Scratching The Itch: Part 2

Author’s Note: Given that this story is a sequel to the events of ‘Scratching The Itch’, I highly recommend that the original story be read before reading this entry. It’s a smoldering favorite that really deserved a revisiting.

Scratching The Itch: Part 2…by Samayel

In the months since Draco’s abrupt return to Grimmauld Place, Harry and Draco had slipped into an almost seamless and surprisingly comfortable state of routine. Granted, Draco was still snarky, sarcastic, and given to bouts of total selfishness…but he was also full of backhanded compliments that only slightly veiled a sense of gratitude and affection, and the shouts and threats that had been the hallmark of their old relationship had transformed into genuinely pleasant conversation…and then there was the sex.

The sex was nothing like before. Their brief weeks together over a year and a half before had been horribly marred by the circumstances, and Draco had been an initially unwilling participant, tolerating Harry’s presence to mitigate the curse that tormented him. (A devilishly convoluted curse that Harry had cast, after being goaded past the point of sanity by Draco, and which had left Draco with a weeks-long desperate need for relief that only a shag from Harry could relieve. When the curse had finally worn off, Draco had been caught faking its effects, and when Harry had confronted him on the matter it had prompted Draco’s swift departure rather than a confession of any affection.) Whatever Draco had experienced abroad in Europe after the war had completely changed his attitude toward sex in general…and more specifically…toward having sex with Harry!

The change had been evident the first night, after a slightly scorched meal punctuated by long kisses and giddy smiles. Draco was no hesitant and irritation-distracted victim, but a very plainly excited initiator, and between snogs, he’d all but dragged Harry upstairs by his belt buckle, whispering breathy encouragements all the way. Gone was the nervous semi-virgin that had been wracked by a twisted desire for a comfort only a hated enemy could give, and in the place of that once outraged participant was a bold, sexually confident young man, lightly tanned from Mediterranean sun and still as lean and fit as Harry had remembered.

It would have been hard to define a person so insistent, eager and demanding as ‘passive’ or ‘submissive’, since even though Draco had a very specific desire that would have evoked such terms, he was ruthless in achieving his goal, freely giving Harry instructions along the way. Harry found himself stripped, caressed, fondled, stroked, sucked, nibbled and licked into a state of delirium, only to be shoved backwards onto the bed so that Draco could mutter a spell and hungrily spear himself on Harry’s rampant prick and grind his way to orgasm just for the evening’s start!

Harry had wanted to ask a thousand questions, but each was silenced by a hungry mouth while a slim form straddled and rode him relentlessly. Draco seemed to read Harry’s body as easily as a book, and shifted rhythms or paused whenever Harry seemed close to completion. Hands wound through Harry’s hair while hot kisses drowned his mind…and on it went, long into the night, breathless, wild and unrelenting.

It had been the most undiluted passion that Harry had ever known, and when Draco had finally let him come to orgasm, half a dozen positions and at least four orgasms of Draco’s later, Harry had cried out loudly, shouting his partner’s name, eyes clenched shut and gasping for breath desperately.

They’d flopped gracelessly together onto the bed in Harry’s room, sweat soaked and panting, come spattered and sore, spent and smiling. It was well past the midnight hour, and they slipped into slumber murmuring compliments to one another, curled comfortably as lovers ought to be.

That first new day together came late for them, and Draco had been playful, mischievous and horny in spite of their excess the night before. He’d coaxed Harry’s manhood back to life with little effort, gnawing and sucking on Harry’s neck, grunting his approval loudly and spilling his seed between them just before Harry came inside of him. They dozed languidly, rose almost as one, and still grinning ear to ear showered playfully and barely bothered to dress before strolling downstairs for breakfast.

Dobby had been sent off the night before, since Harry usually cooked for himself and always gave the house elf the weekend off. The fits that a Malfoy presence in Grimmauld Place would cause could be saved until Monday, and so the breakfast conversation sparkled while Harry cooked. They hadn’t bothered with pants…and so Draco watched from the table with an approving smirk as Harry prepared a meal in nothing but boxers and an old T-shirt.

“God…where to start? Magic! Wandless magic! Last night…that was brilliant, by the way. When did you pick that up?” Harry’s curiosity was boiling over, question after question flooding his mind while he tried to organize his thoughts.

Draco chuckled. “I was in a safehouse for almost a year. I didn’t have a wand…or a boyfriend, so there was nothing to spend my time on but magic. Got my wand back this year after a Ministry hearing…mostly thanks to your old written testimony, so thank you for that…but by then I’d already mastered most of the spells I knew from First through Fourth year. It’s right amazing what total solitude and utter boredom can do for a fellow’s study skills.”

Harry paused, smiling, and nodded his approval. Then he smirked wickedly. “You learned ‘that’ spell before Fifth year?”

The spell Draco had muttered so effortlessly the night before had been a spell of modified lubrication…one tailored for sexual purposes. Harry had had to cast it many times during their time together, since Draco hadn’t then possessed a wand.

Draco shook his head and flopped his face into his hand, chuckling again. “Oh, you think you’re the clever one now? No, you oaf! I practiced that one in particular because I bloody well meant to know it by heart! Who wants to take a break before sex and fetch a wand every time? Not I! Besides, the only reason I didn’t cast it before even knocking was because it might have seemed a tad presumptuous about your hospitality. Well…that and because leaking lubricant into my shorts on your doorstep might have been looked at as just a tad bit sluttish.”

Harry felt his heart leap. Even after a night that had been the stuff of lonely dreams and wild fantasies, he’d never imagined chatting so comfortably with Draco, much less laughing and joking. The implied compliment in Draco’s blunt statement was like warm sunshine on a chilly day. He wants me! He really couldn’t wait to see me! He missed me after everything I did wrong and he’s here because he wants me!

Harry’s next words stumbled while he composed himself. “Draco…I meant everything I said. I…I missed you…since the day you left. I’m glad you’re here. You’ll stay…won’t you?”

Draco looked edgy for a moment, uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny and the serious turn of the conversation. He answered while staring at the table.

“Yeah. I mean…I meant what I said too. I’m glad to be back…just, you know, I don’t want to talk about serious stuff. Let’s just let things be what they are and not…not make it more complicated. Okay?”

Harry felt a nervous twinge in his stomach while he listened, but the last thing he wanted to do was start things off on the wrong foot. If Draco meant what Harry thought he meant, then throwing around declarations of love the way he had last night would complicate things. It didn’t seem natural to stifle the way he felt, but if it kept Draco happy and present at Grimmauld Place it could be done.

“Oh…okay. That’s alright. No worries. So…” Harry scrambled for a new topic helplessly. “…last night was unreal! You really changed while you were away.”

Draco frowned. “What? Because I enjoyed sex and didn’t feel guilty about it the way I used to after that fucked up way to lose my virginity? Let’s not talk about that either. I changed in a lot of ways. Can we just leave it at that?”

Harry looked stricken, and Draco suddenly changed gears and smiled disarmingly. “Hey…don’t look like that. I just don’t want to discuss all that. I didn’t mean it that way. Don’t apologize…you did enough of that then. I accept it…it’s passed…and I’m here now because I want to be. I’ll tell you all about Europe, okay? You’ve really got to go if you haven’t yet.”

Harry calmed quickly, and was relieved to just cook while drinking in the sound of Draco’s voice as he relived his travels. They ate in peace, recounting events from their lives over the past year and more, and not a harsh word passed between them after. Before the month had passed, they’d settled neatly into a relationship of sorts, which even without the benefit of a title or a firm description worked like it was charmed from the start.

It rattled more than a few of their old friends when it became public knowledge, and poor Ron Weasley reacted, predictably, as if Harry had admitted a more than marginal fondness for sheep and took to sulking angrily for a few weeks, but the rest of their world seemed content after asking a simple “Are you sure this is a good idea?” and then settled in to wait for it all to implode spectacularly. It never did.

Harry discovered that Draco adored art, music, literature, architecture, history and food…as well as sex, and was creative, funny and occasionally sympathetic when he tried to be, and Draco found himself fascinated by the little complexities that made up Harry’s character. He’d never given much thought to Harry even after they’d been flung together by the war, but it had been one thing he’d wanted to know more of ever since. They’d been enemies since the first day of school, but Harry had shown a gentleness and basic decency that Draco had underappreciated at the time. Even if Draco said little and implied much, he never took it for granted now.

It wasn’t the end of sensual discovery either. As weeks grew into months, Draco displayed a breadth of knowledge that was staggering to Harry. Sex between them was never boring or routine, and despite Draco’s seemingly insatiable appetite, they swapped roles on a fairly frequent basis. It may have been lopsided in favor of Draco’s newfound and near total passion for bottoming, but there was never any certain way to tell what they would do when the mood took them. Draco coached Harry to greater and greater heights of skill and endurance, and if any of their friends had been privy to what went on in Grimmauld Place in private or after dark, they would have blushed furiously, but then turned positively green with envy.

They shagged on every surface in every room in the house…and Grimmauld Place had a lot of rooms. Positions were used that Harry hadn’t even imagined, including something called ‘reverse cowgirl’…or at least in this case ‘reverse cowboy’…and thanks to Draco’s general obsession with cleanliness and hygiene, Harry was introduced to the concept of analingus with nearly no hesitation, and considerable enthusiasm ever after.

It was almost a year to the day after Draco had first come knocking at the door impatiently. They’d sometimes argued, but it never lasted long. They’d diligently avoided talking of the way things had started, but they were comfortable just the same. Neither of them had shown the slightest romantic interest in anyone else, or any desire to change the way things were. Perhaps it was the impromptu and uncelebrated anniversary that had passed, or perhaps it was just that a line had been crossed in Draco’s mind and the mood seemed right, but that night, curled in the afterglow of sex that had been passionate even by their jaded standards, Draco suddenly spoke clearly into Harry’s ear.

“I hated you for so long. So much. I have to tell you some things…and you might not like them all. Can you just let me talk?”

Harry’s heart suddenly thundered in his ears, but he nodded in the dark, and then answered quietly. “You can tell me anything…or everything. I’ll be alright.”

Draco sounded far away; half lost in thought, and rambled along in a mild tone.

“I don’t think you’ll ever quite grasp what you did to me, Harry. I am sorry I treated you badly. I was somebody else…didn’t know what I was doing…didn’t think about anything before I spoke. Still not used to it. Got better, though.

When we were here… before…I was just a prat, but what happened was horrible for me. It changed everything…about who I am, what I believe, how I felt about myself. When I left…I was broken. It took a while just to figure that much out.

I know you tried to make it as right as you could, but you couldn’t have done anything to help what I was feeling. I thought I knew everything…and then I knew nothing. I knew my place in the world, and then you took that knowing away from me. I hated you for that most of all.

I knew that Muggles and mudbloods were lower than dirt. I knew that pureblood lineage counted for something. I knew that I could control what I felt about someone else as easily as breathing. And then I didn’t know anything at all. Even before the spell wore off.

I hated myself just for wanting you that way. I hated even admitting that I wanted you at all. It was inexplicable. I’d always held you in contempt…and I should have felt the same after what you did with that curse…it didn’t make any sense. It drove me crazy.

When I left for that safehouse, I almost went mad from loneliness. It was like you turned on a switch inside me and it couldn’t be shut off afterwards. I hated the silence, the aloneness, the food…and especially the nights. I didn’t sleep well. Wanked myself cross-eyed and stupid more than once, but it didn’t help. I sincerely doubt you ever spent a night crying yourself to sleep because a pathetic wank with two fingers up your bum wasn’t enough to make things right and the only person who could was someone you thought you should despise.

When the war was over I was still a fugitive. I just took off and drifted. I’d mastered enough wandless magic to get by, so it wasn’t all bad, but I had nowhere to go, no home, no friends, and no plans. I also had a need I couldn’t even define or explain. I just wandered through Europe, bored and miserable, looking for ways to distract myself. I talk about the museums and the cathedrals and the beaches like they mattered to me, and they were nice, but they weren’t as important as what else was going on.

Harry…I pretty much whored my way through it all. Not because I had to…because I felt like it. I hated myself, and I didn’t care what I did, so it might as well have profited me, you know? I knew how to wandlessly cast a few spells for my protection and comfort, so I fucked my way through Prague and Amsterdam and Naples and anywhere else you can spot on a map. I was drunk or high for most of it, trying not to think about it all. Hell, I made a fortune doing it, too, but I really didn’t care about the money.

I broke down in Barcelona. I guess it just hit me all at once. I woke up in a nice hotel, alone, after my trick had left…and I just snapped. I bawled like a snot-nosed brat for hours. After that I had a long think and it came to me. I knew what I really missed…what I really wanted.

All that time, all those people…not one of them ever made me feel like you did. I was restless and hungry and full of hate. Those people gave me what I thought I wanted…they just used me like a convenient hole to get off in, and that was what I thought I wanted, but I hated it…every minute of it. None of them meant a fucking thing. They’d have been just as excited if they’d been fucking a hole in the floor.

I figured it out. The only time I’d ever been touched…like I was something good or precious, like I was someone that deserved to be made happy or allowed to feel good…was with you. Of all the people in the world, the one person who made me feel like I was really wanted for something more than a bedwarmer or a trophy…was the guy who cursed me and took my virginity. I should have every right to hate your guts for all eternity…but I woke up and realized that I really hated not being here, knowing you’d always open the door if I knocked.

Pureblood, Muggle, mudblood…it was all shite. There are things bigger and more important than that. The kind of person who worries over things like that would argue over what kind of shark will eat him while his ship is sinking instead of grabbing a bucket and bailing. I was a fool then, but those days are over.

As glad as you were to see me at the door, you’ll never know how good it was to feel you inside of me again, to come because it felt right and good and sane, to sleep like a baby because the person next to me is decent and kind and worth waking up next to every day.

I don’t want any pity or apologies…I felt what I felt and I did what I wanted. I don’t like anything about how this all started…but I’m crazy in love with you, and all I want is to make sure it never ends. You don’t have to worry about saying what you feel. I was torn two ways when I came back, but I stopped feeling that way a while ago, and I don’t want to be silent anymore. I want to shout it from rooftops, yell it in the street and scream it out while you’re shagging me stupid. I love you, Harry.”

A pregnant silence sat between them for almost a minute. It was a lot for Harry to absorb, but his answer had never really been in doubt, not even during the worst of it.

“I knew right off that what I’d done was wrong…I’d took something that should have been yours to give when you were ready and not before. It made me sick to think of it and still does. Maybe you don’t want apologies…but I’m so damn sorry it went that way, and that you went through all that to work things out for yourself…but I’m not sorry at all about this last year. Whatever it took to get here, even if it started all wrong, I don’t want it to stop. Not now…not ever. All that…and all I can think of is how grateful I am just to be able to tell you I love you without wondering if it’d drive you off.”

Draco sighed as if the world had been plucked from his shoulders, smirked in a way that Harry could almost sense even in the dark, and uttered one last thing before they let sleep overtake them both.

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it, Potter. You’ll never be rid of me after this.”

And Potter never was.

FIN!