Break and Shatter

Title: Break and Shatter
Author: malfoil
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: JK owns them, not me. Unfortunately.
Summary: Every night, Harry is in charge of clearing the ice skating rink. But soon he gets curious about the tracks made, and sees a young blonde. One night, a green glass - and everything changes.
Word Count: 1,893.
Author\'s note: Done for the glass challenge at au_harrydraco.

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Harry Potter felt tired. Not just tired like the minor inconvenience of sleep deprivation, but actual fatigue. He needed days of rest, perhaps even weeks - yet here he was, bundled up in warm clothing, turning here and there on the ice. The Zambini made little-to-no noise as it slicked the ice beneath for the ice skaters that would come on the next day. Harry didn\'t always like his job, but it allowed him time to himself, to think matters over. He wasn\'t sure what matters he had to think over, but it was nice to have that time available in case anything ever came up.

He tried to stay from the rink when others were around. There were too many children and sticky treats and giggling girls. He preferred the silence. Usually his thoughts were crystal clear, but he\'d been having trouble falling asleep lately, and it was only the cold of the stadium-like rink that kept him awake.

Even though he tended to avoid the rink, he\'d gone. Just once, he\'d gone, to see all the people who\'d skated on his ice. On a whim, he\'d come to the rink early in the morning to see who broke first ice. He\'d always been curious about that. Ever since he\'d started working, he could see where the first chip was made into the ice. It was always at the same place - a little dent, unmistakable and well-placed. Harry wasn\'t sure how, but he just knew it was the same person, again and again.

So, one night, he stayed awake so that he wouldn\'t miss the opening of the ice skating rink for the weekend crowd. The Zambini had to work extra hard on Saturdays and Sundays to make up for the wear and tear, but Harry never minded. It wasn\'t even that he was upset. He was merely curious.

That was the last night he could remember feeling sleepy. That morning he\'d woken up and gone to work. Mrs. Harrison, the owner, had laughed, joking that Harry was too hard a worker or simply confused. He indulged her, hiding his private annoyance at her insinuation that he was too much of a recluse.

And then he\'d seen him. A boy - he\'d always imagined it being a girl for some reason. But no, it was a boy, with brilliant blonde hair and shining grey eyes. Harry had tried to hide himself in the stands as the boy took his first spins on the ice, tracing out the most beautiful pattern Harry had ever seen. He felt mesmerised as he watched, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. It wasn\'t just the patterns that were wonderful and entrancing: the boy was carrying him along. Harry found his eyes left the leg movements of the vibrant boy to look at his face, which was concentrating. He took in the firm legs, the narrow shoulders, the hips, the arse...

It was too much. Harry had jumped up and made a mad dash for the bathroom. The erection in his trousers was, for the first time in his life that he could remember, entirely upsetting. He\'d never had a reaction like this to blokes before. But the boy wasn\'t like a regular bloke. He had style and his eyes had this ability to hold Harry\'s.

He didn\'t find out about the depths of the grey eyes until the fifth time he\'d come to the rink. The boy didn\'t seem to be a student, but just a person that loved to skate. Harry watched in fascination, his eyes burning in fatigue and cold, but he couldn\'t stand to look away. At night, visions of swirling filled his mind and he smiled.

It wasn\'t too much later that things began getting more vivid in Harry\'s mind, with the boy coming to him, asking him his name, taking an interest until they ended up back at Harry\'s place, tangled and tousled, making new patterns of their own. He knew it would never happen with the way the boy would look at him, and then look away, completely disinterested, so Harry contented himself with his time alone at night, stroking himself to orgasm, the boy\'s sharp features in his mind.

He learned the name after the first two weeks. Draco. Draco Malfoy. He\'d said the name each night as he came. Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy...saving the name until he felt his body release in a climactic shudder.

As weeks go by, he knows that his faces begins to flush anytime he makes eye contact with the other boy. It isn\'t until Mrs. Harrison tells him that the boy is his age - just has youthful looks, most likely due to his rich family - that Harry begins to fantasise more thoroughly. He can\'t stop looking, and it is with great self-restraint that he does not follow the blonde man home.

Instead, he sulks, frequenting the bars, sitting alone in corners. He knows his parents, long gone by now, would not be proud of the way he\'s behaving - mooning over some rich heir who has too much free time. He hates himself for it, but he can\'t stop. Something about the other man draws him in, and he wants to stop, he does, but he can\'t...

\"Mind if I sit here?\" drawls a voice one night. When Harry looks up, he sees earmuffs and flushed cheeks. And the blonde hair he\'s come to know so well.

\"Uh...sure,\" he answers, feeling foolish. He can already feel his cock harden in response to the closeness of the other man. Their knees touch and Harry apologises profusely. Draco smirks, and Harry thinks it is one of the sharpest, most divine smiles he\'s seen.

Draco orders two drinks, something expensive. Harry looks sheepish when he tries to stop the blonde man, but Draco says not to worry, he\'s got plenty of money. The drinks arrive in green glasses, glittering and on fire. Draco tells him to blow his out, almost as if making a wish. Harry wonders at the look in Draco\'s eye, the glint of mischievousness, but Draco doesn\'t answer when he asks.

Harry drinks down the warm liquor. It is unlike anything he\'s had before, but it tastes so good. It fills him up, makes his mind swim. It is pleasant, yet terrifying. Draco\'s knee presses more firmly and the touch sends Harry reeling.

\"You want to go back to your place,\" says Draco.

Harry nods, the glass in hands that feel clumsy, yet he can\'t stop holding it. It\'s as if everything will shatter into a mild daydream if he lets go.

\"So...let\'s go then,\" says Draco.

Harry nods, but cannot move.

\"Oh, really-\" snorts Draco. \"So overcome with desire that you can\'t stand it? Is that it, Mr. Harry Potter, ice cleaner?\"

\"How do you know-\"

\"I asked.\"

\"Oh.\" Harry feels elated that Draco would ask about him, and feels the blush on his face. He grips the glass tighter. Draco\'s hand curls around his and they rise together. It is like every fantasy, the way Draco\'s eyes promise him what he\'s wanted - for so long, for too long.

Harry can\'t remember how they get to his room. He can still feel the glass in his hand, Draco\'s hand sliding between his fingers yet keep the glass between them. Draco\'s hands are quick and Harry is in bed with him soon, clothes strewn on the floor in a torrid path. He can feel the warmth of Draco\'s hand on his chest as the blonde kisses his way down Harry\'s abdomen.

Even as Draco kisses, Harry can hear him murmuring.

\"I\'ve seen you watch me,\" says Draco quietly.

Harry says nothing, still embarrassed.

\"I always skate better when you watch,\" continues the blonde. \"Something about being a voyeur maybe.\"

Harry makes a noncommital noise in his throat. He loves to watch Draco, and his mind reels at the possibilities of Draco\'s words. It isn\'t until he feels soft but insistent fingers at his chin that he looks up into grey eyes - the grey eyes he\'s fantasised about, the fingers he\'s wanted to hold, the tongue, the lips-

Harry is painfully hard, his cock throbbing with want. Draco kisses him tenderly on the lips, biting softly on the lower lip. Harry moans and watches as Draco steadies himself, his hand stroking his own cock which is red and firm. Harry can\'t think as Draco\'s fingers leave his chin and travel to his arse. Harry can\'t see, but he knows as soon as Draco sinks down onto his prick what the blonde has been doing, stretching himself wide for Harry.

\"Why...how...\"

Harry wants to ask why him, how it came to be, and the glass vibrates in his hand. It\'s like some sort of magic, some sort of pure, lustful magic. He squeezes the green glass and looks at the beautiful, pale form above him. He penetrates Draco over and over, feeling the slick movements. He moaned loudly but wouldn\'t say Draco\'s name. Draco kissed and touched him, whispering naughty nothings into his ear, asking for it harder, for it longer...and Harry complied, pushing up, wanting to bury himself within Draco, to never pull out, not ever....

\"Draco...\" he whipsers as he comes, filling the blonde body as come splatters onto his stomach. He looks at Draco, sees the half-closed eyes, lustful and focused entirely on him. He pushes harder, lengthening his orgasm, coming and coming, wonderful and warm and so deep inside...

Later on, Draco snuggles up to him, saying nothing but just watching. He asks about the scar on Harry\'s head and Harry just shrugs. It is a story for another time.

He holds Draco, the other glass in his hand. He can see traces in it, like the patterns Draco weaves into the ice each morning. Indeed, it is almost as if he can see a miniature Draco skating along. For years afterwards, Harry looks at the glass, watching new patterns emerge. Every night he dreams of green and smooth motions, of clearing the way for Draco.

Draco never talks about the glass except to say that they are bonded together somehow. Harry presses for further information but Draco just laughs and kisses away his questions. Harry knows it\'s in the glass. He knows there\'s a significance. He burns to ask, but when Draco says \"I love you\" months later, his questions melt away.

He keeps the glass safe, and keeps Draco safe. Every night he goes to the rink, in cold silence, warmed by thoughts of his blonde companion. He smooths over the ice at night and watches Draco decorate it for him in the morning, moving his body in twists and turns that Harry knows will appear on the glass later that night.

He doesn\'t care. He holds the glass tightly sometimes, loosely at others. But he always keeps it safe, whole and complete.

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