The Heat That Lingered Long And Well

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write…are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

A/N: The Heat Series and all episodes thereof have an average rating of NC-17. Some stories in this series may be rated R, primarily for language and implied content rather than graphic content, but the series as a whole is rated NC-17. Thank you.

The Heat That Lingered Long And Well…by Samayel

Harry sat by the fire in Grimmauld Place, curled around Draco, lounging comfortably, and reflected on the months that had passed since their ‘reunion’ at Hogwarts.

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To say that their emergence into Hogwarts’ society as a couple ‘caused a stir’ would have been an understatement of epic proportions, rather like saying that ‘the return of the Dark Lord caused slight anxiety’ for the wizarding world.

The whole school, including the staff, had stared at the two of them constantly, with the unspoken communal question, ’What the fuck?!’, practically on the tip of their collective tongues. It was terribly annoying, especially since Draco was trying very hard to get comfortable with acts of affection, public or otherwise. Having a school full of children gawking at him when his hand reached for Harry’s didn’t make it easier.

Ron, quite predictably, blew his top and couldn’t even bring the subject up without starting an argument. Several weeks of sulking and griping ensued, until a final blow out occurred, when Draco spent the evening in the Gryffindor common room, snogging Harry on the couch.

They’d studied together, and the rest of the room dealt passing well with that, but no one was particularly comfortable with the kiss that lingered before Draco left to make his rounds at curfew. Just before he’d let got of Harry’s hand, he’d looked warmly at Harry, and uttered the words, ‘Stupid Gryffindor’, in front of everyone. Harry just grinned like an idiot when he heard it, and wished Draco a good night. As soon as Draco was out the door, Ron exploded monumentally.

“FUCKING HELL, HARRY! How can you let him say that shit to you? He’s always calling you ‘stupid Gryffindor’! You let that Slytherin shit walk all over you, fucking insulting you in your own house, in front of us! What the hell is wrong with you! No one cares if you’re a poof, but for fucksake have some pride!”

Things slid downhill from there, almost coming to blows before Harry finally cracked and revealed one of his and Draco’s lesser secrets.

“Fine! You wanna know why he calls me that all the time? Not that it’s any fucking business of yours, but it’s a fucking codeword!”

“A what?” Ron screwed his face up in confusion.

“I TOLD him to call me that! He hates saying certain things in front of other people. I told him that, if he wanted to say he loves me, he could keep it private by calling me ‘Stupid Gryffindor’ when there are people around!”

“You…mean…all those times he called you that…at lunch…in the hallways…here…he was really saying…”

“YES! Now, thanks to you, I have to change the codeword! And I liked that one! Right now my vote is for FUCKING WEASLEY, but you’d better hope I’m over this by tomorrow!”

That episode had ended in Ron slinking off, vaguely confused, and keeping to himself for a few days, which had been fine by Harry, who really wasn’t feeling very forgiving at the moment. Perhaps he was a little overprotective of Draco, but he was the only person in Hogwarts, aside from Snape, who knew the things that made Draco tick, and he jealously guarded the knowledge that had been entrusted to him.

The truth was that Draco hadn’t uttered the words ‘I love you’ since he was thirteen years old, and though he’d come along well with his therapy, those words simply meant too much for him to let them slip from his tongue casually. It stung, that these little things were an issue, but at least now Draco showed his affection in many little ways, and that was enough for Harry, who knew beyond doubt what Draco was trying to express through them.

Eventually, Ron just started talking to him like nothing ever happened, and he religiously avoided the topic of Draco Malfoy, which was fine by Harry. Hermione hadn’t been half so difficult. She’d scrutinized them both intensely, for weeks, and Harry was fairly sure that she’d cast some spells on them while they weren’t watching. It was a safe bet that she only broke down and gave her approval after making sure that no magical coercion was involved in Harry’s inexplicable decision to start dating Draco. That settled that, and NEWTS finally came, taking everyone’s mind off of Harry and Draco, much to their relief.

Draco hadn’t had nearly so bad a time of it in Slytherin, although the gossip shifted from calling him impotent to calling him insane. Crabbe and Goyle were in his back pocket, and Zabini and Nott were in Harry’s, and with the entire contingent of seventh year Slytherin boys firmly on his side, no one dared to utter so much as a harsh word about his occasionally bringing Harry into the Slytherin common room for study time.

Except Snape.

Severus Snape may not have approved of their newly reborn relationship, but Draco claimed his desire for Harry’s company was central to his recovery, and he couldn’t do the ‘homework’ his therapist assigned without Harry present. Snape relented, but couldn’t help glowering when he entered the common room and found them in mid-snog on the couch. To his way of thinking, no one should get that much pleasure from any sort of ‘homework’.

“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Potter! If I see either of your hands below your waists again…I promise you I will hex them off! You may have been handed an excuse to ’spoon’ in my common room, but I recall nothing…NOTHING…about your ‘homework’ requiring the use of tongues!”

He also found their occasional giggles and laughter annoying in the extreme.

Draco’s kisses were like for food for the soul, and Harry feasted as often as he could. Soft, dry kisses where lips simply brushed up against each other, drifting across flushed and silken cheeks, or savage, wet, deep kisses, tongues wrestling each other, invading, exploring one another while their heads spun and their groins ached.

They explored every aspect of intimacy, save for the kind they had known first. For all that anyone at Hogwarts knew, they were a perfectly normal couple, holding hands, snogging as often as they could, and cuddling whenever they got the chance. None of their friends could have guessed the debauched nature of their beginning, but most grew to envy what had grown between them since.

The most difficult part to date was getting Draco comfortable with being held. It took more than a few tries before he could trust himself not to tremble so violently that other people would notice, but given enough time, he would eventually relax into a drowsy lassitude that left Harry ecstatic, and Draco as cheerful as if they’d just shagged.

NEWTS came and went, and Hogwarts celebrated in grand style. In the heady atmosphere of graduation, Draco and Harry were relegated to the background of other’s minds, which was a source of great relief to the both of them. Everyone else was suddenly concerned with their own dates, and this left them a certain freedom they hadn’t had in weeks.

That last night at Hogwarts had been perfect, given the times that came after, and it hadn’t been wasted. They left the Leaving Ball early, and slipped up to Gryffindor tower long ahead of any other revelers. Almost half a year had passed since either had seen the other naked, and those final occasions had been tinged with dark memories. They’d made their minds up to leave behind a final memory of their time at Hogwarts that would linger joyfully in both their minds forever.

They peeled away each other’s clothes with care, lavishing as much attention as possible on each others lips, while coats and trousers slid to the floor in an ungainly pile. So much time apart made simple things such as hands caressing each other a brilliant thing, and they fought the urge to frantically rut to completion, as they once had done, with everything they had.

It was so very different from anything Harry remembered. The dispassionate elegance and cruel precision were gone from Draco, and in their place was a hungry, needy lover who wasn’t ashamed of his desire for closeness.

When Draco’s mouth finally made it below the curve of his hip, Harry was hovering on the edge of loudly pleading, and only the sudden warmth and suction that enveloped his cock rendered him silent, save for soft moans of need. There was no teasing here, no artful and clever torment that offered satiation then stole away from it. This time, Draco sucked devotedly, small wet noises of hunger drifting up, while he brought Harry to a swift and complete end as quickly as possible.

Harry erupted into Draco’s mouth, and Draco only pulled him further in, drinking every drop of seed that he could pull from Harry, rhythmic sounds of pleasure a perfect counterpoint to Harry’s near shouts of satisfaction. Harry’s collapse was short lived, and his vision cleared just long enough to witness a tousled blond head diving between his thighs. Then Draco’s devil tongue and fingers were at play, and rational thought left him again.

Harry’s cock was twitching back to life, albeit sluggishly, before Draco’s ministrations were complete, and a mutual hunger to be joined as quickly as possible made foreplay of any kind a matter of minutes. Then Draco was kneeling before him, slick with the long unused lubricant he’d purchased for them so long ago, and Harry poised himself for entrance.

When he’d been getting shagged on a daily basis, it had become easy enough to open himself for entry, but a half a year without so much as a stray finger down there had made him almost virginal again, and despite the faint discomfort, it was a sensation he savored.

Draco was sliding his way inward, slow and certain, with little pauses that let Harry breath easy and steel himself for more. When the soft blond scruff of Draco’s pubic hair was snug and close against him, and soft, heavy balls were at rest against his bum, Harry sighed with relief, and let himself relax completely, experimenting with the much missed feel of Draco’s cock buried deep inside of him.

Harry felt the insistent throb of Draco’s member inside him, and understood Draco’s hesitance…his boyfriend was hanging on the precipice of orgasm already, and fighting it as best he could. Too much motion on either of their parts, and it would all be over before it started. Harry sunk comfortably into the sheets, placing his ankles on Draco’s shoulders, and sighed with contentment, perfectly at peace with the idea of dragging this out as long as possible.

Draco steadied himself, and finally, still pressed close and tight against Harry, ground gently into his lover, scarcely even withdrawing after each moment of pressure. Once he was sure he could move without promptly coming, he slid back, nearly out of Harry, eliciting a whimper of hunger that quickly shifted to a moan of pleasure when he slid back in again. It took time and patience to work his way just to a pace far slower than ever they’d used before, but the sight of Harry’s green eyes fairly sparkling with adoration and desire was more than Draco could easily cope with and restrain himself.

Harry had waited for this moment patiently, never pushing Draco for more than he felt ready to give, and both their libidos had been restrained for months, a state completely unnatural for seventeen year old boys. Even though Harry relaxed completely, utterly receptive, allowing Draco total control, the pleasure of being united again quickly reached a peak that they couldn’t withstand.

Past encounters had been dominated by pure lust, or tainted ever so subtly by the implication of submission on Harry’s part, or even marred by the mutual knowledge that their ’relationship’ had been built upon the denial that either genuinely cared for the other. No longer. Every cruel illusion that once haunted them had collapsed since then, and the distance between them had slowly diminished until there was precious little that could have brought them closer to each other than they already were.

Harry had one leisurely hand stroking Draco’s slowly flexing chest, and another twined in the silky blond locks he often silently prized. For the first time since the year had started, and they’d entered into the world of the sensual, Draco was staring intently into Harry’s eyes while they made love.

‘I can call it that…now. We’re making love. We did so much, but never this. This is the best day of my life. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to make him understand. This isn’t surrender, or submission…this is victory.’

Then there was no time for thought, because Draco had increased his pace yet again, and this time he pushed deep and hard upon the savagely hungry place inside Harry that exploded each time it was touched. A starry night slid across Harry’s flickering vision, and he wasn’t sure of time or thought…or anything else for that matter. Just sharp, potent waves of pleasure that carried him aloft, while gentle hands, that caressed his cheek and stroked the hair from his eyes, kept him grounded occasionally in the real. Gray eyes bored into green, and Harry was joyfully aware of the soft intensity of Draco’s gaze.

There was reverence there, an honest and open adoration that Harry had waited a lifetime to see in someone’s eyes. Connected like a live wire, feeling desired and loved as never before, Harry melted into orgasm, shuddering and crying out as his seed spilled between the two of them, slicking his chest and stomach with heavy dots of white that quickly cooled. Draco’s pace scarcely slowed throughout, and Harry writhed and gasped beneath him, overwhelmed by the continuing sensations Draco pushed himself to inspire, even as Harry rode out his orgasm until its completion.

Draco paused, still not replete, and kissed Harry as deeply and softly as he could, while still bound together as they were. Harry let himself flow into that kiss, eager to drown himself an ocean of happiness he’d never felt or even imagined, until Draco parted from him with a whisper so faint it couldn’t have been heard from more than a few inches away.

“I…only you, Harry…always. Only you.”

That night lingered in more than memory. Hours passed before they slumbered, unaware of anything save each other, curled safe and close in Harry’s bed, sweat slick, disheveled, and heavy with the scent of one another.

They found Ron asleep outside the door in the morning, curled up on a spare blanket from the commons, snoring loudly. When Harry stepped over him to head for the loo, Ron woke with a start, and promptly began to whine.

“Bloody hell, Harry! I got in at two…and you two were still having it off! Don’t tell me you bastards never heard of silence spell! I mean, Merlin’s Fucking Beard, mate…SIX HOURS?! What the fuck is wrong with you two? Can’t you do anything normal? If it takes that long to get off, you’re doing something wrong!”

Harry grinned hugely, all flushed cheeks and giddy cheer. “Beg to differ, Ron. You’d take that much time, too…if you got off five times…and each one was better than the one before it. Take my word for it, mate…we’re doing it right.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows at Ron, who looked like he was suffering an information overdose, and whistled all the way to the bathroom. Ron was still sitting in the hall, dazed and stunned, when Draco stepped out with a yawn, surprisingly un-self conscious about the state of his hair, and wearing nothing but a towel.

“Oy, Malfoy!”

“Mmm? What?”

“Uhhh…about the whole six hours shagging thing…if you ever teach a class on that…I’m the first one signing up.”

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Their last year at Hogwarts came to its close, and that was the end of happy memories for a time. The war did break out almost immediately after the closing of Hogwarts, and attacks began on Muggle and wizarding targets alike.

Draco swore a Binding Oath to the Order of the Phoenix, and visited Grimmauld Place as often as he could. His mother, Narcissa, reacted poorly to the news of his relationship with Harry, and promptly fled England for a shopping trip abroad, praying that the madness that had infected her son would be over by the time she got back. This was fine by Draco, who felt no further reason to remain at the manor once his mother was safely out of town, and he wasted no time at making himself as comfortable as possible in Harry’s room at Grimmauld Place.

Attacks were reported weekly, and eventually daily, as the violence escalated, but the Order kept a tight leash on Harry’s movements, sure that the bloodthirsty nature of the attacks was intended to draw Harry out. Now that the blood-protection that once guarded him was gone, it was possible that Voldemort was trying, in his less than subtle way, to lure Harry into the open, hoping for an ambush.

Meanwhile, civilians were dying by the score, Aurors and Order members alike were getting hurt and sometimes killed, and all Harry could do was stalk the halls of Grimmauld Place, frustrated nearly to tears. His only solace during that time had been Draco, who rarely left his side for more than a day. At least their nights had been grand. If Harry had wanted for anything, it certainly wasn’t sex or love. The two of them grew closer still, and Draco discreetly saw his counselor less and less as the months passed.

This was not to say that he had no issues left. Although communication had become easier for him, and showing intimacy and affection were almost second nature, it was still hard for him to surrender control…sexually. He could let Harry touch him in places he’d never allowed before, and this offered up a few new pleasures they both enjoyed thoroughly, but when he tried, with great care, to offer himself up to Harry, he still flinched, grew tense and fretful, and sometimes broke down and wept with frustration.

He was sure of his desire for Harry, and it galled him to come so close to a long-suppressed fantasy and then have it fall from reach so quickly, but try as he might, Draco couldn’t relax when faced with the actual moment of entry, and Harry lost all interest in trying further when he heard the short panic breaths or saw fear and tension in Draco’s face instead of desire. Blessedly, Harry was entirely content in whatever role he took, and as long as it involved Draco, his pleasure was fairly well assured. The failure to accomplish this one thing seemed a small loss, especially when a war was bringing far greater sorrows just outside their doors.

The only bright and cheery spark of news that came, was a solid lead on Voldemort’s lair. An Auror squad was dispatched to scan the area, and was never heard from again. The Order stood convinced that the information was accurate, but suspected that an ambush had been intended for Harry the minute he arrived upon the property, and they reiterated their stance about keeping Harry safe until Voldemort revealed himself. All the while, Harry read reports full of death and suffering, as casualties of his inaction mounted ever higher.

Draco’s mother returned to Malfoy Manor after three months abroad, and Draco, a dutiful, if somewhat rebellious, son, went to see her and make peace, or at least forge a truce between them. He was only supposed to be gone for a day and a night. The next morning, Harry woke alone, and was greeted by grim stares at the breakfast table.

Malfoy Manor had been attacked in the night, no one had yet searched for sign of Draco or Narcissa Malfoy amongst the rubble, but portions of the manor were still ablaze, and the ancient building had been half-razed by Death Eaters, likely to finally settle the score for Draco’s shift of allegiance. The Dark Mark hung in the sky above England once again, and Harry knew it had been another price paid by others for his inaction.

That had been ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’. Harry, sick with grief and blind with rage, ended the war in a single morning. Despite the efforts of his friends to stop him, he walked out of the house, and Apparated directly to the building suspected to be Voldemort’s current lair.

Harry cut through the wards like a hot knife through butter, and faced with an entire property covered in traps, curses and enemies, he neatly sidestepped the entire problem by blasting the entire structure off its foundation. In the end, Harry dragged a wounded Voldemort halfway out of a pile of dusty rubble, and silently caved in his skull with a large and jagged rock that weighed almost twenty kilos.

At that moment, Harry had no fear of death, or of killing, for having lost so much in his life, the warped creature once named Tom Riddle had just taken the one thing left that mattered most to him, and death held only the promise of freedom from the sorrow he knew would come when his rage slid away.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, kneeling on broken stone and cracked wood, spattered with gore and weeping. It could have been minutes or hours for all he knew. Ron and Hermione found him there, amidst the wreckage, and guided him home in silence.

Harry sat abed all afternoon, numb from potions and charms, a creeping ennui stealing over him. The enormity of his loss was only beginning to feel real, and he faintly hoped that some form of insanity would steal his rational mind, tearing away his ability to process what had happened that day. Late that evening, the sharp, yet disaffected tone of a woman of substance cut through the silence in Grimmauld Place.

“Really, dear! It was the only thing I had at my disposal at the moment. At a time like that, who frets over semantics? I just wanted to get my baby to safety. I certainly didn’t expect such histrionics from you!”

“MOTHER! A one-way Portkey? To Tangiers? We could have at least Apparated to Hogsmeade! There are people there who could have-”

That voice set Harry’s mind on fire with joy, and even dulled by potions, his sense reeled when he heard Draco’s outraged tone.

“Nonsense, Draco! I was certain of our safety, or I would never have taken us there. My friend saw to our needs and here we are. A pity about the manor, but we’re back in England in less than twelve hours. I simply cannot understand why you’re so-”

Harry was already tearing down the staircase, albeit clumsily, doped with potions as he was.

“About your ‘friend’! Just who the hell is Hakim anyway? Don’t tell me you’ve been running around with that turbaned, desert dingbat ever since father was imprisoned? We Portkeyed right into his bloody bedroom!”

“Be mature about these things, Draco! Your father has been away for almost two years…a woman has needs…and Hakim is a perfect gentlem-”

Narcissa’s words tapered off as Harry stumbled into the room and tackled Draco in a clumsy hug, pinning him to the wall and smothering him with tearful kisses. Narcissa watched in silence, hovering on the edge of disapproval, until the pained wince slid from her haughty features. Her only child was clinging tightly to Harry Potter, recently the Saviour of the Wizarding World, whispering mingled praise and assurances to a young man who looked like he had been utterly bereft of hope in Draco’s absence. Stonier hearts than hers had been moved by less.

Ron Weasley walked up beside her, and sighed deeply. “If it’s any comfort, they drive me half scatty, too, when they get like that. Still, it’s love, isn’t it? What can you do?”

Narcissa smiled softly. “Yes, indeed. I believe, my dear young man, that, despite every expectation to the contrary, you and I are in perfect agreement.”

---------------------------------------------------

Harry stared dreamily into the fire. The two months since the death of Voldemort had passed swiftly. Malfoy Manor was under reconstruction. The wizarding world was still jubilant over their newfound, heady freedom from terror. The Ministry and the Order had been busy rounding up stray Death Eaters. Grimmauld Place was nearly abandoned, leaving Harry and Draco as much time to themselves as they could ask for. It was very nearly a slice of paradise, and Draco’s constant presence had made it that way. It was difficult to imagine a state of affairs better than this.

Draco wriggled pleasantly in Harry’s arms, then yawned and stretched.

“Mmmm…Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking, love. I know…I know I have trouble…well…letting go of control. Maybe not so much as before, but still more trouble than I like. I thought of a way that, just maybe, I’d feel more, you know, relaxed. Care to hear me out?”

“Sure. You know I’m not worried about that. You don’t have to do anything for me. I love this…this life we’ve got here. I love you, and I’m happier than I’ve probably got any right to have expected, but I’m all ears if you want to try something new. Just don’t feel like you have to because of me.”

“Stupid Gryffindor. I’ve been thinking about this for a long while now. I wouldn’t even bring it up if I wasn’t sure. It made me a bit edgy at first, but the more I thought about it, the more comfortable I felt with it. The Dark Lord is gone, my father is a non-issue, Flint is ancient history, and I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever known. I know you’d do anything for me, and I know you would never hurt me. Even with all that, I still have a hard time letting go of…things. I just tense up and I can’t stop it. There might be a way to make that go away…at least temporarily.”

Harry’s curiosity was peaked to say the least. In fact, certain other parts of him peaked at just the thought of being inside of Draco, making love to him the way that he’d made love to Harry so often and well, but he’d never admit to Draco how badly he wanted that, mainly because he hated the idea of Draco feeling guilty about something he could scarcely be expected to control.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Parseltongue.”

“Merlin! Are you daft, love? I swore I’d never-”

“Harry! Shut up and listen to me closely! Please?”

Harry fought his racing heart in silence. Just the memory of the event that had triggered Draco’s collapse was more than he was comfortable with. The notion of using Parseltongue on Draco again violated every promise he’d ever made to himself about never exploiting Draco’s weakness for his own personal gain. Draco waited until he was sure of Harry’s silence, and then started again.

“I’m not saying you should go berserk and terrify the ever-loving fuck out of me…I’m saying that, if you just whispered a little, here and there, while we made love, maybe I’d slip into a state of mind where bad memories couldn’t reach me. The other time, I was a lot more afraid of how much I wanted to give in…than I was afraid of anything else. I don’t think I’m scared of you making love to me…hell…it’s practically all I think about. I want you that way, badly, and I think if you’re careful, and you just say a few things here and there throughout, I wouldn’t be frightened at all, just…well…excited.”

Harry sat in silence. If he rejected this outright, he’d get another lecture about being an overprotective Gryffindor ass (and that was a conversation they’d already had…several times). Draco could be stubborn beyond the patience of mortals when his mind was made up, and Harry could already tell by the tone of Draco’s voice that his mind was made up about this. The best he could hope for was a lack of damage. Draco hadn’t needed a potion in months, and they’d never been closer than they were now. If there was a time to try, then this was it, however nerve-wracking the idea might be.

“If you’re sure you won’t give this idea up, I’ll do it…on one condition…”

“And that is?”

“I’ll stop at some point and let the effect wear off. Then you can tell me if you’re really okay or not. If you slip into trance, how would I know if you were alright or not? This way, you can still stop me if you’re not well…understand?”

“Done deal!” Draco rolled off the couch and slid down onto the rug in front of the fireplace, smirking wickedly and unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you waiting for? Get down here and kiss me!”

Harry stifled a laugh. “Eager much?”

There was nothing feigned in Draco’s answer as he peeled away his clothes.

“Harry. I’ve waited years to feel like this for someone. There are days when it actually hurts me not to be able to do this. I’ve wanted you in every way since that first night in the baths, and I’m not one bit ashamed of it now. I want this…and I want you.”

Draco slid the last of clothes off and made himself comfortable in front of the fire, flickering shadows dancing across his lithe frame. Harry looked at the serious young man that had been his only love for almost a year and half, and knelt beside him, leaning in for a kiss.

It still made his head spin, even more than half a year since their first kiss. Draco’s hands were fumbling with his shirt buttons, even while their lips mingled and their tongues searched hungrily. It was easy, at a moment like this, to forget that there had ever been a cross moment between them.

Draco pushed Harry onto his back and whispered, “Let me.”

Harry let himself be cosseted, while Draco stripped him of his clothes at his leisure, pausing to fire Harry’s anticipation with kisses along his collar, and later, as Draco slid his trousers off, along his hipbone as well. When he’d neatly divested Harry of clothing, Draco climbed astride him, and made himself comfortable atop Harry’s waist, and Harry savored the feel of their erections rubbing close against each other as well as against their flat, hard stomachs.

Harry pulled Draco down, back into another kiss, while they lounged next to the drowsy heat of the fire. Harry was well aware of the vial of lubricant that Draco had discreetly slipped out of his pants pocket and left by the edge of the rug. The wicked little mink had had this planned well in advance of their conversation. Sometimes Draco reminded Harry that he was Slytherin to the core, and things like this were a perfect example of that.

Draco ground himself leisurely against Harry’s groin, head tilted back, hands steady on Harry’s chest, savoring the delicious warmth and thickness of the cock that rubbed indelicately along through the cleft of his arse, and ever so pleasantly brushed the whorled pink rose of his hole, touching off desires he’d lived without satisfying for years.

Draco kept flexing his body against the growing stiffness beneath him, pleasantly conscious of the heat of Harry’s skin, and of the gentle hands that slithered down his chest. Harry gazed in awe at the slim form that rode him. His own hand seemed dark against the pale splendor of Draco’s skin, and Draco’s hair hung like a blond mane, elegant even when untidy. So many ways in which they were different, only to come together as one in spite of it all.

Draco’s hand slithered to the phial of lubricant, even while he pitched forward to kiss Harry, grinding his own erection softly against the smooth taught skin of Harry’s stomach. As exciting as the warmth of Draco’s kiss was, the small wet sounds of lubricant being carefully applied were making Harry ache with anticipation. They’d tried so many times, and that sound had come to herald failure, no matter how promising the opportunity seemed.

Then the soft hand coated in slickness lifted and stroked Harry’s straining cock, and it was hard to worry about anything. A skillful hand coated his manhood from base to tip in slippery fluid, exciting Harry nearly to the point of orgasm, then pausing, with Harry’s erection still throbbing, now held almost upright in Draco’s firm hand.

Slim hips rose off of Harry, and Draco closed his eyes while he pressed back against the stiffened length behind him. Poised for entrance, Draco hung just above it, brow wrinkled in concentration while apprehension overtook him.

“Now…speak it to me now, Harry. I need this…please, love.” Draco’s face was unreadable, but his voice was taut and constrained, full of tension and hunger, and Harry relented, watching closely for any sign of discomfort or fear as he spoke.

*You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. I never stop aching to be close to you.*

Harry kept his voice just above a sibilant whisper, instead of the outraged thunder it had been before, but the effect was immediate and obvious. Draco’s tense brow loosened, and his eyes opened wide, looking down at Harry with naked adulation. His pupils dilated slightly, though not so drastically as before, and a drowsy lassitude stole over his entire body, relaxing every muscle more thoroughly than anything else ever had.

*You are more precious to me than any other. This life would be empty without you. Don’t ever be afraid of me, my love. I will never hurt you, never push you away, never tire of the sight of you.*

Draco’s lips had curled into a drunken grin and his head lolled back, and Harry quickly felt pressure, warmth and tightness around his cock. Draco slid back with surprising ease, exhaling softly as his body stretched to accommodate Harry’s stone hard erection. Freed of anxiety, drunk on the power inherent in Harry’s voice, Draco allowed the full length of Harry into him without a noise of complaint, and his own cock stood rampant and hard, just above the stomach of his lover.

*Oh gods, is that good. I’ve longed for this, love. I’ve wanted this so very much, Draco. To feel you this way…to please you. I want more than anything to please you, like you have me.*

Harry pulled Draco down into a kiss, his hands cradling Draco’s face gently, and he let that kiss linger, letting the power of whispered Parseltongue slowly fade while Draco lay upon his chest, almost boneless from pleasure. Draco slowly recovered, panting for breath between kisses, and his eyes focused properly less than a minute later. Draco gazed fiercely into Harry’s eyes and rolled the two of them until he was beneath Harry, then he leaned in, bit Harry’s neck and whispered urgently, “More…please don’t stop. I want this…you…now. Pleeeaaaasse.”

Harry felt Draco’s legs slide up and back even higher, knees as close to his chest as they could be while spread so far apart, and he could also feel a soft and strangely clenching tightness around his cock. Draco was shifting himself consciously, making himself comfortable with the fairly large thing currently embedded in his body, and Harry took mercy, finally sure that Draco was at peace with the language of serpents and power.

*I can’t imagine anything better than this…than us…together. I love you desperately, Draco.*

Draco’s head lolled back to the floor, and a moan slid from him as his body relaxed, and Harry could feel the difference immediately, feeling no tension or resistance and he began to slide out of, and then back into, Draco’s waiting body. He slid his hand across the silk of Draco’s flushed cheeks.

*I always dreamed of what it would be like to be loved, and you made it real. I love you so much.*

Draco’s cock twitched wildly, and even in his semi-lucid state, his features bespoke a restless desire to come. Harry held Draco’s limp legs carefully, pacing his journey into Draco’s body as reasonably as he could…given that he wanted nothing more than to explode into Draco and promptly collapse.

*You’re perfect to me. In every way. I will never betray you. I will never abandon you. I’m utterly and completely yours, Draco, and I don’t ever want to be anything else.*

Draco keened softly, legs trembling slightly in Harry’s grasp, and his mouth became a sudden ‘O’ of pleasure. The handsome prick that lay between them pulsed and tensed, and short jets of white slashed across Draco’s chest and stomach. Only soft gasps escaped Draco’s lips the entire time, and Harry watched in mute awe, seeing for the first time what it was like to see a lover take pleasure from him in this role.

His own body rebelled, excited by Draco’s pliancy and softness, and fired by the sight of Draco’s spontaneous orgasm. Harry uttered a final, guttural promise of love before he lost control, and felt himself coming inside Draco’s inviting warmth. The head of his cock came truly alive for the first time, embraced by the soft muscles of a lover’s body for the first time, and Harry groaned piteously as the sensations overwhelmed him. It was magnificent, and in those seconds of fleeting ecstasy, he was aware of nothing, absolutely nothing, but the lean and beautiful blond that writhed beneath him.

Harry leaned downward, brushing his lips across Draco’s, then along the downy cheek, and eventually to the slender throat and neck so attractively exposed by Draco’s shuddering, and thoroughly spent, frame. He paused when he reached the shell of Draco’s ear, and whispered in plain speech at last.

“Thank you, love. Thank you for showing me this. That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt, and I can’t even imagine having done that with anyone but you. I love you, Draco.”

Draco recovered his power of speech, the last traces of Parseltongue’s influence leaving him lucid, albeit sated and giddy, beneath Harry. Draco took those words of Harry’s to heart, tears of joy trickling down his face, took Harry’s face in his hands.

“Stupid Gryffindor.” Under the giddy tone was something a shade more serious. A glint of something like enlightenment came into Draco’s eyes. There in the firelight and the drowsy, sweaty warmth of lovers at rest, Draco had an epiphany, and looked at Harry with an openness, an innocence and sincerity that had been missing for far too long from his face.

There were things that Draco did not say without the greatest of care, words that never crossed his lips, saved for some future occasion that merited their use. In the world of Slytherin and Malfoy, weakness was always exploited, and mere words were always suspect. The last remnants of a lifetime’s training slid away…and Draco Malfoy finally spoke with his heart.

“I love you, Harry.”

And so he did, both long and well, through joys and sorrows, triumph and loss. No happy moment was ever without later equal, and no pain was without end. It was a fine and long life spent together without regret, and none that knew them dared to gainsay their right to that happiness, for they knew that life is an ancient story, written upon the pages of time with an ink of blood, sweat, tears and come, and the only thing both fleeting and yet enduring immortally…is love.


FIN