Fic: The Ugly Duckling (2/2)
Mar. 3rd, 2013 01:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icmezzo_archiveTitle: The Ugly Duckling (2/2)
Author
icmezzo
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Word Count: ~16.5k
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Horny owls, impressive cocks, Grey Goose, and jokes that aren't actually funny.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Draco is all atwitter when he wakes up on his birthday with a few unexpected feathers. Suspecting foul play, he enlists Harry to help him get rid of his unfortunate birden—er, burden.
~oOo~
Three days of intensive moping and self-pity later, Draco finally changed out of his pyjamas, took a bath, and put on clean socks.
Potter's initially terse correspondence had become increasingly frequent and concerned in tone as the days passed and Draco's mental state became obvious through his morose responses. Eventually, Harry had informed Draco that he'd be coming by after work Friday, whether Draco wanted him to or not. And since Draco himself was undecided on the matter, and didn't have the energy to fight the stubborn sod regardless, he instructed Funky and Lipton to open the Floo and prepare for Potter's arrival. A bit of depression was no reason to be inhospitable.
When Potter arrived, he refused to accept a seat, instead pacing back and forth before Draco's sitting room hearth. Draco sat on the sofa and just watched, pulling a blanket over himself as he curled up into a little ball. Well, a little ball with giant ugly wings anyway...
“It just doesn't make sense,” Potter said, whirling on his right foot to spin and head back in the opposite direction. “Doesn't make sense.”
Step, step, step, spin. Step, step, step, spin.
“I doesn't. It just doesn't!” Step, step, step, spin. “Even full Veela, they're only bird-like when under extreme duress. Angry, or protective of their mate, or whatever. They always change back.”
Step, step, step, spin.
“We examined known triggers—but you said you haven't had any of those things recently...” He turned to Draco. “You haven't, have you?”
Draco shook his head and Potter resumed his walking, chewing on his fingernail when he wasn't mumbling to himself.
Step, step (chew), step, spin.
“And all of the common treatments Mungo's uses for overwrought Veela to get them to settle haven't worked...making sure they're rested and fed so their blood sugar is stable and that they've...mated. And such.”
“Yes, Potter,” Draco whined. “I've spent the last three days in bed sleeping, the house elves have always made sure I've eaten well, and shagging sure didn't work.”
He didn't miss Potter's cringe, but Harry simply scratched the back of his neck and went back to pacing. Step, step, step, spin.
Watching Harry pace, Draco couldn't help but notice Potter possessed what he decided was a particularly excellent bum. Well, excellent if one appreciated a nice arse clad in reasonably tight denims, that is. (Draco did.)
“Yeah, that really should've worked though. I mean, that's the reason Veela have their innate allure, to be able to ensure regular mating with their partners,” Potter explained. Step (chew), step, step, spin.
“Well, I wouldn't say I've had regular mating,” Draco mumbled. “It was only the once, after all, since the feathers showed up on my birthday, and it was good, but...” He shrugged. It was disturbing to know that he was going to require heavy glamours every time he wanted to get laid in the foreseeable future, not that he was about to share that with Harry. “Wasn't particularly memorable, necessarily, other than the fact that it was a Muggle I was with. I still can't believe I did that,” Draco mused, aiming to avoid the subject. “What was in that drink?”
Step, step, step, spin. Step, step (chew), step, spin.
“You only went once? I thought...”
Draco shook his head. “Twice. But no one really appealed to me the second time, so I left.”
“No one appealed to you? There are always tons of fit blokes there.” Step, step, step, spin.
“I know, Potter, but I just wasn't interested, okay?” Draco knew he sounded defensive but couldn't seem to help it.
Step, step.
Stop.
Potter turned slowly to face Draco, arching his eyebrow in a way that would have been most impressive if it had been adequately plucked. Then again, Draco was in need of more than a little plucking himself these days. He grimaced.
“And why weren't you interested?” Potter paused. “And don't say because they were Muggles, because you looked plenty interested when you were out on the dance floor the night I was there.”
“Well, I wasn't the second time. Would you just leave it alone, Potter.”
“Tell me.”
“Piss off.”
“C'mon. Just tell me.”
Groaning, Draco put his head in his hands. “Because I'm covered in feathers, you arse. Not just feathers, either. Giant, ugly spotted half-deformed feathers, in stupid clumps and wretched patches. It's repulsive. I'm repulsive. So, yes, the men at the bar were fine. But I wasn't interested, okay? Not interested in another shag with some Muggle who liked the look of me covered in twelve glamours and a costume made partly of centaur toys. Because that's not me. This,” he gestured at himself, “This is me. I may not have known it, but it is. It's in my blood. I'm hideous. Fuck. You try getting off in some dirty back hallway of a bloody club with your back aching because your wings are smashed against the wall, all the while you know, deep down, that you're completely undesirable, if only the bloke could see the real you. Let me tell you, it takes quite a lot of effort to get off under the circumstances. So forgive me, Potter, but I'm really not interested in another quick one-off with some Muggle stranger at the moment, much less trying to trick one into doing it regularly. Now can we please come up with a different theory for getting rid of these bloody feathers because, needless to say, the whole regular sex bit is not going to work.” Draco huffed, pulled the blanket up around him defensively and stared at his fingers, completely unable to believe he'd just admitted all that to stupid Potter.
“Merlin, Draco.” Harry stopped and faced him. “Do you really not see yourself?”
Draco didn't buy it for a moment and he hated being placated. “Don't, Potter. I don't want another one of your pep talks about how you think feathers are beautiful. Maybe they are, sometimes, pristine white elegant ones like Fleur's cousin has or ink black and powerful like the Harpies' spokesperson. But not mine and not on me. So just stop, okay? Stop.”
Harry frowned and sat down on the floor with his back against the sofa near where Draco sat. “Fine. So what you are saying is that you only shagged once, under subpar conditions.”
“That's what I said.”
“Well that's hardly adequate testing of my strongest theory.”
Draco glared at the back of Potter's head. “Yes, well, come up with another one. It isn't going to happen.”
Harry examined his fingernails. “Well, what if it did?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly higher than normal.
“Bloody hell, Potter! I know you want to be right. And probably you want to help as usual, but you've got to give it up. I'm not going back to the Muggle club. We've got to find another way to get rid of the wings.”
“And not only did you shag under subpar conditions,” Harry continued, ignoring Draco entirely, “But it wasn't exactly with someone you'd call a partner, right?”
Draco snorted, shifting in his seat to stretch his wings.
“That's what I thought. A bloke would need to have magic to deal with you on a regular basis.”
“Hey! That's—well, no, that's true, actually.” Draco nodded. “Not that it matters, mind you. No more random one-offs.”
“It does seem that it'd be pointless to shag anyone you didn't consider a worthy partner, at least.” Harry chewed on his nail again.
“Finally, we agree on something. Now, can we come up with some other—”
“I suppose you'll just have to shag a wizard then.” Harry spoke right over top of Draco. “A powerful one, probably, so your Veela bloodlines would respect it.”
Draco sighed. “You're mental. I'm not—”
“And more than once, I think. To make up for the time without. I bet your Veela parts would appreciate that,” Harry continued.
“Potter,” Draco growled. As if he hadn't already felt shitty enough, Potter insisted on emphasizing how slim his chances were to ever get another cock in his bed once, much less repeatedly. “Enough.”
“What?” Potter turned to him then, his eyes intent on Draco's.
“Stop. No one will—”
“I will.”
Draco froze. “What did you say?”
“I'll do it.” Potter's eyes were so very green, locked on Draco's, and his mouth was set, almost daring Draco to accept.
“No. No way, Potter. You're not going to pity shag me, you imbecile.”
“Of course not.”
“Right, then it's settled. Can we please move on?”
“What if I want to do it for you.”
“Son of a Muggle—You're mad! Stark raving! Not only is it a supremely terrible idea to imagine that we could ever have...relations...without hexing each other's bits, but have you seen me?”
“Well, I'd tell you again that I think you're gorgeous with your feathers, but you don't seem inclined to believe me. And I have no interest in hexing your bits. Possibly your stupid stubborn head, but not your bits.”
Draco almost believed him. “I'm pretty sure that's not in the Unspeakable handbook.”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But yours isn't an official case, after all. It's just one mate offering to help another.”
“Is that what we are? Mates?”
“Well, I thought...I mean, you Firecall all the time with these ridiculous problems that can't possibly be real—present wings excepted, of course—so I figured, maybe, that meant you wanted to be mates.”
“My problems are all real,” Draco sniffed.
“The time we went on the wild goose chase to find your missing pants?”
“How was I to know Lipton had washed them?”
“Bitsy washed them,” Potter corrected. “And the time you needed help finishing the wine?”
“Didn't want to be wasteful,” Draco replied.
“Even the time when you couldn't unzip your robes in the back?”
“It was stuck.”
“You have elves.”
“They're too short.”
“I'm not particularly tall...” Potter's eyes danced.
“Fine.” Draco threw his arms into the air, ignoring the speckled feather that came loose and danced through the air until it landed on Potter's arm. “We're mates.”
“And you know what mates do?”
“Get each other off?” Draco rolled his eyes.
“Well, I was going to say they help each other, but if you insist...”
Draco groaned. “We're not shagging.”
“I don't think we'd need to full on shag, necessarily. I think if I just helped get you off, that'd be enough.” Harry paused. “Do you think the Veela part of you would like that?”
Yes. No. Yes. Fuck. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh.” Harry frowned. “Maybe I'm not the right person then.”
“For Salazar's sake. It's not that, you tit.” The idea of Potter touching him like that—Merlin! But he was equal parts terrified and eager, not that he would admit that to Harry.
“Then why not? I know it seems a bit crazy, but I won't mind. You can just, I dunno, close your eyes. And I'll...do the rest. It'll give me a chance to test my theory and stuff.” Harry bit his lip. His cheeks were bright pink.
“I can't let you do that.”
“I...I wouldn't mind. I like to help...people. And stuff.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Do you have a better one?”
Draco put his face in his hands. “No,” he whined. Glancing up, he saw Harry looking inordinately pleased with himself. “And how exactly do you envision this would proceed? Not that we're actually doing it.”
“Um, I don't know, actually. I hadn't really thought about it. We'll just have to wing it. Maybe we could go to your bed and I could just sit next to you and, er, you know. Help you wank.”
As he pictured the scene, Draco unconsciously glanced at Potter's hands; they were larger and rougher than his own, his fingers thick and strong. This plan was absolutely the most terrible idea ever, he decided as he felt his cheeks flame. Merlin, he wasn't getting enough oxygen to his brain either.
He swallowed. Twice.
“I...er...do you really think it will make my wings go away?”
“Would I offer to do it otherwise?” Potter laughed nervously.
Draco, now that he'd imagined Potter's suggestion, was now having trouble turning off the section of his brain that was focused entirely on the offer. He could see it. See it. And he sort of...wanted it. Hadn't known that was what he wanted before Harry had suggested it, but now, well, Draco wanted it so badly he had trouble keeping his pants on.
He tucked his hands under his arse, sitting on them so they'd stay out of trouble. Troublesome hands. Bad hands. Bad, bad—
He glanced at Potter's hands once more. Oh god...
“If you're sure it's not too much trouble...” he said, hoping Potter hadn't picked up on the tremble in his voice.
“No trouble at all.” Harry insisted. “So, um, do you want to...” He gestured vaguely at Draco's trousers. “Or, should I just, you know, Evanesco—”
“No, you may not Vanish my trousers!” Draco protested.
“Well, off with them then.”
“Now?” Draco gaped. “You want to do this now?”
Harry shrugged.
Draco bit his lip. Eh, who was he kidding?
“Let's at least retire to my chambers,” he said, attempting to gain control of the situation, and stood up as steadily as he could to head purposefully from the room, leaving Potter no choice but to follow. He smiled despite himself as he heard Harry scrambling to keep up, but when he entered his room and went to undo his trousers, he suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. He was normally proud of his physique and had little trouble sharing it with inevitably eager wizards, but now he simply felt awkward and unattractive. Bloody feathers.
“Turn around,” he told Harry. “Don't watch.”
Harry's protest died on his lips when he saw Draco's face. “Fine,” he said, spinning to face the far wall.
Hesitating for a moment, Draco shook his head and hoped that this wasn't an even bigger mistake than fixing the damn Vanishing Cabinet. Was there any way at all this could actually end well? And if it didn't, well, there was every chance in the world their friendship—because it was that, even if he wasn't sure exactly how it had happened—well, likely that was bloody well over too.
He glanced towards the back of Potter's head, and in doing so, caught his reflection in the mirror above his dressing table. His wings were huge as they spread out from his back and his head feathers seemed to be in even more disarray than normal. Grimacing, he tucked a belligerent feather behind his ear. The mirror provided a less than kind reminder that he was a disaster. Potter's plan really did seem to be his best chance. Still, hope warred with worry in his stomach.
“Malfoy?” Potter startled him from his thoughts.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled in response. “Just a moment.”
Here goes nothing.
Quickly shucking his trousers and pants, Draco paused before deciding to pull off his robes as well. Then, naked as a jay bird, he tossed his clothing aside and climbed up onto his bed, scooting up to sit against his headboard, his wings spread wide behind him and only barely resisting the urge to cover his bits with his hands.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, Potter.”
Harry spun around slowly and held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before he swept his eyes down over Draco's body, stopping, finally, on Draco's prick.
“It's cold,” Draco said defensively. And he was nervous...
“You're fine,” Harry said, smiling slightly. “But here.” He cast a quick warming spell on the room.
“Thanks,” Draco cleared his throat.
“Sure.”
Draco shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, then, I'll just start, shall I?” Climbing onto the bed, Harry crawled up to sit beside him, tucking himself back against one of Draco's wings.
Squawk! Squaaaawk!
Draco startled as Pierre chose that moment to swoop into the bedroom, landing on Potter's shoulder and clamping his talons into Harry's skin before uttering loud caws that must have equated to owl battle cries before finally pecking at Potter's head. Harry screeched as Draco batted the bird away and grabbed his wand to banish it from the room.
“Sorry, Potter.” He flicked a healing spell at Harry's head, and a Reparo at the mess the owl had made of Harry's jumper. Thankfully, Potter seemed otherwise unafflicted.
“I..uh..well, no harm done, I suppose.” Potter rubbed his head, then looked at Draco expectantly.
Apparently Potter still wanted to proceed.
Draco was starting to really question the merits of Harry's plan, but before he could say as much, Harry shifted on the bed and awkwardly patted him on the thigh. “I..er...ahem. Back to it then, yeah?” Potter reached his hand out toward Draco's cock but then stopped and pulled back. “Do you, er, have any...Or, wait, no, I'll just...” Pulling out his wand again, Potter murmured a spell as he touched the tip to his fingers, which instantly appeared shiny and wet. “There. Much better. Smoother and...warm. And such.” Harry smiled at Draco quickly before reaching his hand out once more.
“Wait—” Draco stopped him because he couldn't not. “You really don't have to do this—”
“It's fine.”
“We'll find another way,” he insisted, his heart beating wildly in his throat.
“Just let me.”
“We shouldn't—”
“Good Godric, Malfoy! Just let me get you off already!” Harry smashed one hand across Draco's mouth to silence him and wrapped his other hot fist around Draco's prick and tugged on it.
“Mmafkngjsssshk,” Draco said into Harry's hand, as Harry's fingers slid over him. “Frhlvvvfffgdphf!”
“Oh! Sorry,” Harry said, his eyes widening as he jerked his hand away from Draco's prick and removed the other one from Draco's lips. “Was that not good?”
Draco tried to breathe normally. “I...no, it's fine.”
“Tell me.”
“I just wasn't ready.”
“Oh. Are you ready now?” Harry cocked his head.
Draco looked down at his prick, slightly shiny now with the oil from Potter's hand, but looking otherwise nearly as freaked out as he felt himself. Merlin what was wrong with him? The Saviour of the Wizarding world was sitting beside him offering a hand job, and Draco couldn't get himself together to enjoy it. Then again, it was an awful lot of pressure and he did feel more than a little like a science experiment. And it wasn't like he was at his best either, decked out in mottled plumage as he was. He frowned and shifted on the bed, wincing when his wing got stuck between Potter and his headboard. Ouch.
“Oh! Sorry!” Potter apologized, then scrambling forward to free Draco, losing his glasses and accidentally scratching Draco's thigh with his thumbnail as he did so. Draco yelped in response.
“Shit! Sorry, sorry!” Harry grabbed his wand and cast a quick healing spell along the angry red line on Draco's leg before realizing he'd gotten the slippery oil all over his wand and glasses—not to mention Draco's expensive sheets—in the process.
Draco sighed.
“Bugger. Eh, sorry? I'll, er, try again?” Stubborn as ever, Harry furrowed his brows in concentration as he leaned in and reached toward Draco's cock once more—unfortunately ill-timed yet again as Draco was in the process of stretching back to smooth the ruffled feathers of his wing. Draco ended up bonking Potter in the side of the head with his elbow.
“Ow!” Harry rubbed his head. “Merlin, you're pointy!”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Er, not pointy, exactly. Just sort of, er, well, you're particularly angular, that's all. The non-feathered parts, I mean.”
Draco raised his other brow to accompany the first. He may have accidentally injured the git, but Potter had no right critiquing Draco's body—naked and in all its feathered glory—while he himself was still fully clothed. That was simply unfair.
“I mean...”
This was just going from bad to worse. A complete disaster, really. “Potter, look, I don't think this is work—“
“No, no, it'll be fine. I promise. I'm usually really good at this!” Potter insisted, taking hold of Draco's limp prick once again, starting to run his fist along the length of it, his hand rough against Draco's skin. His tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth as he stroked Draco mercilessly, his other hand in a tight fist—knuckles white—resting on his lap. It was silent except for the sound of the clock ticking on his wall and the occasional squeak of the mattress when Harry shifted on his knees. Nearby, a house elf sneezed.
Draco had never felt less sexy in his life.
Harry must have seen the discomfort on his face. “Hmm, maybe just a bit more, er, oil, would feel good?” Potter asked. “Here, let's just, um...I'll just get more...” He flicked his wand directly at Draco's prick and Draco found himself covered in warm—no, hot, really, really hot—
“Fuck! That burns!” Draco shrieked as the slick substance coated his cock. He dashed off to the loo for a towel, his wing knocking Harry over as he climbed off the bed.
He heard Potter's apologies from the other room as he wiped himself off with a damp washcloth, but all Draco could think was that the universe clearly hated him. He was also certain that Potter had the worst ideas ever. How could he have been so stupid to go along with one?
It had to be the ridiculous Veela hormones clouding his thinking. Of course, he wasn't absolutely certain there were such a thing as Veela hormones, but it was either that or Draco himself had wanted to give it a go, and that was simply absurd.
“Sorry, Malfoy. Sometimes when I get nervous my magic gets a little...overexcited. I didn't want the oil to be cold so I—Shit. It doesn't even matter. I promise next time—”
“Next time?” Draco said with disbelief. “Next time? You want to do this again?” He cast a quick healing spell over his reddened prick and grabbed a towel and tied it around his waist. Potter had to be kidding.
Except he wasn't.
“I'm committed to getting rid of these feathers for you. Whatever it takes,” he insisted, his eyes on the ground. “I agreed to help and you're so miserable with them, so...” Potter shrugged. “It's not like I have anywhere else to be. I mean, even if you don't like me at all, you'll have get hard eventually...right? Maybe you need to close your eyes.” He looked up hopefully.
Draco pressed his hands to his face, already resigning himself to a lifetime of feathers. “I think you should go.”
“What? No, Draco—Malfoy—no. I can do this for you. Please. I'm usually really good at this.”
Draco ignored him. “One of the elves will show you out.” He summoned Lipton. “Take Potter to wash his hands and then see him to the Floo please,” he told the elf.
“But—”
“’Twas an experiment,” he muttered. “Only this, and nothing more.”
“But Malfoy, please,” Potter entreated, begging from his chamber door.
Quoth the manbird, “Nevermore.”
Draco closed his eyes as Lipton took Harry's arm and tugged him toward the door, glad that Potter had been so quickly whisked from the room because his eyes became glassy almost immediately. Sitting on the edge of his bath, he realized exactly how much he'd hoped Potter's crazy idea would work—and not just because it might make his feathers disappear. Deep down he knew that their now proven complete and utter physical incompatibility meant that the growing connection he'd felt with his former arch-enemy would always be limited to a completely platonic friendship. Salazar, he'd never felt so Hufflepuff in his life, whinging away about some stupid bloke...
Grabbing Potter's arm as they laughed. Potter helping him with any and every problem he could dream up. Potter's green eyes boring into his as Draco showed off on the dance floor.
Ugh. Stupid Potter. He couldn't believe they'd cocked it up so badly.
He rubbed his eyes with his hand, wondering how their friendship had gone from simple fun to stressful enough to leave him slightly sniffly and a little hollow.
~oOo~
Chewing on his lip, Draco re-read the note Harry's owl had just delivered.
Sorry. I don't know what happened. I choked, I guess. And you clearly weren't interested so I shouldn't have forced it. Can we still be friends? We don't have to mention it again. Unspeakable, remember? -HP
Harry had to have sent the letter the instant he got home and of course proper etiquette demanded Draco's prompt response to the apologetic missive. Grabbing his quill and a slip of parchment, he scribbled a reply.
I shouldn't have agreed to it.
My level of interest was entirely irrelevant.
Apology accepted, but we're never doing it again.
For an Unspeakable, you sure to talk a lot.
Why is it that everything was so much easier when I hated you, Potter?
Yes; we're still friends. -DM
He fed Potter's owl a treat and handed over his reply, opening the window above his writing desk so the bird could be on its way. He then tried to return to the novel he'd been reading before the interruption, but had trouble concentrating. His mind circled around the fact that he had to write a letter to his mother the next day. As much as he didn't want to worry her, he had to face the fact that the Veela transformation was going to be a permanent part of his life, so she probably needed to know. He sighed. Pansy and Blaise, too. He'd need to tell them, as well; he couldn't put them off forever. Chicken pox followed by the bird flu? He couldn't believe they'd actually bought his excuses for his extended absence.
Tomorrow was looking to be fabulous, he thought, turning back to his novel.
He'd read the same page four times when he heard Potter's owl at the window again. Sighing, he put down his book.
Great. That's really great.
I'll try to come up with another way to get rid of your feathers, I promise.
-HP
Draco's head was starting to hurt. He picked up his quill and turned the note over.
Look, why don't we take a break for a few days? The feathers aren't exactly going anywhere and I've had my fill of being your charity case turned experiment. I need some time. -DM
He sent the bird back again, this time locking the window and drawing the curtains behind him. He'd had enough for one night and any future correspondence could certainly wait until morning. He then sent Bitsy for some headache potion and tea, the combination of which he hoped would improve the remainder of his evening.
He was nodding off, sprawled out on the sofa, his book forgotten and fallen to the floor, when his Floo flared nearly an hour later.
Lifting his head from the cushion and blinking his eyes open, Draco groaned heartily.
Potter. Again.
“Look, I know you said you needed time,” Harry said before Draco could ask him to leave. “But you didn't respond to my owl and I couldn't let you think that's what I thought.”
“Potter, trust me when I say that I rarely envision you actually thinking.”
“Yeah, yeah. Haha, very funny,” Potter said as he walked over and sat down by Draco's feet at the far end of the sofa. “Now shut your mouth and just listen, will you?”
Draco rolled his eyes.
“Look, Draco, I don't...I never thought of you as an experiment and certainly not a charity case. I mean, you may hate your new wings—which I really do think we'll find a way to get rid of—but you really should know how gorgeous they are, and how incredibly sexy you look with them. I couldn't stand the thought of you with those strangers from the club touching you because I wanted you. Not as a science experiment, you berk, but because I think you're so hot with those damn feathers that I can't seem to stay away. I hoped maybe my magic would be enough to make your Veela side want me back, but I guess that's not the case, so I'll leave you alone. But please understand I wasn't offering because I pitied you. I just...wanted you. And finding a way to get rid of your wings was a convenient excuse to have you, even just a little. I thought maybe you could want me too, if I could just make you feel good.” Harry paused, scrubbing his fingers through his dark hair. “Fuck. I've messed it up. Clearly you didn't want me at all and I've made everything a giant mess. I'll go now, but for Godric's sake, I was not doing it because I pitied you, and if you felt like it was all a giant experiment, that's only because I was somehow hiding how I felt.”
Harry stood and walked to the fireplace and reached for the Floo powder before putting it back and turning around. “You're completely ridiculous, you know. You are impossibly finicky; you care way too much about etiquette and pedicures and the year on wine labels; you call your house elves by the wrong names. And you spend way too much time in front of a mirror every morning making your hair all shiny.” Potter put his hands on his hips. “And I must be completely barmy because I like you anyway,” he huffed. “Sometimes I wish they'd assigned other Unspeakables to the Manor last year. You drive me absolutely mad and you have no fucking idea. It was easier when I just hated you back in school. But no, I had to get to know you and find out that you're so bloody charming that I can't get enough of you.”
Harry paused and scratched his neck. “Fuck. I just like you, okay? Fuck.”
Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he turned toward Draco. “Happy? Now you know. So go on, gloat. But if you think for even one moment that I didn't want to be with you earlier, that I wasn't half devastated that it didn't work, then you're out of your bloody mind.”
Potter studied him for a moment before throwing his hands in the air. “I must be insane.” He turned back and reached for the Floo powder once more, taking a pinch as he prepared to leave.
“Wait, Potter.” Draco sighed, stood up, and summoned a house elf. “Lipton, can you please see to Potter's glasses?”
Potter sighed. “That's Bitsy.”
“Fine, Bitsy, can you take care of that please?”
When she nodded, Draco turned back to Potter. “They're still smudged from earlier and it's making me crazy,” he explained as the house elf disappeared to remove the oily fingerprints.
“Now,” Draco continued. “What exactly did you hope to accomplish with this grand confession of yours?”
Potter's mouth dropped open. “You know what? Nothing. I have no idea what I was thinking. I'm leaving. Have Bitsy send back my glasses when she has a moment. I'll wear my contacts until then.”
“I will not have you putting those Muggle contraptions near your already terrible eyes, you pillock.”
“Then send her sooner,” Potter sniped, stepping up into Draco's face.
“Don't be an arse,” Draco said, utterly unable to stop staring at Harry's lips.
“Me?” Potter looked incredulous. “You're the—”
“Don't you say it.”
“Don't you say it,” Harry countered.
“That doesn't even make—Ugh. You were right. It was much easier when I hated you, too.” Draco spit.
Harry glared at him, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide and bright thanks to the missing glasses. Draco glared right back. And when exactly had he memorized the exact green of Potter's eyes?
“Yeah, well, you use too much moisturiser!”
Draco gasped. “You take that back!”
“No! It makes your nose shiny and you always smell like cherry syrup!'
“Well your hair looks like a bird's nest!”
“You would know!” Harry retorted.
“I hate you, Harry Potter!” And I especially hate that I like you.
“I hate you back, Draco Malfoy!” Harry said just before reaching and wrapping his hands around the back of Draco's neck, pulling him down as he angled his own face up. “And now I'm going to kiss you!”
“Fine!” Draco licked his lips.
“Fine!” Potter's kiss was urgent, heated. Draco would've hated it, except he loved it.
"I hate you," Draco insisted, pulling apart slightly, but Potter simply swept his tongue over Draco's bottom lip before kissing him again.
Draco kissed him back. “I really—” He opened his mouth to Potter, who moaned slightly in response. “Really—” Harry's tongue was in his mouth. Harry's tongue was in his mouth. “Hate you.” Draco fisted Harry's robes as Harry dragged his teeth over Draco's tongue. “Despise you, in fact.”
It was messy and wonderful and bloody terrifying. His pulse raced and his whole body flushed, betraying him.
“Yeah?” Harry released him, running one hand down Draco's neck, over his shoulder, and then along the top of his wing.
Draco groaned. Fucking wings. “God, don't touch them,” he begged. “Please. They're hideous.”
Harry took a rough breath. “They're not.” He grabbed Draco's waist and pulled him closer, using his other hand to run his hand over Draco's half-feathered head. “I rather like them, actually.” He blushed a little.
Draco swallowed. “So you've said.”
“I mean it.”
Harry reached out again to Draco's wing. Shuddering, Draco's eyes closed involuntarily as Harry ran his hand over the feathers there.
“They're repulsive,” he whispered. “Please don't.”
“Not to me.” He pulled Draco into another searing kiss, and Draco found himself fisting Harry's robes.
“I still hate you,” Draco clarified.
“I know.” Harry bit at Draco's lip.
“Take off your shirt,” he breathed.
Harry's eyes burned into his. “Yeah?”
Draco nodded once, and Harry released him, stepping back to peel his shirt over his head, exposing the flat of his abdomen, the smooth skin of chest, his impressive shoulders, his muscled arms. Turning to toss his shirt aside, Potter flexed and moved in a way that made Draco's mouth go dry. He was stronger than he looked, far more toned than Draco expected. He supposed being an Unspeakable must equate to extensive physical training.
Needing to touch him, Draco stepped up to Harry, trailing his hand up Harry's arm, over his shoulder, and down over his chest, feeling Potter tremble slightly under his touch. His skin was so soft over the hard muscles, even though Draco was almost certain Potter hadn't applied a moisturising lotion in his life. The lack of feathers didn't hurt either. As Harry's mouth found his again, Draco pinched his nipple. The git deserved it for being so bloody perfect without even trying.
“I want you,” Harry said, pressing his mouth along Draco's jawline. “I have...for a while.”
Draco groaned. He'd never expected anyone to want him again. Not like he was. And here was Harry bloody Potter, saying that very thing, seemingly unconcerned about the traitorous blood in his veins and its unfortunate side effects.
Sliding behind him, Harry kissed down his neck and buried his head at the junction where Draco's wings emerged from his back, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind. He pressed his open mouth between Draco's shoulders. “I want you.”
Draco could feel his heart beating in his throat. “Don't,” he begged as Harry dragged his tongue along Draco's skin.
He reached for Harry's hands, placing his fingers over Harry's. Harry's thumb stroked small circles into his skin and everywhere that Potter touched, Draco felt like he was on fire.
Harry raised his head to whisper in Draco's ear, pulling him tight against his body, his breath ghosting across Draco's skin. “They're beautiful. You're beautiful.”
“Harry...” Draco groaned. Even through Harry's Muggle jeans and his own clothes, he could feel the pressure of Harry's prick against his arse. Draco pressed back against him.
Harry breathed out, a ragged puff across his neck. "Draco."
Prying Harry's hands from him, Draco spun around, reaching for the buckle of Harry's belt, his own cock hardening automatically in response to Harry this time around, even if Draco's heart was still unsettled.
The look in Harry's eyes, though...
Leaning his forehead against Harry's, Draco unfastened the belt and moved to the button and then the zip of Harry's jeans. Slipping his hand down from Harry's navel, he inched it just under the elastic of his pants but no farther, feeling the incredible heat of Harry's skin as he teased him.
“Now it's my turn to hate you,” Harry chuckled breathlessly as Draco continued to rub his thumb along Harry's hip.
Draco pulled him into a rough, desperate kiss—kisses, surely—that made desire flare in his stomach.
With a deep breath, Draco finally pulled back, dragging his thumb over Potter's lips. “Undress me, you wretch. And if you use an Evanesco I'll let Pierre have his way with you.”
Harry took Draco's thumb into his mouth, running his teeth over the soft pad as Draco slowly pulled it back out. “You're more my type,” he teased as he began to unfasten the buttons of Draco's robes. Draco was tempted to reprimand him for his less than delicate treatment of the garments, but Harry's eagerness was too endearing, and his haste too unequivocal a reminder of demanding need they shared. Within moments, Draco's robes were pulled up over his wings and tossed aside, and with a soft slide, his trousers also fell to the floor, discarded. The two of them then made short work of Potter's jeans.
He reached for Potter's hip, pulling him closer. “Nice pants,” he smirked, admiring the dark green underpants and tugging at the elastic slightly so it snapped back against Harry's waist.
Potter chuckled. “What about you? Did a Gryffindor dress you this morning?” Harry grabbed Draco's arse and squeezed his bum through the material of his maroon underpants.
“Certainly not,” Draco said haughtily. “Although they're not completely useless at the undressing part.”
Draco wiped the grin off Harry's face by reaching between them and palming Potter's prick. Groaning, Harry pushed him backwards until the back of his legs met the sofa. He sat back as Harry stood between his legs and Draco looked up at him, ran his hands up over Potter's abdomen, simply delighting in the way Harry's muscles reacted to his touch.
Harry reached down to him then, leaned in to kiss him hungrily before falling to his knees where Draco sat. He pressed a kiss to Draco's knee. “Merlin, you're beautiful,” he said, trailing his fingernails up Draco's thighs, and pressed a palm against Draco's cock. “And so hard for me.”
Raising his hips in response, Draco arched into Harry's hands. His cock ached.
Harry bit his lip. “Raise up for me,” he asked Draco, lightly slapping the outside of his thigh. When Draco did, Harry carefully pulled the pants over his cock and down his legs until they pooled on the floor, forgotten. “Fucking gorgeous.”
Draco groaned.
Harry looked up from Draco's prick to catch his eye. “You are, you know.”
There was a time Draco would have agreed with him. For now though, he supposed it was enough to believe that Harry believed it. He pulled Harry up in to a scorching kiss, his hands wrapped in Harry's hair. Potter leaned over him on the couch, one hand bracing himself against the back and the other reaching between them to wrap around Draco's prick.
Draco's breath caught in his throat as Harry stroked along his cock, and their kisses became messy as the look of Harry's fist around Draco's cock drew their attention.
It was all he could do to keep breathing as he watched, mesmerized as Harry slid back the foreskin and ran his thumb over the head of his cock.
“Can I taste you?”
“Fuck yes,” Draco hissed as Harry stroked him once, twice more, and then knelt on the floor once again between his legs. Draco slid forward and parted his thighs wider and was gratified by the look of pure lust on Harry's face. Gripping the base of Draco's cock, Harry pressed the head against his mouth, rubbing the precome there over his wet, reddened lips and causing Draco to claw at the sofa cushions. He then trailed his tongue along the underside of Draco's length, over the head and back down, lightly enough to be teasing and more than enough to drive Draco mad.
“Potter, Potter, Potter, Potter...” Draco chanted. “Fuck, Harry.”
Harry lapped at the tip again before finally opening his mouth, sucking in the head of Draco's prick as he stroked his hand along the base.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck.” Draco grunted as Harry sucked him harder, deeper, as he cupped Draco's balls and twisted his fist along Draco's length.
Harry was right; he was good at this. Draco's world went hazy.
And—oh, fuck—Harry was...he was wanking as he did it. Draco could see him reaching down between his legs. He was stroking himself as he blew Draco. Throwing his head back and pinching his eyes shut, Draco arched up into Harry's hot mouth. Bloody hell.
Harry swallowed around him and Draco grunted. “Fuck. Harry, fuck.”
Sitting back on his knees, Harry released him with a pop, and Draco reached for his own cock, shiny and wet, stroking it lightly as Harry caught his breath.
“Fuck me, Potter.”
Harry groaned, reaching to Draco, sliding their tongues together and catching Draco's mouth in a messy kiss. He got to his feet, peeling his pants the rest of the way off and letting them fall to the feet.
“You want me to fuck you, Draco Malfoy?” Harry's voice was husky and Draco barely suppressed a whimper. His blood pulsed; his cock throbbed. He wanted Harry. Needed him. Desperately. Fucking Potter.
He kissed Potter roughly, reaching between them to stroke Harry's prick. “Unless you're not interested...”
A whining sound emerged from Potter's throat.
“I'll take that as a yes,” Draco said. “Lie down, Potter. On your back,” he added, thinking of his wings, awkward and exceptionally in the way, as always.
Potter couldn't have reached to the floor faster if Draco'd cast a Stupify on him. Kneeling down on the plush carpeting, Draco situated himself over Potter's waist, reaching behind him to take Harry in hand, stroking him as Potter writhed beneath him. He grabbed Harry's wand from where it had been discarded on the floor, using it to cast a charm on his hand—Merlin knew he'd learned earlier not to trust Harry with that particular spell—and then ran his fingers over Harry's dick, slicking him. He then lifted up on his knees enough that he could slip a finger into himself. He watched Harry watch him, lips parted, eyes blown.
“Fuck,” Harry breathed, staring as Draco added another finger, his cock bobbing against his stomach as he stretched himself, his wings spread wide open behind him.
“I'm going to ride you now,” Draco informed Potter when he was finally ready, positioning himself over Harry's cock and carefully pressing back onto it. He slid down slowly, taking Potter into him, watching Potter's muscles tense as Draco stretched around the head of his dick. Scrabbling to grasp at the rug below him for leverage, Harry rocked up and Draco sucked in a harsh breath as he felt Potter fill his arse with one long burning stroke. When he slammed down again on Harry's prick, he cried out despite himself.
Grasping his arse and holding him tight, pulling him tighter, Harry again and again lifted his hips from the floor to move with Draco, pressing into him roughly and making Draco delirious with need. Draco braced himself on Harry's stomach as Harry thrust into him, making his cock bounce and his breathing uneven.
Harry's hair was damp when Draco reached down to brush it out of his eyes—green, green eyes that he suspected could see right through him, should Harry ever put his mind to it. Intoxicating.
Draco leaned down, slowing their rhythm to catch Potter's mouth with his, needing the taste of Potter on his tongue, sucking and licking at his mouth before pressing open mouthed kisses along the salty, sweaty skin of Harry's throat.
Harry moaned and wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him tightly as Draco rolled his hips slowly on Potter's cock while they kissed. Reaching up and running his hand over Draco's wing, Harry looked at him with a sort of awe, his eyes glazed. “God, Draco, you're so fucking beautiful.”
Draco's heart raced and his arse burned but seven hells, he wanted more still—more of Harry, more of his cock, more of his mouth, whatever he could get. Groaning, he sat back up, giving Harry more leverage to fill him, to shove his cock deep in Draco's arse with every frantic jerk of his hips.
The look on Harry's face was breathtaking. His cheeks were flushed and his forehead tensed as he grunted, and Draco was fairly certain he had never ever seen anything more arousing in his life.
Breathing hard, Draco reached for his cock, stroking himself as Harry moved in him, barely matching Potter's rhythm and already feeling the urgent need to come as waves of delicious sensation rolled through him. Potter's hips lifted him from the floor with each violent thrust and Draco's head fell back as he cried out, a keening sound he didn't know himself capable of on his lips. Pressure raced through his nerves and he pinched his eyes shut against the onslaught. He was coming, coming...
His toes curled and his muscles tensed until they could tense no further and he came with a choked cry, jerking and shuddering and coming completely undone as Potter held him against his body, Draco's come shooting hot and sticky between them.
His head fell forwards and he was still trembling, his heart racing, when Potter began to move again. Draco widened his hips to give Harry more room, smearing the come on his hand along Harry's abdomen as he braced himself for the erratic, desperate thrusts.
With a final jerk, Harry gasped and latched on to Draco's hips, holding him in a bruising grip as he shuddered and came. Draco trailed his fingers over Potter's abdomen as the muscles there tensed and released. And when Harry craned his neck up for a kiss, Draco obliged, tangling his fingers in the dark hair of the Boy Who (somehow, when he wasn't looking) Captured His Heart.
~oOo~
When Draco woke the next morning, he felt lighter.
It was very possibly because his wings were gone.
Every single feather. Gone.
Draco hooted with glee as he realized his newest appendages had seen themselves fit to disappear in the night. He dashed over to the mirror and examined the skin of his chest—smooth again, thank Merlin. His hair was messy from sleep but entirely lacking in feathers and his back barely even had scars where the wings had been.
A small snuffle came from the lump in the blankets on the bed. Evidently Harry had managed to worm his way into Draco's bed after their activities the evening before...
Potter. The night before.
Potter.
Potter.
Sex. With Harry Potter. Had gotten rid of his wings!
Draco did a little victory dance, a huge grin lighting up his face. It wasn't ideal, of course, but—who was he kidding? Mandatory sex with Potter? That wasn't exactly a chore, now was it?
“Potter!” Draco poked at him. “Potter!”
The groggy form grunted, still largely balled up beneath his comforter, the shock of black hair in stark contrast to the ivory pillow upon which it rested.
“Potter!” Draco tried again, poking at the covered lump. “Harry!”
A face, red from being smushed against the pillow, blinked open at last. “Yeah? What is it? Merlin, it's barely dawn!” He yawned.
“My wings, you git! They're gone!” Draco spun around, showing off his smooth pale flesh.
“Your...they're...gone?” Harry blinked at him.
“Thanks to you!” Draco exclaimed, pouncing on the bed and pressing a kiss to Potter's sleepy mouth.
“I—oh.” Harry scratched his head, his forehead slightly furrowed. “That's...well, good. I...yeah. That's great. I mean, I did kinda like the—”
“And now, I will proceed to thank you.” Draco clucked, climbing off the bed only to move to the foot, lifting the myriad of blankets enough to duck under them, and squirm his way up along Potter's body, sucking and licking at the various delicious morsels of flesh he encountered along the way until Potter's morning wood became property of one delightfully unfeathered Draco Malfoy.
Draco was happily slurping away beneath the covers as Harry responded with delightful whining noises when he heard an insistent pecking sound coming from his bedroom window. “Ignore it,” Draco instructed from between Potter's legs.
“Uh, I think we should probably let the bird in though. It looks like a Ministry Express owl.”
Draco huffed. “It'll wait.”
“No, I really think...”
Draco crawled up toward the head of the bed, popping his head from beneath the sheets, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Potter's shoulder. “Fine. Let it in,” he pouted.
Shoving the blankets aside, Harry walked over to the window, his cock heavy and full from Draco's attention and his arse pale and round and perfect. Harry opened the window, claiming the letter it bore. “Huh,” he said, looking at it curiously. “It's for me.”
“Well done. Now, come back to bed.”
“Right, sure,” Harry said distractedly, slipping his finger beneath the seal of the note. “Oh, it's the results from that diagnostic allergy test we did on you a few days ago, to see if there was a particular substance that was triggering the wings and feathers to be permanent.” He glanced up. “The results always take a while so I had it rush owled as soon as they were done.”
He studied the paperwork for a few moments, frowning. “Almond extract.” He looked at Draco. “I thought you said you weren't eating anything on that list I sent you.”
“I didn't!” Draco exclaimed. “Anyway, why does it matter? Our rather spectacular shagging was enough to cause the feathers to go away.” Draco got up from the bed and moved over to Harry, standing behind him and wrapping Potter up in his arms. Resting his chin on Potter's shoulder, he glanced at the results for a second before deciding it was far too boring to read before breakfast.
“It's just...odd. If you're not...then why are the levels in your system so high?” Harry mused.
Draco shrugged, releasing Harry and wandering into his closet to retrieve his favourite moisturiser from its location on the back shelf. Now that he was no longer a hideously feathered monster, he'd better start in again on his regular regimen. He looked in the mirror. His neck still looked fantastic, but he was once again thankful that Pansy had shared her new recipe for the lotion; one could never be too careful, after all. Besides, he'd missed using it; he loved the way it smelled and the way the rich cream felt on his skin. He levitated his other favourites back to his dressing table as well before delightfully smearing the moisturising cream over his face and neck. He hummed happily.
Finally putting the letter down, Potter came over to him, reaching for his waist as he waited for Draco to finish and tilting his head for a kiss after Draco had.
“Cherries, again.” Potter laughed. “It's the lotion, I guess. Makes you always smell like cherry or almo—”
Draco's eyes widened and he looked at Potter who was frowning. “Draco, what's in that moisturiser?”
Aloe Vera.
Lanolin.
Grapeseed oil
Ground dittany.
Shy virgin oatmeal.
Rabbit tail fluff.
Balsam of Peru.
Muggle eyelashes.
Thrice purified Seine river water.
And almond extract to balance the other ingredients and prevent the small -to medium-sized explosion that would otherwise surely result when the oatmeal merged with the eyelashes.
Fuck. Draco shook his head. “No, no. It can't be. Not the moisturiser!” he set down the container as though it were alight in Fiendfyre.
Shaking his head, Harry retrieved the allergy test results once again, pointing at them. “Your levels are through the roof! No wonder your wings wouldn't retreat! Merlin, Draco, how much of that stuff do you use?”
Draco looked affronted. “A man never tells his secrets.”
Harry snorted. “You're insane.”
“Does that mean I can't use the cream anymore?” Draco frowned. He had nearly eight full cauldrons of it already prepared in his potions stores. That was nearly enough for a full week!
Harry grinned. “I suppose that's up to you.”
Draco bit his lip. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you want to remain as you are now, I would strongly encourage you to avoid it. Then again—”
“Spit it out, Potter.”
“Let's just say, if you decide to continue using it once in a while, because, for instance, you decide the side effects are worth it, well, I'd be inclined to agree.” Harry smiled.
“You really did like them, the feathers...”
“I really did,” Harry said. “They were beautiful. And you were always sort of glowing despite yourself.”
“Hmm. But the shagging certainly didn't hurt.”
“Huh?” Potter looked confused. “Who said anything abou—”
“The shagging. I think, perhaps, if you're amenable, we should continue. With the shagging. Just in case.”
“Ahh.” Potter grinned, and grabbed Draco's hip, pulling him tightly against his nude form. “Yes, that might be wise. In your condition. Just to be safe.”
Draco nodded, and stepped backwards until he felt the bed behind his knees. He pulled Harry down with him when he fell back onto the soft surface.
“Brilliant,” Harry breathed, pulling Draco into a deep kiss, entirely ignoring the deranged squawks of envy emanating from Pierre François's cage as they snogged until well past breakfast.
Author
icmezzoPairing(s): Harry/Draco
Word Count: ~16.5k
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Horny owls, impressive cocks, Grey Goose, and jokes that aren't actually funny.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Draco is all atwitter when he wakes up on his birthday with a few unexpected feathers. Suspecting foul play, he enlists Harry to help him get rid of his unfortunate birden—er, burden.
~oOo~
Three days of intensive moping and self-pity later, Draco finally changed out of his pyjamas, took a bath, and put on clean socks.
Potter's initially terse correspondence had become increasingly frequent and concerned in tone as the days passed and Draco's mental state became obvious through his morose responses. Eventually, Harry had informed Draco that he'd be coming by after work Friday, whether Draco wanted him to or not. And since Draco himself was undecided on the matter, and didn't have the energy to fight the stubborn sod regardless, he instructed Funky and Lipton to open the Floo and prepare for Potter's arrival. A bit of depression was no reason to be inhospitable.
When Potter arrived, he refused to accept a seat, instead pacing back and forth before Draco's sitting room hearth. Draco sat on the sofa and just watched, pulling a blanket over himself as he curled up into a little ball. Well, a little ball with giant ugly wings anyway...
“It just doesn't make sense,” Potter said, whirling on his right foot to spin and head back in the opposite direction. “Doesn't make sense.”
Step, step, step, spin. Step, step, step, spin.
“I doesn't. It just doesn't!” Step, step, step, spin. “Even full Veela, they're only bird-like when under extreme duress. Angry, or protective of their mate, or whatever. They always change back.”
Step, step, step, spin.
“We examined known triggers—but you said you haven't had any of those things recently...” He turned to Draco. “You haven't, have you?”
Draco shook his head and Potter resumed his walking, chewing on his fingernail when he wasn't mumbling to himself.
Step, step (chew), step, spin.
“And all of the common treatments Mungo's uses for overwrought Veela to get them to settle haven't worked...making sure they're rested and fed so their blood sugar is stable and that they've...mated. And such.”
“Yes, Potter,” Draco whined. “I've spent the last three days in bed sleeping, the house elves have always made sure I've eaten well, and shagging sure didn't work.”
He didn't miss Potter's cringe, but Harry simply scratched the back of his neck and went back to pacing. Step, step, step, spin.
Watching Harry pace, Draco couldn't help but notice Potter possessed what he decided was a particularly excellent bum. Well, excellent if one appreciated a nice arse clad in reasonably tight denims, that is. (Draco did.)
“Yeah, that really should've worked though. I mean, that's the reason Veela have their innate allure, to be able to ensure regular mating with their partners,” Potter explained. Step (chew), step, step, spin.
“Well, I wouldn't say I've had regular mating,” Draco mumbled. “It was only the once, after all, since the feathers showed up on my birthday, and it was good, but...” He shrugged. It was disturbing to know that he was going to require heavy glamours every time he wanted to get laid in the foreseeable future, not that he was about to share that with Harry. “Wasn't particularly memorable, necessarily, other than the fact that it was a Muggle I was with. I still can't believe I did that,” Draco mused, aiming to avoid the subject. “What was in that drink?”
Step, step, step, spin. Step, step (chew), step, spin.
“You only went once? I thought...”
Draco shook his head. “Twice. But no one really appealed to me the second time, so I left.”
“No one appealed to you? There are always tons of fit blokes there.” Step, step, step, spin.
“I know, Potter, but I just wasn't interested, okay?” Draco knew he sounded defensive but couldn't seem to help it.
Step, step.
Stop.
Potter turned slowly to face Draco, arching his eyebrow in a way that would have been most impressive if it had been adequately plucked. Then again, Draco was in need of more than a little plucking himself these days. He grimaced.
“And why weren't you interested?” Potter paused. “And don't say because they were Muggles, because you looked plenty interested when you were out on the dance floor the night I was there.”
“Well, I wasn't the second time. Would you just leave it alone, Potter.”
“Tell me.”
“Piss off.”
“C'mon. Just tell me.”
Groaning, Draco put his head in his hands. “Because I'm covered in feathers, you arse. Not just feathers, either. Giant, ugly spotted half-deformed feathers, in stupid clumps and wretched patches. It's repulsive. I'm repulsive. So, yes, the men at the bar were fine. But I wasn't interested, okay? Not interested in another shag with some Muggle who liked the look of me covered in twelve glamours and a costume made partly of centaur toys. Because that's not me. This,” he gestured at himself, “This is me. I may not have known it, but it is. It's in my blood. I'm hideous. Fuck. You try getting off in some dirty back hallway of a bloody club with your back aching because your wings are smashed against the wall, all the while you know, deep down, that you're completely undesirable, if only the bloke could see the real you. Let me tell you, it takes quite a lot of effort to get off under the circumstances. So forgive me, Potter, but I'm really not interested in another quick one-off with some Muggle stranger at the moment, much less trying to trick one into doing it regularly. Now can we please come up with a different theory for getting rid of these bloody feathers because, needless to say, the whole regular sex bit is not going to work.” Draco huffed, pulled the blanket up around him defensively and stared at his fingers, completely unable to believe he'd just admitted all that to stupid Potter.
“Merlin, Draco.” Harry stopped and faced him. “Do you really not see yourself?”
Draco didn't buy it for a moment and he hated being placated. “Don't, Potter. I don't want another one of your pep talks about how you think feathers are beautiful. Maybe they are, sometimes, pristine white elegant ones like Fleur's cousin has or ink black and powerful like the Harpies' spokesperson. But not mine and not on me. So just stop, okay? Stop.”
Harry frowned and sat down on the floor with his back against the sofa near where Draco sat. “Fine. So what you are saying is that you only shagged once, under subpar conditions.”
“That's what I said.”
“Well that's hardly adequate testing of my strongest theory.”
Draco glared at the back of Potter's head. “Yes, well, come up with another one. It isn't going to happen.”
Harry examined his fingernails. “Well, what if it did?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly higher than normal.
“Bloody hell, Potter! I know you want to be right. And probably you want to help as usual, but you've got to give it up. I'm not going back to the Muggle club. We've got to find another way to get rid of the wings.”
“And not only did you shag under subpar conditions,” Harry continued, ignoring Draco entirely, “But it wasn't exactly with someone you'd call a partner, right?”
Draco snorted, shifting in his seat to stretch his wings.
“That's what I thought. A bloke would need to have magic to deal with you on a regular basis.”
“Hey! That's—well, no, that's true, actually.” Draco nodded. “Not that it matters, mind you. No more random one-offs.”
“It does seem that it'd be pointless to shag anyone you didn't consider a worthy partner, at least.” Harry chewed on his nail again.
“Finally, we agree on something. Now, can we come up with some other—”
“I suppose you'll just have to shag a wizard then.” Harry spoke right over top of Draco. “A powerful one, probably, so your Veela bloodlines would respect it.”
Draco sighed. “You're mental. I'm not—”
“And more than once, I think. To make up for the time without. I bet your Veela parts would appreciate that,” Harry continued.
“Potter,” Draco growled. As if he hadn't already felt shitty enough, Potter insisted on emphasizing how slim his chances were to ever get another cock in his bed once, much less repeatedly. “Enough.”
“What?” Potter turned to him then, his eyes intent on Draco's.
“Stop. No one will—”
“I will.”
Draco froze. “What did you say?”
“I'll do it.” Potter's eyes were so very green, locked on Draco's, and his mouth was set, almost daring Draco to accept.
“No. No way, Potter. You're not going to pity shag me, you imbecile.”
“Of course not.”
“Right, then it's settled. Can we please move on?”
“What if I want to do it for you.”
“Son of a Muggle—You're mad! Stark raving! Not only is it a supremely terrible idea to imagine that we could ever have...relations...without hexing each other's bits, but have you seen me?”
“Well, I'd tell you again that I think you're gorgeous with your feathers, but you don't seem inclined to believe me. And I have no interest in hexing your bits. Possibly your stupid stubborn head, but not your bits.”
Draco almost believed him. “I'm pretty sure that's not in the Unspeakable handbook.”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But yours isn't an official case, after all. It's just one mate offering to help another.”
“Is that what we are? Mates?”
“Well, I thought...I mean, you Firecall all the time with these ridiculous problems that can't possibly be real—present wings excepted, of course—so I figured, maybe, that meant you wanted to be mates.”
“My problems are all real,” Draco sniffed.
“The time we went on the wild goose chase to find your missing pants?”
“How was I to know Lipton had washed them?”
“Bitsy washed them,” Potter corrected. “And the time you needed help finishing the wine?”
“Didn't want to be wasteful,” Draco replied.
“Even the time when you couldn't unzip your robes in the back?”
“It was stuck.”
“You have elves.”
“They're too short.”
“I'm not particularly tall...” Potter's eyes danced.
“Fine.” Draco threw his arms into the air, ignoring the speckled feather that came loose and danced through the air until it landed on Potter's arm. “We're mates.”
“And you know what mates do?”
“Get each other off?” Draco rolled his eyes.
“Well, I was going to say they help each other, but if you insist...”
Draco groaned. “We're not shagging.”
“I don't think we'd need to full on shag, necessarily. I think if I just helped get you off, that'd be enough.” Harry paused. “Do you think the Veela part of you would like that?”
Yes. No. Yes. Fuck. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh.” Harry frowned. “Maybe I'm not the right person then.”
“For Salazar's sake. It's not that, you tit.” The idea of Potter touching him like that—Merlin! But he was equal parts terrified and eager, not that he would admit that to Harry.
“Then why not? I know it seems a bit crazy, but I won't mind. You can just, I dunno, close your eyes. And I'll...do the rest. It'll give me a chance to test my theory and stuff.” Harry bit his lip. His cheeks were bright pink.
“I can't let you do that.”
“I...I wouldn't mind. I like to help...people. And stuff.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
“Do you have a better one?”
Draco put his face in his hands. “No,” he whined. Glancing up, he saw Harry looking inordinately pleased with himself. “And how exactly do you envision this would proceed? Not that we're actually doing it.”
“Um, I don't know, actually. I hadn't really thought about it. We'll just have to wing it. Maybe we could go to your bed and I could just sit next to you and, er, you know. Help you wank.”
As he pictured the scene, Draco unconsciously glanced at Potter's hands; they were larger and rougher than his own, his fingers thick and strong. This plan was absolutely the most terrible idea ever, he decided as he felt his cheeks flame. Merlin, he wasn't getting enough oxygen to his brain either.
He swallowed. Twice.
“I...er...do you really think it will make my wings go away?”
“Would I offer to do it otherwise?” Potter laughed nervously.
Draco, now that he'd imagined Potter's suggestion, was now having trouble turning off the section of his brain that was focused entirely on the offer. He could see it. See it. And he sort of...wanted it. Hadn't known that was what he wanted before Harry had suggested it, but now, well, Draco wanted it so badly he had trouble keeping his pants on.
He tucked his hands under his arse, sitting on them so they'd stay out of trouble. Troublesome hands. Bad hands. Bad, bad—
He glanced at Potter's hands once more. Oh god...
“If you're sure it's not too much trouble...” he said, hoping Potter hadn't picked up on the tremble in his voice.
“No trouble at all.” Harry insisted. “So, um, do you want to...” He gestured vaguely at Draco's trousers. “Or, should I just, you know, Evanesco—”
“No, you may not Vanish my trousers!” Draco protested.
“Well, off with them then.”
“Now?” Draco gaped. “You want to do this now?”
Harry shrugged.
Draco bit his lip. Eh, who was he kidding?
“Let's at least retire to my chambers,” he said, attempting to gain control of the situation, and stood up as steadily as he could to head purposefully from the room, leaving Potter no choice but to follow. He smiled despite himself as he heard Harry scrambling to keep up, but when he entered his room and went to undo his trousers, he suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. He was normally proud of his physique and had little trouble sharing it with inevitably eager wizards, but now he simply felt awkward and unattractive. Bloody feathers.
“Turn around,” he told Harry. “Don't watch.”
Harry's protest died on his lips when he saw Draco's face. “Fine,” he said, spinning to face the far wall.
Hesitating for a moment, Draco shook his head and hoped that this wasn't an even bigger mistake than fixing the damn Vanishing Cabinet. Was there any way at all this could actually end well? And if it didn't, well, there was every chance in the world their friendship—because it was that, even if he wasn't sure exactly how it had happened—well, likely that was bloody well over too.
He glanced towards the back of Potter's head, and in doing so, caught his reflection in the mirror above his dressing table. His wings were huge as they spread out from his back and his head feathers seemed to be in even more disarray than normal. Grimacing, he tucked a belligerent feather behind his ear. The mirror provided a less than kind reminder that he was a disaster. Potter's plan really did seem to be his best chance. Still, hope warred with worry in his stomach.
“Malfoy?” Potter startled him from his thoughts.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled in response. “Just a moment.”
Here goes nothing.
Quickly shucking his trousers and pants, Draco paused before deciding to pull off his robes as well. Then, naked as a jay bird, he tossed his clothing aside and climbed up onto his bed, scooting up to sit against his headboard, his wings spread wide behind him and only barely resisting the urge to cover his bits with his hands.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, Potter.”
Harry spun around slowly and held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before he swept his eyes down over Draco's body, stopping, finally, on Draco's prick.
“It's cold,” Draco said defensively. And he was nervous...
“You're fine,” Harry said, smiling slightly. “But here.” He cast a quick warming spell on the room.
“Thanks,” Draco cleared his throat.
“Sure.”
Draco shifted uncomfortably.
“Well, then, I'll just start, shall I?” Climbing onto the bed, Harry crawled up to sit beside him, tucking himself back against one of Draco's wings.
Squawk! Squaaaawk!
Draco startled as Pierre chose that moment to swoop into the bedroom, landing on Potter's shoulder and clamping his talons into Harry's skin before uttering loud caws that must have equated to owl battle cries before finally pecking at Potter's head. Harry screeched as Draco batted the bird away and grabbed his wand to banish it from the room.
“Sorry, Potter.” He flicked a healing spell at Harry's head, and a Reparo at the mess the owl had made of Harry's jumper. Thankfully, Potter seemed otherwise unafflicted.
“I..uh..well, no harm done, I suppose.” Potter rubbed his head, then looked at Draco expectantly.
Apparently Potter still wanted to proceed.
Draco was starting to really question the merits of Harry's plan, but before he could say as much, Harry shifted on the bed and awkwardly patted him on the thigh. “I..er...ahem. Back to it then, yeah?” Potter reached his hand out toward Draco's cock but then stopped and pulled back. “Do you, er, have any...Or, wait, no, I'll just...” Pulling out his wand again, Potter murmured a spell as he touched the tip to his fingers, which instantly appeared shiny and wet. “There. Much better. Smoother and...warm. And such.” Harry smiled at Draco quickly before reaching his hand out once more.
“Wait—” Draco stopped him because he couldn't not. “You really don't have to do this—”
“It's fine.”
“We'll find another way,” he insisted, his heart beating wildly in his throat.
“Just let me.”
“We shouldn't—”
“Good Godric, Malfoy! Just let me get you off already!” Harry smashed one hand across Draco's mouth to silence him and wrapped his other hot fist around Draco's prick and tugged on it.
“Mmafkngjsssshk,” Draco said into Harry's hand, as Harry's fingers slid over him. “Frhlvvvfffgdphf!”
“Oh! Sorry,” Harry said, his eyes widening as he jerked his hand away from Draco's prick and removed the other one from Draco's lips. “Was that not good?”
Draco tried to breathe normally. “I...no, it's fine.”
“Tell me.”
“I just wasn't ready.”
“Oh. Are you ready now?” Harry cocked his head.
Draco looked down at his prick, slightly shiny now with the oil from Potter's hand, but looking otherwise nearly as freaked out as he felt himself. Merlin what was wrong with him? The Saviour of the Wizarding world was sitting beside him offering a hand job, and Draco couldn't get himself together to enjoy it. Then again, it was an awful lot of pressure and he did feel more than a little like a science experiment. And it wasn't like he was at his best either, decked out in mottled plumage as he was. He frowned and shifted on the bed, wincing when his wing got stuck between Potter and his headboard. Ouch.
“Oh! Sorry!” Potter apologized, then scrambling forward to free Draco, losing his glasses and accidentally scratching Draco's thigh with his thumbnail as he did so. Draco yelped in response.
“Shit! Sorry, sorry!” Harry grabbed his wand and cast a quick healing spell along the angry red line on Draco's leg before realizing he'd gotten the slippery oil all over his wand and glasses—not to mention Draco's expensive sheets—in the process.
Draco sighed.
“Bugger. Eh, sorry? I'll, er, try again?” Stubborn as ever, Harry furrowed his brows in concentration as he leaned in and reached toward Draco's cock once more—unfortunately ill-timed yet again as Draco was in the process of stretching back to smooth the ruffled feathers of his wing. Draco ended up bonking Potter in the side of the head with his elbow.
“Ow!” Harry rubbed his head. “Merlin, you're pointy!”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Er, not pointy, exactly. Just sort of, er, well, you're particularly angular, that's all. The non-feathered parts, I mean.”
Draco raised his other brow to accompany the first. He may have accidentally injured the git, but Potter had no right critiquing Draco's body—naked and in all its feathered glory—while he himself was still fully clothed. That was simply unfair.
“I mean...”
This was just going from bad to worse. A complete disaster, really. “Potter, look, I don't think this is work—“
“No, no, it'll be fine. I promise. I'm usually really good at this!” Potter insisted, taking hold of Draco's limp prick once again, starting to run his fist along the length of it, his hand rough against Draco's skin. His tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth as he stroked Draco mercilessly, his other hand in a tight fist—knuckles white—resting on his lap. It was silent except for the sound of the clock ticking on his wall and the occasional squeak of the mattress when Harry shifted on his knees. Nearby, a house elf sneezed.
Draco had never felt less sexy in his life.
Harry must have seen the discomfort on his face. “Hmm, maybe just a bit more, er, oil, would feel good?” Potter asked. “Here, let's just, um...I'll just get more...” He flicked his wand directly at Draco's prick and Draco found himself covered in warm—no, hot, really, really hot—
“Fuck! That burns!” Draco shrieked as the slick substance coated his cock. He dashed off to the loo for a towel, his wing knocking Harry over as he climbed off the bed.
He heard Potter's apologies from the other room as he wiped himself off with a damp washcloth, but all Draco could think was that the universe clearly hated him. He was also certain that Potter had the worst ideas ever. How could he have been so stupid to go along with one?
It had to be the ridiculous Veela hormones clouding his thinking. Of course, he wasn't absolutely certain there were such a thing as Veela hormones, but it was either that or Draco himself had wanted to give it a go, and that was simply absurd.
“Sorry, Malfoy. Sometimes when I get nervous my magic gets a little...overexcited. I didn't want the oil to be cold so I—Shit. It doesn't even matter. I promise next time—”
“Next time?” Draco said with disbelief. “Next time? You want to do this again?” He cast a quick healing spell over his reddened prick and grabbed a towel and tied it around his waist. Potter had to be kidding.
Except he wasn't.
“I'm committed to getting rid of these feathers for you. Whatever it takes,” he insisted, his eyes on the ground. “I agreed to help and you're so miserable with them, so...” Potter shrugged. “It's not like I have anywhere else to be. I mean, even if you don't like me at all, you'll have get hard eventually...right? Maybe you need to close your eyes.” He looked up hopefully.
Draco pressed his hands to his face, already resigning himself to a lifetime of feathers. “I think you should go.”
“What? No, Draco—Malfoy—no. I can do this for you. Please. I'm usually really good at this.”
Draco ignored him. “One of the elves will show you out.” He summoned Lipton. “Take Potter to wash his hands and then see him to the Floo please,” he told the elf.
“But—”
“’Twas an experiment,” he muttered. “Only this, and nothing more.”
“But Malfoy, please,” Potter entreated, begging from his chamber door.
Quoth the manbird, “Nevermore.”
Draco closed his eyes as Lipton took Harry's arm and tugged him toward the door, glad that Potter had been so quickly whisked from the room because his eyes became glassy almost immediately. Sitting on the edge of his bath, he realized exactly how much he'd hoped Potter's crazy idea would work—and not just because it might make his feathers disappear. Deep down he knew that their now proven complete and utter physical incompatibility meant that the growing connection he'd felt with his former arch-enemy would always be limited to a completely platonic friendship. Salazar, he'd never felt so Hufflepuff in his life, whinging away about some stupid bloke...
Grabbing Potter's arm as they laughed. Potter helping him with any and every problem he could dream up. Potter's green eyes boring into his as Draco showed off on the dance floor.
Ugh. Stupid Potter. He couldn't believe they'd cocked it up so badly.
He rubbed his eyes with his hand, wondering how their friendship had gone from simple fun to stressful enough to leave him slightly sniffly and a little hollow.
~oOo~
Chewing on his lip, Draco re-read the note Harry's owl had just delivered.
Sorry. I don't know what happened. I choked, I guess. And you clearly weren't interested so I shouldn't have forced it. Can we still be friends? We don't have to mention it again. Unspeakable, remember? -HP
Harry had to have sent the letter the instant he got home and of course proper etiquette demanded Draco's prompt response to the apologetic missive. Grabbing his quill and a slip of parchment, he scribbled a reply.
My level of interest was entirely irrelevant.
Apology accepted, but we're never doing it again.
For an Unspeakable, you sure to talk a lot.
Why is it that everything was so much easier when I hated you, Potter?
Yes; we're still friends. -DM
He fed Potter's owl a treat and handed over his reply, opening the window above his writing desk so the bird could be on its way. He then tried to return to the novel he'd been reading before the interruption, but had trouble concentrating. His mind circled around the fact that he had to write a letter to his mother the next day. As much as he didn't want to worry her, he had to face the fact that the Veela transformation was going to be a permanent part of his life, so she probably needed to know. He sighed. Pansy and Blaise, too. He'd need to tell them, as well; he couldn't put them off forever. Chicken pox followed by the bird flu? He couldn't believe they'd actually bought his excuses for his extended absence.
Tomorrow was looking to be fabulous, he thought, turning back to his novel.
He'd read the same page four times when he heard Potter's owl at the window again. Sighing, he put down his book.
Great. That's really great.
I'll try to come up with another way to get rid of your feathers, I promise.
-HP
Draco's head was starting to hurt. He picked up his quill and turned the note over.
Look, why don't we take a break for a few days? The feathers aren't exactly going anywhere and I've had my fill of being your charity case turned experiment. I need some time. -DM
He sent the bird back again, this time locking the window and drawing the curtains behind him. He'd had enough for one night and any future correspondence could certainly wait until morning. He then sent Bitsy for some headache potion and tea, the combination of which he hoped would improve the remainder of his evening.
He was nodding off, sprawled out on the sofa, his book forgotten and fallen to the floor, when his Floo flared nearly an hour later.
Lifting his head from the cushion and blinking his eyes open, Draco groaned heartily.
Potter. Again.
“Look, I know you said you needed time,” Harry said before Draco could ask him to leave. “But you didn't respond to my owl and I couldn't let you think that's what I thought.”
“Potter, trust me when I say that I rarely envision you actually thinking.”
“Yeah, yeah. Haha, very funny,” Potter said as he walked over and sat down by Draco's feet at the far end of the sofa. “Now shut your mouth and just listen, will you?”
Draco rolled his eyes.
“Look, Draco, I don't...I never thought of you as an experiment and certainly not a charity case. I mean, you may hate your new wings—which I really do think we'll find a way to get rid of—but you really should know how gorgeous they are, and how incredibly sexy you look with them. I couldn't stand the thought of you with those strangers from the club touching you because I wanted you. Not as a science experiment, you berk, but because I think you're so hot with those damn feathers that I can't seem to stay away. I hoped maybe my magic would be enough to make your Veela side want me back, but I guess that's not the case, so I'll leave you alone. But please understand I wasn't offering because I pitied you. I just...wanted you. And finding a way to get rid of your wings was a convenient excuse to have you, even just a little. I thought maybe you could want me too, if I could just make you feel good.” Harry paused, scrubbing his fingers through his dark hair. “Fuck. I've messed it up. Clearly you didn't want me at all and I've made everything a giant mess. I'll go now, but for Godric's sake, I was not doing it because I pitied you, and if you felt like it was all a giant experiment, that's only because I was somehow hiding how I felt.”
Harry stood and walked to the fireplace and reached for the Floo powder before putting it back and turning around. “You're completely ridiculous, you know. You are impossibly finicky; you care way too much about etiquette and pedicures and the year on wine labels; you call your house elves by the wrong names. And you spend way too much time in front of a mirror every morning making your hair all shiny.” Potter put his hands on his hips. “And I must be completely barmy because I like you anyway,” he huffed. “Sometimes I wish they'd assigned other Unspeakables to the Manor last year. You drive me absolutely mad and you have no fucking idea. It was easier when I just hated you back in school. But no, I had to get to know you and find out that you're so bloody charming that I can't get enough of you.”
Harry paused and scratched his neck. “Fuck. I just like you, okay? Fuck.”
Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he turned toward Draco. “Happy? Now you know. So go on, gloat. But if you think for even one moment that I didn't want to be with you earlier, that I wasn't half devastated that it didn't work, then you're out of your bloody mind.”
Potter studied him for a moment before throwing his hands in the air. “I must be insane.” He turned back and reached for the Floo powder once more, taking a pinch as he prepared to leave.
“Wait, Potter.” Draco sighed, stood up, and summoned a house elf. “Lipton, can you please see to Potter's glasses?”
Potter sighed. “That's Bitsy.”
“Fine, Bitsy, can you take care of that please?”
When she nodded, Draco turned back to Potter. “They're still smudged from earlier and it's making me crazy,” he explained as the house elf disappeared to remove the oily fingerprints.
“Now,” Draco continued. “What exactly did you hope to accomplish with this grand confession of yours?”
Potter's mouth dropped open. “You know what? Nothing. I have no idea what I was thinking. I'm leaving. Have Bitsy send back my glasses when she has a moment. I'll wear my contacts until then.”
“I will not have you putting those Muggle contraptions near your already terrible eyes, you pillock.”
“Then send her sooner,” Potter sniped, stepping up into Draco's face.
“Don't be an arse,” Draco said, utterly unable to stop staring at Harry's lips.
“Me?” Potter looked incredulous. “You're the—”
“Don't you say it.”
“Don't you say it,” Harry countered.
“That doesn't even make—Ugh. You were right. It was much easier when I hated you, too.” Draco spit.
Harry glared at him, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide and bright thanks to the missing glasses. Draco glared right back. And when exactly had he memorized the exact green of Potter's eyes?
“Yeah, well, you use too much moisturiser!”
Draco gasped. “You take that back!”
“No! It makes your nose shiny and you always smell like cherry syrup!'
“Well your hair looks like a bird's nest!”
“You would know!” Harry retorted.
“I hate you, Harry Potter!” And I especially hate that I like you.
“I hate you back, Draco Malfoy!” Harry said just before reaching and wrapping his hands around the back of Draco's neck, pulling him down as he angled his own face up. “And now I'm going to kiss you!”
“Fine!” Draco licked his lips.
“Fine!” Potter's kiss was urgent, heated. Draco would've hated it, except he loved it.
"I hate you," Draco insisted, pulling apart slightly, but Potter simply swept his tongue over Draco's bottom lip before kissing him again.
Draco kissed him back. “I really—” He opened his mouth to Potter, who moaned slightly in response. “Really—” Harry's tongue was in his mouth. Harry's tongue was in his mouth. “Hate you.” Draco fisted Harry's robes as Harry dragged his teeth over Draco's tongue. “Despise you, in fact.”
It was messy and wonderful and bloody terrifying. His pulse raced and his whole body flushed, betraying him.
“Yeah?” Harry released him, running one hand down Draco's neck, over his shoulder, and then along the top of his wing.
Draco groaned. Fucking wings. “God, don't touch them,” he begged. “Please. They're hideous.”
Harry took a rough breath. “They're not.” He grabbed Draco's waist and pulled him closer, using his other hand to run his hand over Draco's half-feathered head. “I rather like them, actually.” He blushed a little.
Draco swallowed. “So you've said.”
“I mean it.”
Harry reached out again to Draco's wing. Shuddering, Draco's eyes closed involuntarily as Harry ran his hand over the feathers there.
“They're repulsive,” he whispered. “Please don't.”
“Not to me.” He pulled Draco into another searing kiss, and Draco found himself fisting Harry's robes.
“I still hate you,” Draco clarified.
“I know.” Harry bit at Draco's lip.
“Take off your shirt,” he breathed.
Harry's eyes burned into his. “Yeah?”
Draco nodded once, and Harry released him, stepping back to peel his shirt over his head, exposing the flat of his abdomen, the smooth skin of chest, his impressive shoulders, his muscled arms. Turning to toss his shirt aside, Potter flexed and moved in a way that made Draco's mouth go dry. He was stronger than he looked, far more toned than Draco expected. He supposed being an Unspeakable must equate to extensive physical training.
Needing to touch him, Draco stepped up to Harry, trailing his hand up Harry's arm, over his shoulder, and down over his chest, feeling Potter tremble slightly under his touch. His skin was so soft over the hard muscles, even though Draco was almost certain Potter hadn't applied a moisturising lotion in his life. The lack of feathers didn't hurt either. As Harry's mouth found his again, Draco pinched his nipple. The git deserved it for being so bloody perfect without even trying.
“I want you,” Harry said, pressing his mouth along Draco's jawline. “I have...for a while.”
Draco groaned. He'd never expected anyone to want him again. Not like he was. And here was Harry bloody Potter, saying that very thing, seemingly unconcerned about the traitorous blood in his veins and its unfortunate side effects.
Sliding behind him, Harry kissed down his neck and buried his head at the junction where Draco's wings emerged from his back, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind. He pressed his open mouth between Draco's shoulders. “I want you.”
Draco could feel his heart beating in his throat. “Don't,” he begged as Harry dragged his tongue along Draco's skin.
He reached for Harry's hands, placing his fingers over Harry's. Harry's thumb stroked small circles into his skin and everywhere that Potter touched, Draco felt like he was on fire.
Harry raised his head to whisper in Draco's ear, pulling him tight against his body, his breath ghosting across Draco's skin. “They're beautiful. You're beautiful.”
“Harry...” Draco groaned. Even through Harry's Muggle jeans and his own clothes, he could feel the pressure of Harry's prick against his arse. Draco pressed back against him.
Harry breathed out, a ragged puff across his neck. "Draco."
Prying Harry's hands from him, Draco spun around, reaching for the buckle of Harry's belt, his own cock hardening automatically in response to Harry this time around, even if Draco's heart was still unsettled.
The look in Harry's eyes, though...
Leaning his forehead against Harry's, Draco unfastened the belt and moved to the button and then the zip of Harry's jeans. Slipping his hand down from Harry's navel, he inched it just under the elastic of his pants but no farther, feeling the incredible heat of Harry's skin as he teased him.
“Now it's my turn to hate you,” Harry chuckled breathlessly as Draco continued to rub his thumb along Harry's hip.
Draco pulled him into a rough, desperate kiss—kisses, surely—that made desire flare in his stomach.
With a deep breath, Draco finally pulled back, dragging his thumb over Potter's lips. “Undress me, you wretch. And if you use an Evanesco I'll let Pierre have his way with you.”
Harry took Draco's thumb into his mouth, running his teeth over the soft pad as Draco slowly pulled it back out. “You're more my type,” he teased as he began to unfasten the buttons of Draco's robes. Draco was tempted to reprimand him for his less than delicate treatment of the garments, but Harry's eagerness was too endearing, and his haste too unequivocal a reminder of demanding need they shared. Within moments, Draco's robes were pulled up over his wings and tossed aside, and with a soft slide, his trousers also fell to the floor, discarded. The two of them then made short work of Potter's jeans.
He reached for Potter's hip, pulling him closer. “Nice pants,” he smirked, admiring the dark green underpants and tugging at the elastic slightly so it snapped back against Harry's waist.
Potter chuckled. “What about you? Did a Gryffindor dress you this morning?” Harry grabbed Draco's arse and squeezed his bum through the material of his maroon underpants.
“Certainly not,” Draco said haughtily. “Although they're not completely useless at the undressing part.”
Draco wiped the grin off Harry's face by reaching between them and palming Potter's prick. Groaning, Harry pushed him backwards until the back of his legs met the sofa. He sat back as Harry stood between his legs and Draco looked up at him, ran his hands up over Potter's abdomen, simply delighting in the way Harry's muscles reacted to his touch.
Harry reached down to him then, leaned in to kiss him hungrily before falling to his knees where Draco sat. He pressed a kiss to Draco's knee. “Merlin, you're beautiful,” he said, trailing his fingernails up Draco's thighs, and pressed a palm against Draco's cock. “And so hard for me.”
Raising his hips in response, Draco arched into Harry's hands. His cock ached.
Harry bit his lip. “Raise up for me,” he asked Draco, lightly slapping the outside of his thigh. When Draco did, Harry carefully pulled the pants over his cock and down his legs until they pooled on the floor, forgotten. “Fucking gorgeous.”
Draco groaned.
Harry looked up from Draco's prick to catch his eye. “You are, you know.”
There was a time Draco would have agreed with him. For now though, he supposed it was enough to believe that Harry believed it. He pulled Harry up in to a scorching kiss, his hands wrapped in Harry's hair. Potter leaned over him on the couch, one hand bracing himself against the back and the other reaching between them to wrap around Draco's prick.
Draco's breath caught in his throat as Harry stroked along his cock, and their kisses became messy as the look of Harry's fist around Draco's cock drew their attention.
It was all he could do to keep breathing as he watched, mesmerized as Harry slid back the foreskin and ran his thumb over the head of his cock.
“Can I taste you?”
“Fuck yes,” Draco hissed as Harry stroked him once, twice more, and then knelt on the floor once again between his legs. Draco slid forward and parted his thighs wider and was gratified by the look of pure lust on Harry's face. Gripping the base of Draco's cock, Harry pressed the head against his mouth, rubbing the precome there over his wet, reddened lips and causing Draco to claw at the sofa cushions. He then trailed his tongue along the underside of Draco's length, over the head and back down, lightly enough to be teasing and more than enough to drive Draco mad.
“Potter, Potter, Potter, Potter...” Draco chanted. “Fuck, Harry.”
Harry lapped at the tip again before finally opening his mouth, sucking in the head of Draco's prick as he stroked his hand along the base.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck.” Draco grunted as Harry sucked him harder, deeper, as he cupped Draco's balls and twisted his fist along Draco's length.
Harry was right; he was good at this. Draco's world went hazy.
And—oh, fuck—Harry was...he was wanking as he did it. Draco could see him reaching down between his legs. He was stroking himself as he blew Draco. Throwing his head back and pinching his eyes shut, Draco arched up into Harry's hot mouth. Bloody hell.
Harry swallowed around him and Draco grunted. “Fuck. Harry, fuck.”
Sitting back on his knees, Harry released him with a pop, and Draco reached for his own cock, shiny and wet, stroking it lightly as Harry caught his breath.
“Fuck me, Potter.”
Harry groaned, reaching to Draco, sliding their tongues together and catching Draco's mouth in a messy kiss. He got to his feet, peeling his pants the rest of the way off and letting them fall to the feet.
“You want me to fuck you, Draco Malfoy?” Harry's voice was husky and Draco barely suppressed a whimper. His blood pulsed; his cock throbbed. He wanted Harry. Needed him. Desperately. Fucking Potter.
He kissed Potter roughly, reaching between them to stroke Harry's prick. “Unless you're not interested...”
A whining sound emerged from Potter's throat.
“I'll take that as a yes,” Draco said. “Lie down, Potter. On your back,” he added, thinking of his wings, awkward and exceptionally in the way, as always.
Potter couldn't have reached to the floor faster if Draco'd cast a Stupify on him. Kneeling down on the plush carpeting, Draco situated himself over Potter's waist, reaching behind him to take Harry in hand, stroking him as Potter writhed beneath him. He grabbed Harry's wand from where it had been discarded on the floor, using it to cast a charm on his hand—Merlin knew he'd learned earlier not to trust Harry with that particular spell—and then ran his fingers over Harry's dick, slicking him. He then lifted up on his knees enough that he could slip a finger into himself. He watched Harry watch him, lips parted, eyes blown.
“Fuck,” Harry breathed, staring as Draco added another finger, his cock bobbing against his stomach as he stretched himself, his wings spread wide open behind him.
“I'm going to ride you now,” Draco informed Potter when he was finally ready, positioning himself over Harry's cock and carefully pressing back onto it. He slid down slowly, taking Potter into him, watching Potter's muscles tense as Draco stretched around the head of his dick. Scrabbling to grasp at the rug below him for leverage, Harry rocked up and Draco sucked in a harsh breath as he felt Potter fill his arse with one long burning stroke. When he slammed down again on Harry's prick, he cried out despite himself.
Grasping his arse and holding him tight, pulling him tighter, Harry again and again lifted his hips from the floor to move with Draco, pressing into him roughly and making Draco delirious with need. Draco braced himself on Harry's stomach as Harry thrust into him, making his cock bounce and his breathing uneven.
Harry's hair was damp when Draco reached down to brush it out of his eyes—green, green eyes that he suspected could see right through him, should Harry ever put his mind to it. Intoxicating.
Draco leaned down, slowing their rhythm to catch Potter's mouth with his, needing the taste of Potter on his tongue, sucking and licking at his mouth before pressing open mouthed kisses along the salty, sweaty skin of Harry's throat.
Harry moaned and wrapped his arms around Draco, holding him tightly as Draco rolled his hips slowly on Potter's cock while they kissed. Reaching up and running his hand over Draco's wing, Harry looked at him with a sort of awe, his eyes glazed. “God, Draco, you're so fucking beautiful.”
Draco's heart raced and his arse burned but seven hells, he wanted more still—more of Harry, more of his cock, more of his mouth, whatever he could get. Groaning, he sat back up, giving Harry more leverage to fill him, to shove his cock deep in Draco's arse with every frantic jerk of his hips.
The look on Harry's face was breathtaking. His cheeks were flushed and his forehead tensed as he grunted, and Draco was fairly certain he had never ever seen anything more arousing in his life.
Breathing hard, Draco reached for his cock, stroking himself as Harry moved in him, barely matching Potter's rhythm and already feeling the urgent need to come as waves of delicious sensation rolled through him. Potter's hips lifted him from the floor with each violent thrust and Draco's head fell back as he cried out, a keening sound he didn't know himself capable of on his lips. Pressure raced through his nerves and he pinched his eyes shut against the onslaught. He was coming, coming...
His toes curled and his muscles tensed until they could tense no further and he came with a choked cry, jerking and shuddering and coming completely undone as Potter held him against his body, Draco's come shooting hot and sticky between them.
His head fell forwards and he was still trembling, his heart racing, when Potter began to move again. Draco widened his hips to give Harry more room, smearing the come on his hand along Harry's abdomen as he braced himself for the erratic, desperate thrusts.
With a final jerk, Harry gasped and latched on to Draco's hips, holding him in a bruising grip as he shuddered and came. Draco trailed his fingers over Potter's abdomen as the muscles there tensed and released. And when Harry craned his neck up for a kiss, Draco obliged, tangling his fingers in the dark hair of the Boy Who (somehow, when he wasn't looking) Captured His Heart.
~oOo~
When Draco woke the next morning, he felt lighter.
It was very possibly because his wings were gone.
Every single feather. Gone.
Draco hooted with glee as he realized his newest appendages had seen themselves fit to disappear in the night. He dashed over to the mirror and examined the skin of his chest—smooth again, thank Merlin. His hair was messy from sleep but entirely lacking in feathers and his back barely even had scars where the wings had been.
A small snuffle came from the lump in the blankets on the bed. Evidently Harry had managed to worm his way into Draco's bed after their activities the evening before...
Potter. The night before.
Potter.
Potter.
Sex. With Harry Potter. Had gotten rid of his wings!
Draco did a little victory dance, a huge grin lighting up his face. It wasn't ideal, of course, but—who was he kidding? Mandatory sex with Potter? That wasn't exactly a chore, now was it?
“Potter!” Draco poked at him. “Potter!”
The groggy form grunted, still largely balled up beneath his comforter, the shock of black hair in stark contrast to the ivory pillow upon which it rested.
“Potter!” Draco tried again, poking at the covered lump. “Harry!”
A face, red from being smushed against the pillow, blinked open at last. “Yeah? What is it? Merlin, it's barely dawn!” He yawned.
“My wings, you git! They're gone!” Draco spun around, showing off his smooth pale flesh.
“Your...they're...gone?” Harry blinked at him.
“Thanks to you!” Draco exclaimed, pouncing on the bed and pressing a kiss to Potter's sleepy mouth.
“I—oh.” Harry scratched his head, his forehead slightly furrowed. “That's...well, good. I...yeah. That's great. I mean, I did kinda like the—”
“And now, I will proceed to thank you.” Draco clucked, climbing off the bed only to move to the foot, lifting the myriad of blankets enough to duck under them, and squirm his way up along Potter's body, sucking and licking at the various delicious morsels of flesh he encountered along the way until Potter's morning wood became property of one delightfully unfeathered Draco Malfoy.
Draco was happily slurping away beneath the covers as Harry responded with delightful whining noises when he heard an insistent pecking sound coming from his bedroom window. “Ignore it,” Draco instructed from between Potter's legs.
“Uh, I think we should probably let the bird in though. It looks like a Ministry Express owl.”
Draco huffed. “It'll wait.”
“No, I really think...”
Draco crawled up toward the head of the bed, popping his head from beneath the sheets, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Potter's shoulder. “Fine. Let it in,” he pouted.
Shoving the blankets aside, Harry walked over to the window, his cock heavy and full from Draco's attention and his arse pale and round and perfect. Harry opened the window, claiming the letter it bore. “Huh,” he said, looking at it curiously. “It's for me.”
“Well done. Now, come back to bed.”
“Right, sure,” Harry said distractedly, slipping his finger beneath the seal of the note. “Oh, it's the results from that diagnostic allergy test we did on you a few days ago, to see if there was a particular substance that was triggering the wings and feathers to be permanent.” He glanced up. “The results always take a while so I had it rush owled as soon as they were done.”
He studied the paperwork for a few moments, frowning. “Almond extract.” He looked at Draco. “I thought you said you weren't eating anything on that list I sent you.”
“I didn't!” Draco exclaimed. “Anyway, why does it matter? Our rather spectacular shagging was enough to cause the feathers to go away.” Draco got up from the bed and moved over to Harry, standing behind him and wrapping Potter up in his arms. Resting his chin on Potter's shoulder, he glanced at the results for a second before deciding it was far too boring to read before breakfast.
“It's just...odd. If you're not...then why are the levels in your system so high?” Harry mused.
Draco shrugged, releasing Harry and wandering into his closet to retrieve his favourite moisturiser from its location on the back shelf. Now that he was no longer a hideously feathered monster, he'd better start in again on his regular regimen. He looked in the mirror. His neck still looked fantastic, but he was once again thankful that Pansy had shared her new recipe for the lotion; one could never be too careful, after all. Besides, he'd missed using it; he loved the way it smelled and the way the rich cream felt on his skin. He levitated his other favourites back to his dressing table as well before delightfully smearing the moisturising cream over his face and neck. He hummed happily.
Finally putting the letter down, Potter came over to him, reaching for his waist as he waited for Draco to finish and tilting his head for a kiss after Draco had.
“Cherries, again.” Potter laughed. “It's the lotion, I guess. Makes you always smell like cherry or almo—”
Draco's eyes widened and he looked at Potter who was frowning. “Draco, what's in that moisturiser?”
Aloe Vera.
Lanolin.
Grapeseed oil
Ground dittany.
Shy virgin oatmeal.
Rabbit tail fluff.
Balsam of Peru.
Muggle eyelashes.
Thrice purified Seine river water.
And almond extract to balance the other ingredients and prevent the small -to medium-sized explosion that would otherwise surely result when the oatmeal merged with the eyelashes.
Fuck. Draco shook his head. “No, no. It can't be. Not the moisturiser!” he set down the container as though it were alight in Fiendfyre.
Shaking his head, Harry retrieved the allergy test results once again, pointing at them. “Your levels are through the roof! No wonder your wings wouldn't retreat! Merlin, Draco, how much of that stuff do you use?”
Draco looked affronted. “A man never tells his secrets.”
Harry snorted. “You're insane.”
“Does that mean I can't use the cream anymore?” Draco frowned. He had nearly eight full cauldrons of it already prepared in his potions stores. That was nearly enough for a full week!
Harry grinned. “I suppose that's up to you.”
Draco bit his lip. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you want to remain as you are now, I would strongly encourage you to avoid it. Then again—”
“Spit it out, Potter.”
“Let's just say, if you decide to continue using it once in a while, because, for instance, you decide the side effects are worth it, well, I'd be inclined to agree.” Harry smiled.
“You really did like them, the feathers...”
“I really did,” Harry said. “They were beautiful. And you were always sort of glowing despite yourself.”
“Hmm. But the shagging certainly didn't hurt.”
“Huh?” Potter looked confused. “Who said anything abou—”
“The shagging. I think, perhaps, if you're amenable, we should continue. With the shagging. Just in case.”
“Ahh.” Potter grinned, and grabbed Draco's hip, pulling him tightly against his nude form. “Yes, that might be wise. In your condition. Just to be safe.”
Draco nodded, and stepped backwards until he felt the bed behind his knees. He pulled Harry down with him when he fell back onto the soft surface.
“Brilliant,” Harry breathed, pulling Draco into a deep kiss, entirely ignoring the deranged squawks of envy emanating from Pierre François's cage as they snogged until well past breakfast.
Fin(ch).
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-04-10 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-04-11 05:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-23 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-25 04:16 pm (UTC)