Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes

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IX. When We Were Enemies

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The gas lamps flared to life when they’d reached his second floor bedroom, the same one he and Ron shared the summer of their fifth year. Harry had kept everything the same, but replaced the twin beds with one bed. A bed that, at the moment, was rumpled and unmade. Harry was sure Malfoy wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.

The hungry look on Draco’s face, however, told Harry an unkempt bed was the least of his concerns. One guiding hand on his back later and they were kissing again, bodies flush, and hands roaming over every surface within reach. Between Draco swirling his tongue around at a dizzying pace and his hands inching closer to his straining erection, Harry knew he wouldn’t last through the night.

In a split second Malfoy had him flat on the bed, his mouth kissing and nipping a path from his lips to his collar. Choking back a giggle, Harry arched into that unrelentingly ticklish tongue, vaguely wondering why he’d never responded to anyone else in that way. What was it about Malfoy that made him like this?

When the restrictive pressure of his jeans eased and Draco reappeared above him with a smirk, fingers brushing the coarse hairs below his navel, the gravity of the situation finally weighed on Harry.

It must have shown on his face, because Malfoy’s fingers ceased their ministrations. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” Harry keenly shook his head. He rubbed his hand comfortingly along Draco’s back, smiling as the blond puffed out a relaxed breath. Harry released a blissful sigh as those fingers continued, this time toward the waistband. “This is just ... different.”

“Different?” Malfoy uncertainly repeated. The blond’s forehead then creased as he regarded him through shuttered eyes. “Are you a virgin?”

“No. Yes.” Harry idly shook his head before clarifying, “No with a woman, yes with ... this.”

His heart jumped slightly when Draco pinned him down with a serious look. “Potter ... do you want this?”

Did he? Up until this point, Harry had only ever liked women: Cho and Ginny were a testament to that fact. He’d been intimate with Ginny, and one or two others after they’d split, and he’d liked it. Loved it, in all actuality.

But blokes: he’d never given them a passing thought. Of the six years he’d spent sharing a dorm with Ron and the other Gryffindors, Harry was sure he hadn’t felt then what he was feeling now with Malfoy. There wasn’t any mild interest or curiosity before now; so what changed?

Now that Harry thought about it, as far as he knew, his desires toward women hadn’t changed; he just liked Malfoy ... more.

Draco was awaiting his decision with an expression so patiently impatient, Harry kissed him on the mouth and grinned. “Only if I can call you ‘Draco.’”

His cock twitched as Draco smiled, amused. “I never said you couldn’t.”

“Good.” Harry nodded before leaning forwards, capturing Draco’s lips, as his hands began unfastening the blond’s shirt buttons.

Draco’s deft tongue entertained his mouth, but his hands weren’t moving as quickly as Harry’s. In no time at all, he had all the buttons undone, and his hands got their first feel of the Slytherin’s solid chest. Harry released Draco’s lips long enough to wrench the shirt off him, and pull off his own in the process.

He expected to see the unblemished excellence that was Malfoy’s porcelain skin that he and the other Gryffindors joked about for many years. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find out he was mistaken. Jagged pink scars riddled the pure-blood’s upper arms, as well as healed burns. There was something resembling what had once been a nasty wound in the shape of a bite mark on his shoulder. So he wasn’t as flawless as Harry had anticipated, and that itself was perfect.

Faint white lines also crisscrossed Draco’s pallid chest, not evident at first, until Draco gave a rumbling sigh when Harry fingered one. “You gave these to me.” Harry’s fingers briefly halted. The Sectumsempra Curse all those years ago; the scars had repaired nicely. “When we were enemies.”

Something clicked in Harry at those words. He didn’t have time to find out what, because Draco’s fingers curved along the darkened crater of skin over his heart where Slytherin’s locket had left its impression. Harry flinched with a quiet hiss; it was still quite sensitive after all these years. Draco leaned down, and still holding his eyes, slid the point of his tongue along the scar’s edge, effectively drawing Harry from his nostalgia.

Next to go were Draco’s shoes and trousers, which clattered noisily to the floor, scattering the tesseracts like spilled marbles. What caught Harry’s attention though was the GPS system that landed over by the window.

“You still have that?” he snorted, hips rising off the bed as Draco slid his jeans and trainers and socks off. “Been over a fortnight already.”

Draco laconically replied, “I’ll return it ... someday.”

With Draco’s firm kiss, Harry knew the time for idle banter was sealed.

As his hands trailed up and down Draco’s legs, his tongue met Draco’s stroke for stroke. Harry discovered he wouldn’t mind doing this all day, but judging by the firm hand slipping his pant lower and lower, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. It all at once thrilled and terrified him.

But Harry wasn’t to be outdone, if only not to be teased afterward for being passive. He may have been new to this, but he wasn’t thick when it came to sex. Sliding his hand down the curve of Draco’s spine, Harry delved his hand beneath the waistband, cupped a mound of pert buttock, and squeezed hard enough to mark. He swallowed Draco’s hoarse groan and gasped an oath feeling Draco’s hard cock rut into his.

The subsequent minutes afterward were all a blur. Harry couldn’t remember how his pants had been torn and thrown across the room, but he imagined Draco had more to do with it than he did. Likewise, Draco’s violet boxers wound up drooping off the Black family candelabrum Kreacher gave him last Christmas.

He’d barely descended on Draco’s neck, blunt teeth and tongue intent on marking, adding his own imperfections to that thought-faultless skin, when Draco suddenly keened, “Oil!”

Harry just grasped the handle of his bedside table drawer before it burst open with a force expelling, among other things, magazines, a ring box, a torrent of sweets, a broken Sneakoscope, and a bottle of lubricant onto the floor.

“I’m not even going to ask about the Sneakoscope,” Draco said mildly, leaning over to grab the fallen oil.

Harry dug his shoulders into the worn cotton of his bed sheets as Draco sat on his haunches between his legs, uncapping the lube. He took that time to admire Draco, from his broad chest and strong arms, to his fit waist, powerful thighs, and ... well, he couldn’t exactly avoid that part, so Harry eyed Malfoy’s erection as well.

It wasn’t grossly overlarge or embarrassingly small: above average was the term he’d use. Harry could argue his was bigger, but he really didn’t fancy a cockfight with Draco at the moment.

He restlessly watched Draco palm his erection with long, unhurried strokes. The Slytherin’s gasps of raw pleasure and slipping restraint only served to spur Harry’s cock to painful hardness.

“See something you like, Potter?” Draco’s voice was ragged and husky, as if he’d just awoken. His fist was still firmly wrapped around the purpled shaft, slicking oil up and down, up and down.

“I’m ... r-reserving judgment,” Harry panted. His hands were itching to touch himself. “And I thought we agreed on first names?”

Draco chuckled through a hiss before slowly easing forward between his legs. When his oily cock slid against his, Harry belted out a moan so loud, he feared his lungs would explode.

“You know what they say about old habits,” Draco’s breath was even more strained as he settled against him, easing his hips along Harry’s. “They die hard.”

When he slid his oiled hands around both of their stiff pricks, Harry knew if he didn’t die now, he certainly would by the end of the night. He’d given himself handjobs before, and though he knew this was definitely not the time to be thinking of her, so had Ginny.

But there was something very different about Draco doing this (despite the obvious). Either way, Harry answered each frot with a thrust of his own, drawing throaty chuckles of encouragement from Draco.

His hands scrabbled at Draco’s back for purchase as their lazy glides became sharp, jabbing thrusts. Though Draco’s hands were pulling at them both, the blond frequently pinched the base of Harry’s cock, staving off climax. While it did some good, Harry knew it wouldn’t be able to hold them off much longer.

Draco’s self-control must have also been fragile, because his driving thrusts came to a halt a few short moments later. Harry noticed how tight his hands were squeezing the base of their bollocks and realized they were awfully close to climax.

He had just slid his hands up Draco’s shivering thighs consolingly when the other wizard suddenly moved away, exiting the bed. Confusion and panic shot up Harry’s spine and he quickly sat forward, worried he might have done something wrong.

Harry’s wide eyes followed the progress of Draco’s dimpled bum to the end of the bed. His mouth became very dry as the blond bent over, whether for show or because he actually needed to. The latter won out as Draco straightened with wand in hand and a smirk on his lips.

“Roll over.”

Harry thought there was a slight chance he might have misheard him. “Pardon?”

Draco settled over him after crossing the bed on his hands and knees, deliberately replying, “Roll ... over.” The Slytherin accentuated the demand by a hand on his shoulder, firmly urging him to turn over on his front.

Giving Draco an apprehensive stare, Harry refused to roll on his front and instead knocked the insistent hand aside. When Draco threw him a bemused look, he asked, “Why can’t I be the one to...?”

Their gazes held one another’s for several moments before Harry’s world was suddenly a blur, Draco having plucked his glasses off his nose. Over his protests, the blond simply answered, “That’s a no-try area for amateurs.”

With some trepidation, Harry obliged, settling on his stomach. He hadn’t given it much thought, this: getting shagged. He knew they would come to it at some point, but Harry hadn’t dwelled on it. Maybe Malfoy had been right: he needed to stop jumping headlong into things without thinking.

He sighed into his pillow as Draco gently kneaded his buttocks, and shamelessly pushed his arse back to fill the blond’s brilliant hands. During the rubdown, Harry felt a light tap at his tailbone, followed by a whispered word from Draco.

A rather unexpected tingling sensation rushed through him, in him. Harry gasped in shock, arching his spine; it felt as if he was being thoroughly scoured with soap and a gentle brush. It was an unusual feeling, being this hollow and clean: too clean. Harry turned red at the mere thought of farting bubbles; Malfoy would never let him hear the end of it.

When Draco’s warm hand settled on the small of his back, then trailed slowly down to his buttocks, Harry glanced over his left shoulder sharply. He noticed the blurry outline of his lubricant that had somehow found its way back into Draco’s hand, which was already slick with oil. All at once, the nervous flutters in Harry’s stomach and chest increased tenfold.

“Hey.” Harry’s sharp eyes darted from the lubricant to Draco’s face. Even without his glasses, he spotted the concern in Draco’s eyes and instantly felt some of his anxiety wane. That, in itself, warranted a good and thorough snog. “All right?”

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes, propped his head on his arms, and awaited Draco’s next move. “I trust you.”

That he caused Draco to fumble the lube made Harry all the more glad he’d said it.

Soon Draco was back on form, and Harry’s slight apprehension was welling again. He bit his lip, resisting the urge to mind the Slytherin’s progress when he suddenly felt the slick flat of Draco’s thumb slide from the underside of his bollocks to his entrance. Harry gasped, clenching to withdraw on instinct, though Draco didn’t move. His stillness lasted all of ten seconds before he slowly began to rub Harry’s crease in gentle circles.

He had no idea what kind of magic the blond was using, but Harry knew he had never been this hard in his life. He gave what felt like a moan from the depths of his soul and rutted into the bed sheets below, feeling just a bit of wetness seep out. Meanwhile, Draco continued to rub and rub and just rub at his entrance without breaking through. Though it still felt the slightest bit strange, the pure foreign pleasure outweighed any odd sensation Harry had felt.

He was sure his pillow would be in tatters and feathers by night’s end if he kept gripping and biting it so hard. Just as he rubbed against the sheets, Harry felt Draco’s other hand tug on his sac and encircle his length. He groaned gutturally, undecided whether to push back or forth into the blond’s hands.

“Now, now, we’ll have none of that.” Draco mildly chided, a smirk in his tone.

Quivering with anticipation, Harry huffed into his pillow with a stitch-inducing moan. He wasn’t going to last much longer; he just knew he’d be spent before Draco’s foreplay was over with.

But as he clutched his pillow for dear life, Harry moaned lowly once more. Draco began thumbing his entrance again — the blond chuckled at his shuddering reaction — this time, with leisurely strokes. He found himself grinding back onto Draco’s hand again, but this time, Harry was rewarded with a surprise.

As he urged his hips sharply back, something long and wet slid in, and Harry froze, shooting a look over his shoulder. It wasn’t until he felt Draco’s knuckles brush against him did he realized the Slytherin’s finger was nestled up his arse, moving in gentle arcs. It was a weird feeling, all right: it didn’t hurt, but the full feeling wasn’t terribly comfortable.

When Draco’s finger began its slow retreat from his arse only to ease back in with two, Harry felt a slight sting and whined in response. He grunted, not wholly in soreness when Draco increased the pressure on his prick and bollocks, stemming orgasm. As Malfoy’s fingers glided in and out of his oiled bum, back and forth, it struck Harry that Draco was preparing him for fucking.

The long fingers were miming the action, out and in with a sharper jab on each return. By the way Draco’s fingers were altering angles, Harry vaguely thought the Slytherin might’ve been searching for something.

Then Draco’s hands were gone completely, and Harry looked over his shoulder, squinting at the blurry figure shifting behind him. He felt Draco’s strong arm circle his middle before arranging him on his knees. With the way his legs were wobbling, Harry didn’t think he could stay in that position for very long.

Harry inhaled tremulously as the sound of the lubricant’s cap snapping off reached his ears followed by a hissed, hot breath on the back of his neck. As the blond’s hand tensed on his abdomen, Harry felt the moist bluntness that could only be Draco’s head pressing against his arsehole before a sharp pang shot up his spine. Definitely no bubbles in there.

Harry grunted in discomfort, distantly noticing the softness of the pillow under his hand felt a lot like Draco’s knuckles. His whole body went taut as a trembling Draco eased into his clenching body. Finally, Harry felt the curve of Draco’s scratchy groin and his bollocks rest against his arse. They stilled, the constant stream of their uneven breaths becoming their conversation.

While Draco snuffled at his hair and pressed sweat-glossed lips to the skin behind his ear, Harry felt the sharp pain ebb into a dull throb. He could feel his arse stretched around Draco’s cock, but it wasn’t overly painful. It was no picnic at the Quidditch pitch either, as it felt nothing like the fingers before.

“Relax.” Draco’s strained whisper filtered through the nervous blood rushing past his ears. Harry could feel him losing the battle to continue as the Slytherin’s hips shivered against his. “Breathe.”

“Harry.”

He gasped as Draco lost control for all of a second, staunching his tiny thrust with a tortured groan. “Harry.”

Pash wasn’t the only one in the house barking that night.


:::


“You know,” Harry lazily drawled, lightly tracing the scars on Draco’s shoulder, “I didn’t think you had any scars, pretty as you were in school.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” the Slytherin’s chest shook with laughter beneath his head, and Harry sighed as long fingers continued to dance up and down his back. When Draco shifted, he raised his head to eye the pale, fuzzy face. “You thought I was pretty?”

Harry chuckled himself and drew his forefinger along the next blemish. “There was no other way to describe you.”

“Ruggedly handsome?”

“No way,” he shot down, his eyes falling shut as Draco carded his fingers through his wild black hair. “Besides, you weren’t that attractive. I didn’t even notice you in school; unless, of course, you were baiting me and my friends and up to no good,” Harry finished with a cheeky grin.

He gave a loud exclamation when Draco pinched his bum spitefully. “And now?” the blond asked, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

Grin slowly stretching across his face, Harry hefted up on an elbow and leaned close so he was nose to nose with the hooded-eyed Draco. Lips barely touching Draco’s, Harry whispered, “You’re very pretty.”

With a startled laugh, Harry held onto Draco’s forearms as the Slytherin grabbed him with a growl, rolling him onto his back. He returned Draco’s gentle smile and gripped his arms tightly as Draco closed the distance with a searing kiss.

If someone had told him two hours ago that he’d willingly get buggered by Draco Malfoy and lie in bed afterwards under the covers and chatting, Harry would have sent them straight to St. Mungo’s Spell Damage ward. Two hours later, Harry wasn’t sure if he didn’t belong in the ward himself!

When the kiss broke and Harry opened his eyes, Draco was still over him, staring. Harry smirked (he was sure his face would hurt worse than his arse come morning), saying, “I still can’t believe I’m here, like this, with you of all people.”

Draco’s forehead wrinkled. “Should I be offended?”

“No, it’s just...” Harry sighed and averted his eyes a moment. “I like this: a lot. But I’m afraid when I wake up, this will all have been some strange dream, and you’ll be different and I’ll be different and you’ll expect me to pretend tonight never happened and I don’t think I want to be a notch on your b — mmph!”

Well, he was going to have to ramble a lot more if Draco was going to respond like this. When Draco released his lips and pulled away, Harry thought he saw the promise of something more, something great in his expressive eyes.

“If you’ll have me,” Draco lightly whispered into his ear, “I’d like to join you for breakfast.”

“In bed?”

“Where else?” Draco murmured against his neck, following his drawl with a sharp nip.

“Promise?”

“Hmm, let’s see: the tedium of David Seiker’s cover-flat with a tetchy rat, hard mattress, and soggy toast,” Draco raised his head with a mock-thoughtful expression, “or the warmth of a sleep-worn, occupied bed and an elf-cooked meal? Decisions, decisions.”

Harry sniggered as Draco mimed balancing scales with his hands. Before long, the Slytherin’s mouth found his neck again. Snorting, Harry lightly caressed Draco’s back and responded.

“And he cloyingly answered?”

He arched an eyebrow as Draco rose to his elbows and regarded him with an incredulous look, before rolling his eyes. He quite seriously replied, “So long as I get more of this,” Harry hissed as Draco settled his leg against his groin, “and some proper toast tomorrow, I promise. Cloying enough?”

Harry nodded with a hiss. “Just.” He was already rutting his burgeoning hardness against Draco’s thigh when he suddenly remembered.

“Oh, God!”

“Actually, I’d rather ‘Draco,’ if you don’t mind.”

Harry lightly slapped the Slytherin’s bum playfully. “No, dinner.: we missed it. And Kreacher probably got an earful,” he said, blushing. With great displeasure, Harry detached Draco’s mouth from his neck by splaying a hand against Draco’s chest. At Draco’s dejected frown he reminded, “And you’ve got to find Pash.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco groaned aloud and dropped his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve officially destroyed the mood.”

“Good.” Harry delivered a quick pat to the blond’s buttocks and shifted out from under him. “Then you’ll be able to focus more on her than my arse.”

As Harry grabbed the nearest clothing within reach — his glasses, Weird Sisters t-shirt on the floor and Draco’s boxers slung on the candelabrum — the Slytherin snorted and scratched at his hair. “Potter, you’ve become quite vain after all this time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry shot back as he detangled himself from the shirt. He replied, “Your seed is as narcissistic as you are; so naturally, it’s rubbed off on me.”

“Listen to you,” Draco chuckled. “And I could think of a few things I’d like to rub off on you.”

With one foot through a pant leg and the other poised, Harry froze, before facing the smirking blond with a crooked grin. “Maybe later.”

Draco arched an eyebrow, looking thoroughly debauched with his usually pristine hair tousled, and the dark duvet carelessly draped over a propped leg. It took every ounce of Harry’s self-control to not shuck his clothes and burrow beneath the duvet another hour or three.

“Is that a promise?” asked Draco.

“It’s a maybe,” Harry teased, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder as Draco swept the duvet aside, giving him an eyeful. Harry still turned scarlet at the sight, though he’d been deeply acquainted with that aspect of Draco more than an hour ago. Even so, he deflected his gaze in light of Draco’s smirk, and tugged the rest of Draco’s boxers on.

He stood to search for his wand when he heard Draco mutter, “But that’s, um ... my underwear?”

“You’re not going to need it tonight, anyway.”

“Dear Merlin.” Draco groaned, slumping onto the bed, still naked. “One shag and I’ve turned you into a whore. Either my abilities are remarkably superb, or you’re unimaginably loose.”

Harry rolled his eyes and lobbed Draco’s trousers at his face with a scowl. The Slytherin laughed it off, which, of course, irritated him. “Go find Pashmina,” Harry growled, albeit good-naturedly before he made for the door.

“And what am I supposed to wear?”

“Not my problem,” he half-shouted as he headed for the stairwell. “You can go naked if you’d prefer.”

There was a short pause before Draco yelled back, “If I get assaulted by that hat while nude, I’m coming after you, Harry Potter!”

Smirking to himself, Harry replied, “Not a problem, as long as I come first!”

The lower floors were very quiet and the lights were dim, which lead Harry to believe Pash was wreaking havoc somewhere upstairs while Kreacher had turned in for the night. Harry hoped he wasn’t disappointed that they hadn’t come down for dinner.

The last time he’d missed dinner without telling Kreacher anything had been the morning he, Ron, and Hermione had gone on the run after infiltrating the Ministry all those years ago. After the war had ended, he’d had a difficult time of getting Kreacher to leave him alone. The house-elf had taken to following him everywhere, even the most inappropriate of places. To this day, Harry still put up Anti-Intrusion Wards around his bath, intent on never having to see Kreacher’s prying eye in place of the showerhead ever again.

Harry took to the steps carefully, as he was not too sore from his earlier activities, but a tad tender. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, for which he was grateful. Despite what he’d said to Draco a few minutes ago, Harry thought he’d take things slow for the rest of the night. He was in no rush to start a ... relationship? Could it really be called that? No doubt Draco would scoff at the idea and taunt him for such ridiculously maudlin thoughts.... Unless Draco himself thought this was more than just shagging. If so, Harry had no idea what to think.

Harry had barely grazed the edge of Mrs. Black’s curtains when he noticed the distinct lack of warmth that was his wand on his person. How could he have not remembered to take it? Even if it was his house, his years with the Aurors and S.T.A.G.s had taught him a lot in the way of precaution; so much so, that Mad-Eye would’ve been impressed. No matter what the circumstance, Harry knew he should’ve been vigilant and more alert.

Then again, he had been talking to Draco while he was searching. More to the point, Draco was starkers at the time. Well, it was no wonder he couldn’t think straight.

Draco was gone by the time he reached his room. Upon seeing the messy state they’d left in their frenzied wake, Harry sniggered softly, hopping over discarded shoes, socks, magazines, and much more. Knowing he certainly wasn’t going to find his wand in this confusion, Harry decided he’d clean it up. Besides, Kreacher had enough to do with the drawing room repairs, and this wouldn’t take long.

After cleaning up the strewn clothing, magazines, his best friends’ rings (he’d made sure to find those first), and setting the GPS on top of his bureau with a wry chuckle, Harry dug around under the bed and found his wand. Good timing, too, as he would’ve been extremely displeased to pick up all of the sweets by hand. Why out of all candies, Teddy had an affinity for the Muggle peppermint humbugs was beyond him.

Harry had just raised his wand and nearly spoken the Summoning Charm when he noticed a sparkling reflection unlike that off the humbug wrappers. A sudden wave of dread washed over him and he hoped Ron and Hermione’s rings hadn’t escaped their boxes.

Curiosity and alarm getting the better of him, Harry lowered his wand and moved to investigate, dropping to a knee. Closer inspection revealed it not to be the striped humbugs, but Draco’s tesseracts from which he was never parted.

A tiny thrill shot up his spine as he ran his finger over the smooth, plastic surface. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before; they were working the same case, after all. But Draco never brought them up again after their meeting in Kingsley’s office. The Slytherin seemed quite protective of them, for whatever reason, and it gnawed at Harry to not know why.

He plucked each of them up, Alicia’s paisley-patterned, Oliver’s diamond-designed, and Katie’s pale pink and red striped, before spotting the silver and green one Draco had deemed empty. Maybe he’d put something on it and forgot to tell him? Harry swiped his thumb over the gleaming button fronts pensively.

Should he? Shouldn’t he?

There was a loud crash in the distance, far above him that enlightened Harry to Draco’s difficulty with Pash. He thought he should really help him. Really.

With a firm purse of his lips, Harry closed his hand around the four tesseracts, tossed them into the air, and murmured, “Solvo tesseres.”

The familiar burst of blue from his wandtip lit up the bedroom and wound around the floating tesseracts, activating the large cubes. Once again, Harry watched the orbiting images: Katie’s beaming wave, and Oliver’s spectacular goal-saving, and Alicia cooing to her canary before their lifeless corpses emerged. He spotted movement in the corner of his eye and turned toward it, curious. An empty tesseract wouldn’t move, would it?

When Harry turned away and caught sight of the supposedly blank fourth tesseract lurching with images, he was certain his jaw hit the floor.

.:.