traintracks

Title: Spilled Parchments
Author:

traintracks
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Words: ~750
Summary: Harry isn't the key to Draco's happiness -- except when he is.
Warnings: None, I don't think. Maybe non-explicit depression?
A/N: I was in a writing lull, so I prompted myself to start with 'Happy families are all alike,'(Tolstoy) and go from there.

Happy families are all alike.

Draco sitting cross-legged on the rumpled bed, glasses slipping down his nose, wet finger to parchment, absorbed. The light from a lamp fires his hair, one side, half his sharp face in shadows.

"Potions again?" I ask.

"Mmm."

He licks a finger but waits to actually turn the page. He's squinting, drawing years of lines at the corners of his shrewd eyes. I lean in the doorway, watching him read. "Lust potion, I'm guessing."

He's so engrossed, this doesn't even get a grin.

"I've got my wand stuck up my bum. Can you help me?"

"Mmm."

"Draco Malfoy."

"Mmm, Harry Potter."

At least he knows it's me.

"I'm starving," I state. I am not whining.

"There's that cold—"

"I don't want that cold chicken."

Now he looks up. He blinks. Or I think he does. The light is dancing obtuse across the panes of his glasses, a burst of grave sunset. "I could do that Thai thing."

His room smells of sandalwood, and I love him so much, I'm hard for him. Just like that. Wisps of sandalwood smoke, Thai food, his blank glasses. I walk to the side of the bed where he straightens his legs, preparing for something from me, whether seduction or violence, he doesn't say.

"Can I lick the curry sauce from your big wooden spoon?"

"Is that a chat up line?"

"A euphemism."

"All right then."

I pull the parchment from his hands.

"I'll lose my place, wanker," he complains, but I can see his eyes through the glasses now, and they're pearly grey, his body quiescent for me.

"I'm your place," I tell him. I think I sound like a troll, saying that, but he smiles. For the first time today, he smiles. When I fell in love with him, I had no idea how hard it would be to make him smile – or how easy it would be for me to.

I slide his pajama bottoms lower on his hips, and he lifts, letting me, lying back. I reveal his absurd hipbones, lean down, mouth at one. His belly moves in away from me with his breath.

"You smell like…dates," I decide.

"It's this potion."

I bite along his stomach. "But that's just parchment."

"Spilled some on it at work earlier."

"Careless."

A grunt.

"And there are dates in there?"

"Potter."

I've said enough, he's decided. I slip his cock out over his pajamas and start giving him head. His prick is nirvana, all hot veins, smooth pulsing. Draco is breath and thighs flexing, and he becomes all about shoving his brilliant cock into my mouth recklessly. I glance up at his face, that crease of frowning arousal that so haunts me while I'm at work, trying to think, and then all I can think of is this: his dark pupils, his pliant hips, his taste. His fevered skin and the way he fits between my lips and the pre-come bright on my tongue.

He never says I love you, but he cries when he comes, and his hands shove into my hair possessively. I wait for that, live for it.

We're not always happy. Draco so rarely seems happy. And our unhappiness is entirely unique, having everything to do with forgiveness withheld, family secrets, belligerent attitudes, too-long suffering. It's his wand choosing me, his father disowning him, our futures colliding yet always repellent, never quite combining. His drawer at my flat, my drawer at his. Sometimes it's leaving in the middle of the night as though at last we might finally be done with one another.

Until I find him cross-legged on the bed, not happy yet not quite sad, and it's me who changes the air in his room. It's me who streaks the shine of him, who spills his parchments, who warms the cold places along his skin with my breath.

"I'll pour some whiskey," I tell him, finished, licking my lips of him. He's breathing wildly, still stroking through my hair.

"What about you?" he says, indicating the erection he can't even see but knows is there.

"I want to save it and fuck you later," I insist. "In the dark."

He almost smiles.

We'll have Thai food and whiskey. We'll probably watch the telly. We'll leave candles unlit and potion parchments where they lay. We'll be happy for a few hours.

I have no other short term plans.

Don't tell him that I have no other long term ones either.