Chapter Twenty-Six

This chapter was written by keppiehed.

Maybe I'm not as eager as you are to say goodnight ...

Draco punched the pillow in frustration, hoping to find a spot that would allow him to fall into sleep. Try as he would, there didn't seem to be a place on it that stilled his thoughts of Potter's brilliantly green eyes...brighter than any eyes had the right to be behind lenses as thick and unfashionable as he sported...as he gave a sidelong glance to see if Draco had noticed the companionable bump he'd given him in the hallway. Draco had. Of course he had. As if Draco were not attuned to every nuance that Potter made.

Good night, Draco ...

Draco sighed. The remembrance of where Potter had brushed his hand was still burned into his brain. It had taken all of Draco's self-control to affect nonchalance, but he was paying the price for it here and now, all night long, as he replayed the memory of Potter walking away and into his own room. How long had Draco stood there in the hallway, watching Potter's closed door and rubbing his hand absently, before he'd come to his senses and gone to bed, only to search in vain for elusive sleep? Sometimes he wondered what he was fighting against. Everything was muddled in his head, when he used to be so sure.

Draco turned over onto his back and stared into the darkness of his room. There were no easy answers floating above his head to be seen, but in this case, he was sure a good wank couldn't hurt.

*

"Draco!"

Draco came to wakefulness through the gray layers of sleep. He hadn't been dreaming; it felt like he had just closed his eyes, in fact, and now someone was shaking his arm. He was swimming up through the transparent veils of slumber and closer to awareness. Subconsciously, he tried to stay immersed in the peaceful blank, where nothing could harm him, but whomever was shaking him was more insistent than he could be, and he opened his eyes a second later. He was staring at Potter.

"I didn't think you were the type to be such a heavy sleeper," Potter mused. "That's ... interesting."

Draco blinked before the full import of what was happening occurred. He was speechless. Potter was here in his bedchamber waking him up! The nerve! "I'm not!" was all he could sputter, struck by the utter ludicrousness of the entire situation. Even his own parents hadn't seen him in bed since he was a child! He'd had servants to help him rise. He had the sudden urge to clutch his bedcovers to his chest. Then he thought of his hair and wanted to pull the sheets all the way over his head.

"I beg to differ," Potter laughed. "I just spent the better part of ten minutes trying to wake you up."

"I was tired," Draco managed. He was aware that it was a less than stellar response, but the idea that Potter was seeing him ungroomed was giving him an apoplexy. "I didn't sleep well."

"I gathered that," Potter said.

Draco frowned and sat up. The damage was done; at least he was wearing fine pyjamas. Maybe Potter would see that he had on silk charmeuse and be distracted by the rest of his general dishabille. After all, he was the hallmark of high fashion even in bed...surely that was worth something? "Why are you here in my personal chambers? I thought we discussed this last evening."

"Chambers?" Potter had the audacity to laugh. "Who says that? Anyway, we did discuss it. And I respect your space, I do. But it isn't a museum, Draco. I knocked, and you didn't say 'stay out' or anything. You didn't answer at all. So I knew you were in here, and I came in to get you."

"So I have to reply in the negative to keep you out of my room? Aren't the wards enough for you to get the picture that I prefer my space? And why didn't you just let me sleep?" Draco felt his frustration level rising. He wasn't even out of bed, and they were fighting. Why did Potter always make him feel so unsettled?

Potter cocked his head. "The wards let me walk through. I didn't have to dismantle them. And we had a lesson today. In fact, an hour ago. You slept through breakfast."

"What?" Draco bolted out of bed. He hated being caught off-guard. He didn't usually rely on the house-elves for their service, but occasionally they had come in handy for times when he was particularly stressed and missed his wake-up call. Now he felt adrift, and he didn't like looking weak in front of Potter, of all people. As if he needed him for help getting ready in the morning. The very idea. "What time is it?"

"Eleven."

"What?" Draco screeched. He had never slept this late before. He unbuttoned the silk top, mindful of the delicate buttonholes. As he folded the shirt in haste, he was aware of being watched. Potter was still in the room, his eyes decidedly not on the admirable hem job. Draco felt heat shoot to his groin at the idea of being watched, and he angled himself away to hide his burgeoning erection, which the silk wouldn't cover. He cleared his throat. "Do you mind?"

"No." Potter folded his arms over his chest. "Not a bit. You can keep going; it doesn't bother me at all."

Draco gritted his teeth. "I meant, could I have a bit of privacy, if it isn't too much to ask. Or even if it is, get the hell out."

Potter had the audacity to grin...the cheeky bugger...before he sauntered out. "I had no idea you were so modest, Draco. I'll meet you in the game room in an hour. Get some lunch...I don't want you to be hungry. Well, hungry for food, anyway," and he ducked out.

Was he so obvious? Draco was glad that Potter couldn't see the telltale blush staining his cheeks. He had to get more control of his emotions. Draco hurried into his clothes and went in search of some food. He had to calm down before the lesson.

*

Draco's improvised tempus spell told him he was right on time. He had attempted to cast the simple time-telling charm, and it appeared to be working. Pleased, he headed off down the corridor that would take him to the game room, but as he neared his destination, his trepidation grew. The source of his nerves was easy to guess: this room, unbeknownst to Potter, held special meaning for him, and he was reluctant to face Potter at the disadvantage of being distracted. Potter couldn't know that ever since their first encounter here, this setting had played a big part in his fantasies. In his mind, he had gone over and over the backrubs that had sparked his fascination with Potter, the feel of the other man's muscles under his hands ... just the thought alone was enough to give him that familiar zing below the belt, and Draco had to draw a unsteady breath to try and control his already raging lust. He didn't want to give away his attraction to Potter; the other man might have guessed at it, but he needn't know the extent of his ... infatuation.

Draco opened the door to find the room empty. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and the pent-up tension drained from him. Why did he let Potter get to him so much?

Draco walked around the room, letting his eyes fall on the various objects meant for amusement. It seemed that Potter had taken his offer to come here seriously, as the furniture showed signs of being moved, and Potter wasn't as meticulous about putting things away as Draco would have been. A corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a smile as he traced the strap of a Wii controller that hung off the edge of the table, ready for the next use. He couldn't help but remember their wager, and how much fun that night had been. It was the first time in their lives that he and Potter had played together instead of just competing. Draco wondered if it could be like that again, the easy camaraderie between them. He yearned for that, suddenly, and the ache was a squeezing in his chest. He hadn't even known how much he had missed just having fun and talking with someone. How long had it been since he had been comfortable with another person? Had he ever been? Draco couldn't remember. He let the controller strap fall back into place and he walked away, unsettled.

The bright colours of the dartboard caught his eye. His own handwriting still adorned the chalkboard: Draco M. and Visitor. Draco remembered writing that; it seemed so long ago, and yet it had only been a few months. He remembered his smugness and surety of winning, but it hadn't quite turned out that way, had it? Draco approached the board and erased Visitor. He started to write Potter, but he stopped himself. Why was it so hard for him to get close to anyone, to simply acknowledge another person's simple wishes? Draco erased the name and started again. Harry P. There. That wasn't as difficult as he was making it out to be.

Draco stared at their names side-by-side in stark relief, the tally marks of their scores too numerous to bother counting. They were well matched. On the chalkboard, anyway. In life, not so much. Draco selected a dart and stepped back; he threw it and hit a perfect bull's eye.

He threw a few more, but he remembered Potter's technique. He looked like he had learned in a more authentic way, as if he had picked up the game in a bar while talking with friends over some butterbeers. Draco closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself being so loose and free. It just wasn't his style. He lifted his arm, and knowing there was no one around to watch him fail, he allowed himself to break his stance. He kept his eyes closed and let his magic take the dart and guide it to where he knew the target was. He pictured Potter throwing it so easily, and he copied it with his magic, allowing the dart to be an extension of his reach.

"Wow, that was amazing! You're really coming along."

Draco's eyes flew open. Potter had sneaked up on him! "How long have you been there?"

"Just long enough to watch you try throwing the dart with magic. You're really making progress. That shows incredible control," Potter said. He went over to the dartboard and pointed to the target.

Draco could see that the dart hadn't hit centre. "It wasn't a bull's eye."

"Still, that's admirable. You have to be close to ready for a duel." Potter pulled the dart out and gazed at it, seemingly lost in thought.

Draco realized that Potter might see how he had changed the name above the dartboard. He didn't know if Potter would even remember what it used to read, but he was overcome with self-consciousness, as if that simple act showed too much. He walked over to the couch on the other side of the room and threw himself down on it to draw Potter's attention away. "I'm tired," he announced.

Potter set the dart on the table and came over. "How can you be? You just got up."

"Well, you woke me from a restful sleep," Draco accused him.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm a little tired, too." Potter grabbed his ankles and lifted them up, manoeuvring himself onto the couch into a sitting position with Draco's feet on his lap. "Shove over and quit hogging the couch, will you? And maybe we can just skip the lesson for today. You're doing so well that a little slacking off won't hurt, anyway."

Draco had been sprawled out, and he grew warm at the intimacy of this new position. It wasn't in any way sexual, but it was cosy, as if they were friends or long-time lovers and comfortable with each other. Draco tried not to betray his satisfaction. He wanted to seem neutral...enough distance so that Potter didn't know he really liked this, but not stiff enough to put him off.

"You know, watching you with the darts right now reminded me of this one Quidditch practice. You had the same look on your face. You probably don't remember it, but we were playing in the rain, and it was a terrible storm, and we both saw the snitch at the same time..." Potter was smiling, but he seemed to be trying to hide it.

Something jarred loose in Draco's memory, and the image flooded back, as clear as if he'd been there. "Yes! I do remember! It was the last game of the season, and I was determined to get that snitch." He couldn't help but laugh now, although at the time, it hadn't been funny. He remembered hating Potter. Or more accurately, being drawn into an intense rivalry and just wanting to beat him at everything and show him how much better he was.

Potter laughed too, and his hand fell on Draco's foot. "We both took a trip to Madame Pomfrey's, didn't we? That was the longest night of my life, I swear. You were such a crybaby."

"I was not! You talked in your sleep, anyway. I was never so glad to be healed." Draco groaned. "That woman was a tyrant. With all of those empty beds, why did she put us right next to each other?"

"Maybe she knew something we didn't," Potter suggested. He gave Draco's foot a squeeze.

"Ha! Yeah, right, Potter. She was just a sadist, pure and simple." Draco snorted, trying to ignore the growing coils of warmth in his belly ... and points south.

"Do you remember that time in Potions when we had to stay late for detention?" Potter asked.

Draco nodded. "I'd say I'll never forget it, but first I'd have to ask you which time. It seems like we were always in trouble for something or other."

"I was thinking of when we had to re-do the Amortentia Potion."

"Ha. Yeah. Sometimes Snape was such a hard-ass. He knew we could do it; he just gave us a girly love potion to add insult to injury." Draco put his arms behind his head. He never thought he'd be able to laugh about his school days, especially not with Potter. In fact, Potter had been the source of so much angst for him that he seemed to be the overwhelming motivation for him getting through school. Draco sifted through his memories, and he was shocked to discover that nearly every one involved Potter in one way or another, since he was a child. He and Potter fighting, or studying, or on the Quidditch pitch, or in competition, being punished, Draco scheming against him ... Draco sat up. He was dumbfounded to realize that almost every moment of his formative years had Potter in it. Potter had been a part of who he was since before he'd even known it. He looked at the man across from him with eyes that were opened. Potter knew him better than anyone because he'd been there throughout all the years of Draco's life. He knew him better than his own parents. The thought was a revelation that stopped his breath.

And maybe he knew Potter better than anyone.

It couldn't be true, Draco thought. Potter had friends that he was close to. He didn't need someone like Draco. He had shared himself with others before.

"What did you smell when we brewed the potion?" Potter asked.

"What?" Draco blinked, his train of thought derailed. He didn't want Potter to know that he'd been thinking anything so serious. "I don't remember," he lied. "It's been years." He remembered all too well, though at the time he hadn't known what it meant. Or hadn't cared to acknowledge it.

"I do. Don't you want to know?" Potter's gaze was unwavering.

"No. Probably something Weasley," Draco temporized. "It could have been anything."

"But it wasn't," Potter persisted. "It was mint. And rain. Salmon and shoepolish. The hint of a good red wine, from the Bas region of Nizerand River. Although I didn't know what that was, at the time." Potter flashed his lopsided smile.

"Well, we know the Weasleys don't have that kind of good taste," Draco joked. "But really, anyone in the moneyed class has a penchant for those things."

"There is only one person I know of who smells like that," Potter said, apparently refusing to be sidetracked. "And I knew that all those years ago, I just didn't want to think it could possibly be true."

The time for truth was at hand. Draco couldn't deny it any longer, but neither was he ready to admit that maybe he and Potter could make something work, that they were meant to be together. The very idea made him feel skittish and restless, that anyone would choose to be with him forever. That was a fairytale, and he knew better than anyone that fairytales ended with childhood. When you grew up, there was only loneliness and loss. Now that he might have something worth hanging onto, he couldn't bear the thought of losing it. Instead of admitting out loud what he suspected to be true anyway, he gave into what had been simmering just below the surface. Draco leaned over and kissed Potter.

The unexpected action was not unwelcome. Draco took advantage of his position of not being shocked for once to take immediate dominance of the kiss. He may not have experience with men, but he had plenty of experience in the bedroom, and he put his famed skills to use, grateful to finally not feel lacking.

Potter recovered from his surprise and allowed Draco to take control. He relaxed and reciprocated, his tongue eager but compliant. Draco felt the heady rush of being in charge flood his veins as he recognized Potter allowing him to take the lead; he always had with women, of course, but nothing was quite as arousing as knowing he could dominate this man. He knew that Potter could fight back, but he wasn't...he was submitting and allowing Draco to dictate the pace, and something about that set a fire through Draco's veins that flared almost out of control.

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco had moved from his position next to Potter and was straddling him. The simple kissing had quickly changed to something more. How did Potter excite him so fast? He always kept a tight rein on his emotions...lust included...but Potter fanned the blaze past anything he was able to control. Draco was helpless in the face of the burn and just wanted to let go and see what would come of it.

They were ripping at each other's clothes until nothing mattered...not modesty, not their past or future, not even the control that Draco valued so much. All that mattered were the sounds that Potter was making, and that he keep making them. Because of what Draco was doing.

And then Draco was desperate to participate in this act. He wanted this, he was sure now. It wasn't his raging libido...though that was extreme...it was the fact that he wanted to be a part of someone. He had waited for this forever, it seemed. And now the wait felt silly. Why had he run from this for so long, when it was clearly so right?

"Please, Potter. Harry," Draco moaned. He didn't recognize his own voice, and he didn't care.

Potter froze, and Draco stilled, as well. Had he done something wrong?

"What did you say?" Potter sounded hoarse.

Draco blushed. "Please. I'm not sure what to do."

"No. After that." Potter was staring at him.

"Oh. I said Harry." Draco tried to shrug it off, but Potter wasn't having any of it.

"Say it again."

"Harry."

Potter breathed in. "I never thought you'd do it. What made you change your mind?"

Draco swallowed and tried to redirect. "Was it worth the wait?"

Potter laughed. "Definitely. You deserve a reward. Are you sure you're ready for this, Draco?"

Draco nodded. "I am. Harry."

"So you won't freak out if I Accio the lube this time?" Potter grinned.

Draco concentrated. "Accio lube!" When the tube came flying from a nearby table, he couldn't help looking smug. "You aren't the only one who can do that now, you know. How's that?"

Potter grinned. "I guess you're as ready as you'll ever be."

Draco wasn't sure how to go about this next part. Although in theory it should have been easy to figure out, it seemed a lot more complicated than it ever had been in his previous experiences. Just as he was about to say something, though, Potter seemed to sense his discomfort and took over. It was a wordless communication that reassured Draco...he could never get past how it would be awkward with two men in his head, but in reality it was nothing like that at all. It was like nothing he had imagined, because he hadn't imagined how he would feel as he was doing it. He couldn't have known just how much tenderness he would have for this person, and he never would have suspected how aroused the little things Potter was doing would make him. In his fantasies, it was stark images and pictures devoid of feeling, but here, he could see the expression changes and hear the little groans that Potter was making. All of that added up to something he never could have dreamed of, and the reality was far better than any fantasy.

Potter was guiding him without force, telling him without words what he needed to do, and Draco didn't feel any pressure at all. He just knew that this was right, and that he could do this. All of his fear fell away, and insatiable want replaced any doubt that might have held him back.

For all the time spent leading up to it, Draco couldn't believe when Potter was prepped and ready and Draco was pushing into him. It was all too quick for this moment to already be upon them. They were face-to-face, and it was the most natural thing in the world, this feeling of being inside of him. It was exquisite, and Draco was overwhelmed with sensation. He was humbled by the fact that Potter would so willingly give of himself what he, Draco, could not...that he would allow himself to be penetrated so selflessly for Draco's pleasure was an act that he would never forget. It was so tight, the ring of muscle squeezing him past all reasonable endurance, that Draco had to stop so he wouldn't come like a thirteen-year-old boy. Never had anything felt so good, not in his whole life. He was sure of it. He was staring into the eyes of the man whose face had haunted his dreams for years, for his life, and this was finally right.

Potter was panting like it was good for him, too, which was an even more arousing. It was all Draco could do to stave off his impending orgasm. He had the sudden urge to mark Potter, so that if ever anyone else would see this sight, they would know that he belonged to Draco, that Draco had claim. Draco didn't know where this primeval streak in him came from, but he had been holding off too many other things...he couldn't resist this. He leaned over and bit Potter's shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

"What the fuck, Draco?" Potter panted. "Ugh ... don't stop ..."

Draco pumped in and out, encouraged by a particularly feral-sounding groan when he angled differently. Draco knew he couldn't last much longer. This felt too good. "Come for me, Harry," he begged. " I can't take much more of this."

Draco felt the moment Potter went over the edge; it must have been the sound of Potter's name on his lips that had triggered it. Potter locked eyes with him, and then Draco felt the incredibly erotic sensation of Potter's cock spurting. It was caught between them, and Draco could feel every jerk of it. Potter's arse tightened with his orgasm, and all of those things, knowing that he had sent Potter into that kind of pleasure merely by saying his name was enough to send Draco to his own climax. The waves of pleasure seemed endless as he thrust into Potter's body, the intimacy heightened by the fact that he came while he looked right into green eyes. Normally he turned his head away, but this time, he wanted to see everything. He wasn't disappointed by the intensity on Potter's face.

It was in that moment, just as the afterglow of consummation was beginning to descend, that Draco felt a tingle. It had nothing to do with sex. It felt like magic flooding his veins. Draco blinked and flexed his fingers. The tingle of magic was pouring through every cell of his body; he recognized its return as clearly as if he could see it. He jumped up off the couch and stood up straight, oblivious to his nakedness.

"Accio wand!" he shouted. In the time it took for his wand to make it from its custom-made case on his dresser all the way to the game room, he performed a quick Geminio on the nearby chessboard. Although he was aiming to duplicate the board, an enormous amount of chess pieces piled up, too many to fit on the board. A spill of black and white marbled figurines hit the floor with a clatter that made Draco wince. There had to be hundreds of them...way more than he had intended, but enough to prove that his magic was back. And stronger.

"Did you see that?" he shouted at Potter, too excited to bother hiding it.

Potter didn't move.

His wand flew through the air, and Draco caught it. He could finally feel the magic thrumming through it. It wasn't closed off from him anymore; he could tell right away that he had access, although he had a feeling that he didn't have complete control yet. He tried a spell that was harmless. "Lumos."

A strong beam of light shone out the end. Draco grinned and countered it with an effective Nox, then tried for an Orchideous. One sad little flower wilted at the tip. No matter, practice would make perfect. The important thing was that he had his magic back!

"Potter, are you seeing this?" Draco turned to gauge Potter's reaction, but the other wizard hadn't moved. In fact, he was eerily still exactly where Draco had left him when he'd jumped up.

"Potter?" Draco leaned over him.

Potter was entirely stiff, not blinking or even taking in a breath.

"Potter!" Draco panicked, trying to think of what would have caused it. Was it his magic again? Draco racked his brains. If it was an unintentional Immobulus or Petificus Totalus, he could just counter those. Please, Merlin, don't let his lovemaking have been too good for Potter to handle!

Draco went through the counter-spells in his head, and it was only a second before Potter took in a breath and looked around as if he'd been Stunned.

"Look!" Draco brandished his wand. "I got my magic back, can you believe it? Watch! Avis!" A flock of flamingos appeared and began prancing around the room. Draco frowned. He had been aiming for a simple robin, but birds were birds, he supposed.

"I know. I could see while I was Petrified," Potter said.

Something in his voice gave Draco pause. "What? Aren't you happy? This is what I've been working for. What we've been working for, actually."

Potter just stared at him. "Happy? That you used a spell we'd both promised we'd never use on each other? At a moment like that? No, Draco. I make myself vulnerable for you, and you just..." He broke off and got up, gathering his clothes. He tried to get dressed while avoiding the roving random pink birds. "I guess that's where trusting you gets me every time. Used. Well, I won't make that mistake again." He zipped up his trousers and shrugged his shirt on. "I hope you're happy with your wand. I guess you deserve to have it...but you didn't need to whore yourself out for it. You could have earned it fair and square. You had the talent. But you and your cheating nature aren't my problem anymore. Goodbye, Draco." And he left the room.

Draco didn't know how long he stood there, naked, with his wand in his hand, after he watched Potter walk out. A welt had risen on his heart that wouldn't let him move or speak, even to banish the ridiculous flock of flamingos that had taken over the room. All he could hear were the echoes of goodbye in his head, and how different they sounded from when Potter had said the same words last night.