The End of Innocence II: Stolen Moments

Part A (Intro)

Author: Haruka/HauntedDreams

Rating: R-NC17

Pairings: Harry/Draco, mentions of Lucius/Draco, mentions of Harry/Sirius (see Warnings)

Warnings/Squicks: SLASH (male + male sex and/or relationship), references to incestual childhood rape, BDSM.

Categories: Series. Hurt/Comfort. Romance. *A/U (Alternate Universe)

Disclaimer: Someday I will use my own belovedly gay characters to write for fame and fortune. Today isn’t the day. So, I must say that I don’t own Harry Potter. I am making no money off this fan-done production. This is FFBF (For Fans, By Fans).

Dedication: My fans (Mom, Drake, Shalom, Swirly), who wanted more.

Notes: I’m trying another NC17, but I’m going about it more delicately this time. I can’t believe it. “Coming of Age” is turning into a series! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!!

*A/U because Sirius’s name was cleared for the crime, so Harry lives with him. HE IS STILL ALIVE. Book 5 did not happen \"that way\". Ehem. I\'m in denial, I know. Leave me alone!

Feedback: Please. TheCrew@slashtheplanet.com
Archive: Ask first.
POV: Harry\'s.
THIS HAS NOT BEEN BETA\'D. All mistakes are mine.


Important note: Many have asked me for the \"prequel\" to this piece. In short, there isn\'t one. \"The End of Innocence\" is a series, yes; but each chapter features a different pairing and a different plot. They are completley unrelated to eachother. Don\'t worry, I\'m writing more for this one :-) I\'m working on three other writing projects, as well as slash music vids, so I\'m a tad busy. But don\'t worry! :-)
Thank you to EVERYONE who reviewed! You make my day a happy one :-)
********
I glance at him from across the Great Hall. I doubt he notices, he’s too busy talking to his overgrown goons Crabbe and Goyle.
I turn my attention back to my plate and once again shovel food around. I had managed to make something resembling a smiley face (scrambled eggs as the eyes, a small slice of watermelon as the nose, and a strip of bacon as a mouth), when Ron nudges me accidentally.
I turn to him and notice his attention fixed upward, towards the ceiling. My gaze joins his.
Above the floating candles, we notice the sky has darkened, and rain threatens. That’s when I knew I had to get outside, I had to see it for myself. I excuse myself from the table and take my leave.
The front doors are difficult to open, since they are heavy oak. I stand there, pulling unsuccessfully for minutes, before the door finally begins to budge open.
As soon as it opens enough to allow my slender frame to slip through, I do just that.
A fast gush of cold wind greets me as I take a few steps further out. I grip my robe sec securely around myself, trying to fight the bite of the icy wind.
I notice the dark clouds blotting the morning skyline, looking much like someone dripped a quill across light parchment.
I hear the dark, low grumble of thunder in the distance. There will be a storm today.
I look ahead, tearing my gaze from the heavens, and notice the rain sweeping towards the castle.
It’s still a ways off, so it will be maybe twenty minutes, give or take, before it reaches us.
The therthere is very dark, almost pitched black. And I like it.
It seems to suit my soul at this particular moment.
A hand on my shoulder startles me, and I nearly yelp in surprise. I turn and see the beautiful blue crystalline eyes of my lover, looking very somber.
“I knew you would want to come out here,” he says softly, removing his hand. He takes half a step forward, his shoulder touching mine as we stand here and marvel at the powerful storm a few miles out.
“I know how you love violent weather. What I don’t know, is why,” his voice losing it’s softness of moments before, and defaulting to his usual drawl.
I don’t answer him because it’s not something he needs to hear yet. An explanation I can’t afford him. Not yet, anyway.
“We need to go. Class begins in minutes,” he reminds me, as he turns and heads back inside.
I take one last, long look before following suit.
*
It’s hard to focus on the lecture, as my thoughts return to the conversation I had with Draco. About why I couldn’t answer him.
I turn to my notes and abandon them, favoring to gaze at my paper, yet turn my thoughts inward.
I reach many conclusions during my inward soul search...but I can’t tell him any of them....
*
The storm continues all day; the lightning illuminating hallways and classrooms, causing screams and yelps from the female students, the thunder rolling and rumbling, threatening to shake the very foundation of the school, and the rain smashing into the windows. The teachers became irritated at having to nearly shout their lessons as the storm got worse, to be sure they would be heard over it.
Classes were cancelled, but we would have to come in on a Saturday to make them up. Nobody complained.
I put my things away in the trunk at the foot of my bed, changed out of my formal school robes and into muggle clothing, and settled myself on the window ledge, my attention on the storm. None of my dorm mates minded that I hogged the window seat, for they came and left, pursuing other activities for their afternoon off.
I heard the door open, close, and lock. I didn’t pay too much attention to it, transfixed as I was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone appear out of thin air, someone holding my Invisibility Cloak. I turned my head fractionally, giving me better peripheral vision, but kept my concentration where it was.
I didn’t have to look. I knew who it was, but I acknowledged him slightly.
He ded ted the material to the floor and came towards me slowly, as if I was some wild, dangerous animal to be approached carefully, lest I strike out in fear or territorial violation.
His pale fingers stroked my cheek, and I leaned into the touch, but did not tear my gaze away from that glorious display of power outside my window.
“Since you don’t want to talk to me, will you allow me to hold you while you watch?” Again with that soft voice.
My head spun as I reluctantly tore my eyes from my fixation.
“What?” I asked as I had only heard a blotted few phrases of his sentence.
“It seems as though we won’t be cuddling, kissing, or doing some other...pleasurable,” he smirked, “way of passing time.” I could almost hear the hurt in that statement.
“You almost sound jealous,” I shot at him.
“Me? Jealous?” He chuckled. “Draco Malfoy is not, and never has been, jealous.”
“Your tone in your previous statement suggested otherwise,” I counter.
A “hmph” was the only response I gained.

I decided to give in to him before he threw a temper tantrum, which was beginning to build. That thought enlightened me quite a bit on the ways in which I have learned to read his body language, tone shift, and mannerisms. When to expect him to throw a temper tantrum and successfully make me feel guilty on not giving in to him (and if I continued to refuse him, it meant weeks without sex for me); when to expect him to become angry; different moods I was able to read, and sometimes, prevent.
I decide to head off his tantrum before he becomes mad at me.
“I’m sorry, love. What did you have in mind for this afternoon?” I try to sound happy, or romantic. But I believe my tone betrayed me.
He turns to me. “I’m sorry if I’m a burden on you. If you didn’t want a lover, then why did you come to me in the first place?”
He knows the falsehood in that statement. He came to me. I decide to not bring that fact up.
“You’re no burden,” I reply, rising and padding over to him, taking him into my arms.
“I’m sorry, love,” I whisper near his ear. “I just...I love it when it storms. I get transfixed by the sheer power and ferocity,” I lean back and take his delicate face in my hands, “it doesn’t mean that I love you any less,” I pause for a moment, “forgive me?”
He places his hands on mine, keeping them there on his face. “Yes.”
“Allow me to make it up to you,” I kiss his cheek gently. “What can I do for you?”
He smiles wickedly, and I know I’m in for a long afternoon.
*
He’s sleeping soundly on my bed now; curled up in my sheets, the scent of our lovemaking lingering on our skin and in the room.
Not that I mind.
I’m dressed in my robe, bed robe that is, and am curled up on the window seat again.
The storm died out considerably during our long intimate interlude, but a fraction remains.
I watch it intently, just as I did this morning.
Thoughts and memories come back to me. The thoughts and memories that I can’t discuss with the blonde angel sleeping in my bed.
I feel that to tell him would dirty him. Stain him. Forever make him unclean.
I wrap my arms around myself and suppress a fierce shiver.
*
I lay here, with him in my arms, stroking his fine, pale blonde hair; watching his chest rise and fall with his breathing.
He was very enthusiastic in our lovemaking today, and I can only wonder why. The only conclusion is his attempt to center my concentration on him, rather than the storm.
I hate to tell him, and I never will, that he will never be able to fascinate me for long when we have a thunderstorm occurring. He certainly does try, though. Oh yes, he tries.
He shifts underneath my touch, and I see his blue eyes look up to me.
Instead of speaking, he leans closer to me and gives me one of the most gentle, yet passionate, kisses we’ve ever shared.
“Again?” I whisper, slightly out of breath.
“That would be nice,” he smirks, while draping his slender leg around my hips, somewhat haphazardly.
“You,” -kiss-, “are,” -kiss-, “insatiable”, -kiss-, “my love,” long, passionate kiss.
“Can you blame me?” he asks with amusement. “I have you as my lover, and I’m a teenager. I have more hormones than can be good for me.”
He proceeds to reach for his wand, which is underneath his borrowed pillow, and recites a silencing spell; confining all noise to my bed. Nothing we say will escape the curtains of my four poster, which is something you need when you have a very loud lover.
I watch him replace his wand, then I lean forward and attack his mouth, crushing our lips together. He wraps his arms around my neck and pulls me to lay (more centrally) on top of him, never breaking our heated contact.
I nip at his bottom lip, then continue on to suck on the abused flesh, tasting copper.
I slowly lick at the small wound I unintentionally made, making him shiver.
My tongue slowly probes between his closed lips, asking for entrance into the velvet heat that awaits me. He grants me access; his tongue dancing out to challenge mine.
I lure his tongue into my mouth by retreating my own, and he goes for the bait. I then take his tongue in a firm grasp between my teeth and begin to suck harshly, foreshadowing what is to come.
I suck hard, though not enough to be uncomfortable, then scrape my teeth down his tongue as he retreats slowly.
I hear a moan, though I can’t distinguish if it is his or my own.
My exploits of his mouth and tongue aren’t complete, as I begin a frantic exploration.
My tongue slides over his teeth, cheeks, and back to battle his tongue, which has been trying to alter my course.
Our tongues slide over and under, pushing, and one of us occasionally sucks the other’s.
I can feel a certain neglected appendage begging for attention beneath me, and he makes this point as he grinds his hips into mine. But he will have to wait. I’m not finished teasing him yet.
I pull out of his mouth and briefly gaze down upon his face, which is contorted in passion, yet always beautiful. His eyes are half-lidded; his face slightly flushed; his lips puffy, the bottom one not bleeding any longer, but more swollen than the other.
I lean down and kiss the side of his neck, and he tilts his head to allow for better access.
I kiss him very softly, and hear him chuckle. Iw hew he’s ticklish, and that’s why I do it.
I change my intention of tickling him, and proceed to suck on his neck harshly, drawing the second moan of the night.
My tongue peeks out, licks and tastes the flesh I know so well.
I lower myself even more, and begin feasting on the delicate area of where the neck meets the shoulder. I suck and lick again, and this time allow my teeth to sink in for an impression.
He gasps as he feels my teeth pierce him, but says nothing. I then, very lightly almost not touching him, lick the abused flesh, much like I did with his lip. I am awarded with another grind of his hips, this time into my stomach area.
I lift my head, “You’re so impatient.”
He gives me a very dirty look indeed. “Look at me like that and I’ll make you finish yourself because I’ll go back to sleep.” That changes his look very quickly.
I turn my attention back to the glorious body beneath me.
His skin is a marvel, it truly is. Completely unmarred, well except for the marks I just made. Other than those, he has no scars. His body is a completely blank, white, smooth canvas. His chest is hairless, as is mine, and always so soft and smooth. He does have almost an exact replica of my abdominal muscles, as we both play the same position in Quidditch, we both train almost identically.
My skin is darker, for I always seem to bronze when out in the sun. He never seems to burn or tan at all. It’s something that I love about him.
His hand finds my hair and begins to massage my scalp, bringing me out of my reverie.
I rain light kisses upon his chest, working my way down to his nipples.
It’s a common misconception that a man’s nipples aren’t as sensitive as a woman’s and that we receive no pleasure in having them toyed with. Well, indeed we aren’t *as* sensitive, but if you know how, you can illicit a pretty good response from playing with them.
I use the tip of my tongue, and quick licks, to bring his to hardness. I then use broad strokes of my tongue to lavish affection on the tiny bud.
I suck it into my mouth, gaining the loudest moan yet, and bite gently. Very gently.
I scrape my teeth along the sensitive gland, and alternate sucking and licking.
I then switch sides, and use my closest hand to gently pinch and stimulate the flesh I have just left.
He nearly begins to thrash now. Fearing I’ll hurt him, I release him from my mouth.
I raise myself and kiss him harshly on the lips.
“What do you want, love?” I whisper, looking into his eyes, and stroking his cheek with my fingers.
“Please...” he whimpers, looking all the world as if he’s about to cry.
“Tell me what you want. I love to hear you say it,” I give him my most evil smile.
“Drink of me, please,” he pleads.
I smirk.
That’s one of the things that amuses me most. He never resorts to crude language or terminology when it comes to lovemaking. He prefers to be proper, considering terms like ‘suck me off’ or ‘fuck me’ to be rude and vulgar, in which I will argue about. I would never use those words in polite conversation, of course, but when you’re making love, it can fuel desire to hear one say things that aren’t expected of them. Lovemaking is very liberating in that aspect. But he seems to disagree. He’s made his own list of expressions in regards to lovemaking activities.
I humor him.
“Alright, love. As you wish.”
I give him one last fiery kiss before turning my attention to that most needy of extremities.
I don’t take him into my mouth right away, I fear that would overload his delicate senses. So I take him into my hand very gently, being more gentle here than anywhere else on his body.
As I very slowly begin to pump my hand, I kiss his inner thighs teasingly.
His moaning becomes more and more frequent now. At first I could distinguish my name, but now it is a jumbled mass of pleas and prayers.
My thumb sweeps over the tip of his manhood, smearing his seed over it. I earn myself a gasp from him.
I begin to kiss the side of his member, moving from the base to the tip very slowly, using my tongue to sweep as my mouth pulls away to move higher.
I lick the underside of his manhood, where I know he is most sensitive, with moderate force of my tongue. He very nearly arches off the bed at that. I drape my free arm over his thighs, just in case he tries that again. It wouldn’t do if he choked me.
My mouth slowly descends upon his heated length, and I take the time to draw out the enclosing of my mouth on his appendage.
I can feel his pulse where my tongue is currently located. Needless to say, it’s very fast.
I begin to suck with moderate strength while swirling my tongue around his shaft in different patterns and intervals.
I can taste his pre-ejaculate, and it doesn’t bother me. It’s not a taste I particularly enjoy, but I don’t despise it. It’s very salty, and has a bit of an aftertaste. I’ve learned to adapt to it, much like an acquired taste.
I move my mouth along his member, dragging out the sucking and licking, up and down, as I know drives him wild. That’s when my draped arm prevents the first thrust of his hips.
I then use my free hand to pump the bottom half of his manhood, as I can only take so much of him into my mouth at a time without choking.
This in itself seems to be his undoing.
I receive a half-moaned ‘Harry’ as my only warning before I gag on the rush his liquid down my throat.
I scrape my teeth along his member as I tear my mouth away from his member, his orgasm finishing.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand half-heartedly; I was forced to swallow it all this time due to the late warning.
I crawl up to lay beside him, watching his quick panting.
After a few moments he looks to me, his eyes still dazed and unseeing from the awesome climax he just had, and he smiles.
I stroke his damp hair back from his face while I wait for him to recover; the throbbing between my own legs beginning to annoy me. But I know I will get satisfied in a few minutes, so I resist the urge to touch myself.
“Ready,” he pants.
“Sure?” I use small words, and try to avoid sentences as I know his thoughts are still sporadic.
“Yes,” he nearly hisses.
I reach underneath my own pillow and withdraw a tiny phial of clear liquid.
I place it between my palms and close my hands around it, in an attempt to warm it.
“How?” I ask.
He answers me by simply spreading his legs.
“You want to face me?”
He nods.
This is one of the more difficult positions, but worth it to us because we can look into each other’s eyes, gauge reactions (and stop if there is any pain suspected), and kiss.
I smile and kiss him leisurely as we wait for the liquid to warm up.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He smiles.
“Love you,” he pants.
I move to position myself, and I allow him a few moments to get comfortable himself.
“O.K.?”
He nods.
I uncork the bottle and dip my finger into it.
I hear his breath catch. He knows what’s coming.
His knees are up, spread, and bent, so the access to his opening is much easier to manipulate and prepare.
I am barely touching his entrance when he moans, “No. Now.”
I look at him.
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
“No prep?”
“No. I’m prepped enough. We did it once already.”
“Are you sure?”
“YES,” I can hear the impatience in his voice. But I have to be sure. I don’t want to hurt him.
I pour the remaining liquid onto my palm and coat my erection very generously.
That was the first thing I learned; never skimp on lubrication. You can potentially hurt your lover if not enough is used. I’ve also been on the receiving end, and know that the more lube you use, the more comfortable it can be for both parties.
I settle myself at his entrance.
“If it hurts, tell me.”
He nods.
I very slowly begin to push inside him.
He groans and I stop immediately.
“Hurt?”
“No. More.” I look into his eyes and know he’s telling the truth.
I begin to push forward once more into that tight inviting heat.
I let out a ragged moan and try to keep my composure. It wouldn’t be good if I lost control and plundered the willing body beneath me.
I push slowly, moving past the tight ring of muscle when I find it.
“Ah!” he cries out.
I nudge his prostate again.
“Ahhh!,” a more drawn out cry.
“Feels good?” I tease.
“Ugh,” he manages.
“Mhm,” I smile. “Be a good boy and I’ll hit it with every thrust.”
“More...plea-aah!” I don’t even let him finish his request before brushing his pleasure spot again.
“I know what you want,” I whisper.
I finish burying myself within him.
We take a moment to adjust.
I pull out a little, then push back in, nudging that sweet spot inside him. We both moan.go sgo slowly at first, not wanting to hurt him.
But not even I can hold on to that control for too long.
My rhythm gains momentum moderately, with his encouraging moans and groans fueling me.
He is so very tight, so hot, so slick...
I lose myself.
I begin pounding myself inside him, control forgotten.
He cries out to me.
Harder.
Faster.
More.
Harder...
Faster...
*More*...
He writhes beneath me. Moaning and thrashing.
I capture his mouth in searing kiss; biting, licking, sucking on his tongue.
I take his erection in my hand and begin working him with the same intensity that I am using within his body.
There is one beautiful moment where everything stills...
Then explodes in a colorful array of light.
Blinding behind my eyes.
I feel his seed gush over my hand, and his passage clenches on me.
I nearly scream my release.
*
End Part A.
Well? Continue or no?