Look Potter I’m really not one for touching heart to heart moments.” Draco said dryly, turning his gaze on the brunet.

Harry regarded him carefully.

“I’m here because Alex asked me to stay for dinner.” Harry said softly, almost in way of an explanation.

Draco caught himself wincing at the name.

“Don’t presume to think I care.” Draco muttered, looking not at Potter, but glaring instead at the plush carpeting beneath his feet.

“Draco...”

The name rang in his ears, bouncing about his inconveniently blank mind.

“Really Potter, can’t you just shut your mouth. What don’t you get about the fact that I simply don’t care for a word that passes your lips.”

“Oh?” The voice was conversational and far too close. When Draco’s eyes snapped up he found that Potter was less than two feet away from him. Draco swallowed hard. This meant nothing, he insisted within his own mind, more for his own composure than anything.

Draco clenched his hands into fists, feeling the slight rush of pain overwhelm all thought of Potter for the brief reprieve of a moment. And then Potter was in his space, invading everything that he sensed and perceived.

“You may not care for the words, but you can’t say you don’t think of these lips.” Harry husked. And then those lips were pressed against his own, asking him to indulge and Draco allowed himself, just for a moment to fall into the brunet’s steady embrace.

“This is right.” Harry whispered as he broke of the kiss, his hand still holding Draco’s head steady by the grip on the back of his neck. He implored the blond to feel the words he spoke, to show that he felt even a fraction of what he had assumed Draco had hidden behind his Malfoy mask.

Draco recoiled, seemed to come into himself once more.

“Yes. But only now and never again.” Draco murmured and caught Potter’s stunned lips with his own, taking full advantage of the open mouth to plunder it thoroughly and to embed the taste of Potter in his own mouth, drinking it in as though it was the very essence of the air he breathed. “It’s just physical, and you’re far too caught up.” Draco whisper against his mouth. “It means nothing. You and I will go our separate ways the second we walk out of this house and from that moment on you will mean nothing to me, in fact you’ll mean less than nothing because you mean nothing now.

“It was a matter of satisfaction and you don’t need to ease your guilt by kidding either of us into thinking it was anything more. You’re the one who kept saying it was only sex, telling me to get over myself and now you need to get over your self-righteous ideals. Just be man enough to admit that you were simply riling for some good old fashioned dirty, wrong fun. Stop trying to made good with your conscience, there’s nothing to smooth over with me. I’ve accepted it Potter. And it’s about time you did too.”

Somehow Draco didn’t feel the heavy weight which had settled in his gut lift as he finished his little speech. He felt something shatter almost from within and he thought it was more than likely his own mind. But then he wasn’t allowed a moment’s reprieve to think on it. Potter jerked away as if burned and Draco caught himself staring rather stupidly at the brunet’s expression and felt dulled to the feelings and thoughts that raged inside himself; incomprehensible, unimportant. The thunder peeled louder and Harry turned away stiffly, and without a word threw himself onto the bed once more.

Draco bolted away the thoughts that had suddenly fallen so deeply silent within him and instead allowed his exhausted mind to rant about overly delicate ego’s though he could hardly stay aware of his own thoughts. Draco turned away, rather resigned to spend whatever remained of his last hour in his and Potter’s shared room on the couch.

And of all the meaningless thoughts that passed through his head in the time leading up to dinner, the only thing that stuck was that he seemed to be settling for a lot of second best moments just to avoid even another instant under Potter’s gaze.

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AN: I know that was a whole lot of thinking and no real action but it was meant to show the parallels between Harry and Draco's characters as well as set things up for the final two chapters.

Now since the fic is coming to a close I thought I might answer a few of the more commonly asked questions.

Q: Am I a photographer?

A: No, though photography does interest me I don't even own a proper camera and I don't know the first thing when it comes to photography.

Q: Will you commission pictures from your fic?

A: No. But if anyone has any art inspired by this fic I'd love to see it. And I might try sketching out a scene myself despite my lack of skill in art if anyone would like to see that.

Q: What fics can be expected after this one?

A: I really want to do a couple oneshots. I don't know if I want the commitment of another long fic but I'll say this, I definitely don't lack for ideas. I might try a different pairing, though nothing that conflicts with Harry/Draco. It really depends on my mood once I've finished. But what with school starting up again I won't have much time. I think I might do a multichaptered but shorter H/D fic.

I'll continue to answer questions in the next two chapters, which shouldn't take too long to type up. I'm still hoping for the one year mark as the finish line.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

- Incessant_Darkness