𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄

Chapter 14

Harry drifted into their glade and perched upon the mossy bridge, letting his legs swing back and forth. Draco joined him sometime later, creeping silently through the wood. He was dressed, once more, as a Veelan prince, but he looked rather irritated.

"Do they dress you in the mornings?" Harry laughed. Draco scowled as he leaned back against a tree and crossed his arms over his chest. He pouted – adorably, irresistibly. Desire flared within Harry, and he gave Draco an intense study. Draco didn't squirm under the heated gaze, but looked more comfortable.

"Apparently I have a certain image to keep," Draco finally answered. "These are – not that you'd ever guess it – my informal robes. I have been told that my style of dress is positively indecent…. They burned all of my clothes."

Harry bit back a laugh, but ended up letting out this strange snorting snigger. Draco narrowed his eyes and sulked. Harry could commiserate – the robes were fine and undoubtedly comfortable – but there was something even more relaxing about jeans and T-shirts or sweats or any other casual wear. Harry had never actually seen Draco in any of the aforementioned, but Draco too had a certain idea about casual wear – boot-cut trousers and pullovers and jumpers.

"Come sit with me." Draco obliged, crossing to Harry's side and crawling into his lap. Harry nuzzled his neck. "How long can you stay?"

"I have all night," Draco replied.

"So do I," Harry said, "but we've got to talk about something first. Duncan came to me at Hogwarts." Harry wouldn't go as far to tell Draco that he'd gone to the Black Forest first, but the Veela had turned him away; that would only spur a tantrum. "He wants to come live with you. There's been a bit of trouble, and he wants to get out of Voldemort's ranks."

"I don't see why he even needed to ask. What trouble?"

"Just a little trouble with executing a plan of his," said Harry. "He was going to move to Texas with his fiancé, but the Death Eaters suspect that. He wants to come straight away."

"He can come now – I'll go—"

"Draco." Harry caressed his husband's cheek and gave a slight, sly smile. "Not now. Tomorrow sometime – noon, or so – but not right now; it can wait."

Draco pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, and his long, dexterous fingers came up to card through the hair at the nape of Harry's neck. He shifted closer, straddling Harry's lap. Harry slipped his hands up Draco's hard, muscular thighs and wrapped his arms around Draco's narrow waist, and crushed Draco's body against his own. Draco whimpered, but didn't pull back.

"What are you doing?" he breathed heavily.

"I don't know," said Harry because he truly didn't. Draco felt so small against him, and Harry wanted to feel him bend, but not break – press back, but ply. "Don't stop."

"Whatever you say, Harry." Draco indulged him – delighted in indulging in him. As they kissed, Harry manhandled Draco down, and Draco resisted him, trying to squirm away. Harry pressed him into the mossy rock, keeping one hand clamped around his wrists, high over Draco's head, with enough force to lightly bruise. Draco bucked up, trying to throw him off.

"You like this?" Draco gasped as Harry ground down against him, rutting. Harry couldn't tell if Draco was disgusted or intrigued, so he hesitated, grip loosening a little. Smirking, Draco bucked up and flipped them over. "Do you think about me fighting you?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "Just now I wanted to…."

"Last time you bit me."

Harry flushed. "I'm sorry about that."