Inked Dragons

Understanding Certain Needs

Harry watched Draco absentmindedly play with his earing. He'd noticed it was a habit Draco had, often when he was thinking about the past, mostly when the thoughts were wrapped up in his father and the conflict of hating someone he also loved. Draco had told Harry that his father hated his earing. The argument about Draco's tattoos had been short-lived after Draco pointedly referred to being forcefully given his first tattoo at barely sixteen-years old and then highlighting the strong presence of the Dark Mark still on Lucius's arm, even after Voldemort's demise. Malfoy Snr's Dark Mark hadn't faded like his son's; it was a remaining and overt symbol of his dedication and service to Voldemort.

Harry caught eyes with Hermione and nodded towards the door with a raised eyebrow. She took the hint that he wanted them to fuck off momentarily because the games were over. She dragged Ron away downstairs to wait for them.

'You okay?' Harry said, sitting down next to Draco, his pillow in his lap. 'You've slipped into being pensive.'

'I'm fine,' Draco shook himself, as if to wake himself from a daydream. 'Just a bit of a shock.'

'You're allowed to still love him, you know.'

'Who?' Draco said, automatically defensive.

'Your father.'

Draco's shoulder's slumped. 'How did you know I was thinking about him?'

Harry shrugged. 'We live together, for nearly six months now. I've picked things up, noticed things. Being an Auror, you know, and Leader of the Elite Corps... I'm trained to see the clues. Plus, it's you. And you know you can read me equally as well.'

'Hmph,' Draco exhaled. 'You're supposed to be an oblivious idiot. And you pick terrible friends with terrible timing. I have fucking awful ball-ache now.'

'I'll make it up to you after they leave.'

'I might go home later.'

'I see,' said Harry carefully.

'I don't know what you see. There's nothing to see.' Draco got up, shrugging off the duvet and going to the wardrobe to retrieve a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

'Sure,' Harry watched, momentarily admiring the view of Draco from the back. He was toned, not in the same way as Harry who worked out every day, but in a slender way that Harry found irresistible. His tattoos stood out against his pale skin. He knew that if you studied the drops of water on the dragon's scales, there were small scenes contained within each drop. Surprising scenes, taken from direct memories of their school days and alluding to incidents between Draco and Harry that were of significance to Draco but meant nothing to the casual onlooker, even if they got that close. When Harry had realised that Draco had permanently marked his skin with those moments, not knowing or believing that any future with Harry was possible, it had broken Harry's heart and made him fall all that bit harder for his old arch-nemesis.

Harry discarded his pillow, got up, and went to stand behind Draco. He kissed the back of his neck and carefully took Draco's clothes from his unresisting grip and dropped them on the floor before resting his hands gently on Draco's hips. 'You know, you were very bold, at that third sitting for my tattoo, when you kissed my back,' he said quietly, his lips occasionally glazing Draco's shoulder. He had learnt enough from Draco about how to find the tension in the back, so he slowly moved his hands, finding the trigger points, pressing and massaging them until he felt Draco melt against him. 'And ever since, we've just stumbled along in a haze of thrills and excitement. Everything has felt so natural that it's hard to question what we have. But there's still an awful lot to unpick between us. I suppose if we talk about the trauma of the past it's a marker of seriousness and, until now, it's just been you and me having fun without really taking into account our history beyond a certain familiarity and silent forgiveness of past events...' Harry kissed the back of Draco's neck again.