By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 20: Draco

Flames cast Draco's pale skin in hues of scarlet and gold as he lay on the Persian rug by the fireplace. His hand rested on his bare abdomen, a blanket taken from the bed upstairs wrapped around his waist and legs. His head was turned toward the fire, warmth splashing across his cheeks and neck, the pale skin of his chest. Beside him, Potter was sprawled out on his stomach, his cheek cushioned on his arm, black hair falling over his eyes. Although he and Draco weren't touching, he was close enough that his breath stirred the curls on the back of Draco's neck.

Potter murmured from somewhere in his dreams, and Draco turned to look at him across the brief gap between their bodies. His face was cast in shadows, his long eyelashes brushing the dark skin of his cheeks. Even in sleep, it was clear he didn't find rest: the muscles in his arms and back were tensed, his brow crinkling then smoothing as his eyes darted rapidly beneath his eyelids. Draco wondered what his nightmares looked like—if he dreamed of the Dark Lord, of black hoods and masks, of blinding green light. Potter tucked his face more deeply into the crook of his elbow, shifting aside his hair to reveal a sliver of the lightning bolt scar, and Draco's fingers itched to reach out and touch it.

Draco had spent a long time wondering what Harry Potter would feel like: if the raised skin of his scar would be rough beneath Draco's fingertips, if his lips were as soft as they looked, if his warmth would envelop Draco as Potter laid on top of him. And now he knew. He knew exactly what Potter felt like, what he tasted like, what he sounded like when Draco wrapped his long fingers around his dick and pulled pleasure from deep inside him like a Patronus charm. Draco suspected he'd spend the rest of his (potentially very short) life replaying the way Potter growled his name into his ear as he came.

Not that the sex meant anything more to Potter. If he needed to forget the fucked up hellscape they were living through by losing himself in a warm body, then Draco was all too happy to let Potter do whatever he wanted to him until one or both of them was dead.

Draco couldn't help but hope that he wouldn't be the one left standing when all was said and done.

A log shifted in the fireplace, the crack tearing Potter from sleep. He jolted upright, flipping himself over and scrabbling for his wand and glasses—both of which were in the kitchen. As his hands came up empty, he shook himself properly awake, glancing down at Draco before scrubbing his hands down his face. Draco couldn't help a small smile at the blush blooming across his cheeks.

"Were you having a nightmare?" Draco asked, folding his arm beneath his head as he looked up at Potter, nearly the same way he'd done last night; heat began to pool low in his stomach, and he tamped down the grin tugging at his lips.

Potter rubbed his forehead, before rising on his knees and pushing himself up to standing using the armchair. "Of a sort," he said, looking around the room for his clothes; he was still shirtless, wearing only his underwear. Draco swallowed heavily past the bolt of desire that burned through him as Potter stretched his arms overhead, his pants sinking low on his waist. He padded over to the sink, shoving his head under the faucet and drinking deeply, the water dripping off the ends of his hair and sliding down his chest as he straightened back up.

Draco choked down a groan.

"Now that you've got your Patronus," Potter said as he rummaged through the cupboard, pulling out a peach from the canvas bag he'd brought back from the Wizard village, "We should get a message to Ron and Hermione." When several moments passed without Draco saying anything, Potter's brow furrowed, and he lowered the peach to his side. "Draco?"

Draco shook himself from the sight of Potter biting into the soft flesh of the peach, juice running down his chin and his throat moving as he swallowed. "Right, yes," he said, clearing his own throat. "Can't be too difficult, can it?"