Draco's Cracked Mask

**WARNING** This section is not as dark and angry as the previous ones. It DOES include sex (hot, angry sex); but still angsty, with hope at the end.

Author's note--Alright, here we go. Chapter 5 as promised! This picks up right where the last chapter left off, so I hope you've read Chapter 4 as a warm-up. This just jumps right into the angry sex (which is the best kind, IMO) but it gets a little bit lighter and more hopeful towards the end. *sigh*

It feels like this story is coming to a close. There might be a couple of wrap-up chapters to tie up any loose ends...or maybe not. Now, though, if this story is over, I don't know what I'm going to do the next time I'm feeling angry and emotional. I'll have to start a new plotline, I guess.
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I could see the fire lighting in his green eyes as I talked about the things my father would do to me. Good. I need him to be angry because I am.

“What do I need to spank you for?”

“Everything,” I tell him. “Spank me for being a brat to you, for almost taking the Dark Mark, for scaring you, for not trusting you completely.”

I stare at him, half-begging and half-daring him. He looks back at me, searching, not breaking eye contact as he reaches back, giving a sort of nod, and pulls my hand out of his hair. Then he grips my chin, kissing me harshly on the mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, not giving me time to respond before grabbing my sides. I’m standing before him, in between his knees, and he moves me with one swift motion, turning my side towards him, and then suddenly I’m bent over his knee, pale arse in the air. I can feel his other leg as it traps my legs beneath his thigh so that I can’t kick. I mean, I wouldn’t anyway—well, not on purpose—but the extra contact is reassuring. One hand is on the small of my back, and I’m about to glance over my shoulder when the first slap lands unexpectedly on my fleshy buttocks. I jumped out of my skin, pressing my lips together, not making a sound, and he brought his hand back, connecting with my backside again…and again, and again, until the skin is bright pink.

I’m gasping, and on the inside, I’m begging him to stop. I want him to stop because it hurts, but my rational mind knows that he shouldn’t stop. We need this, and I keep reminding myself of it. Throughout this assault on my backside, my back was arched and tensed with each swat. Instinctively, I knew that he was taking a short break, and I relax over his knee again, feeling the familiar palm pass over my stinging skin in a soothing caress. I twist to look at him over my shoulder when I feel a couple of drops. He’s crying, and the tears coursing down his cheeks fell onto the marks he made. I reach back with my near hand, stroking his bicep in a weird comfort stroke, trying to tell him that it’s okay. I brush a hand over my own face, finding mirrored wetness. We both need this.

“Come on, Potter,” I sneer, through my tears. “Is that the best you’ve got?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him push his glasses up, and then I actually squealed in shock when he pressed two fingers into me! I forgot to try to stay behind the mask when he penetrated me with slicked fingers. I wiggled, and he pulls his fingers out of my arse and smacks it again, only a couple of times. He releases my legs and gives my shoulder a slight push, allowing me to stand in between his knees. I don’t have time to be confused, though, because he suddenly stands up next to me, swings me around, and pushes me back onto the bed, his hard body following me down. My legs automatically come up and encircle his waist, and his throbbing member is pressing against my entrance. He kisses me ferociously, and then he pulls back, looking at me tenderly. With a wave of his wand, I feel slickness inside of me, and I know what’s coming.

“You’re the best I’ve got,” he whispers in answer to the question I pretty much forgot I asked. He presses his hips forward, and I arch my back in response. I feel so cherished right now that I can hardly stand it. “You’re the best part of me, Draco.”

“Oh, Merlin, we’re in trouble then,” I whisper back, trying to use humor as a defense mechanism to cover up the rising tide of emotion in my chest. I turn my head, pressing one cheek into the sheets, hiding as best I can in this position. His palm deftly slips between my face and the bed, gently pressuring until my face is pointed towards him again. My bottom lip is trembling so hard from squelching all of my feelings, and with a series of kisses, he breaks down all of my defenses. His lips ghost over my closed eyelids, starting at one and working his way down my cheekbone to my jaw, along the underside of my chin, and back up the other side of my face to the other eyelid, and finishes by planting a soft yet firm kiss to the center of my forehead.

This tenderness that he shows, the way he handles me with such care when I’m feeling so fragile…I don’t know if I can ever get used to it, but Merlin help me, I love it. I’m so used to being kicked while down that I rarely allowed myself to be in any sort of vulnerable position, but Harry has changed all of that. I still don’t let anyone else see beyond the mask, but Harry has always been gentle with me. It’s that very gentleness that rips me open, and he sees it by the way I begin to sob uncontrollably. Ironically, it’s the mercy he shows that actually breaks me. It’s not what I was expecting, but that’s his way. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that his methods are different than my family’s, but since I am only ever used to dealing with brutality and ruthlessness, I figured he would hurt me the way I asked him to.

And while Harry Potter always does what he’s asked, rarely does he ever do the expected thing, the ‘normal’ thing. I’m shaking and crying, and he’s holding me, cheek-to-cheek, and all the while he keeps up a slow and careful pace that pulls him almost all the way out of me and then re-invades me in such a delicious manner that I can’t help but feel how much he loves me. It radiates.

I let him know beyond a doubt how he makes me feel. I whisper it in his ear, and as my tears slow and stop, he begins speeding up. As his thrusts get rougher, my voice gets louder until I’m all but screaming. Luckily, he’s taken to holding himself up with his arms, hips pumping furiously, while I writhe and rock underneath him, safe and protected. My bum still smarts when I flex into the sheets, but I’m in such a state of bliss that the minor pain just adds to my pleasure.

We are rebuilding, he and I. I was broken, and he held me and loved me and helped me put myself back together. He was scared of love, of living, of actually being happy because life had taught him that happiness was merely a greater height from which he would fall. We heal each other, and that is why I choose him and he me. Whatever happened in the past at Hogwarts was nothing. It is just that, the past. It is an amusing story to tell and nothing more because what is important is here and now.

I managed to slide one calf up his sweat-drenched body, enough for him to get the hint and pull my legs up over his shoulders. It changes the angle, of course, and at first, my entire lower half is off the bed as I clutch the sheets. There’s not enough contact, though, and I reach up to pull his shoulders. He leans forward until we’re nearly nose-to-nose (or as close as we can get…I’m not THAT flexible…yet). I’m practically bent in half with my knees almost touching my collar bone, pinned under Harry’s spectacular body that is still battering that wonderful spot inside me.

“Oh, god, Harry, I’m close,” I gasped, unable to arch against him any more. He ducks his head suddenly and kisses me harshly for as long as he can, which isn’t very long because he does need to breathe.

“I love you so fucking much, Draco,” he growls, and my orgasm starts. It’s interesting how we are both males with dicks and yet, we come in completely different ways. Personally, I prefer to savor my orgasm. It starts deep in my belly, and I try to prolong it as much as possible, teasing myself and hinting at the pleasures to come, and the torture of waiting is exquisite anguish. By the time I actually do ejaculate, my muscles are spastic and uncontrolled. I imagine it ends up looking something like a seizure, only multiplied when you throw Harry into the mix. I think I’ve actually blacked out before…but I don’t remember. I generally end up with a sort of buzzing in my head, which makes me think that he short-circuited my brain, but I’m fine with that!

He, on the other hand, comes like a racehorse. A sprinter, to be exact, because as soon as the starting gate opens, BANG! He’s done, sated and happy. The trick is that he can pretty much come on command, so he keeps the gate closed, so to speak, until I’m somewhere in orbit on Cloud Nine, and then he finishes explosively. It works for us.

My eyes cross as I feel the familiar pleasure overtaking any semblance of control. I can’t help that my head turns one way, then the other, or that I arch up into him, in spite of his weight pressing down on me. My legs clench, and I wonder how my calves don’t squeeze together to strangle him. I can’t hold onto anything, not the sheets or even him. I think I started crying again, but that could have been sweat dripping from his face to mine. He tells me that the look of pure rapture on my face during orgasm is one of the most beautiful sights in the world; of course, I blush and try to change the subject when he tells me this afterwards when I’m sober.

I’m not drunk on alcohol, but I have a fierce addiction to Harry. He’s my poison and my cure. He is the one who undoes me and glues me back together. He breaks me and then heals me. I want desperately to be worthy of him. I know that it’s up to me to take care of him, to be strong when he is weak. It’s such a big job, and I don’t have a lot of practice in loving people. He knows this and wants me anyway, and that just floors me. Luckily, he’s as addicted to me as I am to him.

There is actually a point, right before I release, where I usually stop breathing. It’s only for a split second, but I’ve often wondered that if it ever were to last long enough, I might very well experience an orgasm-induced death. It happens so fast; one minute, I’m gasping for air as I fixate blankly on some spot on the ceiling above Harry’s face, and the next, my lungs freeze up as I convulse. My mouth is still open, and it’s like I’m trying to draw a breath. I just can’t. Then, just before that pulse-pounding moment when my brain registers that the oxygen is slowing down and just before panic kicks in, whatever had a grip on my chest loosens, and I’m sucking in air so that I can scream as my cock spurts. I think my momentary lapse in breathing is his cue, when he lets the gate open, to continue my metaphor, and the first strings of come pulse inside me; that must be what jumpstarts my lungs again.

He throws his head back, pressing himself into me as deeply as he can. Like I said, he comes like a racehorse, which includes the amount! Even after I finish ejaculating, which is only a string or two at the most, I still need about half a minute to recover control over my body. Longer if he expects coherent speech or brain function. He, on the other hand, oozes three or four jets against my prostate, more than that if it’s been a while since the last time. I think the most I ever counted (during a blow job) was six separate pulses of semen. He thoughtfully recovers himself without moving, though, and he doesn’t pull out or shift until I blink and manage to twitch a little to show him that I’m not dead.

I can feel the extra fullness with his come inside me. He is panting, just hanging above me, watching me with satisfied, passionate, loving green eyes, and he leans down to kiss me gently in the aftermath of our coupling. I am able to kiss him back, and he murmurs an assertion of love against my lips before pulling back, sliding himself out of me with concern. I know he’s worried that I’m hurt from our brutal love-making, but all I can do is smile at him and sort of flop my head from side to side in what I hope is a convincing head shake.

His spunk is leaking out of me; and my arse feels hollow, empty, but it burns with the reminder. It’s such a delicious burn, though, soft enough on the outside that it doesn’t cause me discomfort, but sharp enough on the inside that I am constantly reminded of the power of his love for me. I can’t even get up to go to the loo to relieve myself; I’m that shaky. He rolls to the side, still watching me, and I barely track his movements with my eyes. There will be a big damn wet spot on the bed where my arse is, but I don’t care.

“You’re my hero,” I whisper, concentrating extra hard to make my mouth form the right words. “You’re my everything. I love you, Harry Potter.”

“I would do absolutely anything for you, Draco,” he responds. “I will move heaven and hell to get to you. You are my heart, and I love you.” As if to prove his words, he reaches for his wand, aiming a Cleaning Charm in my direction. The wetness is gone, but the feeling is not. I sigh contentedly, holding my arms out to him.

“Come here, you big, sappy Gryffindor,” I say, and he obeys. He positions himself beside me, on his side, and slides one arm under my neck, making a pillow for my head in the crook of his shoulder where his bicep meets his collarbone. He rests that hand on the back of my head. I’m still on my back, and I bring my near hand up to cup his cheek. Our faces are turned towards each other, foreheads touching, and his other arm is across my chest, pinned to me by my far hand. I love feeling his muscles relaxing as he holds me, even if our position isn’t a normal cuddling one. I snake my foot over, and he jumps as my cold toes prod his legs, settling my ankle in that gap between his. We are connected body and soul, from our foreheads to our feet, and nothing in the world can take this away from us.

We may have our differences and we may fight, but our love endures. Love, after all, glues the mask back together. This time, though, we’re both underneath it, giggling with each other because there are no more barriers between us. The mask now shields us from the world, but not from each other. Never from each other. We are together; we are one; and we are inseparable.
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Author's note--Yes, underneath it all, I'm just a big, sappy loser who loves to torture Harry and Draco but ultimately, they end up together. *cue the 'awwww' and barfing*

Thank you for taking this journey with me. I appreciate all of you who have reviewed, and while it's not my normal style of writing, I'm glad you enjoyed it nonetheless. I'm thinking there might be one more chapter to finish this story out, but it just feels like it's coming to its natural conclusion.

sunset20--I've missed you too!!! This chapter definitely doesn't have the angst that others did, but I hope you enjoyed the sex. LOL Thank you for your review. I think I got partway through "Anatomy" and then started crying so hard I couldn't finish it or see to type a review, but I will get back to it. I know that it sometimes took us a bit to respond, but I'd like to start talking again, if you want. *hugs back*

paigeey07--Thanks!!! Here was the REST of the hotness, so I hope you like!