The Open Door

Draco had been awake for nearly three hours now, but Harry still slumbered on. He was curled on his side, his head cradled on his arm, his messy black hair falling around his face. His bare chest moved imperceptibly, as he slept. Draco couldn’t help but watch, fascinated as Harry slept so peacefully. This was a man who’d just escaped from a hellish prison, and had given himself to his former rival and enemy. Yet, he slept as if there were no demons chasing him, no evilness in the world, and no pain in his future.

Harry shifted, rolling toward Draco. He’d allowed Harry to spend the night in his bed. He’d earned it. He’d earned the right to call Draco by his given name. The sheet had slipped down, revealing his thin, yet well-defined chest. The time spent locked away in the tower had only taken the last bit of baby fat from the man. He was thin, but still fit. The sparse dark hair on his chest formed a thin between his pecs leading down beneath the sheet. His dark pink nipples were flat, and for the briefest moment, Draco wondered what they would taste like. Salty? Sweet? A mixture of the two entwined with Harry’s own flavor? There was only one way to find out.

Running a well-manicured nail over the dark pink areola, Draco watched as small pebbled flesh popped up, the nipple tightening and finally forming a nice suckable bud. And, still Harry slept on.

Smirking a twisted smile, Draco ran his fingernail over Harry’s other once neglected nipple. A few, light, stroke, and it popped up as well. Harry mumbled in his sleep and moved his hand to his groin. Draco followed the innocent movement with his eyes, Harry’s hand had moved slowly down his chest, almost brushing Draco’s hand in its torturously slow trip down his body.

Perhaps, Harry wasn’t completely asleep. A least one part of him wasn’t. There was a very nice bulge forming at the vee of his legs. A very, very nice bulge. Draco glanced at Harry’s face and yet, Harry slept on; his eyes shifting under his eyelids. His long dark eyelashes flickered over his cheeks and he stirred slightly, moaning almost inaudibly.

What was he dreaming about? Legismency only worked when its victim was awake. Was he dreaming about his escape? His dead friends? Or was there something else that made his dreams so restless now.

And why did Draco care? Harry Potter was nothing more than a tool in his plan to destroy Voldemort. All those months of research and planning, enduring the Dark Lord’s filthy touch upon his skin, his body, his very soul would not be wasted. Harry Potter could be nothing to him. He wouldn’t allow it. It just couldn’t happen.

Still, he found himself wondering about what made Harry Potter tick; why he had given into Draco’s advances in the tower. The spell wouldn’t have worked if he’d fought and resisted Draco. Instead, even with his rough treatment, Harry had wanted him. He had wanted him in him, even tied up and displayed in front of his cell window. Harry Potter had allowed him to break him, to own him, to make him his pet. Most importantly, he had taken Draco’s hand and he had run with him willingly.

It just didn’t make sense. Draco gazed at the still sleeping man, now almost curled into Draco’s chest, his hair a dark slash over Draco’s pale chest. Idly, Draco stroked the dark hair back, studying the man sleeping next to him. Gryffindors were noticeably transparent in their motivations, loyal, almost to a fault; and ferocious in their defense of friends and allies. Yet, there was no reason for Harry’s actions. Draco was neither friend nor ally; Harry had no reason to be loyal to him. He had been brutal, cold, and cruel to him in the tower. And… if Harry hadn’t said that he wanted Draco to fuck him, he would have raped him unmercifully, and then he would have tortured him to within an inch of his life, and would have left no marks nor proof behind.

Why had he stayed? Why had he saved Draco?

There had to be a reason. But what?

Harry gasped softly in his sleep, then threw his arm over Draco’s waist. Draco started and began to move away but stopped. What made this man so comfortable with him?

Draco had no answers. In all his years of surviving power struggles in his own house (which now seemed like childish games), surviving the political maneuverings in the Dark Lord’s camp, and living in his father’s house made Harry’s actions seem insane.

And, why did Harry’s touch make him feel so alive?

‘It had to be the spell,’ thought Draco. ‘What else could it be?’

He had researched this particular dark spell very, very carefully; stealing away in the night to sit for long hours in the Dark Lord’s library and the Malfoy library. It was an ancient spell designed to bring down one’s enemies buy stealing what was most precious to them, their magic.

The Dark Lord had planned to kill Harry and siphon his power as he died. Draco’s spell would steal Voldemort’s power in a manner so stealthy, so sneaky, so very Slytherin that anything else would seem like a frontal attack in daylight.

He would take Voldemort’s power through Potter’s connection with the Dark Lord. Through the blood they shared, through the blood he and Potter now shared. The incantation had been cast and the two of the four conditions of the spell had been met; there were only two more, and with any luck Potter would continue to meet those conditions to complete the spell.

Harry’s breath was warm, his slow, even breathing sending little bursts of warmth across his chest. He had felt dead when he had awoken earlier. Dead as those left on the grounds of Hogwarts. Dead as Dumbledore in his crypt. The only thing that convinced he was still alive was the steady thrum of blood through his veins. It was the song of life, and his body was still able to hum. The dark-haired man was pressed against him now, head and chest to Draco’s chest; thigh to thigh, and a foot was pressed between Draco’s ankles. The heat from his naked body warmed Draco, and he wove his fingers through Harry’s hair. He could feel the other man’s erection pressed into his groin, and Harry whimpered softly in his sleep as Draco shifted slightly.

The feel of his bare skin was like silk against Draco’s, soft, yet firm, so very different than a woman’s, yet so very arousing. Was this what it meant to be alive?

Draco began to slowly disentangle himself from Harry. Harry obliged by rolling away and onto his back, one arm draped loosely over his face. He still slept, his lips barely parted, a soft buzz as he slept the sleep of the innocent.

And Harry did look innocent, even though Draco had used him brutally, in a way that would have been considered perverted to some. Innocent or not, Harry had almost begged Draco to take him again, wiggling his arse at Draco and kneeling down in submission to him. He wasn’t all that pure and virginal, no matter if what anyone thought.

Draco swallowed the hard lump that had formed in his throat. He wasn’t ashamed of what he had done, but from somewhere deep inside a feeling of sadness, despair, and hopelessness came over him. This was death, the feeling of being dead and empty. There had to be a way to feel alive, to know that he was alive, to feel anything whether it be love or hate, joy or despair, relief or anguish. There had to be a way to feel.

Suddenly, Draco knew. He knew what had made him feel hate, to feel relief, to feel alive.

He gently ran his finger around Harry’s areola, watching as it puckered. Draco bent, and lips surrounded Harry’s nipple, and he stirred slightly as Draco began to run his tongue around the dusky pink circle. Feeling his flesh respond to him, Draco paused, wondering if Harry would awaken, but he didn’t. He raised his head and gazed at Harry’s face, watching the slight movements of his lips, the way his eyes moved under his eyelids, the way his nostrils flared as he breathed. This was life in the face of death, uncertainty, and terror.

And, Draco wanted what Harry had. To be able to sleep the sleep of the innocent, the sated, and the living. To not be as he was, a dark, twisted, man who would welcome death rather than be a servant of the Dark Lord any longer.

Pulling the sheet back, he studied Harry’s naked form, watching the way his taunt stomach quivered from the cool air, the way his thigh muscle twitched, and especially the way his semi-erect cock rested in the dark nest of curls surrounding it.

It was like velvet in his hand. The skin so soft and so dark red. He moved his hand up and down, slowly, not wanting to awake the sleeping man. Yet, Draco knew he would awake soon, and find himself in a state of arousal with a man he hated.

Draco shook his head in frustration. He needed to stop fondling him, licking him, watching him. This would not take him where he needed to go; to finish the spell and destroy the monster that had killed his mother and destroyed his father, and turned Draco into the sick fuck he now was.

“Draco,” Harry said, sleepily, curling into Draco’s loose grip. “Uhmmm.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking back into awareness, and gazed owlishly at Draco. Without his glasses, he looked confused, vulnerable, like a child who was lost.

“Sleep pet, sleep,” Draco whispered, leaning in and gently pressing his lips to Harry’s. It was to be a gentle kiss, one promising sleep and protection, but Harry parted his lips and touched his tongue to Draco’s, exploring his mouth.

Startled by Harry’s response, Draco almost jerked his head back, but the hardening cock in his hand and the tongue in his mouth changed his mind. He crushed his lips to Harry’s and gently squeezed his fingers around the hardening flesh.

Harry’s hand had crept up into Draco’s hair, his fingers searching for the nape of Draco’s neck. Harry shifted beneath him, and Draco felt Harry’s other hand on his hip, guiding him on top of him.

Draco snarled and pulled back. No man would control him, no wizard, no one! Harry looked at him with wide, startled eyes, confusion and the smallest touch of fear in his face.

“No!” Draco hissed, and Harry flinched, removing his hands and seeming to draw into himself, as if to escape from Draco’s anger.

“No,” said Draco, more softly this time. “No… don’t.”

Harry held himself still, although Draco could feel him trembling beneath his touch. Draco cupped his cheek, his thumb rubbing over the lightly stubbled skin, watching Harry, watching his eyes, watching them darken and close and he was relaxing into Draco’s touch, trusting him. Draco paused, pushing his own hair out of his face, then resumed his gentle stroking of Harry’s face. The cock in his hand was hard and starting to weep over his fingers, the pre-come lubing his steady ministrations. Harry whimpered and the sound decided what Draco would do next.

He climbed on top of Harry, and sat on his thighs, allowing his own hard dick to rest next to Harry’s. The other man shivered and shifted slightly so that Draco was firmly pressed against him.

He was watching Draco intently now, his dark lust-filled eyes watching every movement, trying to anticipate what Draco would do next; he was trying not to gasp, and failing miserably.

Draco’s lips twitched, holding back the wicked smirk that threatened to twist them, and he touched two fingers to Harry’s bruised lips. Almost tenderly, he stroked at his bottom lip, dampening his fingers from the moisture within. He drew in a breath as Harry’s tongue darted out and barely touched the pad of his index finger, slowly touching it with the tip of his tongue. Harry drew his fingers in and suckled them, his tongue slipping over them, around them, wetting them, pulling them deeper into his mouth.

Draco leaned down, pushing his cock against the silken skin of the man beneath him, and pulled his fingers from Harry’s mouth, timing it so that his lips and tongue replaced what Harry was suckling and kissing. It was more than he expected, more than he fucking deserved, and certainly more than he’d ever dreamed. It was almost as if Potter… Harry was reading his mind and knowing what Draco wanted from him, needed from him. Draco broken the kiss and opened his eyes.

Harry was looking into his eyes again, and Draco felt himself being sucked in, being distracted, being fucked by the intensity of his gaze.

Harry smiled, a slow lazy one, and bucked his legs up, moving Draco to kneel above him. He began to spread his legs.

His pet was so eager to please, so pliable now, and so goddamn hot, that he wanted to bite the skin beneath his ear and feel the beat of his heart, pulsing against his mouth. Instead, Draco finally smirked, and shook his head from side to side, feeling the life, the heat and desire flood into his chest. Potter… Harry looked confused. And confused sex was always the best.

Draco licked his fingers, adding his spit to what Harry left there and held his spit-slickened fingers to show him. Harry licked his lips, his eyes never leaving those two wet fingers.

Slowly, deliberately, Draco brought them down between their bodies, watching Harry tense slightly in anticipation. Harry eyes were still following his hand, but he kept his eyes trained on Harry’s face. Draco brushed a finger against Harry’s entrance and grinned at the hungry expression flooding Harry’s face and then the shock as Draco moved his fingers to his own tight puckered entrance and pushed them in.

Draco worked himself, stretching himself, and felt the arousal coming off Harry. He hadn’t noticed Harry’s hands grasping his thighs, his fingers digging into his flesh, nor the way the other man shuddered each time he plunged his fingers deeper inside himself. He arched, feeling a course of fire shoot up his spine, his mouth open in a wordless “O” and then Draco pulled his fingers free, then returned his gaze to Harry’s face.

Harry’s mouth opened and then he shut it. The slow lazy smile returned to his lips as Draco gripped his cock and moved above it.

Draco held the throbbing, blood-engorged length in his hand and teased the tip of it with his loosened entrance. Potter had lost that smile and was looking shocked and a little scared and confused and aroused and just so fucking beautiful.

Slowly, Draco eased himself down, feeling Harry fill him, the heat and fire and desire oozing from his cock to burn him from the inside out. Draco rarely allowed anyone access to his body. He was a Malfoy and dammit he was the taker, not some needy fuck who cried and begged for someone to fuck him and make him come.

Harry’s grip had tightened and Draco pulled his hands from his thighs and laced his fingers through Harry’s and pushed his hands down beside his head. “No…” he whispered, and he ground his arse down and Harry’s cry told it all.

Draco rose up slowly and then lowered himself all the while watching Harry. He gripped Draco’s hands tightly, not really trying to get loose from his grasp. Draco lowered himself, thrusting downward, riding Harry, his balls slapping against Harry and his inner muscles clenching around the hard cock pushing deep inside him.

It was all about control.

Harry rolled his hips and thrust up as Draco came down, and Draco couldn’t stop his harsh cry. Harry was so deep within him, he could feel him almost inside his belly. He ground down again and was rewarded with a low moan from Harry. He loosened a hand from Harry’s tight grip and brushed the other man’s hair from his face.

Harry was fucking crying! Slow, fat drops were rolling down his cheeks and then into his hair. He was still moving with Draco, though his movements were getting rougher, and more erratic. He wasn’t watching Draco anymore; his eyes were closed tightly and he panted in time with each downward thrust from Draco.

Draco dropped down and ground into Harry who keened. He felt the hot come fill his arse and he came over Harry’s stomach with a hoarse groan.

Harry’s cock slipped free and Draco lay down on top of Harry. He could feel the rapid beat of Harry’s heart against his cheek; feel hi s jagged breaths against his arm, his damp hair entangled in fingers.

This is what Harry had. Harry was alive and his feelings weren’t turned off. He felt, he hated, he lusted, and he fucked.

The wetness on his face was only Harry’s sweat, wasn’t it?