Title: More Than Words.
Summary: Some things are meant to be, others just are. And if you can’t change, should you even try?
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): There’s sexual content, wherein there is anal penetration of the dirty kind.
Word Count: ~ 1,600.
Author's Notes: The prompt was: Post-war/Post-Hogwarts Fic, please. I like the boys a little older and a bit more mature. Auror settings are great. Darkfic is the buttah on my bread. So. I’m sorry I didn’t come up with half of your prompts (it is Post-war/Post-Hogwarts, the boys are a little older and there’s suggestion of Auror partnership) but I managed to avoid all your squicks – I think. Hope you like it, themostepotente! :) At last, I’d like to say a big thank you to the person who betaed this for me, and was very patient and sweet about it.
He ignored him. It wasn’t the first time that day that Potter had come over to his office to confront him. And it wouldn’t be the last.
“Malfoy,” he hissed.
Draco bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Couldn’t Potter just take a hint?
“Look. I don’t know what – what that Friday was all about… Why’d you do it?”
Draco didn’t look up from his report to reply. “I was drunk.” He shrugged. “Indiscretion generally abounds, then.”
Potter gurgled. Smooth.
“It was… was it a, a joke?”
He snorted and glanced quickly at Potter’s flushed face. “More of an inadequacy on my part.” But that wasn’t enough, was it? No, it never was. “Look, Potter. I wasn’t. Friday wasn’t a good day. Not for me. It wasn’t about you, it was about – about things getting out of control –”
“And, what? You lashing out at the next person?”
“Yes! Alright? YES.” Draco got up and came around the desk to face off the imprudent, the stupid, stupid twit. “You don’t understand, do you? No, how could you? Everything comes easy for you, everyone wants to partner up with the great Harry Potter!” Draco fumed.
Potter grasped his shoulders. Hard. “What’d Smith do?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Draco growled. “It doesn’t matter.”
“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy!” He squeezed and moved his hands, moved them to hover over Draco’s neck, and his eyes, his damned green eyes wouldn’t stop traveling his face, wouldn’t stop searching him. “I’m strangling him, Malfoy, I’ll fucking break his head in. I’ll destroy him, I will, I’ll go to Shacklebolt –”
“It has nothing to do with you!” He couldn’t let Shacklebolt learn of this irrational drama, it would weaken Draco in the eyes of the other Aurors, nobody would respect him if he let his, his - Potter fix him up.
Potter gasped. “But, but you, you and I… we did –” he swallowed “- things.”
Draco scowled. “I’m aware of that. You don’t really need to paint all the gruesome picture. I’m aware.”
And he was, may his parents forgive him, he was. He could feel his blood rushing so, so close to the surface to his skin, his chest was arching up, straining towards Potter’s, and his gut coiled tight.
He concentrated his glare at Potter’s Adam’s apple. “I don’t like, I hate it, I hate you, I hate the things you make me do –”
“I don’t –”
“You do, you do. You make me feel angry, you make me want to hurt you, you make me want to, to.”
Potter crushed Draco’s body against his, Draco’s arms dead weight by his side, his fists clenched so hard he could feel his nails biting into his palms. “It’s sick.” His voice came out muffled, drenched in self-loathing.
Merlin, Malfoy, can’t you stop drooling over any man’s arse? That’s sick.
“It’s not sick.” Potter sounded angry. “It’s us, who we are, it’s lo-” Draco pressed his lips onto Potter’s.
He wouldn’t let him say it. It was unspeakable, it was unmentionable. They might’ve been caught snogging at the New Year’s Ministry function after a liberal amount of alcohol ingestion, but still. Still, they were… they weren’t… The thing between them was theirs, it wasn’t beautiful, it wasn’t flowers and wine and Hufflepufian romance – it was just something not put into words.
“Come on.” Draco buried his fingers in the black strands, and worked them backwards, towards his desk. “Come on.” He took off his robes and helped the other man with his.
He worked his right hand between their bodies and started at Harry’s belt. “Wait, Draco… wait, someone might come in. Smith –”
“Let him see,” he breathed into Harry’s mouth, not wanting to be an inch apart from him. “Let – let him watch.” Harry’s hips snapped and his hands came down to Draco’s arse cheeks.
“Yeah, yeah… fuck,” Harry moaned. “Can I?” He caressed a trouser-clad cheek to not a few seconds later work a thumb over Draco’s crack.
“Fuckfuckfuck!” he exclaimed. He was such a slut to Harry, such a dirty cunt, so thirsty for a cock to fill him, to fill his arse or his mouth, it wouldn’t matter. “Want to suck it.”
“No.” Harry ordered. Draco whined, but remained firm. “NO. Want to fuck you – going to fuck you.”
Draco’s arsehole clenched. “Do it.” He turned around and bent over his own desk, whispering a spell to keep his report and objects immobile and intact on it. “Go on, do it.”
He looked over his shoulder as Harry pulled down his trousers. A smile threatened to break on Draco’s face at Harry’s intake of air. “You… you have-”
Harry’s expression would be comical if it weren’t so charged with lust.
Draco knew exactly what Harry couldn’t stop staring at, what made his green eyes bright in the fading sunlight streaming from the window by the left. He had worked it in after the other man had gotten dressed and gone to the kitchen, and it had left him self-conscious all day long. It’d been a little hard to walk with it at first, but the feeling of fullness had been so gratifying, he’d been counting down the minutes to go back to the apartment. The plug might as well be a vibrator – his arsehole had been spasming around it since swallowing it.
He felt Harry’s hand close around the wide base and pull it back, push it in, pull it back, push it in, a successive stimulation to remind Draco what it’d be like in a few minutes.
“Fuckfuck, I’m sorry, I need to. I need -” And he pulled the toy all the way out, Draco’s arse muscles screaming at him at its openness and wrenching a whine from deep in his throat.
“Shut up, and do it.,” Draco demanded. How long was he going to wait? To wait, not in shame but in embarrassment for Harry to – Draco blinked, as a perfect incentive to Harry came to mind. “Going to make me ask for it? More than I am now?” And he pulled his arsecheeks apart, the cool air heaven and torture on his hole.
“That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it? Turning you into my whore, my own personal whore,” he repeated, easing the head of his cock inside.
It wasn’t satisfying, not at all. Draco wanted it hard, wanted it to make him sore inside and out, wanted it to be not about them but what about everyone thought they had. However, as much as he teased with the tip of his shaft, Harry wouldn’t give it to him, would back away when he thrust backwards. And Harry would continue on acting so if Draco didn’t do something about.
“Why you being such a girl?” he moaned out on the last word as a particular thrust grazed his pleasurable spot. “I’m not – a doll.”
“Nononono.” Harry chanted, his tone so strained his whole body must have been tense and sweating.
FUCK. Draco wanted it to hurt, wanted to be reminded that there was something about them that could be ugly and twisted and – “Please.”
“What?” Harry stopped mid-thrust, his dick twitching so badly Draco imagined his precome leaking from the cockhead.
“I –” don’t hate you, want you to hate me, want us to always be like this – “I need it.”
“Fuck you.” And he did.
They were rearranging their clothes, to have them not look as messy as rumpled, when Harry inquired: “Still not doing anything about Smith?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re not my savior, and I’m hardly harmless.”
Harry, who had been up to that point fixing his gaze on the wall behind the blond, turned appreciative, knowing eyes onto the other man “What hex was it?”
“A very nasty one. Very hard on the bottom, really.” Draco smirked.
Harry laughed. “You gave him a bout of diarrhea?”
“Something like that…”
Harry’s smile turned hesitant. “Was that why you wanted it –”
“That’ll teach him not to presume I’m ever after his bony arse.”
“…but you seem to like mine,” he said playfully.
“Oh.” Draco’s smirk widened. “That’s because you have woman’s arse, Potter.”
“I’ll show you woman’s arse!” he growled.
Draco bit his lower lip and lowered his gaze. “But not here.” And Harry’s eyes turned soft behind black frames.
“Not here.” At home.
They pulled out their wands from their waistband and prepared to Apparate. But not before Draco had the last word: “You’re such a girl sometimes, Potter,” and went before the other man could retaliate.
It wasn’t perfect and they weren’t perfect, but it was theirs.