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the_water_clockAuthor: Clio
Title: Open Your Eyes
Pairing: Harry Potter: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry isn't sure what more he can do to make Draco see.
Length: 2400 words
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: NOT in the EWFS-verse.
Futurefic of Malfoy, PI, written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nmalfoy's birthday a few years ago. Beta'd by aome and alissomora (I think?) who are my fellow betas on Nancy's story. Thanks to Nancy for permission to post this even though MPI isn't finished.
Now that you made yourself love me
Do you think I can change it in a day?
How can I place you above me?
Am I lying to you when I say
That I believe in you.
--Neil Young, “I Believe in You”
The sun is setting over a extraordinarily clear southern California sky when I Apparate into the garage of our Hollywood Hills home, back from New York after nearly a week away on business. Our meetings were going nowhere, so I decided to come back a day early, hoping to surprise him. But he’s probably off on a case someplace. Draco avoids the house when it’s empty.
I walk in the door and I’m happily surprised. There he sits after all, in the chair facing the window, looking up the hill at the orange sunset sky. His head is leaned back in the chair—he must be sleeping. I set my bag down then walk softly around the chair so as not to wake him.
Then I am very unhappily not surprised. He’s not asleep; he’s passed out. His undershirt and jeans are rumpled, no doubt from days of consecutive wear, and he doesn’t appear to have shaved that morning. An empty bottle and a glass sit on the occasional table next to the chair. I sigh, resigned to another evening of drying out the boyfriend. Did he even try? I wonder. Do I have to be here for him not to do this? I slide my middle finger into the neck of the bottle to pick it up and it tips a little, clinking against the glass, and he stirs.
“When is it?” he asks, squinting.
“Do you mean what time,” I say, not looking at him as I grab the glass, “or what day, Draco?” I turn and walk into the kitchen.
I hear him vaguely moaning, moving in the chair. “I think Thursday, but then you shouldn’t be here,” he says, drowsy and unsure.
I open the freezer and grab the beans, unzipping the seal and dumping some into the hopper of the coffee grinder, then resealing them and flinging them back into the freezer. But the bag wasn’t completely sealed so beans scatter onto the floor and the inside of the freezer. I ignore them, switching on the grinder and then filling the coffee pot with water from the tank on the counter. I dump the grounds into the gold filter, spilling some on the counter in my haste. I pour in the water, switch on the machine and set out a mug, then walk back out into the living room to stand before him.
“I came back early,” I say. “Surprise!” I fling my hands out with a sarcastic smile. “Why do I think you aren’t that happy to see me?”
“I —”
I cut him off with a shake of the head. “I know, I wasn’t here.” I squat before him. “I can’t always be here at the moment you need someone. But I will always, always return. I don’t know what more I can do to convince you of that.” He looks at me and blinks, blurry and confused. “You have to find a better way.” I stand up and walk toward the door.
I hear him turning in the chair. “Harry!” he shouts, his voice hoarse, as though he hadn’t used his vocal chords in a long while.
I continue to the door, grabbing my keys. “I’m not having this fight with you again, Draco.” I turn to him as I grab the doorknob. “I’m going for a drive.”
In moments, I’m pulling the Mercedes out of the garage, top down and the oh-so-bitter Gentlemen blaring. I race down the hill, then turn onto Sunset, driving as fast as I dare through the thinning traffic. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, West LA and Santa Monica flash by as I rush west into the setting sun. A right onto the PCH and I’m roaring toward Malibu at 100mph. The wind whips my hair and I remember flying, trying to catch something so elusive that it would dart away if you flew right at it. But if you were patient, it would hit you on the shoulder and drop in your lap.
Yes, it was golden. Of course I see the parallel. Thanks so much for pointing out that everything always comes back to him. I appreciate that.
I can’t escape him so I stop trying and pull over at one of the public beaches. It’s November, so the place is deserted. Angelenos are funny like that; they only go to the beach in the summer, even though it’s really warm enough most of the year. I kick off my shoes, slip out of my jacket, lock them in the trunk, and walk out onto the sand.
The sun floats at the horizon, enormous and orange and liquid, almost bouncing on the sea. I sit down and watch it set, slowly slipping into the Pacific, the few high clouds going from red-orange to blue-violet as the sky turns dusky. A slight breeze stirs my hair and the waves break gently on the shore. I sigh and close my eyes, a song still in my head: “Angel, I’m sober. I got off that stuff just like you asked me to.”
I lay down in the sand, spreading out arms and legs, and have a sudden memory of making snow angels with Ron. Ever since my memories have come back, I feel like I am half man-half boy most of the time, reliving my first 17 years. The big moments came back in a flood almost immediately. But the incidental things drift in at the oddest times.
I sit on the beach for several minutes (hours? days?) as the waves come in, the stars come out, and the moon rises behind me. I consider and discard scenarios, trying to work out what I’m doing wrong, how to make him see, make him believe in me, make him believe in himself enough to stop. I could leave him, I suppose. Make a stand. But that would just confirm all those fears I’ve been working so hard to soothe since we got together.
Besides, I don’t want to leave him. I need him. I love him.
Another memory floats by, of Albus Dumbledore saying we all have to make our own choices. I realize suddenly, finally, that I can’t fight this battle for him; I can only be his corner man. He’ll have to do it himself, and for his own reasons, not just for the love of me. It will be hard to stand by and watch him take those punches, but all I can do is try to patch him up afterward. No one said this love stuff was easy. If it was, everyone would be doing it.
I get up, brushing the sand from my hair, shoulders and backside and make my way back to the car. With the setting sun comes the desert chill so I put the top back up before driving on. I jostle the rearview mirror as I lock down the top, and resetting it, I see a flash of my own reflection.
Green Eyes, he used to say. I thought it was sweet. He hasn’t called me that in a long time.
I listen to Neil Young as I meander inland through moonlit canyons and Calabasas horse farms before hitting Mulholland and making my way home. When I reach the house, I see that the lights in the living room and kitchen are still on. I glance up at the clock in the garage; I’ve been gone nearly five hours. I enter, toeing off my shoes at the door, wary of what I will find inside.
I am greeted by the smell of lamb korma and that spinach and chick pea stuff I can never remember the name of. I look up and see him sitting in a different chair, one that looks onto the road rather than up into the hills. He’s showered and shaved and sits with his legs under him, his body wrapped in one of the Navaho blankets. He looks up at me and he seems so young and I think, He is young. We are so young.
“I made the call.”
“What?” I ask, not daring to believe that he means what I hope he means.
“I called them. The Y, ten o’clock tomorrow night. All the bad coffee I can drink.” He smiles ruefully.
I walk over to him and sit on the floor at his feet, speechless.
“Even did that thing from the movies and dumped it down the drain. Took the bottles to the dumpster at Von’s.”
“Why now?”
Draco looks at me and his eyes are once again the clear gray of an overcast sky, instead of the cold steel of late. “You always come back. I believe you.” He pauses for a moment, looking down, then whispers, “I’m so tired of doing this alone.”
“You don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“This isn’t easy.”
“I know.” I smile a little. “We’re strong.”
He looks up sharply, scowling a little, searching my face for I know not what. Then his brow relaxes and he says, “We’re strong,” as though he only just now understands. He leans down to kiss me.
It starts tentatively, sweet and loving, but suddenly he’s pushing against me and I’m rolling backward and he is out of the chair, on top of me. I wonder at his reaction, then remember that we haven’t seen each other in nearly a week. The blanket falls away to reveal him nude but for white cotton boxer shorts. He makes short work of my jacket and shirt, then divests me of trousers and boxers, releasing my lips only when he must.
I had forgotten how passionate he can be when he isn’t on autopilot. He tastes mostly of coffee but still a little of vodka. My body quickly responds to his touch as it always does, even when I don’t want it to. Though tonight, I do want this . . .
Finally, he lets up a little. “Bedroom?” he asks, a little breathless.
I think, then shake my head. “No. We fought here. We should make up here.”
“No lube in the living room, Harry.” He smirks at me.
“I can get it.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Your way, or the normal way?”
I grin. “I object to that particular use of the word ‘normal.’ You have a choice: I use magic, or you let go of me.”
He scowls, almost pouting. “Go ahead then.” He rolls off me, though our legs are still entwined, and makes a show of covering his ears and closing his eyes.
Stubborn sod. You’d think he was a Taurus, not an Aries. I pull my wand from my jacket. “Accio lube,” I say, and the tube floats into my hand. I drop it onto Draco’s chest. “You can open your eyes now.”
He does so reluctantly, one at a time, then sets aside the tube before pulling me down against him, chest against chest, his tongue slick in my mouth, his thigh rubbing against my cock, and I can feel him so hard against my own leg. I can’t possibly last much longer and neither can he. I slide down his body, licking the stiff, pale pink nipples and he bucks up toward me as he always does. I quickly slip off his boxers then grab the lube as I sit up, kneeling between his legs. As I open the tube, squeezing a bit onto my fingertips, he looks up at me through lust-filled eyes and spreads his legs wide.
God, he takes my breath away: the creamy skin stretched over taut muscles and the blond hair falling across his brow and the eyes like storm clouds and the cheekbones like geometry and the slightly darker hair that leads from his navel to the base of the gorgeous, hard cock. He offers himself to me and I take him, first with my fingers and then with my cock, because being skin on skin isn’t close enough—I have to be inside him. We kiss again, our chests rubbing together as I fuck him, both of our stomachs grinding against his cock. His legs and arms are wrapped around me and my hands are buried in his hair and he is sucking my tongue deep into him, as though he wants me to fill every empty space he has. He’s so tight, so good, and he holds me so close. I pull back just a little, releasing his lips to look into his eyes, and I let go, shouting his name like the lifeline he is to me. In the next moment I can feel his body tensing and wetness spread across my stomach, and he grunts out my name and it sounds like nothing else.
I rest my forehead against his, smiling and catching my breath. Our heart rates slow and we stay on the floor, clinging to each other, as he lowers his legs and I slip out of him.
Finally he says, “Hungry? There’s Indian.”
“I noticed,” I say. I don’t want to get up, don’t want to move, but it’s time. We stand up, a little sticky, and move into the kitchen. He dampens a cloth to clean us and I notice that not only did he get rid of the bottles and bring back dinner, he also cleaned up the coffee mess I had left behind. Then the food comes out of the warming oven: korma and spinach and garlic nan and basmati and dal and samosas and sparkling water from the fridge. We sit at the table, still nude, and eat dinner and talk about my trip and his case. He takes my hand and I feel hopeful, really hopeful, for the first time in so long.
The industry that runs this town would lead you to believe that once boy gets boy, or girl, or dog or whatever the boy is into, that it’s fade to black, end of story, happily ever after. But I’ve realized that the coming together isn’t the end of the story at all.
It’s the beginning.
Title: Open Your Eyes
Pairing: Harry Potter: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry isn't sure what more he can do to make Draco see.
Length: 2400 words
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: NOT in the EWFS-verse.
Futurefic of Malfoy, PI, written for
nmalfoy's birthday a few years ago. Beta'd by aome and alissomora (I think?) who are my fellow betas on Nancy's story. Thanks to Nancy for permission to post this even though MPI isn't finished.Now that you made yourself love me
Do you think I can change it in a day?
How can I place you above me?
Am I lying to you when I say
That I believe in you.
--Neil Young, “I Believe in You”
The sun is setting over a extraordinarily clear southern California sky when I Apparate into the garage of our Hollywood Hills home, back from New York after nearly a week away on business. Our meetings were going nowhere, so I decided to come back a day early, hoping to surprise him. But he’s probably off on a case someplace. Draco avoids the house when it’s empty.
I walk in the door and I’m happily surprised. There he sits after all, in the chair facing the window, looking up the hill at the orange sunset sky. His head is leaned back in the chair—he must be sleeping. I set my bag down then walk softly around the chair so as not to wake him.
Then I am very unhappily not surprised. He’s not asleep; he’s passed out. His undershirt and jeans are rumpled, no doubt from days of consecutive wear, and he doesn’t appear to have shaved that morning. An empty bottle and a glass sit on the occasional table next to the chair. I sigh, resigned to another evening of drying out the boyfriend. Did he even try? I wonder. Do I have to be here for him not to do this? I slide my middle finger into the neck of the bottle to pick it up and it tips a little, clinking against the glass, and he stirs.
“When is it?” he asks, squinting.
“Do you mean what time,” I say, not looking at him as I grab the glass, “or what day, Draco?” I turn and walk into the kitchen.
I hear him vaguely moaning, moving in the chair. “I think Thursday, but then you shouldn’t be here,” he says, drowsy and unsure.
I open the freezer and grab the beans, unzipping the seal and dumping some into the hopper of the coffee grinder, then resealing them and flinging them back into the freezer. But the bag wasn’t completely sealed so beans scatter onto the floor and the inside of the freezer. I ignore them, switching on the grinder and then filling the coffee pot with water from the tank on the counter. I dump the grounds into the gold filter, spilling some on the counter in my haste. I pour in the water, switch on the machine and set out a mug, then walk back out into the living room to stand before him.
“I came back early,” I say. “Surprise!” I fling my hands out with a sarcastic smile. “Why do I think you aren’t that happy to see me?”
“I —”
I cut him off with a shake of the head. “I know, I wasn’t here.” I squat before him. “I can’t always be here at the moment you need someone. But I will always, always return. I don’t know what more I can do to convince you of that.” He looks at me and blinks, blurry and confused. “You have to find a better way.” I stand up and walk toward the door.
I hear him turning in the chair. “Harry!” he shouts, his voice hoarse, as though he hadn’t used his vocal chords in a long while.
I continue to the door, grabbing my keys. “I’m not having this fight with you again, Draco.” I turn to him as I grab the doorknob. “I’m going for a drive.”
In moments, I’m pulling the Mercedes out of the garage, top down and the oh-so-bitter Gentlemen blaring. I race down the hill, then turn onto Sunset, driving as fast as I dare through the thinning traffic. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, West LA and Santa Monica flash by as I rush west into the setting sun. A right onto the PCH and I’m roaring toward Malibu at 100mph. The wind whips my hair and I remember flying, trying to catch something so elusive that it would dart away if you flew right at it. But if you were patient, it would hit you on the shoulder and drop in your lap.
Yes, it was golden. Of course I see the parallel. Thanks so much for pointing out that everything always comes back to him. I appreciate that.
I can’t escape him so I stop trying and pull over at one of the public beaches. It’s November, so the place is deserted. Angelenos are funny like that; they only go to the beach in the summer, even though it’s really warm enough most of the year. I kick off my shoes, slip out of my jacket, lock them in the trunk, and walk out onto the sand.
The sun floats at the horizon, enormous and orange and liquid, almost bouncing on the sea. I sit down and watch it set, slowly slipping into the Pacific, the few high clouds going from red-orange to blue-violet as the sky turns dusky. A slight breeze stirs my hair and the waves break gently on the shore. I sigh and close my eyes, a song still in my head: “Angel, I’m sober. I got off that stuff just like you asked me to.”
I lay down in the sand, spreading out arms and legs, and have a sudden memory of making snow angels with Ron. Ever since my memories have come back, I feel like I am half man-half boy most of the time, reliving my first 17 years. The big moments came back in a flood almost immediately. But the incidental things drift in at the oddest times.
I sit on the beach for several minutes (hours? days?) as the waves come in, the stars come out, and the moon rises behind me. I consider and discard scenarios, trying to work out what I’m doing wrong, how to make him see, make him believe in me, make him believe in himself enough to stop. I could leave him, I suppose. Make a stand. But that would just confirm all those fears I’ve been working so hard to soothe since we got together.
Besides, I don’t want to leave him. I need him. I love him.
Another memory floats by, of Albus Dumbledore saying we all have to make our own choices. I realize suddenly, finally, that I can’t fight this battle for him; I can only be his corner man. He’ll have to do it himself, and for his own reasons, not just for the love of me. It will be hard to stand by and watch him take those punches, but all I can do is try to patch him up afterward. No one said this love stuff was easy. If it was, everyone would be doing it.
I get up, brushing the sand from my hair, shoulders and backside and make my way back to the car. With the setting sun comes the desert chill so I put the top back up before driving on. I jostle the rearview mirror as I lock down the top, and resetting it, I see a flash of my own reflection.
Green Eyes, he used to say. I thought it was sweet. He hasn’t called me that in a long time.
I listen to Neil Young as I meander inland through moonlit canyons and Calabasas horse farms before hitting Mulholland and making my way home. When I reach the house, I see that the lights in the living room and kitchen are still on. I glance up at the clock in the garage; I’ve been gone nearly five hours. I enter, toeing off my shoes at the door, wary of what I will find inside.
I am greeted by the smell of lamb korma and that spinach and chick pea stuff I can never remember the name of. I look up and see him sitting in a different chair, one that looks onto the road rather than up into the hills. He’s showered and shaved and sits with his legs under him, his body wrapped in one of the Navaho blankets. He looks up at me and he seems so young and I think, He is young. We are so young.
“I made the call.”
“What?” I ask, not daring to believe that he means what I hope he means.
“I called them. The Y, ten o’clock tomorrow night. All the bad coffee I can drink.” He smiles ruefully.
I walk over to him and sit on the floor at his feet, speechless.
“Even did that thing from the movies and dumped it down the drain. Took the bottles to the dumpster at Von’s.”
“Why now?”
Draco looks at me and his eyes are once again the clear gray of an overcast sky, instead of the cold steel of late. “You always come back. I believe you.” He pauses for a moment, looking down, then whispers, “I’m so tired of doing this alone.”
“You don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“This isn’t easy.”
“I know.” I smile a little. “We’re strong.”
He looks up sharply, scowling a little, searching my face for I know not what. Then his brow relaxes and he says, “We’re strong,” as though he only just now understands. He leans down to kiss me.
It starts tentatively, sweet and loving, but suddenly he’s pushing against me and I’m rolling backward and he is out of the chair, on top of me. I wonder at his reaction, then remember that we haven’t seen each other in nearly a week. The blanket falls away to reveal him nude but for white cotton boxer shorts. He makes short work of my jacket and shirt, then divests me of trousers and boxers, releasing my lips only when he must.
I had forgotten how passionate he can be when he isn’t on autopilot. He tastes mostly of coffee but still a little of vodka. My body quickly responds to his touch as it always does, even when I don’t want it to. Though tonight, I do want this . . .
Finally, he lets up a little. “Bedroom?” he asks, a little breathless.
I think, then shake my head. “No. We fought here. We should make up here.”
“No lube in the living room, Harry.” He smirks at me.
“I can get it.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Your way, or the normal way?”
I grin. “I object to that particular use of the word ‘normal.’ You have a choice: I use magic, or you let go of me.”
He scowls, almost pouting. “Go ahead then.” He rolls off me, though our legs are still entwined, and makes a show of covering his ears and closing his eyes.
Stubborn sod. You’d think he was a Taurus, not an Aries. I pull my wand from my jacket. “Accio lube,” I say, and the tube floats into my hand. I drop it onto Draco’s chest. “You can open your eyes now.”
He does so reluctantly, one at a time, then sets aside the tube before pulling me down against him, chest against chest, his tongue slick in my mouth, his thigh rubbing against my cock, and I can feel him so hard against my own leg. I can’t possibly last much longer and neither can he. I slide down his body, licking the stiff, pale pink nipples and he bucks up toward me as he always does. I quickly slip off his boxers then grab the lube as I sit up, kneeling between his legs. As I open the tube, squeezing a bit onto my fingertips, he looks up at me through lust-filled eyes and spreads his legs wide.
God, he takes my breath away: the creamy skin stretched over taut muscles and the blond hair falling across his brow and the eyes like storm clouds and the cheekbones like geometry and the slightly darker hair that leads from his navel to the base of the gorgeous, hard cock. He offers himself to me and I take him, first with my fingers and then with my cock, because being skin on skin isn’t close enough—I have to be inside him. We kiss again, our chests rubbing together as I fuck him, both of our stomachs grinding against his cock. His legs and arms are wrapped around me and my hands are buried in his hair and he is sucking my tongue deep into him, as though he wants me to fill every empty space he has. He’s so tight, so good, and he holds me so close. I pull back just a little, releasing his lips to look into his eyes, and I let go, shouting his name like the lifeline he is to me. In the next moment I can feel his body tensing and wetness spread across my stomach, and he grunts out my name and it sounds like nothing else.
I rest my forehead against his, smiling and catching my breath. Our heart rates slow and we stay on the floor, clinging to each other, as he lowers his legs and I slip out of him.
Finally he says, “Hungry? There’s Indian.”
“I noticed,” I say. I don’t want to get up, don’t want to move, but it’s time. We stand up, a little sticky, and move into the kitchen. He dampens a cloth to clean us and I notice that not only did he get rid of the bottles and bring back dinner, he also cleaned up the coffee mess I had left behind. Then the food comes out of the warming oven: korma and spinach and garlic nan and basmati and dal and samosas and sparkling water from the fridge. We sit at the table, still nude, and eat dinner and talk about my trip and his case. He takes my hand and I feel hopeful, really hopeful, for the first time in so long.
The industry that runs this town would lead you to believe that once boy gets boy, or girl, or dog or whatever the boy is into, that it’s fade to black, end of story, happily ever after. But I’ve realized that the coming together isn’t the end of the story at all.
It’s the beginning.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-26 06:17 am (UTC)Hmmm... so is the right question 'Why is Draco afraid of magic?'
Say, any suggestions of any comms I could throw it into?
I've been thinking about that since you first posited the question, actually. The problem with H/D is that because it's such a popular pairing there's an exponentially large amount of bad fic out there and I tend to avoid the comms and just get fic via word of mouth through trusted personal journals.
The two I know off the top of my head are:
I just glanced a few of my flist members' journals to see which communities they have friended and found
Unfortunately, the majority of the communities are invitation only (like
Sorry I couldn't help more...