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This is a gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
coffeejunkii. Thanks for all the wonderful help you gave me, love. *kiss* Enjoy.
Thanks todacro for the beta, and for help with the title. *smoosh*
Title: Under Fingertips
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Summary: It's been a month since he saw his lover, and Draco's had it with the disappearing act.
Warning: Mpreg, okay?
Disclaimer: Not mine. The boys belong to JK Rowling.
ETA... HERE is a piece of gorgeous artwork some wonderful soul did for this story. If you, the glorious anon artist, are reading this, please drop by and say hello. I adore you. ♥
Also posted on AO3 and skyehawke.
......
It was the fourth time this month. The fucking fourth time.
Draco Malfoy was still in his work clothes. He yanked his tie from his neck irritably and tossed it onto the couch. It slid down and coiled between the cushions like a forgotten piece of string.
It was the fourth fucking time that month that he couldn’t find it in him to want to go to the club.
He had tried to go to the club. Clubs, plural, in fact. But he had never seen who he needed to see there, and it made his gut twist even now just thinking about it.
Draco swigged down a glass of water and thought of other, stronger drinks. But he wasn’t at that point yet. He gave it another two weeks before denial couldn’t be bought with a hideously long day at the office and a couple of sleeping pills with cold water before bedtime. And he’d get to those in an hour or so anyway.
He couldn’t fathom how stupid he’d been. Malfoys weren’t stupid. He’d managed to avoid it quite easily throughout his twenty-five years of life. But the closest he’d ever gotten had always been in the presence of the same damn person. Draco grimaced into the glass dish cabinet and saw a horrid parody of a smile on his face. Why should his one true moment of stupidity be any different?
Had he done something wrong? Draco scowled.
“Well. Aside from the obvious, you imbecile.”
He couldn’t remember ever seeing his former lover uncomfortable in his presence. No signs of regret or boredom. Hell, no signs of anything unusual. He’d just… left.
“And what, pray tell, were you hoping for?” Draco ground his teeth and bared them at his reflection. “Nothing ever comes of coming on a dance floor, now does it?”
It hadn’t been his idea of a great first sexual encounter, especially with that particular person. Too much history to make it feel right. But it had led quickly to other sexual encounters that far eclipsed the spent gasps and ragged breathing and sweat melting through thin cotton shirts, encounters including bedsheets, and kitchen tabletops, and his own front door, for Merlin’s sake.
Against the door, surely. But through the door at all was a small miracle. Draco never crossed home life with shag life, and certainly not club life. Until that night.
And the next night. And the one after.
Draco could feel his throat closing up. Weeks. Months. Gods, had it been… five months. His own fingernails cut into his palms and he stood quickly, tearing his sleeve buttons free ferociously, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows to give his hands something to do. Five months of nothing, as it turned out.
Well. Four months of nothing. One month of sudden, furious confusion in an empty bed.
If only… Draco pressed his hands to his eyes, hating himself. He always went down this road, no matter how often he forced himself away from it. If only he had kept his bloody mouth shut. Only, the more they were together, the more it made sense to take a bit of a risk and tell his lover that he, Draco, might actually want something more out of this. It had seemed like a good thing to confess at the time; he’d thought the feeling was returned. But now he could see it had been too early for their sort of relationship.
He was starting to realize there would never be a right time, not even if their nightly shagging had lasted for ten years.
But what irked him – what really pricked him the most – was why the hell he had hoodwinked himself into even considering such a course of action. Commitment had never been any sort of issue before, not with any of the nameless, faceless, pretty fucks he’d found under the rainbow lights of the clubs, but with this man— Draco shut his eyes.
He wasn’t crying. That had been two nights of shame past bearing. And it had thankfully left him alone at last, leaving the cold, hard pit of anger now residing in his stomach. If he ever saw him again… Fuck all.
The doorbell jangled and Draco swore. Always, always, always. What was it this time? His sadistic landlady demanding the check that absolutely had to be in her hands at 10:33 PM on the dot and couldn’t wait another fucking minute. Maybe the woman across the courtyard, come to borrow a teaspoon of ginger and a peek into his living room if she could swing it. He considered not answering at all when the doorbell rang a second time, and then stalked to the hallway and put his eye to the peephole.
And felt his mind tilt wildly with sudden, orange fury.
Draco jerked the door open. There he was. On his fucking doorstep, just as innocent as you please.
“Well, well. Look who’s returned.”
Harry Potter’s mouth thinned. His chin dropped a tiny bit and then he looked back at Draco again. He was wearing a long Muggle coat, black, hands deep in the pockets. The coat was too large and it hung about him, adding to a thinness that hadn’t been there before. Harry looked tired; the circles under his eyes weren’t sickly, but they were noticeable under the porch light.
Draco scowled. He moved into the doorway, effectively blocking it with his body. “Finished your club circuit, did you?”
Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. He lifted his shoulders and glanced around. “Please, Malfoy. Let’s not… do this out here.”
At that moment, Draco had no desire or inclination to accede to anything Harry asked, not even if it was a glass of water. But he knew his neighbors. Already there was a curtain shifting across the courtyard. He stepped back and shoved the door open. It rebounded off the wall with a bang.
“By all means, Potter. Do come in,” he sneered.
Harry hesitated, shutting his eyes again briefly, then stepped through the door. It wasn’t Draco’s imagination: Harry was keeping himself as close to the opposite wall as he could. As far away from Draco as he could.
It did nothing to help Draco’s mood.
“What a lucky arse I am,” he spat. “Graced with the great Potter’s presence at this hour? I wonder how many other men can say the same.”
Harry looked him in the eye at last, face clouded with the hallway darkness and some twisting emotion. He looked even more worn out from across the short space separating them, and Draco felt the urge to touch the bare skin of his wrist to make sure it was still warm. The notion made him even angrier.
“Malfoy, please don’t do this.” Harry sounded as tired as he looked. Draco drew back, coiling himself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Something else you were expecting?”
Harry opened his mouth but Draco beat him to it. “What the hell do you want, Potter?”
One of Harry’s hands crept to the hem of his coat and tugged it briefly. “To talk,” he said softly. “If you’ll… If you—”
Draco turned and stalked deeper into the house, leaving Harry to follow him. He threw himself down on his living room couch and scowled at the other man. He had a headache coming, he could feel it in his temples. Dull. Growing. “Please explain to me. What is there to talk about?”
Harry sighed uncomfortably. “Malfoy, I’m sorry. I know that isn’t what you… I’m not good at this.” He rubbed his eyes with four fingers.
Draco felt like snarling. “Late nights dancing keeping you up?”
Harry stared at him, a tiny frown marring his features. “No. I haven’t been to the clubs all month.”
Something tried to settle in Draco’s stomach but really, it was a damn weak attempt, wasn’t it, in the face of everything else. “No, I didn’t see you there, did I?” he spat.
Harry’s face shivered, trying to curl into some sort of pained expression. He licked his lips and looked away. Drew a breath. “Draco, I don’t know what I can say to expla—”
“How about why?” The sound of his own first name in such a well-known, well-adored voice brought him right to the edge and his words came out harsh and too, too loud. Draco jerked to his feet and Harry stuttered into silence. He paced the room, not looking at Harry because if he looked at him, fuck it, he wouldn’t be held responsible for what happened.
“How about a fucking why, Potter? Or maybe you forgot the way you just walked out, no goodbye, no bloody message— you didn’t even wait for me to wake up! And then you might as well have fallen off the face of the planet for all I heard from you. Maybe you should explain to me exactly what it was I did, or said, maybe, that made you bugger out like a damned doxy without any sort of explanation!”
Harry’s hands flew out and up. “I panicked, Malfoy! I just… god…” He covered his face with his palms.
Draco stopped and turned. “Panicked. Bloody fuck, Potter! What the hell was there to panic about? I wasn’t that fucking demanding!”
Harry’s lips parted. There was something wild in his eyes for a split second, but it was swallowed by helplessness. “I…” He stared hollowly, imploringly, at Draco.
Draco grimaced. “Oh, but don’t bother. I wasn’t expecting an explanation, Potter. Maybe a few weeks ago, but we both know it’s not your style, is it?” He laughed humourlessly. His head was throbbing now and he was dangerously close to… something shameful. It was hard to speak.
Harry’s eyes snapped to his. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” he spat. “There were things you—You don’t even want to hear them!”
Draco rounded on him. “So you panicked. Pretty convenient, don’t you think? Was it getting too heavy, Potter? Too domestic? Because I can take it back down to the dregs again.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What was it, Potter?” Draco was a few feet away and Harry was backing up. “Needed a break? Did you find someone else to confide all your little secrets and sob stories to?”
“Malfoy, it wasn’t about that.” Harry backed into the wall and halted abruptly.
“Well, what was it about then?”
“I…” Harry’s gaze faltered and dropped. His cheeks flushed and his shoulders hunched beneath that damned coat. “I couldn’t be around you,” he whispered. He shook his head mutely and Draco’s anger bubbled over.
“Potter. You left me. Yes, that’s what it was, don’t look at me like that, you asshole.” His jaw was clenched so tightly the pain in his head was wiping itself away. “After what I said, you just…” Draco suddenly wanted that night and all those words back. They sat there in his mind, swollen far beyond the laughing, carefree confessions they had been, and he felt the shame of that first week afresh.
“Was it someone else?” His voice was not one he recognized. Harry stilled, staring at him. “Handsome face, Harry? Good body?”
Harry tried to move away from the wall and Draco reached up and shoved his shoulder back into it. Harry’s eyes shot wide.
“Malfoy, don’t,” he said, voice shaking. One hand clutched the hem of his coat. Draco leaned in, pressing against Harry slightly, a hand on his hip under the wool coat.
“Oh, please,” he bit out. “You think I’m going to do something to you?”
Harry’s head shook once. “No, that’s not why I– Draco—”
“Spare me, Potter. I don’t even want to touch you now. But this is what it used to be, remember? Before I fucking said too much?”
He hated himself. His voice was cracking.
“God, Malfoy, why the hell did you have to say anything?” Harry cried. His anger was quivering, threatening to give way. “Why couldn’t you have just left it alone?”
“Because it was the bloody truth! You are a fucking hypocrite, Potter!” He pressed Harry’s hip harder to keep him from moving. “Spouting off about honesty this, trust that. I should have known you were just paying lip service.”
“I wasn’t paying lip service!” Harry was grimacing, blinking rapidly. “I never lied to you!” He struggled suddenly and Draco shifted his hand up to hold him better.
“Then why the hell did you lea—” And Draco stopped. Harry had gone rigid under his hands. But Draco was not thinking about that. His hand was—
He knew Harry’s body. He knew it. Inside and out, muscles and curves and hollows. His hand was on Harry’s stomach – and this – there was a curve there, a fullness that shouldn’t—
Draco raised his eyes to Harry’s and found Harry staring at him, open and terrified, and… ripped asunder. He was trembling, eyes glistening, pleading with Draco to understand.
Draco slid slowly to his knees on the carpet. He couldn’t breathe. Or speak. He carefully pushed the edges of the coat open. Harry was breathing very quickly, quiet huffs that shook his entire frame, but Draco could see it. He eased the white cotton of Harry’s jumper up to just around his ribs. Harry’s belly was gently rounded out, a soft curve easily concealed by voluminous clothing. Tanned skin once taut over abdominal muscles, now sloping perfectly outward.
Draco was shaking. His hands clutched the fabric of Harry’s shirt. He raised his head to stare at Harry, wanting to… to… but not daring. He tried to speak and failed.
Harry’s face suddenly flushed and he turned away, looking dismally ashamed. “Oh, for crying—” His eyes squeezed shut. He fumbled for Draco’s right hand and brought it down, placing it over the smooth skin of his belly and holding it there. Heat beat from Harry’s palm into the back of Draco’s hand.
Draco stared at Harry’s bared stomach. He could smell him, the scent of the soap he used, and there beneath his hand was the soft, slight bulge, so not Harry, and yet absolutely without a doubt Harry. Draco swallowed. Harry’s navel, usually a deep hollow, had flattened down oddly from the inside, pressed outward by what lay just beneath his fingers.
“That’s why I came.” Harry’s voice was hushed. “To see if you—” He broke off.
Draco traced his palm over the heat of Harry’s belly. Down around the curve to the top of his jeans, then back up. “What?”
Harry blanched and tugged at his coat. “God, Draco, you— it doesn’t matter. This is coming out all, all wrong. Why am I even here?”
The last sentence was so low, so self-inflicted that Draco glanced up. He licked his lips, suddenly very uncertain. “Is it… Harry, is it mine?”
Harry looked at him and then away. “Of course it’s— Who else would I—” He pressed a hand over his eyes.
Draco hesitated, then reached for Harry’s hand. Pulled back. Harry was not looking at him.
The room was deathly quiet, except for the soft hitching of Harry’s breath. Draco could not take his eyes away from the place where his hand rested. Harry shifted from one foot to the other and Draco finally drew his hand back and looked up. Harry’s eyes, fixed on him, flicked suddenly away. He took a shudder of a breath and slid down the wall until he was sitting against it, knees tucked up to his chest. Draco took in his curled form through a haze.
"How long?” he whispered.
Harry’s shoulders jumped and he took a deep breath. “Four months.”
Draco’s jaw dropped. “Four months?”
Harry nodded miserably. “I didn’t know four months ago, Dr— I… but then something was. Wrong. And I…”
Draco looked in the vicinity of Harry’s abdomen, now hidden by his bent knees. He couldn’t see it anymore, but Harry…looked different. He just… Draco inhaled slowly. He looked different. Somehow.
The last night, Harry had looked tired. He’d spoken of losing sleep, moved more slowly than usual, but Draco had thought nothing of it, and the sex had been as vibrant and vociferous as always. Now Draco could see his lover of that night as if he were right there in the room with them: dark hair splayed across the tangled sheets, lopsided smile curving a face paler than normal. Faint circles under his eyes. Harry had grabbed his hand and hissed, and Draco remembered slowing down for a moment, until Harry was too far gone to say anything except Draco’s name. He could still feel the sweat on Harry’s chest, the way his fingers had squeezed around his own. And he had been… that night, he hadn’t known about… Draco shut his eyes.
“And then you left,” he managed. He felt like he was choking.
“Oh, god, Draco, I—” Harry’s voice was high-pitched, his words stumbling out in a rush. He thumped his head back on the wall, covering his face again. “I know it wasn’t the best— I didn’t mean to just leave. I’d only just found out that morning and I—”
“Panicked.” Draco’s own voice sounded hollow to him.
This time Harry’s body shook with what he was holding in. He didn’t even try to answer, just huddled quietly against the wall. Draco touched his knee. He noticed that Harry stilled, but didn’t look up.
“Harry.” Draco licked his lips. “Did I hurt you? That last night.”
For an instant, Harry looked up, eyes wide. His cheeks coloured and he lowered his face again. Shook his head. “No. Draco… no.”
“You were… that night, you were—”
“Yeah.”
“How?” Draco asked, at a complete loss.
“It must have been that week when we were using all those… spells,” Harry said into his knees. “The timing would be right.”
Draco just blinked at him. Harry sighed.
“The combination. Or something. I told the Healer which—” He blushed again. “Which spells we used and she just got this look on her face…” Harry’s lips quirked in a shy smile. He looked as if he were far away from the living room. Suddenly Draco wanted to keep that expression, hold it tight. He’d never seen it before and he was afraid he’d never see it again.
“Sex spells,” he murmured, and Harry’s eyes shifted to gaze at him, sidelong. “A lot of those were to enhance pleasure.”
A small nod. “They’re older than we thought. She said they’re often used in conjunction with… birthing rituals. To ease the pain. To make it easier to conceive. To… well.”
Draco nodded wordlessly and Harry watched him in equal silence. The air in the room pressed down on them. Harry’s eyes searched his face, and then something flickered and he looked away, biting his lip. Draco wanted to speak. But he had absolutely no idea where to start anymore.
“So, but.” Harry gathered himself, sniffing. He brushed a hand over his eyes and straightened slightly. “If you, if you wanted to… It’s still early enough. I could have them—”
He wavered into silence. Draco stared at him, at the bright green eyes he’d fallen for and then hated the memory of, eyes that were not looking at him. Comprehension rose inside him like a slow flood. His breath caught in his throat. Something. He felt sick. Beaten about the insides.
“H… Harry,” he muttered. “If you don’t want—It’s your body. You don’t have to ask me.”
“Yes, I do. He’s yours, too.”
Draco’s heart skipped. “He?”
Finally Harry met his eyes. He nodded. “I went to St. Mungo’s. Can you imagine going to a Muggle doctor about, about this?” It wasn’t so much a laugh as it was a sob.
He made another effort to pull himself together. “I’ve thought about it for a long time. If you want to… then we— I can go get it taken care of.”
Draco studied Harry carefully; his back, shivering almost imperceptibly; his hands, knuckles white over his knees. He was chewing his lip. “Harry… do you want to keep it?” he asked quietly. Curiously.
“I didn’t. Not at first. I mean. I didn’t mean for it to even happen. I didn’t know it could.” He wiped his eyes. “The first week, I almost— but now I…”
“Now you want to.”
Harry’s face was crumpling fast. His breathing began to quicken. “Oh god, Draco, I just wanted something from— from this. From. Us. After it was all over and you had gone—”
Draco grabbed Harry’s arm before he could think about it. Harry jerked away and slid further into himself. Draco could barely speak around the lump in his throat. “You didn’t even tell me though. You just left!”
“How was I to know if you’d—” It choked off and Harry pursed his lips, shutting his eyes tightly.
“Harry,” Draco whispered, hands finding his face and caressing, trying to— He leaned in and met Harry’s mouth fully, tilting his head. Harry gave a strangled sob and suddenly he was wrapped around him, kissing hard, tongue moving deeply, and there was wetness rubbing from his face to Draco’s.
“Draco,” he stammered into his mouth, hands sliding through his hair and down over his neck and shoulders. Squeezing. “I thought you’d—be so angry. That you wouldn’t want me—”
Draco cut him off with a desperate, incoherent sound and pressed him tightly to his body. Harry even tasted different, tears mixing salt into the kiss, his helpless relief a strong spice in Draco’s mouth. But underneath that he was— there was something— Draco could not describe it.
Harry broke the kiss with a tiny sigh and leaned into Draco’s embrace, hands curled lightly up over his shoulders. Draco blinked rapidly. He couldn’t quite— he nudged his nose against Harry’s hair and stared at the wall over Harry’s head. He hadn’t expected to ever be this close to Harry again, not earlier that evening, and now he was here, gods, he was… But…
Draco had to see.
He pressed Harry’s body lightly back, and Harry looked at him, a small line of worry between his brows. Draco kept his eyes on Harry’s as he parted his coat and eased his hand down. He lifted the hem of Harry’s shirt slowly. Harry shivered.
“Mine?” His hand lay flat against Harry’s bare stomach. Harry looked down and flushed. Swallowed. And nodded.
His… child. Growing inside of Harry. How…? Draco squeezed his eyes shut. It was so much all at once. He felt like he was going to burst.
He was too young to be a father. He was… gods, was he even thinking about this? He wasn’t made to be a parent! This couldn’t happen to him; he hadn’t even thought to consider such an impossible turn of events, ever, and yet here it was, staring him in the face.
When he looked up, Harry’s eyes had gone overbright. His chin was trembling very slightly. Draco took a breath and eased Harry off his lap. He stood and helped Harry to his feet. Harry’s fingers felt warm in his as he walked him down the hall to his bedroom. He could only see that far ahead: a soft mattress, clean sheets, and Harry, so tired.
Harry tried to pause in the doorway, but Draco took him by the shoulders and walked him to the bed. Harry wore a lost expression, forehead creased, eyes darting over Draco’s face.
“Sit down,” Draco said.
Harry settled on the end of the bed and stared at the carpet. His back was hunched, hands clasping each other tightly. Draco straightened and found he had no idea what to do. The room seemed to sway for an instant.
“You…” Draco licked his lips. His knees felt weak. “Harry, you need to eat something. And rest. You’re so thin—”
Harry looked at him and there was a flicker in his eyes that made the rest of his face light with a vibrancy that shocked Draco to the core. It was Harry, a facet of the man he’d fallen in l— Trying to bury itself so deeply—
Draco turned quickly to the door, stumbling a bit. “I’ll get you something to eat.”
He got two steps before Harry spoke. “Draco,” on the edge of a breath, and so completely tattered. He spun around.
Harry’s body sagged where he sat. His face was buried in his hands, and he was shaking. His shoulders hitched once, twice. Draco heard a ragged breath drawn and realized it was from his own throat. He moved without thought, needing to stop the raw ache lancing him. Draco dropped down on the bed and slid one of Harry’s hands away from his face, lacing his fingers with his own.
“Shh, Harry, it’s… I’ll stay.”
Harry curled against him. His arms came around Draco startlingly fast and Draco clutched at Harry’s shoulder to steady them both. The scent of Harry’s hair came to his nose and he made a small sound before he could stop himself. He missed it too much, it hurt, fuck, and Harry was here again and suddenly Draco hated the sight of it, of him shaking, brought to the end of his rope, so strong and aloof, never needing the presence of anyone else until this moment, and then breaking apart into tiny fragments right here in front of him. In his arms.
Draco bent his head and pressed his lips into Harry’s hair, inhaling deeply. He lifted Harry’s face until he was kissing his forehead. Harry swallowed audibly and Draco felt the soft sweep of breath over his chin. Harry raised his head, brushing his lips against Draco’s as he did so, and it was all Draco could do not to yank him against his chest right then. He settled for the trembling touch of Harry’s mouth, again, again, until Harry’s breaths became whimpers and his mouth opened suddenly, and Draco was kissing him, hard, hard, oh gods, deep, as if he’d never kissed him before or never would again. Harry’s hands climbed frantically over his back, his neck, curling into his hair. Draco tilted his head and Harry’s mouth fell open with a gentle shudder, tongue stroking his, and Draco’s body knew this all too well, and welcomed it.
Harry’s fingers dipped between his trousers and his skin and Draco pulled back, struggling to breathe. Harry was staring down, breathing hard, fingers poised like quivering birds. Draco grasped Harry’s hips gently and pulled him closer.
“Harry. Can we…”
Harry’s eyes darted to his and he nodded. “Just be gentle.”
Draco hesitated, one hand against Harry’s coat. He could feel the jerk of his breathing. Harry’s face was flushed. Draco leaned forward, pressing with his palm, and Harry inched up on the bed. Green eyes met his and dropped again. Draco concentrated on Harry’s coat, sliding it over his shoulders, pushing it off and aside. Harry’s fingers grazed the buttons of his shirt, hovering momentarily over each one before slipping them free. Draco heard the soft thunk of shoes hitting the floor. He glanced down and saw Harry’s toes curling inside gray socks.
Draco’s mouth went dry. Harry’s body, once all muscles and sinews, looked suddenly frail, covered by the white weave of his jumper, his battered jeans. His own hands, inching the sweater up over Harry’s chest, finding the familiar curves of his waist and hips, looked too hard, too heavy. Far too indelicate. He was suddenly afraid he would hurt Harry, and that he would hurt… hurt the… Draco swallowed.
Harry tugged his jumper over his head and worked at Draco’s clothing slowly, and all Draco could see was the shallow depression above Harry’s collarbone, the slight swell just beneath his ribs. Harry was wearing boxers under his jeans, loose and easily kicked away. He took a moment to shed his own trousers, to tug off Harry’s socks, and Harry kissed him tentatively, almost chastely. He lowered himself on his elbows with a soft breath and ran a hand up Draco’s forearm.
Draco’s stomach was churning. He moved forward, and Harry’s bare legs bent into a cradle around his hips. Harry adjusted his body under Draco’s, looking up at him with liquid eyes. Draco touched Harry’s chest, feeling the rapid pulse beating under his fingers, and traced down to Harry’s stomach.
He froze.
“Draco?” So quiet. Weighted.
He couldn’t picture having sex with Harry. He could, gods, his mind was running away with it, chasing what he had no idea he’d missed so much. He wanted Harry. So badly. But he couldn’t see himself lying atop him, pushing into him. What if he… His hand brushed over Harry’s belly and he drew back quickly.
Harry’s eyes were much too bright suddenly. “Do you not want to—?”
Draco shook his head. “Harry. I want you to be on top.”
Harry looked at him for a moment, then nodded and rolled over. He knelt on the bed, waiting while Draco moved back, and then crawled over his hips and settled, rubbing his hands over his own thighs nervously. Draco touched his waist, pulled him closer.
“What about spells?”
Harry shook his head. “It’s fine.”
Still Draco chose carefully, finding his trousers with one hand and working his wand free. He cast wordlessly and felt Harry shift across his hips as the charm took effect. He touched Harry’s chest, and then could not seem to stop his hand from wandering over the contours there. With his other hand he eased Harry closer and began preparing him.
The deep hooding of Harry’s eyes told him when he was ready. Draco settled back on the bed, heart jumping in his chest, and guided Harry down as gently as he could. Harry’s mouth fell open and a soft cry came out. Draco shut his eyes, unprepared for the intense heat. Had he forgotten so quickly?
Harry nodded to him, breathing hard, hands pressed against Draco’s chest. It was too much, too long. Draco thrust upward, and Harry’s eyes squeezed shut in a grimace.
"Not so deep,” he gasped. “Draco, it—”
“Okay.” He eased himself back, shaking. He could feel sweat dripping down his face. He wanted to move, wanted Harry to move. But not if… “Harry.”
Green eyes opened, looking fogged. Harry’s thighs tensed around Draco’s waist. He bit his lip, lifting himself and settling again with a gasp, and Draco dropped his head back to the bed, seeing white sparks. He squeezed Harry’s hips, felt him swivel them in an arc, and groaned wordlessly. Harry was looking down at him.
“Draco?” he whispered breathlessly.
Draco shook his head, nearly past the point of coherency. He helped Harry into a rhythm, using his thighs to roll Harry’s hips forward until his lover’s mouth went slack. His hands drifted down Harry’s thighs, then up over the gentle curve of his stomach. He had to touch him, he had— had to— “Harry—”
The new curve of Harry’s belly fit perfectly under his hands. His skin there was pale next to the tan of his arms and legs, and soft as powder. Soft as he remembered. Draco could not stop touching it, stroking Harry’s stomach. Holding Harry’s waist between his hands and staring at the arc of skin.
Harry’s face turned away momentarily, and when it turned back, sweat had run down his cheeks. Draco caressed Harry’s belly as he rose and fell against him, and the sounds his lover made grew more desperate. Harry leaned toward him, bracing himself with hands on either side of Draco’s head, and Draco turned and mouthed his right arm, watching the muscles there shake. He slid his hands up Harry’s sides and around to cup his shoulders. Muscles knotted and relaxed with each movement, and Harry stole a kiss, dipping into Draco’s mouth with a lengthy whimper that Draco did not know how to read, save for the neediness in it.
The kiss ended as soon as it started, with Harry throwing his head up, trying to find air. Draco clutched Harry’s sides, rose up as much as he could. He touched his mouth to Harry’s throat and fell back onto the bed as Harry’s hips thrust against his, deeper.
Something was building in him, differently charged; he’d never spoken those words during sex, but he could see them rising in his mind, just as Harry curled forward again, a helpless, exquisite expression on his face, and buried his nose into Draco’s shoulder. Draco fought down the words. His hands ran over sweat-slicked skin along the contours of Harry’s back. Harry bent over Draco, eyes squeezed tight, gasping into his shoulder, and Draco felt something give way in his chest.
“You’re beautiful,” he choked out, and Harry shuddered violently, bonelessly, forehead pressed into the hollow of Draco’s throat, damp and heated. His body tensed completely and he came, curled over Draco’s body. Draco thrust up once, rolling his hips, thrust again, and came as well, clutching Harry’s still-quivering body to him.
Harry’s climax lasted several seconds, and he shuddered limply against Draco’s body, his gasps going ragged. Draco stroked his back slowly, turned his face into Harry’s hair, and murmured things even he did not understand into the soft flesh of his throat. At last Harry quieted, breathing hard, and Draco felt, for the first time, the new tautness of Harry’s abdomen pressed against his own.
“Are you alright?” he whispered when he could speak. Harry nodded slowly, not looking at him, still pressed into the slope of his shoulder. Draco splayed his hands over Harry’s back and shut his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
It was a long moment before Harry moved. Draco sought his wand again where it had fallen in the bedclothes, and spelled them both clean. Harry climbed off him awkwardly, and bent on his elbows and knees on the bed next to him. He was not looking at Draco. Draco lifted a hand to caress his side and Harry shuddered. His toes were clenched again.
“Here.” Carefully, Draco eased Harry onto his side, facing away from him. Harry turned his head, muscles stiffening under Draco’s fingers. Draco said nothing, only curled himself around Harry’s back and slid an arm over his chest. He rested his head in the crook of Harry’s neck and inhaled deeply against his skin. Harry’s pulse beat rapidly under his cheek. Draco nuzzled him, and felt Harry’s body begin to relax in tiny hitches. He reached down and pulled the duvet up over them, taking care to tuck it over Harry’s shoulders, thinking suddenly of the cooling air of the room. One of Harry’s hands came up and clasped his where it rested against his chest. Draco breathed along with him, and let himself doze.
* * *
He was drifting when Harry’s body tensed, every muscle tightening. Draco opened his eyes, heart tripping in his chest. He lifted his head, clutching instinctively at his lover’s body.
“Harry?” His voice was still muddled. He could see Harry’s profile against the pillows. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment Harry did not move. He had a peculiar expression on his face, eyes turned toward the ceiling, but far away. His hand found Draco’s where it lay pocketed by the warmth of his body and slid it down to rest over the curve of his belly, pressing it there. Draco frowned and opened his mouth—
There was a frail movement, like the wings of a moth just under his fingertips. Draco caught his breath. He stared down into the dark space between the duvet and Harry’s body. The movement came again and Draco’s breath left him in a sigh.
It could have been seconds, or minutes; Draco lost track. The tiny flicker of motion held every nerve on end. He blinked, found himself looking at the wall, and lowered his gaze.
Harry was watching him, head turned on the pillow. His eyes were wide in the dim light. Brow creased. He licked his lips, took a shallow breath, and stared up at Draco. He could feel the nervous stillness of Harry’s body. His eyes glimmered and Draco understood.
He met Harry’s gaze for a long moment, studying the quivering of his chin, then bent and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips. An exhalation skated over his mouth. Draco kissed him again, holding his gaze. Harry gave a tiny sigh and nodded. Draco pressed his face back into the crook of Harry’s neck, moving his lips over the smooth skin there. He shut his eyes and felt for the movement under their fingertips again.
...
Part 2
A/N: Gaw. There are NO words that mean the exact same thing as "cradle". None.
coffeejunkii. Thanks for all the wonderful help you gave me, love. *kiss* Enjoy.Thanks to
dacro for the beta, and for help with the title. *smoosh*Title: Under Fingertips
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Summary: It's been a month since he saw his lover, and Draco's had it with the disappearing act.
Warning: Mpreg, okay?
Disclaimer: Not mine. The boys belong to JK Rowling.
ETA... HERE is a piece of gorgeous artwork some wonderful soul did for this story. If you, the glorious anon artist, are reading this, please drop by and say hello. I adore you. ♥
Also posted on AO3 and skyehawke.
......
It was the fourth time this month. The fucking fourth time.
Draco Malfoy was still in his work clothes. He yanked his tie from his neck irritably and tossed it onto the couch. It slid down and coiled between the cushions like a forgotten piece of string.
It was the fourth fucking time that month that he couldn’t find it in him to want to go to the club.
He had tried to go to the club. Clubs, plural, in fact. But he had never seen who he needed to see there, and it made his gut twist even now just thinking about it.
Draco swigged down a glass of water and thought of other, stronger drinks. But he wasn’t at that point yet. He gave it another two weeks before denial couldn’t be bought with a hideously long day at the office and a couple of sleeping pills with cold water before bedtime. And he’d get to those in an hour or so anyway.
He couldn’t fathom how stupid he’d been. Malfoys weren’t stupid. He’d managed to avoid it quite easily throughout his twenty-five years of life. But the closest he’d ever gotten had always been in the presence of the same damn person. Draco grimaced into the glass dish cabinet and saw a horrid parody of a smile on his face. Why should his one true moment of stupidity be any different?
Had he done something wrong? Draco scowled.
“Well. Aside from the obvious, you imbecile.”
He couldn’t remember ever seeing his former lover uncomfortable in his presence. No signs of regret or boredom. Hell, no signs of anything unusual. He’d just… left.
“And what, pray tell, were you hoping for?” Draco ground his teeth and bared them at his reflection. “Nothing ever comes of coming on a dance floor, now does it?”
It hadn’t been his idea of a great first sexual encounter, especially with that particular person. Too much history to make it feel right. But it had led quickly to other sexual encounters that far eclipsed the spent gasps and ragged breathing and sweat melting through thin cotton shirts, encounters including bedsheets, and kitchen tabletops, and his own front door, for Merlin’s sake.
Against the door, surely. But through the door at all was a small miracle. Draco never crossed home life with shag life, and certainly not club life. Until that night.
And the next night. And the one after.
Draco could feel his throat closing up. Weeks. Months. Gods, had it been… five months. His own fingernails cut into his palms and he stood quickly, tearing his sleeve buttons free ferociously, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows to give his hands something to do. Five months of nothing, as it turned out.
Well. Four months of nothing. One month of sudden, furious confusion in an empty bed.
If only… Draco pressed his hands to his eyes, hating himself. He always went down this road, no matter how often he forced himself away from it. If only he had kept his bloody mouth shut. Only, the more they were together, the more it made sense to take a bit of a risk and tell his lover that he, Draco, might actually want something more out of this. It had seemed like a good thing to confess at the time; he’d thought the feeling was returned. But now he could see it had been too early for their sort of relationship.
He was starting to realize there would never be a right time, not even if their nightly shagging had lasted for ten years.
But what irked him – what really pricked him the most – was why the hell he had hoodwinked himself into even considering such a course of action. Commitment had never been any sort of issue before, not with any of the nameless, faceless, pretty fucks he’d found under the rainbow lights of the clubs, but with this man— Draco shut his eyes.
He wasn’t crying. That had been two nights of shame past bearing. And it had thankfully left him alone at last, leaving the cold, hard pit of anger now residing in his stomach. If he ever saw him again… Fuck all.
The doorbell jangled and Draco swore. Always, always, always. What was it this time? His sadistic landlady demanding the check that absolutely had to be in her hands at 10:33 PM on the dot and couldn’t wait another fucking minute. Maybe the woman across the courtyard, come to borrow a teaspoon of ginger and a peek into his living room if she could swing it. He considered not answering at all when the doorbell rang a second time, and then stalked to the hallway and put his eye to the peephole.
And felt his mind tilt wildly with sudden, orange fury.
Draco jerked the door open. There he was. On his fucking doorstep, just as innocent as you please.
“Well, well. Look who’s returned.”
Harry Potter’s mouth thinned. His chin dropped a tiny bit and then he looked back at Draco again. He was wearing a long Muggle coat, black, hands deep in the pockets. The coat was too large and it hung about him, adding to a thinness that hadn’t been there before. Harry looked tired; the circles under his eyes weren’t sickly, but they were noticeable under the porch light.
Draco scowled. He moved into the doorway, effectively blocking it with his body. “Finished your club circuit, did you?”
Harry’s eyes shut momentarily. He lifted his shoulders and glanced around. “Please, Malfoy. Let’s not… do this out here.”
At that moment, Draco had no desire or inclination to accede to anything Harry asked, not even if it was a glass of water. But he knew his neighbors. Already there was a curtain shifting across the courtyard. He stepped back and shoved the door open. It rebounded off the wall with a bang.
“By all means, Potter. Do come in,” he sneered.
Harry hesitated, shutting his eyes again briefly, then stepped through the door. It wasn’t Draco’s imagination: Harry was keeping himself as close to the opposite wall as he could. As far away from Draco as he could.
It did nothing to help Draco’s mood.
“What a lucky arse I am,” he spat. “Graced with the great Potter’s presence at this hour? I wonder how many other men can say the same.”
Harry looked him in the eye at last, face clouded with the hallway darkness and some twisting emotion. He looked even more worn out from across the short space separating them, and Draco felt the urge to touch the bare skin of his wrist to make sure it was still warm. The notion made him even angrier.
“Malfoy, please don’t do this.” Harry sounded as tired as he looked. Draco drew back, coiling himself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Something else you were expecting?”
Harry opened his mouth but Draco beat him to it. “What the hell do you want, Potter?”
One of Harry’s hands crept to the hem of his coat and tugged it briefly. “To talk,” he said softly. “If you’ll… If you—”
Draco turned and stalked deeper into the house, leaving Harry to follow him. He threw himself down on his living room couch and scowled at the other man. He had a headache coming, he could feel it in his temples. Dull. Growing. “Please explain to me. What is there to talk about?”
Harry sighed uncomfortably. “Malfoy, I’m sorry. I know that isn’t what you… I’m not good at this.” He rubbed his eyes with four fingers.
Draco felt like snarling. “Late nights dancing keeping you up?”
Harry stared at him, a tiny frown marring his features. “No. I haven’t been to the clubs all month.”
Something tried to settle in Draco’s stomach but really, it was a damn weak attempt, wasn’t it, in the face of everything else. “No, I didn’t see you there, did I?” he spat.
Harry’s face shivered, trying to curl into some sort of pained expression. He licked his lips and looked away. Drew a breath. “Draco, I don’t know what I can say to expla—”
“How about why?” The sound of his own first name in such a well-known, well-adored voice brought him right to the edge and his words came out harsh and too, too loud. Draco jerked to his feet and Harry stuttered into silence. He paced the room, not looking at Harry because if he looked at him, fuck it, he wouldn’t be held responsible for what happened.
“How about a fucking why, Potter? Or maybe you forgot the way you just walked out, no goodbye, no bloody message— you didn’t even wait for me to wake up! And then you might as well have fallen off the face of the planet for all I heard from you. Maybe you should explain to me exactly what it was I did, or said, maybe, that made you bugger out like a damned doxy without any sort of explanation!”
Harry’s hands flew out and up. “I panicked, Malfoy! I just… god…” He covered his face with his palms.
Draco stopped and turned. “Panicked. Bloody fuck, Potter! What the hell was there to panic about? I wasn’t that fucking demanding!”
Harry’s lips parted. There was something wild in his eyes for a split second, but it was swallowed by helplessness. “I…” He stared hollowly, imploringly, at Draco.
Draco grimaced. “Oh, but don’t bother. I wasn’t expecting an explanation, Potter. Maybe a few weeks ago, but we both know it’s not your style, is it?” He laughed humourlessly. His head was throbbing now and he was dangerously close to… something shameful. It was hard to speak.
Harry’s eyes snapped to his. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” he spat. “There were things you—You don’t even want to hear them!”
Draco rounded on him. “So you panicked. Pretty convenient, don’t you think? Was it getting too heavy, Potter? Too domestic? Because I can take it back down to the dregs again.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What was it, Potter?” Draco was a few feet away and Harry was backing up. “Needed a break? Did you find someone else to confide all your little secrets and sob stories to?”
“Malfoy, it wasn’t about that.” Harry backed into the wall and halted abruptly.
“Well, what was it about then?”
“I…” Harry’s gaze faltered and dropped. His cheeks flushed and his shoulders hunched beneath that damned coat. “I couldn’t be around you,” he whispered. He shook his head mutely and Draco’s anger bubbled over.
“Potter. You left me. Yes, that’s what it was, don’t look at me like that, you asshole.” His jaw was clenched so tightly the pain in his head was wiping itself away. “After what I said, you just…” Draco suddenly wanted that night and all those words back. They sat there in his mind, swollen far beyond the laughing, carefree confessions they had been, and he felt the shame of that first week afresh.
“Was it someone else?” His voice was not one he recognized. Harry stilled, staring at him. “Handsome face, Harry? Good body?”
Harry tried to move away from the wall and Draco reached up and shoved his shoulder back into it. Harry’s eyes shot wide.
“Malfoy, don’t,” he said, voice shaking. One hand clutched the hem of his coat. Draco leaned in, pressing against Harry slightly, a hand on his hip under the wool coat.
“Oh, please,” he bit out. “You think I’m going to do something to you?”
Harry’s head shook once. “No, that’s not why I– Draco—”
“Spare me, Potter. I don’t even want to touch you now. But this is what it used to be, remember? Before I fucking said too much?”
He hated himself. His voice was cracking.
“God, Malfoy, why the hell did you have to say anything?” Harry cried. His anger was quivering, threatening to give way. “Why couldn’t you have just left it alone?”
“Because it was the bloody truth! You are a fucking hypocrite, Potter!” He pressed Harry’s hip harder to keep him from moving. “Spouting off about honesty this, trust that. I should have known you were just paying lip service.”
“I wasn’t paying lip service!” Harry was grimacing, blinking rapidly. “I never lied to you!” He struggled suddenly and Draco shifted his hand up to hold him better.
“Then why the hell did you lea—” And Draco stopped. Harry had gone rigid under his hands. But Draco was not thinking about that. His hand was—
He knew Harry’s body. He knew it. Inside and out, muscles and curves and hollows. His hand was on Harry’s stomach – and this – there was a curve there, a fullness that shouldn’t—
Draco raised his eyes to Harry’s and found Harry staring at him, open and terrified, and… ripped asunder. He was trembling, eyes glistening, pleading with Draco to understand.
Draco slid slowly to his knees on the carpet. He couldn’t breathe. Or speak. He carefully pushed the edges of the coat open. Harry was breathing very quickly, quiet huffs that shook his entire frame, but Draco could see it. He eased the white cotton of Harry’s jumper up to just around his ribs. Harry’s belly was gently rounded out, a soft curve easily concealed by voluminous clothing. Tanned skin once taut over abdominal muscles, now sloping perfectly outward.
Draco was shaking. His hands clutched the fabric of Harry’s shirt. He raised his head to stare at Harry, wanting to… to… but not daring. He tried to speak and failed.
Harry’s face suddenly flushed and he turned away, looking dismally ashamed. “Oh, for crying—” His eyes squeezed shut. He fumbled for Draco’s right hand and brought it down, placing it over the smooth skin of his belly and holding it there. Heat beat from Harry’s palm into the back of Draco’s hand.
Draco stared at Harry’s bared stomach. He could smell him, the scent of the soap he used, and there beneath his hand was the soft, slight bulge, so not Harry, and yet absolutely without a doubt Harry. Draco swallowed. Harry’s navel, usually a deep hollow, had flattened down oddly from the inside, pressed outward by what lay just beneath his fingers.
“That’s why I came.” Harry’s voice was hushed. “To see if you—” He broke off.
Draco traced his palm over the heat of Harry’s belly. Down around the curve to the top of his jeans, then back up. “What?”
Harry blanched and tugged at his coat. “God, Draco, you— it doesn’t matter. This is coming out all, all wrong. Why am I even here?”
The last sentence was so low, so self-inflicted that Draco glanced up. He licked his lips, suddenly very uncertain. “Is it… Harry, is it mine?”
Harry looked at him and then away. “Of course it’s— Who else would I—” He pressed a hand over his eyes.
Draco hesitated, then reached for Harry’s hand. Pulled back. Harry was not looking at him.
The room was deathly quiet, except for the soft hitching of Harry’s breath. Draco could not take his eyes away from the place where his hand rested. Harry shifted from one foot to the other and Draco finally drew his hand back and looked up. Harry’s eyes, fixed on him, flicked suddenly away. He took a shudder of a breath and slid down the wall until he was sitting against it, knees tucked up to his chest. Draco took in his curled form through a haze.
"How long?” he whispered.
Harry’s shoulders jumped and he took a deep breath. “Four months.”
Draco’s jaw dropped. “Four months?”
Harry nodded miserably. “I didn’t know four months ago, Dr— I… but then something was. Wrong. And I…”
Draco looked in the vicinity of Harry’s abdomen, now hidden by his bent knees. He couldn’t see it anymore, but Harry…looked different. He just… Draco inhaled slowly. He looked different. Somehow.
The last night, Harry had looked tired. He’d spoken of losing sleep, moved more slowly than usual, but Draco had thought nothing of it, and the sex had been as vibrant and vociferous as always. Now Draco could see his lover of that night as if he were right there in the room with them: dark hair splayed across the tangled sheets, lopsided smile curving a face paler than normal. Faint circles under his eyes. Harry had grabbed his hand and hissed, and Draco remembered slowing down for a moment, until Harry was too far gone to say anything except Draco’s name. He could still feel the sweat on Harry’s chest, the way his fingers had squeezed around his own. And he had been… that night, he hadn’t known about… Draco shut his eyes.
“And then you left,” he managed. He felt like he was choking.
“Oh, god, Draco, I—” Harry’s voice was high-pitched, his words stumbling out in a rush. He thumped his head back on the wall, covering his face again. “I know it wasn’t the best— I didn’t mean to just leave. I’d only just found out that morning and I—”
“Panicked.” Draco’s own voice sounded hollow to him.
This time Harry’s body shook with what he was holding in. He didn’t even try to answer, just huddled quietly against the wall. Draco touched his knee. He noticed that Harry stilled, but didn’t look up.
“Harry.” Draco licked his lips. “Did I hurt you? That last night.”
For an instant, Harry looked up, eyes wide. His cheeks coloured and he lowered his face again. Shook his head. “No. Draco… no.”
“You were… that night, you were—”
“Yeah.”
“How?” Draco asked, at a complete loss.
“It must have been that week when we were using all those… spells,” Harry said into his knees. “The timing would be right.”
Draco just blinked at him. Harry sighed.
“The combination. Or something. I told the Healer which—” He blushed again. “Which spells we used and she just got this look on her face…” Harry’s lips quirked in a shy smile. He looked as if he were far away from the living room. Suddenly Draco wanted to keep that expression, hold it tight. He’d never seen it before and he was afraid he’d never see it again.
“Sex spells,” he murmured, and Harry’s eyes shifted to gaze at him, sidelong. “A lot of those were to enhance pleasure.”
A small nod. “They’re older than we thought. She said they’re often used in conjunction with… birthing rituals. To ease the pain. To make it easier to conceive. To… well.”
Draco nodded wordlessly and Harry watched him in equal silence. The air in the room pressed down on them. Harry’s eyes searched his face, and then something flickered and he looked away, biting his lip. Draco wanted to speak. But he had absolutely no idea where to start anymore.
“So, but.” Harry gathered himself, sniffing. He brushed a hand over his eyes and straightened slightly. “If you, if you wanted to… It’s still early enough. I could have them—”
He wavered into silence. Draco stared at him, at the bright green eyes he’d fallen for and then hated the memory of, eyes that were not looking at him. Comprehension rose inside him like a slow flood. His breath caught in his throat. Something. He felt sick. Beaten about the insides.
“H… Harry,” he muttered. “If you don’t want—It’s your body. You don’t have to ask me.”
“Yes, I do. He’s yours, too.”
Draco’s heart skipped. “He?”
Finally Harry met his eyes. He nodded. “I went to St. Mungo’s. Can you imagine going to a Muggle doctor about, about this?” It wasn’t so much a laugh as it was a sob.
He made another effort to pull himself together. “I’ve thought about it for a long time. If you want to… then we— I can go get it taken care of.”
Draco studied Harry carefully; his back, shivering almost imperceptibly; his hands, knuckles white over his knees. He was chewing his lip. “Harry… do you want to keep it?” he asked quietly. Curiously.
“I didn’t. Not at first. I mean. I didn’t mean for it to even happen. I didn’t know it could.” He wiped his eyes. “The first week, I almost— but now I…”
“Now you want to.”
Harry’s face was crumpling fast. His breathing began to quicken. “Oh god, Draco, I just wanted something from— from this. From. Us. After it was all over and you had gone—”
Draco grabbed Harry’s arm before he could think about it. Harry jerked away and slid further into himself. Draco could barely speak around the lump in his throat. “You didn’t even tell me though. You just left!”
“How was I to know if you’d—” It choked off and Harry pursed his lips, shutting his eyes tightly.
“Harry,” Draco whispered, hands finding his face and caressing, trying to— He leaned in and met Harry’s mouth fully, tilting his head. Harry gave a strangled sob and suddenly he was wrapped around him, kissing hard, tongue moving deeply, and there was wetness rubbing from his face to Draco’s.
“Draco,” he stammered into his mouth, hands sliding through his hair and down over his neck and shoulders. Squeezing. “I thought you’d—be so angry. That you wouldn’t want me—”
Draco cut him off with a desperate, incoherent sound and pressed him tightly to his body. Harry even tasted different, tears mixing salt into the kiss, his helpless relief a strong spice in Draco’s mouth. But underneath that he was— there was something— Draco could not describe it.
Harry broke the kiss with a tiny sigh and leaned into Draco’s embrace, hands curled lightly up over his shoulders. Draco blinked rapidly. He couldn’t quite— he nudged his nose against Harry’s hair and stared at the wall over Harry’s head. He hadn’t expected to ever be this close to Harry again, not earlier that evening, and now he was here, gods, he was… But…
Draco had to see.
He pressed Harry’s body lightly back, and Harry looked at him, a small line of worry between his brows. Draco kept his eyes on Harry’s as he parted his coat and eased his hand down. He lifted the hem of Harry’s shirt slowly. Harry shivered.
“Mine?” His hand lay flat against Harry’s bare stomach. Harry looked down and flushed. Swallowed. And nodded.
His… child. Growing inside of Harry. How…? Draco squeezed his eyes shut. It was so much all at once. He felt like he was going to burst.
He was too young to be a father. He was… gods, was he even thinking about this? He wasn’t made to be a parent! This couldn’t happen to him; he hadn’t even thought to consider such an impossible turn of events, ever, and yet here it was, staring him in the face.
When he looked up, Harry’s eyes had gone overbright. His chin was trembling very slightly. Draco took a breath and eased Harry off his lap. He stood and helped Harry to his feet. Harry’s fingers felt warm in his as he walked him down the hall to his bedroom. He could only see that far ahead: a soft mattress, clean sheets, and Harry, so tired.
Harry tried to pause in the doorway, but Draco took him by the shoulders and walked him to the bed. Harry wore a lost expression, forehead creased, eyes darting over Draco’s face.
“Sit down,” Draco said.
Harry settled on the end of the bed and stared at the carpet. His back was hunched, hands clasping each other tightly. Draco straightened and found he had no idea what to do. The room seemed to sway for an instant.
“You…” Draco licked his lips. His knees felt weak. “Harry, you need to eat something. And rest. You’re so thin—”
Harry looked at him and there was a flicker in his eyes that made the rest of his face light with a vibrancy that shocked Draco to the core. It was Harry, a facet of the man he’d fallen in l— Trying to bury itself so deeply—
Draco turned quickly to the door, stumbling a bit. “I’ll get you something to eat.”
He got two steps before Harry spoke. “Draco,” on the edge of a breath, and so completely tattered. He spun around.
Harry’s body sagged where he sat. His face was buried in his hands, and he was shaking. His shoulders hitched once, twice. Draco heard a ragged breath drawn and realized it was from his own throat. He moved without thought, needing to stop the raw ache lancing him. Draco dropped down on the bed and slid one of Harry’s hands away from his face, lacing his fingers with his own.
“Shh, Harry, it’s… I’ll stay.”
Harry curled against him. His arms came around Draco startlingly fast and Draco clutched at Harry’s shoulder to steady them both. The scent of Harry’s hair came to his nose and he made a small sound before he could stop himself. He missed it too much, it hurt, fuck, and Harry was here again and suddenly Draco hated the sight of it, of him shaking, brought to the end of his rope, so strong and aloof, never needing the presence of anyone else until this moment, and then breaking apart into tiny fragments right here in front of him. In his arms.
Draco bent his head and pressed his lips into Harry’s hair, inhaling deeply. He lifted Harry’s face until he was kissing his forehead. Harry swallowed audibly and Draco felt the soft sweep of breath over his chin. Harry raised his head, brushing his lips against Draco’s as he did so, and it was all Draco could do not to yank him against his chest right then. He settled for the trembling touch of Harry’s mouth, again, again, until Harry’s breaths became whimpers and his mouth opened suddenly, and Draco was kissing him, hard, hard, oh gods, deep, as if he’d never kissed him before or never would again. Harry’s hands climbed frantically over his back, his neck, curling into his hair. Draco tilted his head and Harry’s mouth fell open with a gentle shudder, tongue stroking his, and Draco’s body knew this all too well, and welcomed it.
Harry’s fingers dipped between his trousers and his skin and Draco pulled back, struggling to breathe. Harry was staring down, breathing hard, fingers poised like quivering birds. Draco grasped Harry’s hips gently and pulled him closer.
“Harry. Can we…”
Harry’s eyes darted to his and he nodded. “Just be gentle.”
Draco hesitated, one hand against Harry’s coat. He could feel the jerk of his breathing. Harry’s face was flushed. Draco leaned forward, pressing with his palm, and Harry inched up on the bed. Green eyes met his and dropped again. Draco concentrated on Harry’s coat, sliding it over his shoulders, pushing it off and aside. Harry’s fingers grazed the buttons of his shirt, hovering momentarily over each one before slipping them free. Draco heard the soft thunk of shoes hitting the floor. He glanced down and saw Harry’s toes curling inside gray socks.
Draco’s mouth went dry. Harry’s body, once all muscles and sinews, looked suddenly frail, covered by the white weave of his jumper, his battered jeans. His own hands, inching the sweater up over Harry’s chest, finding the familiar curves of his waist and hips, looked too hard, too heavy. Far too indelicate. He was suddenly afraid he would hurt Harry, and that he would hurt… hurt the… Draco swallowed.
Harry tugged his jumper over his head and worked at Draco’s clothing slowly, and all Draco could see was the shallow depression above Harry’s collarbone, the slight swell just beneath his ribs. Harry was wearing boxers under his jeans, loose and easily kicked away. He took a moment to shed his own trousers, to tug off Harry’s socks, and Harry kissed him tentatively, almost chastely. He lowered himself on his elbows with a soft breath and ran a hand up Draco’s forearm.
Draco’s stomach was churning. He moved forward, and Harry’s bare legs bent into a cradle around his hips. Harry adjusted his body under Draco’s, looking up at him with liquid eyes. Draco touched Harry’s chest, feeling the rapid pulse beating under his fingers, and traced down to Harry’s stomach.
He froze.
“Draco?” So quiet. Weighted.
He couldn’t picture having sex with Harry. He could, gods, his mind was running away with it, chasing what he had no idea he’d missed so much. He wanted Harry. So badly. But he couldn’t see himself lying atop him, pushing into him. What if he… His hand brushed over Harry’s belly and he drew back quickly.
Harry’s eyes were much too bright suddenly. “Do you not want to—?”
Draco shook his head. “Harry. I want you to be on top.”
Harry looked at him for a moment, then nodded and rolled over. He knelt on the bed, waiting while Draco moved back, and then crawled over his hips and settled, rubbing his hands over his own thighs nervously. Draco touched his waist, pulled him closer.
“What about spells?”
Harry shook his head. “It’s fine.”
Still Draco chose carefully, finding his trousers with one hand and working his wand free. He cast wordlessly and felt Harry shift across his hips as the charm took effect. He touched Harry’s chest, and then could not seem to stop his hand from wandering over the contours there. With his other hand he eased Harry closer and began preparing him.
The deep hooding of Harry’s eyes told him when he was ready. Draco settled back on the bed, heart jumping in his chest, and guided Harry down as gently as he could. Harry’s mouth fell open and a soft cry came out. Draco shut his eyes, unprepared for the intense heat. Had he forgotten so quickly?
Harry nodded to him, breathing hard, hands pressed against Draco’s chest. It was too much, too long. Draco thrust upward, and Harry’s eyes squeezed shut in a grimace.
"Not so deep,” he gasped. “Draco, it—”
“Okay.” He eased himself back, shaking. He could feel sweat dripping down his face. He wanted to move, wanted Harry to move. But not if… “Harry.”
Green eyes opened, looking fogged. Harry’s thighs tensed around Draco’s waist. He bit his lip, lifting himself and settling again with a gasp, and Draco dropped his head back to the bed, seeing white sparks. He squeezed Harry’s hips, felt him swivel them in an arc, and groaned wordlessly. Harry was looking down at him.
“Draco?” he whispered breathlessly.
Draco shook his head, nearly past the point of coherency. He helped Harry into a rhythm, using his thighs to roll Harry’s hips forward until his lover’s mouth went slack. His hands drifted down Harry’s thighs, then up over the gentle curve of his stomach. He had to touch him, he had— had to— “Harry—”
The new curve of Harry’s belly fit perfectly under his hands. His skin there was pale next to the tan of his arms and legs, and soft as powder. Soft as he remembered. Draco could not stop touching it, stroking Harry’s stomach. Holding Harry’s waist between his hands and staring at the arc of skin.
Harry’s face turned away momentarily, and when it turned back, sweat had run down his cheeks. Draco caressed Harry’s belly as he rose and fell against him, and the sounds his lover made grew more desperate. Harry leaned toward him, bracing himself with hands on either side of Draco’s head, and Draco turned and mouthed his right arm, watching the muscles there shake. He slid his hands up Harry’s sides and around to cup his shoulders. Muscles knotted and relaxed with each movement, and Harry stole a kiss, dipping into Draco’s mouth with a lengthy whimper that Draco did not know how to read, save for the neediness in it.
The kiss ended as soon as it started, with Harry throwing his head up, trying to find air. Draco clutched Harry’s sides, rose up as much as he could. He touched his mouth to Harry’s throat and fell back onto the bed as Harry’s hips thrust against his, deeper.
Something was building in him, differently charged; he’d never spoken those words during sex, but he could see them rising in his mind, just as Harry curled forward again, a helpless, exquisite expression on his face, and buried his nose into Draco’s shoulder. Draco fought down the words. His hands ran over sweat-slicked skin along the contours of Harry’s back. Harry bent over Draco, eyes squeezed tight, gasping into his shoulder, and Draco felt something give way in his chest.
“You’re beautiful,” he choked out, and Harry shuddered violently, bonelessly, forehead pressed into the hollow of Draco’s throat, damp and heated. His body tensed completely and he came, curled over Draco’s body. Draco thrust up once, rolling his hips, thrust again, and came as well, clutching Harry’s still-quivering body to him.
Harry’s climax lasted several seconds, and he shuddered limply against Draco’s body, his gasps going ragged. Draco stroked his back slowly, turned his face into Harry’s hair, and murmured things even he did not understand into the soft flesh of his throat. At last Harry quieted, breathing hard, and Draco felt, for the first time, the new tautness of Harry’s abdomen pressed against his own.
“Are you alright?” he whispered when he could speak. Harry nodded slowly, not looking at him, still pressed into the slope of his shoulder. Draco splayed his hands over Harry’s back and shut his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
It was a long moment before Harry moved. Draco sought his wand again where it had fallen in the bedclothes, and spelled them both clean. Harry climbed off him awkwardly, and bent on his elbows and knees on the bed next to him. He was not looking at Draco. Draco lifted a hand to caress his side and Harry shuddered. His toes were clenched again.
“Here.” Carefully, Draco eased Harry onto his side, facing away from him. Harry turned his head, muscles stiffening under Draco’s fingers. Draco said nothing, only curled himself around Harry’s back and slid an arm over his chest. He rested his head in the crook of Harry’s neck and inhaled deeply against his skin. Harry’s pulse beat rapidly under his cheek. Draco nuzzled him, and felt Harry’s body begin to relax in tiny hitches. He reached down and pulled the duvet up over them, taking care to tuck it over Harry’s shoulders, thinking suddenly of the cooling air of the room. One of Harry’s hands came up and clasped his where it rested against his chest. Draco breathed along with him, and let himself doze.
* * *
He was drifting when Harry’s body tensed, every muscle tightening. Draco opened his eyes, heart tripping in his chest. He lifted his head, clutching instinctively at his lover’s body.
“Harry?” His voice was still muddled. He could see Harry’s profile against the pillows. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment Harry did not move. He had a peculiar expression on his face, eyes turned toward the ceiling, but far away. His hand found Draco’s where it lay pocketed by the warmth of his body and slid it down to rest over the curve of his belly, pressing it there. Draco frowned and opened his mouth—
There was a frail movement, like the wings of a moth just under his fingertips. Draco caught his breath. He stared down into the dark space between the duvet and Harry’s body. The movement came again and Draco’s breath left him in a sigh.
It could have been seconds, or minutes; Draco lost track. The tiny flicker of motion held every nerve on end. He blinked, found himself looking at the wall, and lowered his gaze.
Harry was watching him, head turned on the pillow. His eyes were wide in the dim light. Brow creased. He licked his lips, took a shallow breath, and stared up at Draco. He could feel the nervous stillness of Harry’s body. His eyes glimmered and Draco understood.
He met Harry’s gaze for a long moment, studying the quivering of his chin, then bent and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips. An exhalation skated over his mouth. Draco kissed him again, holding his gaze. Harry gave a tiny sigh and nodded. Draco pressed his face back into the crook of Harry’s neck, moving his lips over the smooth skin there. He shut his eyes and felt for the movement under their fingertips again.
...
Part 2
A/N: Gaw. There are NO words that mean the exact same thing as "cradle". None.
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