Author: Mosh Title: The Night Before Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
The moon is high and fat in the night sky. It casts light through the green fabric above the two pale bodies that lie on the floor, setting their skin aglow. All is quiet outside, for now, the sprawling battle fields cut off from view by a barrier of weathered tents. A smooth back arches as the man moves, graceful and slow, cat-like. Without his glasses Harry can only see a blur of light and shadows as Draco kneels between his legs. He can hear the noises clearly; wet, contented sounds drifting up from his groin. He feels like he's flying, with Draco's mouth wrapped firmly around his cock. He's doing that thing with his tongue that makes Harry's hips jerk up and Harry can picture exactly what Draco's face looks like right now, even though he cannot see him. He knows Draco's eyes are closed, if not completely then at least half-lidded; he loves sucking cock. His hair spills over his forehead, fine strands of white-gold brushing Harry's stomach like kisses. Harry clenches his teeth as he comes, and Draco pauses to take everything in, like he always does. With a sigh Harry pumps himself into Draco's mouth and then lies still, the darkness seeming to swim behind his closed eyelids as he drifts back down from his high. There is a soft rustling of robes (it was too cold to get fully undressed when they had got back to Harry's tent), and the whisper of cotton on Harry's sensitive skin as Draco moves. The tickle of it drives Harry crazy. He bites his lower lip to repress a laugh. Draco straddles his waist and leans down. Even though Harry's relaxed, he feels a sense of anticipation. A second or two pass before Draco's mouth presses lightly against his. Harry knows what's coming. He can smell it on Draco's breath. He parts his lips and thrusts his tongue into heat and the taste of himself, catching his own semen as it runs into his mouth. They kiss and kiss until there's nothing left but rapid breathing, hands fisted in robes and satisfied noises. The moonlight darkens, as if clouds have passed in front of it. Draco clears his throat when he pulls back. He sits up and looks down at Harry through the greenish-grey shadows. "I was thinking about Snape," he begins. "Please," Harry cuts in, pinching Draco's hip. "Do you have to talk about him right now?" "Yes, actually, I do." Draco sniffs. Harry reaches up to brush his fingers through his hair with an exasperated sigh. He's not in the mood to talk about Snape. For Christ's sake, Draco's still hard as a rock; how can he even consider Snape at a time like this? "Nobody knows if he's still alive, right?" Draco continues. "Mmhm." "So if he has failed-" "You know Snape better than me," Harry says, choosing his words carefully. "But even I know he's good at what he does. How do you think he's survived all these years?" "Yes, I know that," says Draco. "That's not my point. I'm talking about the fact that he might not be able to get news to us tomorrow. What if he can't find a bird to send? Have you seen any birds around here since that first battle?" Harry thinks about it and realises that no, he cannot recall hearing or seeing any birds for days. The remnants of magic from earlier fights with the Death Eaters is still lingering in the air, smoky and almost palpable. The Order and Ministry Aurors have managed to hold together and chase them off, though Harry is certain Voldemort is probably re-grouping his numbers as they speak. "If he can't reach us, we're on our own. We won't even know how many of them there are. There could be double the amount of them compared to us, for all we know-" "Let's just not, okay?" Harry says, the mood splintered. "Not now." Draco, for once, falls silent at Harry's request. After a moment his cold fingers wander up under Harry's hitched-up robes and Harry flinches, trying not to squirm. "Hands are too cold." "That's why I'm doing it," replies Draco. He pinches one of Harry's nipples between his thumb and forefinger and Harry knows it's Draco's way of closing the previous subject. It's an apology for bringing up Snape and the war during sex and Harry finds he's too sated to dwell on it. Draco twists his nipple harder. "Oy." Another pinch. "Stop that." He feels the press of Draco's erection as the Slytherin leans forward; it digs into his stomach and twitches at the skin-to-skin contact. Harry decides to distract him by reaching down and lying his palms against Draco's thighs, running them slowly up until they meet the bunched hem of his robes. Draco rocks forwards at that, prompting Harry to continue, but Harry doesn't; he slides his hands back down. It becomes a lazy game between them: Draco proceeds to circle and flick Harry's rigid nipple with his fingers, while Harry skates his hands up and down Draco's thighs, closer and closer to his balls each time but never quite reaching them. Draco gradually becomes too heavy, but Harry is determined to not give in. "Bloody tease," Draco complains after a while, as the pad of Harry's index finger runs smoothly through the hair at his groin, so close. "You're one to talk," Harry retorts, his nipple feeling wonderfully raw. Draco shifts and rocks back and forth, his arse grazing Harry's prick. He touches himself, his skin so pale it appears to give off its own luminance as he works his hand slowly up and down his length. Harry watches, mesmerised by it, by the hitch of Draco's breath and fluidity of his movement. It feels like a lifetime passes before Draco stops and reaches behind himself to tempt Harry's cock hard again, holding and rubbing until he's ready. Draco's like a drug, pumping around Harry's body, pushing blood to all the right places. He always has been, in some way or another, under Harry's skin. Harry wonders if there will ever come a time when they don't have sex more than once a night. He tries not to think that there might not be another night, if all goes badly tomorrow. "Damn," Harry mutters as the material of Draco's robes suddenly spills down between his legs and glides across his balls. His resolve breaks and he tugs Draco's robes up, pulling at them. "Off," he says. "Get these off." "All right, but you have to as well," Draco mutters. "I'm not freezing my arse off alone." Harry smiles and it feels strange; they're lying on a battle field about to fuck and their friends are out there, in other tents nearby. He wriggles out of his own robes and the first bite of chilly air brings goose bumps to the surface of his skin. "Oh, what's this?" Draco teases, leaning back a little so Harry's erection rubs against his arse. Harry's smile remains. "It's a gift," he says. "You should think yourself lucky." "I wouldn't be so sure," says Draco lightly. "It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'I got you a little something'." Harry thumps him on the knee and then takes Draco's hot prick in his fist and squeezes, a rush of satisfaction whirling in his chest as Draco lets out a strangled, desperate-sounding moan and his hips give an involuntary jerk. Harry feels his way down Draco's length to the base, slipping his fingers down, down over Draco's tight balls, down, down and under to swirl his index finger around Draco's entrance. A shiver runs though the Slytherin's body and his thighs clench around Harry's hips. "Do you think anyone can hear us from here?" Draco breathes. "I don't think so." There are other tents scattered around, housing the rest of Dumbledore's army; students, teachers, Aurors, Order members. Everyone was either a mother or father, son or daughter, lover or friend of someone else. Harry had stationed himself near the back; Ron and Hermione had set up their tent nearby, along with Dumbledore, Lupin, Snape and Draco's own. They hadn't said anything, but Harry has the feeling they purposefully formed a wall around him. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow." It's like Draco has to talk about something to make up for the fact that he can't talk about Snape right now. He's obviously concerned - hell, Harry's concerned about it too - but now just isn't the time. Harry pushes his finger into Draco's body and Draco accepts eagerly, inching back onto it with a sigh. "Maybe it won't," Harry finally answers. The sound of Draco's breathing grows loud as Harry prepares him, taking time to pleasure him, to tease him a little. His panting fills the tent and Harry's ears, and as Harry works another finger in he's told in a breathy, pleading moan to hurry up. There's a rumble of thunder in the distance. It growls for a few seconds, drowning out the noises Draco's making. Eventually he grows too impatient and he pulls Harry's hand away. Clutching his shoulders tightly, Draco lowers himself onto Harry's cock, slowly, until he's full and deeply seated. "Touch me," he groans, beginning to rock back and forth. "Harry..." The novelty of being called by his first name had worn off after a month or so, but it still sounds good drifting out of Draco's mouth like that, like it's the password to a magnificent prize, something Draco wants and wants desperately. Harry can't help but thrust up into Draco's arse, his cock so hot and hard inside that he thinks he's going to come again, too soon. He reaches up and pushes his fingers against Draco's mouth. Draco licks and sucks on them, and though Harry can't see his expression he can picture the almost obscene look on Draco's face as he does it, curling his tongue between each digit, lapping at them so quickly and smoothly it tickles. He finally kisses Harry's palm and begins to move again, sinking down onto Harry's length, going deeper every time. Taking Draco's erection in his hand, Harry strokes all the way down to the base, then back up in one fluid movement. He doesn't care if anyone can hear them from there; the sound Draco makes is too good to silence with a charm. He pulls a little harder on Draco's cock just to hear him do it again, and he does, louder, his moan rolling right up his body with a depth Harry's rarely heard before. When Draco comes it's sharp and intense, beating out across Harry's fingers in desperate stripes, shudder upon shudder driving through him. His own release comes slowly, burning up from his groin in lazy waves and jerks. All the while, he wonders if the cry of an owl he hears from high above is real or imagined. Draco doesn't say anything if he hears it as well, he just keeps pulling, rolling his hips and coaxing everything Harry has to give right out of him. When Draco climbs off him he lies down and slings his arm across Harry's stomach, a warm pressure that he finds comforting. Draco is asleep in moments, a far quicker descent than Harry can hope for. A sigh ruffles his hair and he tries to concentrate on that rather than the minutes that are ticking away, bringing daylight closer and closer. He lies there with the man he loves and tries not to think about the horrible, bitter war surrounding them. He feels lips against his shoulder sometime during the night and turns towards Draco. The company is, as always, warm and welcome and he is glad for it. He dots a kiss on Draco's forehead, knowing the blond isn't really awake. It's kind of nice how kisses have become reflexes even in sleep. Soon daylight chases the shadows away. Everything inside the tent becomes a vivid shade of green as the light breaks through the material. Harry is still awake, listening to voices drifting on the breeze outside as other people start to surface from their tents. With Draco dozing lightly at his side, Harry stares at their wands which lie together on the floor nearby. He hopes the rain will hold off, if only for today. ~Fin~ |
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