The Open Door

Draco awoke to find himself tangled in Harry’s limbs; his arms around him and his ankles interlaced with his own. He felt odd, different, a strange feeling of being… happy. That’s what it was. He was happy.

It was such an unfamiliar sensation. Happiness. And what had brought him this contented feeling? Could it have been Harry Potter? Or was he finally satisfied by all the fucking he’d been doing the past few days with his captive pet?

The sex had been better than he’d ever had. Although, he had to admit that fucking while the Dark Lord and his loyal servants were searching for you lent an edge of excitement to the whole scenario.

Draco brushed a mass of dark hair off the face of the man who now held him. He watched as he slept and wondered if he was faking again. Draco Malfoy was no fool; he could tell when someone was sleeping and when they were just pretending. But, Draco Malfoy wasn’t stupid either. Pretend sleepy sex was just as good as the real thing, and in fact, in this case, better than he could have ever expected.

He would have to ask him today, before the moon rose, the one question that would decide his and Draco’s fate. If he didn’t agree, they were dead men. Perhaps they were dead men anyway. Voldemort could kill them before they could destroy the evil bastard. Draco shivered suddenly, the flux of sick memories flooding his mind.

The very first time he had to unrobe for the Dark Lord, and how his snake-like eyes had glinted at the sight of Draco, pale and toned, innocent and yet not, only innocent in the perverse ways of Voldemort. His hands had crept over his body, touching him in ways that hurt, yet excited Draco to his mortification. His mind fast-forwarded to the last time, the sex and fellatio becoming one long blur in his memory. The last time had been so much more violent. It was if the Dark Lord had grown so much more evil and that evilness was being taken out on Draco. Harry had only kissed the scars on his back, and murmured words of soft desire that Draco had almost forgotten them. The scars. How odd that he and the boy savior had so much in common now.

Two scarred young men fighting for their lives, running from the most monstrous person ever allowed training the ways of wizardry, Voldemort. In that one short moment that the thought had crossed his mind, Draco decided that he had to make a decision. He would have to allow Harry to decide what should happen next. The bed springs protested as he moved to the edge and slipped out from beneath the covers.

Draco pulled on his robes and crept over to the sofa as not to wake Harry up, if he were really sleeping. The room had grown chilly and after he tended the fire, he would consider what his next actions would be. He sat down, the sofa squeaking, and laid his head against the sofa back.

Harry. What to do about Harry? He was… not what he expected. He had saved his Draco’s life and now, could Draco use him to complete the spell he had so carefully planned and cast? Would he allow his emotions to ruin what he worked so hard for?

Pulling a pillow over to cradle against his stomach, Draco sighed and closed his eyes. The heat from the fire felt good against his bare legs. The spell had bound them together and now it was only a matter of what Harry would agree to do for him, or more to the point, how much Harry would agree to do for him. If and only if Harry agreed, would the third part of the spell work. It was disgusting what he would have to ask the man still sleeping soundly in his bed, but he would have to do it, or everything he had planned and worked so hard to achieve would be for naught.

Draco started as he felt the soft brush of hair against his knee and the soft press of Harry’s cheek against his leg. He opened his eyes to find Harry, sitting on the floor, wrapped in a bed sheet, leaning against his leg like a loyal pet. Harry met his gaze and flushed.

“I missed you… Master,” Harry said, almost shyly.

Draco fought to stifle the grin that threatened to erupt. In reply, he threaded his fingers through Harry’s unruly mess of hair, his fingers working through the knots. Harry lowered his gaze from Draco’s face and stared steadily into the fire.

“Harry, would you throw another log or two on the fire?” Draco asked. “The room’s a little chilly.”

Harry obeyed and rose. He shuffled toward the fire, his makeshift toga hobbling him. He struggled awkwardly to hold the sheet around him while he lifted the log.

“Drop it,” Draco ordered softly.

“What?” Harry asked, confused, holding the log close to his chest.

“Drop it,” Draco repeated and gestured with his finger.

Harry set the log down and let the sheet fall from his grasp.

Smirking, Draco pointed to the log. “I meant that.”
“Oh,” Harry said softly. He picked up the log and dropped it into the low flames and watched as the dry wood caught fire. The flickering flames cast odd shadows over his bare skin, illuminating him as a pale entity against an even brighter light. He took a step toward Draco, then dropped to his knees and crawled the rest of the way.

Amused, Draco watched silently as Harry crawled and came to rest between Draco’s legs and his head resting on Draco’s groin. Draco gently ran his fingers over the pale, bruised skin by his shoulder and up to his head, tangling the dark hair between his fingers again.

Harry nuzzled against his robes, pressing against his hardening cock.

Draco laughed softly and tossed the pillow he still held to the end of the sofa. “Not now, pet, not now,” he said, cupping Harry’s face.

“Master?” Harry whispered, his voice a mixture of confusion and want , His eyes slowly rose to meet Draco’s.

“No… not… no,” Draco whispered back. He gazed at the owlish green eyes watching him wide-eyed.

Harry made to undo Draco’s robes, but Draco’s hands snaked out and grabbed Harry’s wrists, forcing them apart and to the tops of his thighs.

“I need to ask you something, Harry,” Draco said roughly, his voice choking. “You have to be absolutely sure before you answer. What you decide will determine whether Voldemort lives or dies.”

Harry blinked then sagged limply against Draco’s leg. His defeat was evident.

It was the first time that Draco had ever refused a blow job.

“Harry… Harry, are you listening?” Draco asked the limp form.

“Yes… Master,” Harry said sullenly.

“Don’t call me that now,” Draco hissed, pulling Harry’s wrists further apart onto the sides of his thighs, wincing along with Harry as his fingers bit into his flesh. Harry struggled against Draco’s grasp, growling as he fought to free himself.

“He has to die,” Harry hissed jerking one hand out of Draco’s grasp.

“You were listening,” Draco said in sudden wonder and released Harry’s other wrist.

Harry fell backwards, out of balance.

“Here,” Draco said reaching out to the prone man.
Harry stared at the pale hand extended toward him, then stared into Draco’s eyes, studying the man, measuring him against what he desired and what Draco was now, he who had stolen him from Voldemort. He grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled himself back up.

“You have to be sure when you answer. I have to know two things, Harry, and… I need the truth,” Draco said.

Harry nodded, never taking his eyes from Draco’s downcast ones.

“Why… why did you save my life? You could have just as easily run off and left me to the Death Eaters.”

Harry shook his head and mutely turned away.

“It… I have to know, Potter,” Draco said urgently.

Slowly, Harry looked back to Draco capturing his gaze. He rose to his knees and placed his hands on Draco’s knees, the soft material of Draco’s robes sliding off his legs.

He ran his hands up Draco’s thighs, parting the fastenings as he went.

“Harry…” Draco inhaled.

“I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t,” Harry said, kissing the soft inner flesh of Draco’s thigh.

Draco shivered and he felt Harry’s lips move up his thigh, kissing and nibbling.

“Harry, stop. Stop it for just a minute… please?” Draco asked.

Harry stopped in mid nibble and stared owlishly at Draco. Draco could have almost laughed at the comical, confused expression on Harry’s face. He wanted, he would have loved to have Harry continue with what he was doing and knowing exactly how it would end, but he had to know Harry’s answer.

“What… why?” Harry asked, completely befuddled.

“I want you to think before you answer. Everything, and I mean everything depends on how you answer. Do you understand?” Draco asked, studying the man still seated between his legs.

Harry nodded, then laid his head on Draco’s leg.

“I need to know,” Draco paused, running through his mind all the ways he had thought about asking this one simple question, “I need to know if you would do anything I asked you to do, especially if it involves the end result being Voldemort dead.”

Harry nodded quickly. “I would. I would do anything you asked as long as that bastard dies.”

Draco swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. He wasn’t brave enough to risk Harry answering any other way than ‘yes.’ But, before he cast the last part of the spell, he had to be completely sure of Harry’s allegiance.

“Would you die for me?” Draco asked.

Harry’s eyes widened, but he didn’t turn away or flinch. Draco held his breath; this was it, the end or the beginning.

“Yes,” Harry said softly. “Yes, I would.”

“You would?” Draco said, his astonishment written plainly on his scarred face.

Harry slowly nodded and reached up and cupped Draco’s chin. He rose to his knees and pulled him down until their lips were almost touching. “I would.”


Their lips met.

Harry broke the kiss, his eyelashes fluttering over Draco’s cheek before he shifted back to study the blond man sitting above him. He ran a finger over the scar cutting Draco’s face into two halves, never to be whole again.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry murmured before he touched his lips to the jagged slash across Draco’s cheek. His lips followed the scar while Draco held still, not knowing what brought this tenderness toward him. It was his turn to be confused. He had brutalized Harry, hadn’t he? He was still wondering as Harry pushed him back onto the sofa and climbed on top him.

“This is much better don’t you think? Or would you rather move to the bed, Draco,” Harry almost purred, his fingers parting the rest of the robe’s fastenings.

“Um,” Draco moaned, as Harry’s fingers closed around his cock. Wicked fingers did wicked things to his blood-engorged member while wicked lips did wicked things to his neck, his lips, his pecs. Draco gasped as a finger entered him.

Why did he allow this? Why when Harry had admitted that Draco was his master and the one he would serve and even die for? He cried out as a very wicked finger brushed deep inside him sending jolts of pleasure up his spine and stars spinning before his eyes.

Thoughts of pity for his ruined face, fear of the Dark Lord, and fear of the unknown future dissolved into a red haze of kisses, nibbles, moans as Harry roamed his body, pleasuring him, teasing him, taking him away from this spell-enhanced cottage into a place of sexual bliss.

“Do me,” Harry whispered in Draco’s ear as his hand slid up and down Draco’s flesh. “I want you in me,” Harry said between little flicks of Draco’s ear.

“Why?” Draco whispered as he guided himself into the willing, waiting entrance. He lost himself in the warmth, Harry’s whimpers and the pleasure they found in each other.

Draco slept sprawled over the sofa, one leg dangling off the side while Harry sat on the floor, the once-forgotten sheet wrapped around him again. He had covered Draco with the duvet from the bed, but that one pale leg taunted him by peeking out from beneath the heavy cover. He reached up and brushed the fine blond hair from Draco’s face and kissed his parted lips.

He studied the sleeping ruined face in front of him and then bent over and whispered in his ear.

“I would do anything for you because I love you.”

Draco sighed in his sleep and turned his face away from Harry.