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Façade
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Chapter Nine
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Mariner Man
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- Dinner with Lady Narcissa,
Miss Parkinson, and Draco was one of the most painful experiences
of Harry's life, or so the dark haired male noted fifteen minutes
into the first course.
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Harry and Miss Parkinson were seated across from each other at the
large table. Lady Narcissa sat at the head, Miss Parkinson on her
right. Opposite his mother, Draco was tracing the rim of his wineglass
with a slender finger.
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"Mr. Goyle was quite attentive to our Miss Parkinson this afternoon,
Draco, darling." Lady Narcissa smiled warmly at her intended
daughter-in-law, who on cue, fluttered her eyelashes demurely. "You
had better be careful that he does not steal away this lovely little
gem."
-
The Malfoy heir arched a brow.
"Oh? Well that's good news isn't it, Pansy, dear?" he
said. "Perhaps you won't end up a spinster after all."
Lady Narcissa blinked,
not understanding, but Miss Parkinson flushed.
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"If it were not for certain
guests, who receive more of your attentions than they deserve, Mr.
Malfoy," she responded crossly, "I would not be in danger
of spinsterhood." A significant glance towards Harry made Lady
Narcissa's eyes narrow.
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"Mr. Potter? Do you have
anything to say to this?" she demanded.
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Harry ducked his head, eyeing
the exquisitely prepared halibut on his plate with a decided sense
of kinship. "I apologize, Lady Narcissa, but I am not understanding
Miss Parkinson's meaning."
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"Are you not, Mr. Potter?"
Pansy interrupted. "I should hope you would have the barest
hint of a situation that fell in your lap, so to speak."
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- Draco stroked the stem of the
wineglass with long aristocratic fingers. His usual smirk transformed
into great amusement as he watched Harry flush deeply in response
to Pansy's gross attempt at subtlety, absolutely scandalized.
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- "Oh I think the situation
is quite plain," Draco said at last. "Naked, one might
even call it. And, if I do say so myself, he enjoyed it very much,
and would have enjoyed it more had a certain person not interrupted
its natural progression."
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- Harry felt the blood drain
from his cheeks in mortification. His fingers gripped his fork until
he feared it would snap, but he continued to stare at the fish,
although the urge to stare at Draco was almost unbearable. How could
Draco sit there as Harry was publicly taunted and have the nerve
to caress the stem of his wineglass so suggestively, exchanging
innuendo with Miss Parkinson? The urge to stab the blond's obscene
hands with the aforementioned fork grew exponentially.
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- Miss Parkinson huffed. "Natural
progression? Unnatural inclination is more the way of things. Your
tastes, Mr. Malfoy, in friends and guests, are not for discussion
in polite company, although I would be more than happy to inform
Lady Narcissa of the full extent of your liaisons."
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Draco smiled sweetly. "If
you do, Pansy dear, rest assured you will be calling on Mr. Goyle
posthaste."
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"Draco, Pansy, what on earth
are you talking of? I must know the details immediately." Lady
Narcissa tightened her lips, creating the impression of an aristocratic
pout.
-
- Harry began to pray for lightning
to strike him dead. Lady Narcissa could not honestly be demanding
the details of the afternoon that were all too clear in Harry's
memory: Draco stripping, all elegance and lean lines. He cursed
his memory for bringing that particular image to the forefront of
his mind.
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- "Oh, nothing of interest,
Mother," Draco said casually.
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Pansy snorted. "I beg to
differ, Mr. Malfoy. My interest was piqued at once. And Mr. Potter
was definitely interested."
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"And how would you know if a man is interested, Miss Parkinson?"
Draco said silkily. "Unless Gregory Goyle has changed greatly
in the past few months I doubt anything other than a five course
dinner could interest that man. Present company included."
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"Rest assured, Mr. Malfoy."
Pansy said heatedly. "Many a man has shown interest in me,
although not as great an interest as you showed in Mr. Potter."
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Draco sent her an icy blue glare,
but Harry swallowed nervously, cursing internally.
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"You only wish you could
be the recipient of such interest, Pansy." Draco said under
his breath. "And I'll have you know Mr. Potter's interest was
just as great, was it not?" he said, tilting his face towards
Harry.
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- Now he was forced to participate
in the highly scandalous conversation. Where, in God's name, was
his lightning? "One could not help but be interested, considering
the inducement," Harry murmured softly as he sank a few inches
in his chair, still gripping his cutlery as though his life depended
on it.
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- "If you intend to continue
a relationship with my son, Mr. Potter, your interest had best be
less bold," Lady Narcissa said airily.
"But of course, coming from the lower classes, you would not
realize the delicacy of reputation, now would you, Mr. Potter?"
the matriarch added.
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Harry lifted his head, answering with as much dignity as he could
muster. "If it is your considered opinion that Mr. Malfoy has
searched for companionship outside of his own class, I cannot agree,
considering we are both gentlemen. However his choice of companions
must be the result of a lack of interest with his current connections.
Excuse me, Lady Narcissa, Miss Parkinson." Glancing at Draco,
who seemed nonplussed at his mother's insinuation, he left the dining
room.
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"Potter?"
Harry
wandered among the rose bushes, his cheeks as colorful as the blooms.
Half of him wanted to dig a small hole and bury himself where no
one could find him, especially not Draco. There, beside the white
roses. Then when they withered and died they would fall on top of
him, appropriately enough. A smaller, quieter part of himself was
angry at Draco, for allowing him to be addressed in such a manner
by his mother, and upset at the insinuations that his-his what?
Friend? Acquaintance?-had participated in. Considering that
Draco had been naked on his lap only hours earlier, it seemed rather
unfair of him. Harry angrily raked his fingers back through his
hair, making it stand in awkward clumps.
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At that moment Draco entered
the rose garden, scanning the rows of bushes for a slim figure.
He spotted Harry, who was looking melancholy enough to serve as
a model for any of the classical masters. His eyes were downcast
and the last streaks of the evening sunset cast blue shadows across
his form.
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"Potter, if you intended
to hide on the grounds, you could have at least picked the orchard.
The rose bushes go halfway up your chest," he said lightly.
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Harry exhaled sharply. It was
now or never. "I apologize, Draco. It was very rude of me to
leave like that. But under the circumstances, I should think it
was hardly unexpected. I shall pack my bags tomorrow, if you would
be so kind as to arrange a carriage."
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"What are you going on about?"
Draco narrowed his eyes, but kept his distance. "Come inside,
Harry. It will be dark soon."
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- "You cannot desire my
company any longer," Harry said, fidgeting with the hem of
his coat. After such a humiliating exposure, he found the prospect
of facing Draco, or Lady Narcissa and Miss Parkinson for that matter,
to be torturous. He remained next to the large bush of Christmas
roses, the only bush not blooming in the midsummer season.
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- "Harry, am I speaking
too plainly to inform you I care not a whit whether you offend my
mother or that pug faced twit who has far more interest in the size
of my pedigree than in the size of my . . ." Draco trailed
off, then grinned. "Well, in any case, it would not come as
a surprise, considering their low opinion of your background. Now
come inside, please? I really don't think you want to spend
the rest of your life in this garden, do you?"
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- There, in that moment, Harry
felt his ire and doubt towards the other man melt away, just as
a thunderstorm suddenly quells the summer heat. The angry voice
within him fell silent in response to the playful gleam and earnestness
found within the eyes he was beginning, hesitantly, to trust. Draco's
casual denunciation of Lady Narcissa and Miss Parkinson rendered
moot the preceding humiliation. He blinked and stared in absolute
shock at the emotions the aristocratic male could evoke. Harry was
still attempting to absorb this new dimension when Draco shrugged
and moved to wrap his arm around Harry's waist, brushing his lips
against his companion's temple.
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- "Don't look struck dumb,
Potter. Malfoys are as famed for their snobbery as they are for
their beauty. Although I probably should have warned you,"
he admitted, almost as an afterthought. "Come inside?"
he asked, studying Harry's sun-warmed features with a renewed earnestness.
"Now that we've been excused from dinner I thought we could
go upstairs for some . . . dessert?"
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Harry hadn't thought it possible
to blush any more that night after the humiliating debacle at dinner.
He'd thought wrong. At Draco's invitation he felt his the blood
course through his cheeks, and lower. Sweet Jesus . . . it bewildered
him how Draco Malfoy could say such incredibly arousing things so
casually. "D-dessert?" He stumbled over the euphemism.
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The blond moved closer, sliding
his hand enticingly down the curve of Harry's hip. "Mmm. What
say you to accompanying me upstairs to my chambers?"
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Harry shivered, knowing the chill
that swept through him had nothing to do with the cool midsummer
air. Days earlier, even hours, he would have wished to deny his
overwhelming emotions as desire, as he had in the past when he found
his eyes lingering on other men and not the women at their sides.
Harry could not dispute the idea that tugged at his and argued with
his mind, that now he trusted Draco implicitly-at least here, within
the sanctuary of Malfoy Manor, where Draco ruled his senses. Here,
at Malfoy Manor, he could do nothing but surrender to the sensations.
He exhaled sharply as he studied his companion. "I would like
that . . . very much."
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Harry found himself the recipient
of an extremely eager kiss that made him tingle from his ears to
his ankles. Draco's eyes shone with anticipation like candlelight
on crystal before he withdrew to a discreet distance. Their fingers
brushed lightly against one another's as Harry was led back inside
Malfoy Manor and upstairs to the heir's bedchambers. On their way
they passed the same drawing room where Harry had met Lady Narcissa
and Miss Parkinson. Harry tensed nervously upon hearing the soft
murmur of voices emanating from within. Noting the stiffness of
the other male, Draco grasped his hand. Harry looked up, startled,
only to be met with a purely casual glance and an innocent expression.
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Draco's bedroom was, like everything
else about him, elegantly decorated, extremely tidy, and reeking
of wealth. The large bed was easily twice the size of his
own, decorated with an intricately carved mahogany headboard. The
posters and canopy were draped with brilliant cream, embroidered
with tiny gold threads. The bed itself was draped in a green, shimmering
fabric that seemed to move in the candlelight.
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Draco guided Harry to the bed
and sat down carefully, more for his own benefit than the benefit
of his green eyed companion who blushed whenever their eyes met.
He kept his head bowed as he stared at their entwined hands, his
thumb moving in small circles over the back of Harry's hand. He
was a little surprised to note that his heart rate had sped up,
his hand slightly trembling within Harry's own. In shock, he realized
he was nervous.
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Nervous, over a simple act of
sex.
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Draco had enjoyed too many partners,
both male and female, to think that there was anything left to surprise
him in the sexual realm. Restraints, domination, submission, food,
whips, straps, rods . . . he'd had a very sordid past with the denizens
of Knockturn Alley. As he studied Harry, so honest and trusting
in the candlelight, silent either from fear or because he was focused
on his own nervousness. . . he realized the difference. He cared
about Harry, and although Malfoys didn't often use the word, Draco
was almost certain he loved the dark haired male with the lightning
bolt scar. He was nervous because he wanted to please Harry, more
eagerly and honestly than in the master-slave games he'd played
in the past. He wanted Harry to know nothing of the darkness of
sex . . . only the joy. He wanted to see Harry writhe in hedonistic
delight, losing himself to simply . . . be.
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"Draco?"
-
He was pulled from his musings
by the husky baritone and smiled, not quite keeping the leer from
his features as he turned, like a beast to his prey. Slowly he leaned
forward to capture Harry's lips, his free hand wrapped around the
back of his torso to pull him closer, subtly shifting their forms
to be intimately aligned.
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"Are you comfortable, Harry?"
he murmured against his lips before softly kissing him again. This
night was for Harry's pleasure, not his own, and by giving Harry
pleasure he would find his own.
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The sweet mouth gasped beneath
his as Draco took advantage of Harry's parted lips to plunge inside,
licking the wet cavern with delightfully slow deliberateness as
if committing its features to memory. He felt the other male shiver,
their hearts pounding in unison. His left hand clasped Harry's,
the other moving to rest in the small of his back, his biceps gripped
by the tanned brown hand. Whether the grip was to push him away
or pull him closer he did not know, but he abandoned the pliant
lips to turn his attention to the angled jawline, leaving his lover
panting for air.
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"Oh, Draco . . .."
Harry breathed. The arm, like an iron bar against Harry's back,
kept him from fleeing as Draco tugged softly on the Gordian knot
of Harry's cravat, the soft material flowing around his neck as
swift fingers carelessly swept it aside, the demanding mouth instantly
plundering the freshly bared skin. The ease with which Harry found
himself undressed made him wonder how many times the other man had
done the same thing to other males, a thought which was forced out
of his mind as Draco continued his exploration.
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How Draco could make minutes
feel like hours with his talented mouth and fingers was a mystery
to Harry. Desperate, keening noises emanated from his throat as
Draco paid homage to it, alternating between scraping the tender
muscle with his lips and smoothing it with his tongue. Draco's kisses
made him feel safe, he realized. He trusted that if he were to protest,
the fires between them would be quickly, if reluctantly, extinguished.
However, Harry had no intention of dousing the fire that threatened
to consume them both. His neck and back arched under the attention,
eager for more sensation, and he exhaled sharply as his waistcoat
was unbuttoned, his shirt pulled up from his trousers. The muscles
of his stomach tightened as Draco's industrious hand worked at the
broad fall of his trousers, sliding behind the panel of material
to caress heated flesh.
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"Please. . . Draco?"
The blond lifted his head at the query, blue eyes meeting Harry's
gaze, holding him on edge.
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Draco's voice was stilted by
acute gasps, his lungs demanding air at last. "What do you
want, Harry? I can give you anything . . . anything that will give
you pleasure. Please tell me."
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"I don't know . . . I confess
my inexperience, especially in regards to exactly what a man does
in situations such as these." The words were spoken haltingly.
Harry averted his gaze as Draco stroked his skin. Was it usual to
be incoherent at times like these? Such touches . . . Harry had
never imagined a woman could make him tremble with a simple touch,
much less a man. Well, that was not quite right. In the past he
had desperately tried to pretend the emotions towards other males
were simply admiration or jealousy. Ever since he had met Draco
Malfoy he had imagined it, and experienced it.
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Draco laid Harry back against
the sheets with a wry smile. "I assure you, Harry, what men
do in these situations is quite similar to what women do."
He undressed as he spoke, tossing aside his jacket, scarf and shirt
carelessly.
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Harry relaxed visibly, smiling
as his lover stripped for the third time that day. Were he not so
aroused he would find it amusing that in the past six days Draco
had spent more time out of his clothes than in them. At the current
moment he was merely grateful for the pale skin that was bared to
his sight. "You are experienced then."
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"You could say that."
The fall of the cream colored trousers was unbuttoned. Platinum
tresses fell forward, covering his eyes as he bent at the waist,
unlacing his boots before setting them aside. Trousers and stockings
quickly joined the rest of their discarded garments. Draco stood
nude for a moment, reminding Harry of an ancient god, sculpted of
chiseled marble.
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Jade eyes devoured Draco's body,
and he pursed his lips in thought. "Will you teach me?"
he asked, hesitantly.
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Draco tilted his head, blinking
slightly in disbelief. "What?"
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Harry found his confidence, smiling
guilelessly. "I want you to show me . . . how it can be between
us."
"There are many ways
for things to be between us," his companion said, voice husky
with desire.
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A devilish look transformed the
angelic face as Harry reveled in his own boldness "Then you'd
better get started, hadn't you? We've only got eight days, after
all."
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Draco nodded, seating himself
astride muscular thighs. "Take your shirt off, Harry."
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He complied, pulling off the
loose-sleeved garment and baring himself to Draco's unwavering stare.
Although Harry had been naked in front of the man before, and partially
bare more times than he could remember without coloring, he still
found himself ill at ease under Draco's perusal. Draco eyed him
in the same way that he'd seen the gentleman eye a piece of artwork,
or a landscape, studying contours, shadows, and the play of light
like a well trained critic.
-
- "You're so beautiful,
Harry," he said, running his fingers down the smooth shaven
cheek.
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Harry shivered, turning his cheek
into the gentle touch. "You've said so before. Am I to conclude
you have poor eyesight?"
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"I'm a Malfoy. Even if I
were blind I would not stand to have my opinion contradicted."
The hands were busy again, pulling the trousers down past Harry's
hips and exposing more skin to Draco's examination. Long fingers
flowed over the flesh abandoned by the fabric, gently teasing the
male, his mouth curved with satisfaction as Harry moaned beneath
him.
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"Oh God . . . how do you
know how to touch me. . . and make me feel like this, Draco?"
To his disappointment the hands moved lower, unlacing his boots,
which landed with an audible thump as they fell off the edge of
the bed. Soon he was completely nude, cheeks aflame, and trembling
slightly as Draco regarded him from above, obviously delighted by
the havoc he was wreaking on Harry's senses.
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"Like what?" he asked,
leaning down to press their mouths together.
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Harry arched against him sweetly,
his hands resting against his lover's chest, tracing patterns on
the perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles. "Like I'm on fire
. . ."
Draco shivered under Harry's
trembling touch as he studied his lover's countenance. He recognized
desire, plainly evident, a thrill coursing through him to be one
of the few, if not the only, recipient of such desire. "Years
of practice," he said breathlessly, watching the kiss swollen
lips curve into a grin that matched his own, the brilliant eyes
unfocused with passion.
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"Do you want me, Harry?"
he asked, words pouring out of him in a rush. "I want you desperately
. . . but if you're not ready . . . or if you're unsure . . .."
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Harry arched a brow, almost exasperated
and too far gone to even fathom stopping. If he'd had any reservations
about becoming intimate, they'd been whittled away by Draco's charm
and steadfast assurances of faith. "Yes . . . please, Draco."
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This time it was Draco who relaxed
visibly. "Hold on, then," his partner murmured.
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Harry sat up, scooting back against
the hardwood in a seated position as Draco moved away. He smiled
tightly, betraying his nervousness. Somehow it helped to know that
Draco had considerable personal experience . . . but at the same
time, it only added to his own feelings of inadequacy. Only Draco's
reassuring touch and lustful gazes assured him that his partner
felt no disappointment.
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He watched as the lithe form
rolled across the bed to a chest of drawers, removing something.
Upon his return he realized it was a small vial filled with liquid.
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"What is that, Draco?"
he asked curiously.
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Draco straddled him again, wasting
no time in refamilarizing himself with Harry's skin. "Oil.
Lavender oil, as it happens. My mother is particularly fond of it
for her skin and thus, I am particularly fond of pinching a small
quantity every now and then for my own purposes."
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Dark lashes brushed against pink
cheeks as Harry's eyes fluttered shut under the pleasurable ministrations,
pursing his lips with his tongue absently, his chest rising and
falling with quick shallow breaths. "And what purpose is that?"
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A pale brow arched, indicating
surprise, Harry was relieved to note, not disgust or annoyance.
"Women are naturally slick, Harry. Men are not. The oil makes
me slick for you." He watched as Draco poured a small amount
of oil onto his belly, then lower.
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Under Draco's guidance, Harry
became lost in sensation, the emotional plane of existence converging
with the physical as every touch filled his senses. This act was
implicitly about trust, he realized. Draco's eyes met his, each
man seeing a reflection of pleasure and yearning on the other's
face. In that moment of revelation, he knew he trusted the other
man, and his heart warmed with the knowledge that Draco must trust
him in return. Fire that burns slow can consume with more power
than a tindered flame, and Harry abandoned himself to Draco's mercy,
swept away by the desire burning his soul until he felt he might
be burned to ash.
-
- In post-coital exhilaration,
Harry pressed his lips against the creamy curve of his lover's shoulder.
As he gazed down at Draco's face, he felt truly blessed. A shy smile
appeared as he realized that his request for divine lightning had
not been ignored, after all. Their chests heaved together as the
blond rested his head on Harry's shoulder, pale lashes dusting cheeks
flushed from exertion.
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"The Lord works in mysterious
ways," he murmured, fingers lightly tracing designs on his
lover's skin slowly, reflecting his sated state. "What was
that?"
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Draco lifted his head, a hint
of amusement in the sated expression as he whetted his lips before
speaking. "Lesson one."
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