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“Decent bone structure,” the man said, rancid breath ghosting over Harry’s cheek. His fingers pressed hard into Harry’s jaw, forcing his head side to side. “Is he well behaved?”
“Oh yes,” Vernon insisted, tightening the leash just enough for the threat to be clear. “We’ve got him very well trained.”
The man dropped Harry’s face, stepping back to examine him. “And his heat?”
“Regular,” Vernon prodded Harry, and Harry complied, sitting back on his knees and pulling the cloth aside with a deep flush. “We keep it naturally contained. None of that suppressant nonsense.”
The cage was silver, fitting snugly over his softened cock, but not substantial enough to provide him any modesty as the man surveyed him, nodding approvingly. He waved Harry’s legs apart, and Harry grit his teeth, shifting slightly so he could see the rest of it wrapping between his thighs.
“He must put up quite the fuss,” the man laughed, a deep sound from his gut.
Vernon chuckled, nudging Harry again to cover himself. “Like I said, very well trained.”
Heats were a special kind of torture in the Dursley home. Three days spent alone in the cupboard, unable to even touch himself to relieve the pain. He cried the first few times, but Petunia didn’t like the noise, and Vernon started beating him to keep him quiet. He didn’t cry anymore.
“He seems a bit old to be asking the price you are,” the man said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to discuss with my wife before we make any final decisions.”
His hand found Harry’s face again, pressing fingernails into his cheeks as he leaned in close. “I will admit he’s a pretty thing.” Harry’s lip curled in a silent growl, and the man grinned, tongue running over his teeth. “Feisty.”
“I guarantee—” but the man held up his hand, interrupting Vernon’s assurances.
His eyes were on Harry. “Do you want to come home with me?” He thumbed at Harry’s bottom lip. “I bet you’re desperate for a bit of Alpha cock, aren’t you?”
Harry’s temper flared, and before he could really consider the consequences, his teeth sank down on the man’s finger, biting hard.
The man howled, and Harry’s neck was jerked sideways, his leash pulling him to the ground. Instinctively, Harry covered his head, grunting as something struck his back, a sharp sting.
“Sir, please—” Vernon was running after him. “He’s never like this. I guarantee it—”
Harry stayed curled on the floor, even as he heard the door shut, a car drive away. He stayed curled as Vernon came back, his anger tangible in the air.
“You worthless piece of shit—”
The first blow came as Harry expected it to, a strike across his shoulder. Another over his ribs. He curled tighter into himself, shaking.
Finally, Vernon grabbed him by the hair, yanking him upright. His face was beet red, seething. Harry whimpered, grabbing at his wrist.
“That match would have been better than you deserved,” Vernon spat, tossing him back on the ground and retrieving the leash. “But alright. We’ll do it your way.”
Harry wasn’t fed for two days as punishment.
He knew better than to whine—knew better than to make any sound at all, really—and in the end, it meant he was relieved from his duties in the kitchen since Petunia didn’t trust him not to steal scraps.
Harry was fine with that.
“I’ve got a meeting with another buyer,” Vernon said, his voice muffled through the slats in the cupboard. Harry’s attention caught, and he sat up.
“Rich family, seems a bit desperate, if you ask me.” Vernon chuckled, “Should get a pretty penny for him if he just behaves for once.”
Petunia said something Harry couldn’t hear, and then, “I just want him gone.”
The television clicked on, burying the rest of the conversation.
Harry sat back on the cot, thunking his head against the plywood. It was cold in the cupboard, but they’d burned his blanket after his last heat. He wrapped his arms around his legs, shivering slightly.
Maybe the family Vernon mentioned would let him have another blanket.
Maybe they would take care of him.
Harry closed his eyes and gently brushed his hand over his arm, shuddering under the touch, imagining it was coming from someone else.
Maybe anywhere would be better than here.
He cringed, his empty stomach flipping painfully. He layed down, curling into himself. It felt like a shadow of his heat—a sharp pain in his chest, extreme loneliness washing over him in waves, but there was no fever, no slick.
Like part of his heat broke off and lodged somewhere near his lungs.
He stayed quiet, breathing deeply through his nose, waiting for whatever was wrong with him to go away. Petunia didn’t like the noise.
—------
Vernon woke him up at dawn the day they were to meet the buyer. Three kicks to the cupboard door, a hasty meal shoved under his nose, and then the shower.
“I’m warning you,” Vernon growled in his face outside the station wagon. “This is your last chance.”
Harry nodded and sat perfectly quiet for the entire ride.
Maybe whatever family took him would be better. Maybe they would be kind.
The seedy club Vernon parked behind was less than what Harry hoped for. Usually, they met the alphas at a neutral venue, a parking lot, or a hotel.
“Be quick, he’ll be here soon, but I have something to show you first.” Vernon pulled at Harry’s leash, dragging him through two bright red doors, neon lights buzzing loudly in the daylight.
The club reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol; the taste of it lingered on his tongue as he breathed, eyes darting around the masked men, the half-dressed omegas draped brazenly over their chests.
He could smell them too, their heat, their desperation. It was heady, thick, and it made Harry’s skin crawl in the dim red lighting.
Vernon pulled him aside, muttering something to a man standing at a desk. The man looked Harry up and down, smirking slightly before leading them both to a private room.
The room wasn’t empty. Another omega lay sprawled across a red leather couch, cheeks flushed and whimpering as Harry stepped in behind Vernon. The smell of heat was overwhelming, tangible, and the omega reached out for Vernon, begging.
Vernon gripped the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him in close. “You see that?” Harry nodded, eyes locked on the boy’s hazy expression. “They have something to keep Omegas in constant heat here. Poor thing probably doesn’t remember his own name.”
Harry swallowed, cold.
“It’s a fascinating development. Omegas hardly put up a fuss with who’s fucking them or how when they’re like that. They make quite the hosts.” The boy on the couch made another sound, arching his bare chest. “And here’s the thing,” Vernon squeezed Harry’s neck painfully, “I’m leaving here without you, one way or another.”
“What?” Harry couldn’t breathe.
“He’ll either buy you, or I’ll sell you to the brothel to be one of their multipurpose whores. It’s less money, but at least I’d be rid of you.” Vernon motioned for the omega to leave, and slowly, with a slight limp, the boy crawled off the couch and walked away. Vernon lowered his voice, all but growling in Harry’s ear. “If you step so much as one toe out of line, if they complain—if they bring you back—I’ll sell you in an instant, and you’ll be here, begging for some stranger to fuck the life out of you for the rest of your sorry existence.”
Harry was shaking. He tried to stop, but he couldn’t.
“Do you understand?”
A nod. It was the best he could do.
“Good. Sit down.”
Harry did.
Harry wasn’t sure how much time passed before a quiet knock sounded on the door, but he was too scared to do much but wait as Vernon greeted the buyer. He was a tall man with long white hair falling in a sheet down his back. His black clothes dripped with expensive taste, a silver chain draping out of his pocket. He tapped a long cane against his palm as he surveyed the room, nose scrunched in distaste.
“You certainly know how to choose a venue,” he remarked dryly, and even his accent was posh.
“Apologies. I’m afraid I had business with the owner,” Vernon shot Harry a look out of the corner of his eye.
Harry swallowed, sitting up a bit straighter. He spent these meetings on his knees for the most part, the old carpet digging painfully into his skin.
“Is this him?” The man asked, prodding Harry’s chin up with the tip of his cane.
Vernon nodded, launching into his pitch—How old Harry was, when his last heat occurred, his reputable family history.
The man didn’t seem especially impressed; his eyes narrowed slightly as he walked around Harry.
The man’s indifference felt like a death toll. He’d always thought he’d be matched with a family eventually—that he’d have a home— but if this man didn’t take him, no one ever would. He clenched his hands in his lap, keeping very still.
“It won’t be a proper match,” the man said, uninterested. “It’s for my son, you see. He’s been…reluctant to find a mate, and I’m anxious to have an heir. I’d like to keep the whole affair as quiet as possible. You understand.”
“Completely, Mr. Malfoy. I assure you, Harry is prime breeding age, and very little fuss.”
He considered Harry for a long moment, his eyes icy blue. “And after an heir is produced?”
Vernon chuckled heartily. “It’s no matter to me what you do with your property.”
That seemed to get through to him, and he grinned with too many teeth. “Glad to reach a bargain, Vernon.” He reached out a hand and shook, while Harry felt his entire life slip through their fingers.
The exchange happened immediately, a check in Vernon’s hand, the leash and keys handed to Malfoy, and then Harry was led away. A silent drive. A massive gate, his leash hand over again, this time to a maid.
“Give my regards to Draco,” Malfoy’s eyes moved over Harry one last time before adding, “See that he doesn’t make a mess.”
The house was massive—a mansion maybe— with so many doors and hallways it was hard to keep track as the maid led him to the master bedroom. The ceiling were tall, a huge bed in the center with drapes and pillows and silk bedsheets. Harry had never been somewhere so lavish, and he had the feeling it wouldn’t last—the space would reject him like a splinter.
The maid cleared her throat. “Well, Draco is out for the afternoon.” She looked uncomfortable. Harry almost felt bad for her as she set the leash down next to him. “You can wait here for him, or you can…” She trailed off. “You should probably just wait here.”
Harry nodded slightly.
She sniffed, looking around the room for something. Her voice softened. “What’s your name, darling?”
“Harry.”
She smiled, and she really had quite a kind face. “Very nice to meet you, Harry. You can call me Lavender.”
Harry didn’t say anything, only nodded.
She clasped her hands together. “I’ll see dinner is brought up once Draco gets home. Um, do come find me if you need anything.” Another smile, somehow even softer. “I do mean *anything.*”
“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice coming out small.
She nodded and then shut the door behind her, leaving Harry alone in the massive bedroom.
He knelt in the corner, hands in his lap like Vernon had taught him to do, and waited.
____
It was hours before he heard the telltale commotion of someone’s arrival. His knees had long since gone numb, but the carpet was soft and he was too terrified to do anything else.
He straightened his back, looked at the ground.
No matter who Draco was, it didn’t make a difference. It couldn’t be worse than the Dursleys. It couldn’t be worse than what would happen to him at the brothel.
The door opened and a tall man paused in the doorframe.
He was younger than Harry expected. Maybe a year older than himself, with short blond hair and a startling resemblance to his father.
His brow creased.
Harry stayed very still.
“Jesus Christ, not again.”
Harry flinched as the door slammed shut, heels clicking through the hallway, muffled shouting.
“No father, you can’t keep—” he was on the phone now. Harry could only make out pieces of the conversation. “I don’t care how much you paid, you can’t expect—”
He was angry. He was disappointed.
Harry clenched his hands, forcing himself to stop shaking. Maybe he would only be punished—that was okay. He could survive that.
“No, I will not—” the conversation cut off. Harry gazed wide-eyed at the beige carpet. He was going to be send away.
The hazy expression of the boy in the club passed through his memory, the lifeless stare, the outstretched hand.
The door opened again, and Draco stepped in, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “Apologies. You can stand up. I’ve summoned a car to take you back to wherever you came from.”
Harry’s blood went cold. *No, no no no.*
“Sorry about this. You must have come a long way,” Draco continued. He was still standing in the doorway, like he didn’t want to get too close.
Harry bent forward, pressing his forehead to the ground. He licked his lips, throat dry. “Please. Please don’t.”
Draco paused, silent for a moment. “Your handler can keep the dowry, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Harry shook his head. He knew Draco could see him trembling now, it was impossible to stop. “You won’t even know I’m here. Please, don’t send me away.”
“For Christ’s sake, sit up,” Draco said.
Harry slowly obeyed, returning to his kneel, hands in his lap. He kept his eyes down.
Draco stared at him, brow furrowed. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It was our mistake, not yours.”
It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter to Vernon.
Harry didn’t know how to say that, so instead he begged. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
Draco didn’t respond for a long moment.
“I don’t want you here.”
Harry had never been wanted. He didn’t need it. “I know.”
“I’ll never touch you.”
Harry nodded, even as his heart shriveled in his chest. “That’s fine.”
Perplexed, Draco cast around for something else. Finally, “I suppose there’s room for you in the servants’ quarters.”
Harry nearly crumpled in relief, sagging forward. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Ms. Brown—” Draco called down the hallway, pointedly ignoring Harry’s outburst. “Would you find him a place to stay for the night?”
“Certainly.” The kind women was at the door.
“I suppose it will at least keep father from sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong,” Draco muttered, running an exhausted hand through his hair. “See if you can find some use for him.” Draco's eyes flickered over to Harry, and for just a moment, Harry thought he might say something else to him, but instead, he turned back to Lavendar, “And take that leash off. It looks archaic.”
With that, he was gone.
‘A place to stay for the night’ turned out to be a private single room near the back of the staff quarters.
“Well, you didn’t come with any luggage, so these will have to do for the moment,” Lavender said, placing a folded set of clothes on the mattress. Harry’s eyes lingered on the fitted sheets, the simple, soft duvet.
“Thank you.” He’d said it at least a dozen times already, but it was all he could seem to manage.
“Here, darling,” she said, unclipping the collar from around his neck. She set it down on the top of the dresser, and for some reason, Harry was grateful. It was one of the few things he felt he owned. It meant something that she would leave it with him.
“Thank you,” he repeated, quieter.
“My, you’re very polite,” she gave him a fond smile. “I don’t suppose you have any preferences for your dinner?”
Harry shook his head.
“That’s alright, darling.” She looked around the small room. “I’ll let you settle in and bring dinner by in a few hours. Tomorrow you’ll eat with the rest of the staff. Does that sound alright?”
Harry nodded.
“You know where my room is,” she hesitated by the door.
Harry nodded again and, like a broken record, said, “Thank you.”
She smiled. “I’m happy you’re joining us, Harry.”
He didn’t reply as the door clicked quietly shut.
The room was significantly smaller than the bedroom he’d spent most of the day in, but still larger than the cupboard by far. He stood in the center, eyes drifting over the dresser, the small writing desk, the single bed.
The blanket.
He walked forward almost reverently, brushing a hand over the soft cotton. It was bigger than his old blanket, freshly washed. Maybe they would let him keep it if he behaved.
He shuffled through the pile of clothing Lavender had set out for him, finding the set of pajamas and setting aside the clothes he assumed were meant for tomorrow.
He stripped quickly out of the flimsy shift he’d worn for the sale and pulled on the sweatpants and matching shirt. They were soft against his skin, and he sighed into the feeling, brushing his hand over his unleashed throat. He’d never felt so free in his life.
The only discomfort left was the chastity device strapped to his hips, but even that, he’d gone somewhat blind to. He’d worn it for almost a year, ever since his first heat, the warm metal pressing to his skin was hardly anything.
He wondered if Draco would let him take it off. There was hardly a purpose for it if he never intended to touch Harry. Still, the thought of asking for the key was unthinkable, the deepest kind of humiliation. It would be giving up the only value anyone had ever seen in him, and Harry wasn’t ready to do that, even if Draco had already done it for him.
Harry took a deep, steadying breath, blinking back tears.
He wouldn’t think about it.
He was safe. He was wearing warm, comfortable clothing. He would never have to see the Dursleys again.
He had a blanket.
Carefully, Harry crawled between the sheets, pulling the covers up past his head and curling into himself.
He may not be wanted, but at least he was warm. At least he had a blanket.
Maybe that could be enough.
The next day was a slow-moving blur of faces and rooms and long hallways that all looked exactly the same.
Lavender, who was apparently in charge of running the majority of the household, left him with one of the other servants, a chatty woman named Parvati.
“My cousin was an omega, you know,” she said as she showed him the dining area. “We won’t have you working in the kitchen, don’t worry,” she added before switching back to, “His whole life was dictated by my aunt—who is absolutely insane, I’m not going to get into that now—but you should really consider yourself lucky to have ended up here.”
Harry nodded along, carrying things as they were handed to him, and trying very hard to keep up with the rapid pace she set for most of her conversations. The Dursleys never talked to him much. It felt like a muscle he’d never learned to use.
Eventually, they ended up in a large foyer as Parvati handed him a feather duster and set him to work on the shelves.
Harry dusted slowly, careful not to knock anything over.
He mostly dusted picture frames. Photos of Draco as a child, pictures of him and his mother at a piano, family portraits where Harry could only stare, cross-comparing Draco’s face against his father's, finding the rare points where his mother bled through.
He had her smile, he concluded, by the time Parvati collected the feather duster and they moved on to other things.
It was the same the next day, when he tailed an elderly man in the house’s laundry room, moving bulk items from one machine to the next until his body ached.
It was exhausting work, but it was doable, and Harry gave every task his all, falling like dead weight into his bed by the end of each day.
“Can you find your way?” Lavender asked at the end of the fifth day.
Harry nodded. As mazelike as the house was, Harry was a fast learner, and he was exhausted enough to want to go now.
“Right then. I'll see you at dinner.” She waved him off, and Harry smiled. She’d expressly forbidden anymore thank yous, but they both knew it was what he meant.
Harry kept to the side of the hallway as he slowly walked back to his room.
The ache in his chest had been worse today, sharp and insistent. The kind of pain that was hard to forget about. He would be fine once he lay down. It always went away eventually.
He was considering how much time he would have before dinner when he slammed into something solid turning the corner.
Firm hands caught his waist, swinging him around to keep him from falling.
It was only as he grabbed Draco's shoulder for balance that he realized what had happened.
Draco blinked down at him, icy blue eyes wide, surprised, a few strands of silky blond hair falling into his face.
Harry stumbled upright, nearly twisting out of Draco's hold. “I'm so sorry—” he took a step back, bowing his head low. “I should’ve been paying more attention, forgive me.”
Silence and then a soft laugh. “Um, it's okay, really.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, too frightened to look up. “Thank you.”
Another laugh. Harry couldn't tell what was funny.
“Ms. Brown mentioned your proclivity for gratitude,” Draco explained.
Harry went still. He felt stupid for not even considering that Lavender might mention him, might discuss his behavior. What else had they discussed?
“I'm sorry,” Harry said again, keeping the tremor out of his voice.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Draco said, amused. “Though I would appreciate it if you looked at me while we spoke.”
Harry resisted another apology, forcing his face up until he was looking Draco in the eye.
Draco raised his eyebrows. “Are you settling in well?”
The response was immediate. “Yes, thank you.”
Draco's lip quirked, and Harry flushed. He was being laughed at. Even Harry could tell that much.
“I'm sorry for interrupting your day,” Harry bowed again, stepping to the side. *I promise it won't happen again.”
The next time Harry saw Draco, it was across the garden. He was walking with an older woman—his mother.
Harry paused, watching the sunlight glint off Draco’s pale hair, a soft smile as he turned to answer her. He was handsome like that. Like he was made of sunshine. His eyes flickered up, and they caught Harry’s gaze.
Before he could react, Harry was gone.
_________
“It’s called a day off, Harry,” Lavender explained slowly. “We don’t expect you to work every day. None of the staff do.”
Harry chewed the inside of his lip. “I don’t mind.”
Lavender raised her eyebrow. “Well, I mind.”
Harry stared at her for a long moment, flexing his hand at his side. He didn’t like the idea of being unhelpful.
“Take a rest, explore the house,” Lavender waved her hand vaguely. “There’s a library if you like to read.”
Harry didn’t know if he liked to read. Vernon had always told him he was too stupid for it.
“It’s probably best you don’t go outside the house,” Lavender continued.
Harry nodded. Omegas were rare and easily targeted. He knew better than to go out in public unattended.
Harry sniffed and quietly asked, “Where is the library?”
It turned out that Harry did *not* like to read.
There were too many words he didn’t understand, and even the words he could figure out felt pointless. He flipped through a dozen novels, looking for the occasional picture before giving up entirely and walking the perimeter of the library, examining the paintings on the walls.
An hour passed, and Harry felt himself draining, the same ache in his chest building steadily as he walked from one frame to the next. Maybe he would lie down for the rest of the day after all.
He paused by the large glass window, looking out over the garden. Draco wasn’t out today, but the flowers were blooming, and the lawn was cut neatly into rows. Harry let out a long breath.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?”
Harry spun and knocked into someone, glass crashing to the floor.
Draco grimaced down at his ruined shirt, tea dripping off his collar to the floor. The cup was shattered, glass and liquid spilled over the beige carpet.
Harry’s breath came in rapid bursts.
“Ah, I startled you—”
Harry was already sinking to his knees, shaky hands collecting the larger pieces of glass. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” He whispered, head bowed low.
He couldn’t breathe. Harry’s hands shook, fumbling with the glass as it fell back to the carpet, and he tried to pick it up again. Draco took a step back, and Harry cringed, anticipating a blow.
He’d be sent back. He’d be punished. They would take away his room, his blanket.
“I’m sorry—”
His chest pulled, a sharp pain moving down his side. He couldn’t *breathe*.
“Lavender—” Draco’s voice was distant, frantic. He was sending him away. Harry was sure, even as his vision went fuzzy, the pain in his chest spiked.
“Call for a doctor— Something’s wrong—”
Harry winced as the doctor pressed a scope to his side. He was on the floor of the library, his back pressed against the lower shelves. Draco stood a few yards away, arms crossed over his tea-stained chest.
“Well?” Draco asked, accepting a towel from Lavender.
“He’s dangerously underweight,” the doctor said, letting Harry’s shirt fall back in place. “And I’m fairly certain he has at least two fractured ribs.”
“What?” Draco frowned. “How on Earth did that happen?”
The doctor turned to him, eyebrow raised. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Harry adjusted on the floor, looking down. That explained the chest pain, at least. “It was an accident. Before I came here.”
“An accident?” Draco looked at him sharply.
Harry shrank, nodding.
Draco’s stare didn’t leave him, even as the doctor patted his knee and stood.
“As for what happened, I think it’s a fair assumption that the lad had a panic attack.” He placed the stethoscope back in his traveling bag, turning to Draco. “Omegas are prone to that sort of thing. Very jumpy by nature.”
Draco didn’t respond, but Harry saw the slight shake of his head. He didn’t believe him.
“As for you,” The doctor continued. “Bedrest for a few weeks, and four meals a day until you’re up to a proper weight. Your ribs are healing well enough; just keep pressure off them.” He gave Draco a stern look, “And try not to jump out at him, would you?”
Draco nodded and walked him out.
Lavender helped Harry stand, avoiding the drying tea and broken glass.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Harry whispered, accepting her arm around his waist. The squeeze made his ribs ache, but it was almost a relief. He’d thought—he wasn’t sure what he’d thought—Maybe that he was rotting from the inside out.
Broken ribs seemed like nothing in comparison.
“You poor dear,” Lavender cooed as they walked down the hallway. “You should have told us you were in pain.”
*I didn’t know.* Harry wanted to say, but instead said, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, enough with that. No thank yous, no sorrys, I’ve banned them both.” Lavender said, but her tone was light.
“I don’t know any other words,” Harry said, and it took her a moment to realize he’d made a joke. She laughed, and it was a soft thing.
“We’ll find you plenty of other words.”
They turned the corner down the servants' quarters.
“Like, ‘more please,’” she said as they approached his room, “‘Yes, ma'am, I *would* like another serving.’”
Harry smiled, sliding easily into his bed. “Yes, ma’am.”
She settled on the edge of his mattress, adjusting his fringe. Her expression slowly turned serious. “Your last family,” she paused, but Harry already knew what she was going to ask, “They weren’t very kind to you, were they?”
The words were lodged in his throat. He shook his head, just barely.
Her smile was gentle. “Okay.”
She stayed with him for a few more minutes before a light knock on the door called her away.
It was Draco, Harry could tell even through the closed door.
“Leave him alone for now,” Lavender said, hushed.
“He has *broken ribs*, what about—”
Lavender cut him off, “Can’t you see that you frighten him?” A long pause. Enough that Harry thought they might’ve walked away. Finally, even quieter, “He’s afraid of you.”
Harry pulled the blanket over his head. He didn’t want to hear anymore.
Harry didn’t realize how tired he was until Lavender insisted he stay in bed throughout the rest of the next day. He dozed in and out of sleep, occasionally interrupted by Parvati with a tray of food.
By the time the knock came, the sun was setting, a deep orange glow casting shadows through the room. Harry sighed, carefully sitting up, eyes dazed.
“Come in,” Harry called softly. Parvati had visited three times already. There was no reason he would have expected the blond hair that peeked around the door.
Draco’s eyes shifted around the room as he pushed the door open, a small tray held awkwardly in his hands.
Harry moved to stand.
“No, no,” Draco rushed, “It’s okay. Don’t get up.” His face was flushed, hair looser than Harry had seen it before. He licked his lips, looking around the room. “Um, I brought,” he held up the tray, setting it down on the desk.
Harry forced himself to keep his head up, but it was Draco avoiding eye contact this time. “Thank you,” Harry said.
Draco huffed a nervous laugh, nodding. “You’re very welcome.”
The laugh felt different this time, less like Harry was being mocked. It almost seemed fond. Harry’s mouth twitched into a smile, and Draco’s eyes flickered over to him.
He cleared his throat, “Um, I wanted to—” He folded his arms, his grey sweater pulling tight over his chest. “It’s come to my attention that I’ve made less than an ideal impression since you’ve come to the house.”
Harry shook his head, “You don’t—”
Draco held up his hand, continuing. “No, really. I’d like to apologize. I was…frustrated with my father, and I took it out on you, even though you really had nothing to do with the whole fiasco and were more of a victim of it than even me.” He was talking fast, eyes focused on a spot on the bed. “I realized last night that I never so much as introduced myself. Which, ironically, is behavior I’ve come to expect from someone like my father.”
Harry was starting to feel lost in the conversation, brows furrowing.
Draco swallowed and finally looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry about that, truly.”
Harry didn’t know what to say.
He held out his hand. “My name is Draco Malfoy, and I’m very happy to have you here with us.”
Harry stared for a long moment, slightly unbelieving. Vernon had always been the one to shake hands where Harry was involved; greetings exchanged over his head, as if he didn’t exist.
Harry reached out, accepting Draco’s handshake with a timid grip. “Harry.”
For whatever reason, he felt like he might cry.
Draco squeezed, shaking once, lingering for a moment longer. “It’s nice to meet you, Harry.”
Draco released his grip, their hands falling apart in the dimming light.
After a long moment of silence, Draco straightened his shoulders, nodding. “I told myself I wouldn’t bother you for too long.” He glanced at the tray of food, as if to make sure it hadn’t vanished while he was talking. “I’ll let you be.”
He made for the door, but Harry startled, “Um, Draco—” the name felt odd in his mouth, but Draco caught himself, turning in the door frame, eyebrows raised.
Harry gave him a sheepish smile before he said it, but what else, really, could he say? “Thank you.”
Draco’s smile brightened the entire room. “Ms. Brown wasn’t exaggerating about you, was she?”
A laugh bubbled up from his chest, and he softly shook his head.
“I’ll take that into advisement,” Draco said fondly, before shutting the door behind him.
“How are your ribs feeling?” Draco asked, holding the door open to the garden.
“They're better, I think,” Harry said, walking through.
Draco had visited him three times since his apology, today coming with strict orders from the lavender to ‘make sure Harry gets a bit of exercise, would you?”
Draco fell into step beside him, hands clasped behind his back. “Harry.”
He looked up.
“I've been meaning to ask about that.”
Their conversations had mostly been benign; the weather, the food, his accommodations. Harry swallowed.
“How did you break your ribs?”
Harry kept walking, said nothing.
“You said it was an accident, but I don’t think that’s true.” Draco's voice was gentle, matter-of-fact.
Harry chewed on his lip. It felt like a step too far to admit how unwanted he’d been—how easily he was discarded. He’d only just got comfortable here, what if Draco decided he wasn’t worth what he’d been given?
“There are things we can do, if someone hurt you,” Draco continued. “We can protect you from getting hurt again—protect others maybe.”
There were no others. Vernon only had guardianship of Harry because he was an estranged relative of Harry’s dead parents. He would never have another omega. Even if he did, Harry got the feeling he would be kinder to them.
“It’s okay to lie to me. Nothing bad will happen if you do. Although,” a pause, “I would really like to know the truth.”
The truth was that Harry was bad. He’d earned every punishment he was given, and it hurt—it hurt to talk about. He didn't want to.
“It was an accident,” Harry said, finally. He could hear how brittle his voice sounded, how stiff the lie felt on his tongue.
Draco nodded, watching him. “Okay.”
It wasn't until Draco touched his arm that Harry realized he was shaking.
“For what it's worth,” Draco said, “ If you ever decided you didn’t want to stay here…”
Harry was no longer breathing.
“I'm your handler now, and I would help you find somewhere safe. You won’t have to go back to your previous family for *any reason.* I promise. ”
Draco squeezed Harry's elbow, and he remembered to inhale.
“But that’s only if you want to. I would never send you away.” Draco’s tone shifted into something lighter. “Ms Brown would have my head.”
Harry looked down at his hand, the gentle grip on his arm. Draco followed his gaze, startling slightly, pulling away, like he’d forgotten he was touching him. He cleared his throat, “Let’s go this way.”
____
Draco visited again the next day, and the day after that, soon forming a routine to bring Harry his dinner and stay for a while, sitting at his desk and chatting casually.
Harry didn’t entirely know what to make of it.
“You two have been getting along rather well,” Lavender noted as Harry followed her through the laundry room, early one morning.
“Have we?” Harry genuinely wasn’t sure.
She nodded, sorting quickly through a basket of unfolded clothing. “I should hope so. You talk to him more regularly than I ever have.”
Harry was confused. “Really?”
Lavender found what she was looking for, pulling a cotton shirt out of the pile, holding it up to Harry’s chest. “I drop off his tea in the morning, but he’s a busy man. Doesn’t often have time for more than a few words.”
That couldn’t be true. Draco hardly ever seemed in a hurry when they spoke, and they never talked about anything that mattered. Mostly, Draco talked about his day, occasionally prodding Harry with harmless questions until it was clear that Harry was tired, and Draco would excuse himself for the night.
If he was so busy, why did he even bother?
Harry took the clothes as Lavender handed them to him, silently trying to parse through Draco’s motive.
Draco arrived late that evening. He didn’t have the usual tray with him.
“I’m a bit behind on some paperwork,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d like to come sit with me in the library?”
Harry did, because as much as Draco told him he could say no to any request made of him, Harry felt compelled to be agreeable. Like he only had so many refusals and he should hoard them for something more important.
Even if he didn’t particularly like the library, he liked being next to Draco. He sat quietly, watching from across the desk as Draco filled in forms, neat cursive flowing effortlessly across the page.
Harry glanced from the stack of paperwork up to Draco. “Are you a busy person?
Draco seemed taken aback, not used to Harry asking questions. He hummed, leaning his chin onto his fist. “I suppose I am. Comparatively to most.”
Harry furrowed his brow.
Draco noticed, tone light. “What is it?”
Harry wet his lips, trying to phrase it in a way that didn’t sound ungrateful. Eventually, he settled on, “You visit me often.”
Draco, not following, nodded slowly. “I do.”
Harry swallowed, frustrated with himself. He’d never needed to speak so much before, how was he supposed to suddenly communicate? Eventually, “You don’t need to come by. If you’re busy.”
Something in Draco’s expression shifted, and Harry knew he’d mispoken. He looked almost sad. “Do you not want me to come by anymore?”
Harry jerked his head. That’s not what he *meant*. He chewed on his lip, and Draco waited. “I’m—” Harry nodded at the stack of forms, “not as important.”
Draco considered that for a long moment before catching Harry’s eye. “Do you like when I talk to you? Be honest with me.”
Harry nodded. He looked forward to seeing Draco more than any other part of his day, but he didn’t see how that was relevant.
Draco smiled at him. “Would you believe me if I said I enjoyed talking to you, too?”
Harry didn’t understand how that could be possible.
Draco turned his body so that they were fully facing each other. “Let’s make a deal. If I’m busy, you come keep me company while I finish work. Just like today.”
Harry nodded.
“And the other nights, I get to chat with you.” His smile turned sly, “For as long as I’d like.”
Harry rolled his eyes.
Draco laughed, and the sound was lovely, something new. Harry watched his face melt back into a grin, and then a smile, then he looked at Harry, his eyes a shimmering grey. “Do we have a deal?”
Harry smiled, “Okay.”
And so that’s how it went after that. Most nights, Harry would meet Draco in the library, sitting in comfortable silence until he was done before Draco walked him back to his room. Other nights, as promised, Draco arrived at his door, and soundlessly settle in Harry’s desk chair to chat for shifting amounts of times.
Some visits were short, a brief conversation, other times he stayed for hours, conversations turning into long, lingering silences where Draco watched him, a tiny smile on his face.
But he was careful not to touch Harry, and with each day, Harry had the vaguest sense that maybe he would be alright if Draco decided he wanted to.
It was a difficult topic to bring up, so Harry never did.
It was good. It was easy, and it would keep being easy until the day Lucius came to visit.
Harry didn’t look up when the door opened.
He was expecting Draco for another evening in the library, a tray of biscuits and tea laid out for them to graze on.
A disapproving hum.
Harry turned.
Lucius stood a few feet away, just as tall and imposing as he was that day in the brothel. He gave Harry one long look up his body, frowning.
“I see he hasn’t sent you away yet.” He twisted the head of his cane. “That’s better than the others have done.”
Harry got to his feet, lowering his eyes as Lucius approached.
Something sharp hit the back of his legs, and he folded.
“On your knees, or have you forgotten your place?”
Harry complied immediately, shaking as he apologized, “I’m sorry.”
Lucius sneered. “I see he’s been pampering you.” The cane touched the side of his head, pushing his hair aside. “I don’t suppose he’s bred you yet?”
The cane moved lower, pressing hard into the side of his neck. “N-no.”
Lucius tsked. “Useless thing.”
He moved the cane lower, catching the first button of his shirt.
Harry flinched as it popped open, but he moved on to the next one. “Maybe you would be more successful if you—”
“Father—” It was Draco, stopped at the entrance.
The cane fell away from Harry’s chest.
“Good evening,” Lucius said, with a wide smile.
His eyes flickered between Harry and his father. “What are you doing here?”
“Do I need a reason to visit my only son?” Lucius moved around the table, sliding a finger over the lip of Harry’s cup of tea. “But I see I interrupted your picnic.”
Draco scowled at him.
Lucius’ smile was a saccharine thing. “Apologies.”
“Harry, would you give us a few minutes?” Draco motioned for him to stand. “You can wait for me out in the garden.”
Harry scrambled to his feet, but Lucius stopped him before he could move too far. His lip curled into a smile, and he picked up the tray of tea and biscuits. “Don’t forget your treats, dog.” He pressed the tray into Harry’s hands, smiling viciously.
“Father,” Draco bit, and Harry could see his fists clenched at his side.
Harry caught his eye, nodding once as if to say *it’s okay.* He took the tray and bowed his head, shuffling out of the library, and closing the double doors behind him.
Draco stayed in the library for a long time.
Harry could see the doors from where he was sitting, quietly sipping his cold tea. He tried not to think about the glint of malice in Lucius’ eyes, the slight tremble in Draco’s shoulders.
He didn’t like to think that Draco was afraid of his father. He didn’t like to imagine what they were talking about—Draco forced to face his father alone.
Not that Harry would have been much help. Lucius was right. He *was* a dog.
He sipped his tea, frowning at the slight bitter taste.
Finally, the door opened, and Harry watched Draco walk his father down the hallway, towards the front door.
He was going then. That was probably good.
“I’m sorry about that,” Draco said as he pushed through the glass door to the garden. His shoulders were drooped, his smile a bit sad.
“Not your fault,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders.
Draco’s smile was tense. He still hadn’t sat down, standing awkwardly in front of Harry, hands balled at his sides.
“What is it?”
Draco made a pained expression. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Okay,” Harry set his tea down, moving over slightly on the bench. He wanted Draco to sit down next time, but he kept standing.
“I’ve been selfish,” he said. “And I’ve kept you here longer than I had any right to.”
Harry’s heart sank, but at the same time, it felt like something he’d always known was coming. Draco didn’t want him. “What do you mean?”
“I have no intention of ever having children.”
Harry felt sick. He stared at Draco, not understanding. “Okay.”
Draco wet his lips. “I can’t, in fact. It’s impossible. I made sure of it.”
His words were barely registering in Harry’s head. All he could hear was static, visions of desperate omegas throwing themselves over patrons in a grimy club—shifting, writhing bodies. He knew Draco wouldn’t do that, but he’d thought Draco would keep him.
“But I’ve kept you here, knowing I could never fulfill that part of your life, because you are *so remarkable*, and I just wanted to be near you.”
*Wanted*. He didn’t want to be near him anymore.
“You promised,” Harry said, quietly.
Draco looked agonized, face breaking. “I would *never* send you back to your relatives, but it’s not fair to keep you here when I know that I can never— I’ll never—”
*I’ll never touch you.*
Harry’s face flushed. He’d never even wanted children. He’d always expected them, because what else was the point of an omega? What else was the point of him?
But he could see what this was. Draco wanted him gone.
“Okay,” his head spun. “May I go back to my room now?”
“I swear I’ll find you a suitable home, somewhere where you’ll be happy—” Draco was talking very fast now, but Harry stood, leaving the tray behind as he moved passed Draco.
Draco let him go.
Harry knew something was wrong by the time he got back to his room. His skin was flushed, breath coming in short bursts.
He fell into his bed, curling into a ball under his blanket.
His head ached, goosebumps erupting over his arms.
It felt like his heat, but that couldn’t be right. He still had weeks before his heat was supposed to arrive. His mind flashed to his strangely bitter tea, Lucius’ hand over it…
He shifted and almost cried out. His cock was achingly hard between his thighs, the metal cage pressing into his hip. He felt too cold—too hot— too much. Everything was too much.
Did it even matter if Lucius had slipped him something to make this happen? Draco was going to send him away anyway.
Harry sniffled into his blanket, curling tighter, shivering.
He never should have believed him—never let himself hope. It was always going to end.
A knock on the door. Draco’s voice.
Harry didn’t hear what he said, but tortorously, his body shuddered, every inch of skin yearning for Draco’s touch. It felt more intense than any heat he’d had before, more focused.
The door opened.
“Harry?”
A short moan escaped his throat, and he pressed his hips to the mattress. The cage kept him from feeling any relief from the motion, but he rutted again uselessly, desperate.
Draco turned him to face him, eyes wide, pupils dialated. “Harry, are you—”
Harry’s cheeks flushed, and he turned away, shaking off Draco’s hand. He didn’t want to beg. He couldn’t stand the humiliation.
“Go away,” Harry grit through his teeth.
Draco’s hand moved over his shoulders. “I’m not going to leave you like this.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me anyway, just go—” Harry groaned, and then more quietly. “Stop pretending you care.”
Draco went still, hand still burning a hole through Harry’s arm. “I do care, Harry. I care too much, that’s been the whole issue.”
“You want to send me away.”
“I want you to be happy.”
It was easier to speak when Harry felt like he was burning alive, the words fell out of his mouth. “You’ve never even asked what *I* wanted—what would make *me* happy.” The last word was bitter, angry, and maybe he was.
Draco had *promised.*
Draco didn’t say anything until, even more hot and frustrated now, Harry nearly cried, “I just want *you*—Just you.”
Draco’s hand found his, and his skin was cool to the touch. He waited for Harry to look up at him before saying, “I really can’t give you much else.”
“I don’t care.” They watched each other for a long moment, Draco’s eyes calming every flushed nerve in his body. It would be okay. Everything would be okay if Draco just kept looking at him like that. “I don’t want anything else.”
Draco was closer now, his hand on Harry’s cheek. His eyes flickered between his, searching. “Are you sure?”
Harry nodded, and Draco kissed him. It was tender and perfect, and Harry’s body instantly reacted, flaring hot, electricity firing down the length of his arms
Harry gasped into the kiss, and Draco pressed in, tongues sliding over each other.
Draco scrambled halfway onto the bed, moving over Harry as they pressed against each other. Hot kisses and wandering hands, and Draco’s erection pressing against his thigh. Harry was going to erupt into flames as Draco palmed over his cock, stalling as his fingers met the cage.
“What is—” Draco pulled away slightly.
“The key—it’s in your bedroom,” Harry gasped. His brow creased, confusion slowly settling in over the lust fueled disorientation.“I thought you said you could never—”
“I’ve made my sperm unviable,” Draco said, matching Harry’s flush. “I know how important children are to omegas, and I’ll never be able to give you that.”
Oh. “I don’t want children.”
“Oh.”
They’d been talking around each other, it seemed.
Harry’s hand shook as he touched Draco’s face. He was so beautiful. “So you’ll…” He wanted to be touched, he needed it—more so now than ever. He’d been ready to accept whatever Draco had to give, but the thought of touching him—really getting to touch him.
Draco nodded, eyes hazy. “The key is in my bedroom?”
“Yeah.”
Draco crawled off him, pressing sweet kisses to his cheek. He pulled the blanket tight around Harry before picking him up in a warm, soft, bundle. He pressed his cheek to Harry’s sweaty forehead, sighing. “Let’s go then.”
The key was not on the dresser where Harry saw Lavender put it.
Draco set him on the center of the bed, hands shaking as he brushed picture frames and books aside, searching.
Harry was on fire, his skin hot and clammy, each shift of the blanket making him whimper. It was definitely worse than his last heat. He could hardly breathe.
“Goddammit, where is it?” Draco muttered, pulling drawers open and shut.
Harry could smell him now. It wasn’t always so strong—barely noticeable on a normal day—but right now the room reeked of alpha, the smell of his arousal only making Harry’s shaking worse. He *needed* him. He wasn’t going to survive unless—
“Found it—”
Harry moaned at the sound of his voice, clenching his thighs together, but there was no relief. There was never any relief.
Draco crawled into the bed, cradling Harry’s head in his hands. His breathing was shallow, but his eyes were bright and he flickered between Harry’s.
“Are you sure?”
Harry could barely manage to nod.
Draco carefully unwrapped him, pulling his blanket away from his shoulders, tugging at his pants until they slipped over his ankles and he was bare, spread out on Draco’s mattress with nothing to cover him but the cage around his cock. He should have felt ashamed, but the spotty blush on Draco’s perfect cheeks only made him more sure this was what he wanted.
“Please…” Harry whispered, chest heaving.
Draco’s tongue flicked over his lips. He was standing at the end of the bed, watching Harry with a dazed look. He was still wearing all his clothes, and Harry wanted to scream at him to hurry up.
As if reading Harry’s mind, his hands went for the first button on his shirt, working them off one by one before moving onto his pants. It was too slow. Everything was too hot. Harry writhed on the bed, palming uselessly at the metal as Draco took off his last layers.
“Shh, let me, “ Draco cooed, crawling onto his knees between Harry’s legs.
Harry couldn’t watch. He couldn’t look away. His brain went white as Draco bent down, running his hands along the metal fastenings, searching.
He didn’t hear it unlock, but he felt it, a slight shift in pressure as it was no longer held on, and then slowly, agonizingly, Draco lifted it off him. The air felt different; his cock twitched at the freedom, a cold breeze making him aware of just how much slick was dripping between his thighs.
Draco’s fingers ghosted over his shaft.
Harry jolted, grabbing at the sheets around him, hips bucking off the bed with a lecherous moan.
Draco’s fingers stayed soft, tracing the vein on the underside of him, brushing over the tip. Every touch felt electric, a new fire consuming him.
“I didn’t know,” Draco started, voice quivering. “I didn’t know you were wearing it.”
His fingers moved lower, brushing against Harry’s balls, lingering over his entrance. Harry was only vaguely aware that he wasn’t breathing.
“I would have taken it off for you,” Draco said, pressing slightly—not deep enough to penetrate, just enough to lather his fingers in slick, teasing Harry with the pressure he craved.
“Draco—” Harry moaned, body shaking.
“Shhh,” Draco cooed, leaning over him. He brushed sweaty curls away from Harry’s face, his other hand lazily stroking over his hole. He pressed a sweet kiss to Harry’s mouth. “I’m going to take care of you.”
A shudder was the only answer he got as Draco pressed a single finger inside him.
He’d imagined what it would be like to be touched so intimately, but in all the heats he’d spent on his own, he’d never imagined it could feel so natural. Draco stroked his walls with the tip of his finger, and Harry mewled, arching off the bed, spreading his legs wider.
*More*, his body seemed to beg, and Draco answered, pushing three fingers inside.
The difference was night and day, and Harry scrambled, grasping for Draco’s shoulders, mouth gaping wide as Draco thrust easily into him. He could hear how wet he was, the soft squelch each time Draco pushed in, but it wasn’t enough.
“God, you smell amazing,” Draco’s forehead thunked into Harry’s neck, his shoulders shaking.
“Fuck me—” Harry whispered, pleaded really. Draco’s fingers would never be enough. He needed Draco to fill him—ruin him.
Draco did as he was told, adjusting them on the bed until his cock was lined up, Harry’s thighs wrapping around his waist. His clear grey eyes flickered up to Harry again, and slowly, he pushed in.
The stretch was perfect, Harry’s stomach tightening as Draco slid into him, deeper and deeper and deeper, until Harry was gasping from the weight of it, from the pure bliss of Draco settled inside.
Draco shuddered, mouthing at Harry’s jaw. He had one elbow planted by Harry’s head, the other moving feverishly over Harry’s body, tangling in his hair, teasing his oversensitive nipples.
“You’re so perfect,” Draco whispered, and Harry flushed deeper, like he hadn’t been meant to hear the words. Like he’d intruded on something private.
“Please, Draco—” Harry begged.
Draco fucked him with slow, intentional rolls of his hips. Each thrust felt minutes long, drawing out the full length before pushing slowly back inside. The sensation was so new, Harry couldn’t quite believe it.
Was this how it was supposed to feel? Every nerve in his body centered on Draco's cock?
“Is it okay?” Harry gripped Draco’s shoulders, their noses rested against each other, breathing each other's air.
Draco made an unintelligible sound, burying his cock again. Harry arched into him, ankle hooked behind his back, pulling him closer.
Draco’s mouth moved over his neck, pressing soft kisses. “You feel so good, Harry. So good for me.”
Harry whimpered as he searched out Draco’s lips, kissing him again. No one had ever said those things to him. He might combust from just that.
Draco rolled his hips, smiling slightly. “You’re so lovely like this.” He slid his fingers along Harry’s jaw and palmed the side of his neck. “All flushed and desperate.”
Harry's stomach tightened, not an unpleasant sensation, but not one he’d felt before. Draco’s hips moved faster, and the sensation built, coiling at the pit of his stomach.
Harry’s grip tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Draco— Stop—”
Draco did, his cock going still inside him, chest heaving. “What’s wrong?”
Harry didn’t know how to describe it, the precarious warmth threatening to topple him over. Harry breathed heavily and stayed silent.
Draco waited. His thumb rubbed soothing patterns over his jaw as he seemed to understand something. “Have you never…?”
Harry didn’t know what he was talking about.
Draco swallowed and licked his lips. “It’s going to feel good, darling. Don’t try to hold back.” He pulled out completely, and Harry wanted to cry at the loss. “Do you trust me?”
Harry nodded. He trusted Draco more than he’d ever trusted anyone, even as he shook and clung to him, his skin burning with each touch.
Draco reached between them, plunging three fingers into Harry until his hand was almost soaked with slick. He wrapped the wet fingers around Harry’s shaft, pressing his cock back inside.
“Ah—” Harry gasped, throwing his head back as Draco thrust in, stroking his cock in time with his hips. It felt too good, too much. The pleasure coiled, bubbled over.
“Let go for me,” Draco rushed, pistoning into him, fingers slipping over the head of Harry’s cock, twisting, stroking down.
The pleasure built, hips smacking against the back of his thighs. The room filled with the raw scent of Draco’s pheromones, overwhelmingly *him*.
But it was Draco’s expression that finally did it, the raw, unfiltered *want* Harry could see in his eyes. He needed Harry as much as Harry needed him, and with one last thrust of his cock, Harry’s world slid sideways.
The pleasure rippled out of him in waves, curling up through his spine, down to his toes. His muscles constricted, pulling tight, his cock pulsing, warm and wet over his stomach.
“There you are,” Draco hummed, stroking him through the aftershocks. “Wasn't so bad, was it?”
Harry couldn't do anything but hold onto him, opening and closing his mouth with choked gasps of air as Draco's cock continued to thrust into him.
A kiss. A brush of hair. “You're going to cum again for me, darling, is that alright?”
Harry mumbled a yes.
Draco smiled, pulling out and manhandling Harry onto his hands and knees. He draped himself flush to Harry's back, their skin tacky with sweat.
“Hold onto the headboard.” His knuckles folded over Harry's hands, guiding them to their place on the wood mantle. His chest was heavy against Harry’s back, heaving as he spoke into his neck, “It's going to feel different this time, but you're okay. I’m here.”
Harry’s head fell weakly forward, vision hazy as he watched Draco move between his thighs, spreading him wide, pushing back inside in one smooth slide.
Harry gasped, buckling forward, catching himself. Draco’s cock was impossibly deep, brushing against something inside him. It did feel different. He hadn’t been ready for just how much.
“Ah— Draco—”
“Shh,” Draco’s hands fluttered over his ribs, calm, soothing motions. Soft kisses brushed over his spine. “You’re alright.”
He pulled out slowly, kneading Harry’s arse and pushing in.
Harry whimpered.
“So good for me,” Draco cooed, rocking into him. “So pretty.”
Harry’s knuckles tightened, fingertips white against the dark oak as Draco’s cock fucked into him, rocking his body forward with each thrust.
The coil built slowly this time, warm and steady, flooding through him with each push and stretch, each point of pressure where Draco’s fingers dug into his hips.
“I’m—ah—close,” Draco moaned, thrusting faster. “Can I— Do you mind—”
Harry, who was trying very hard not to let go of the headboard and collapse into the pillows, nodded absently. Draco could do whatever he wanted. He could have anything. Everything. He felt feverish with the truth of it.
Draco fisted Harry’s cock, rutting into him in erratic, shallow thrusts. The pleasure was too much for Harry to react to, his arms trembling from the effort of holding himself up, head hanging limply forward.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the tidal wave gathered, pushing himself back onto Draco. Just a little more, a little deeper, he could feel it.
“Oh god—” Draco fell forward, wrapping his other arm around Harry’s chest, pulling him tight. Something shifted, and a moan wrenched out of Harry’s throat. Draco’s cock was expanding, stretching. It bumped against his rim as Draco fucked into him, each push now a sharp pull just past what he was used to.
Draco’s fist flew over his cock, unsteady and trembling, and it was too much. Harry’s arms gave out, and like the motion of falling was what his body was waiting for, the tidal wave crashed.
Pleasure washed over him, hot and sticky and blinding, pulling him under in a shuddering mess. Draco groaned into his neck and crushed him under his weight, hips stilling as a new warmth spread between them.
Draco’s hands shook as they came back to reality, each sensation outlined in white, stark and unignorable. Draco’s hand on his stomach, Draco’s hair tickling Harry’s ear, Draco’s breath against the side of his face.
The thick pressure connecting them.
Harry tried to shift but couldn’t, Draco’s cock fastening them together.
“Draco—”
Draco’s chest inhaled deeply, arms tightening around Harry’s waist. “Are you alright?”
Harry flexed his hands, waiting for something to hurt, waiting for pain to register, but nothing did. Even his ribs felt fine in the warm, hazy aftermath. “Yes.”
Draco pressed his nose into Harry’s hair, smiling. “I’m glad.”
“Draco,” Harry said, his chest tightening with fondness.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”