Silk and Regrets-my Scratched Hearts challenge entry
Title: Silk and Regrets
Author: Pestilence
Author's email: realpestilence@yahoo.com
Beta: Kestrelsparhawk, a rose by any other name
Rating: NC-17
Challenge Scenario(s): Kind of "Dark Lord", though more of a "Really Bossy Lord", actually
Summary: Well, there was a bad break up, see, due to politics in the boys' bed. It's just an excuse to put Draco in a dress.; This is a response to the Scratched Hearts fic challenge for Crossing the Line
Warnings: Non-con, drugging, cross-dressing, and a really poor plot, folks. But I'm turning it in anyways, because I said I would. Yahoo took down my mailbox that had the original draft in it, so I had to start over; therefore, any flaws are *Yahoo's* fault, not mine. *washes hands of blame* Hope you're buying that...
*This fic is dedicated to my Colibri Vert, who made me write it. Gauntlet accepted, my dear!*
Silk and Regrets
I watched the slender figure swaying gracefully through the crowd, mesmerized by the movement of hips beneath the elegance of pewter silk. Miss Hari was a tall woman, and altogether striking. Long strands of crimson dangled, glimmering, from her ears; and the ivory column of her neck was clasped by a collar of garnet-set silver. Her pert breasts rose in a shy swell above her bodice, creamy skin peeking through the lace which failed to fully conceal her charms. My hungry eyes were drawn to the long, burnished curls spiralling into golden clusters which tumbled lovingly about her shoulders, trailing down towards...ah, she had a dark beauty mark high on her left breast. My lips curved in a sardonic smile--I do so appreciate these little details--and I strolled discreetly after her. A good host pays attention to all of his guests, does he not?
Even those who invite themselves.
My lady fair glanced covertly about the room; then she stepped onto the balcony, her grey ostrich feathered fan in one gloved hand. Overcome by the heat, no doubt. Just as her keen interest in the layout of the house was assuredly mere curiosity over the fine architectural details; and she was not eavesdropping on passing conversations, for that would be tasteless. My smile broadened as I lay in wait. Not long now, and I would have what I had wanted...what I had desperately craved, for so long.
Tapered fingers played with the fan, caressing the feathered ribs. The delicate bit of plumed ridiculousness was slowly waved before her flushed face several times; and then she was turning back to the room. She glanced around as she shut the glass doors behind her, and our eyes met. Caught, she waited as I approached her with refreshments in hand.
It was quite warm in here, after all, and even a spy needs a drink now and then.
"I like your dress," I said, amiably. I did. You can't go wrong with silk.
My companion smiled wryly. "Thank you, Potter. Or should I say...M'Lord?"
Smiling blandly, I replied, "Let's not stand on ceremony, Malfoy. I know what you taste like, after all, and you've a more than passing acquaintance with my arse. I didn't expect to see you here, you fool."
"I didn't expect to be seen here, precious, and certainly not by you. You're supposed to be in Finland, negotiating with the ogres. That's a great idea and why didn't you go? Peikko's not going to be a happy chieftain if you stand him up. Considering how we're kicking your pretty little arse all over the political landscape, you could use all the support you can get. Former Death Eaters and Dumbledorians, throwing their lot in together against a common political rival-who would have imagined?" His stormy eyes glittered with malice; but he was smiling, too. He never was afraid of me.
Airily, I told him, "Snape got to Peikko and his merry troup of flesh-eating minions before I did. Offered some sort of deal, the details of which I've not been able to pry out, yet."
He fanned himself languidly, looking at me through his lashes. "Outmanuevered, were you? I would offer my condolences, except I'm not actually sorry."
"A minor setback. Or two." At his raised brow, I added, "Or more, yes." Somehow, he'd distracted me from my intentions; the cunning bastard always could manage that, needling his way under my skin like no one else ever had. I cleared my throat.
"May I ask what scent you're wearing? It's...appealing." It was, quite. As was his mere prescence, and the warmth of his body radiating towards mine. His charisma still drew me--that "publish and be damned" refusal to bend or break--as much as the perfect cameo of his face ever had. We've been apart longer than we were together, and still I can recall how good it felt to make him laugh.
He was silent for a moment, playing with the fan. The feathers were tattered by now; he shoved it down his bodice with a scowl.
"Sirocco. The last of the bottle you gave me for my birthday, you wanker, right before you fucking walked out on me!"
No wonder it smelled familiar. At least I had good taste, if bad timing. Blinking, I looked at the glasses in my hands. "Champagne?" I offered, hoping the desperation didn't show, though I never was very good at keeping a poker face.
My favorite spy eyed the glasses with understandable suspicion.
"I insist." My tone turning harsh with effort, I allowed the smile on my lips to fade. He had to drink, he had to. Meaningfully, I glanced at the crowd around us. Easily summoned assistance surrounded us, and a few of my aides who were watching intently.
A slender, gloved hand took a flute from my grip. Raising the pale liquid in salute, he dryly said, "Cheers", and drank. Thank Merlin. I had no idea what I would have done if he'd refused.
"What did you drug me with?", he asked evenly. He was already beginning to flush and sweat.
Carefully, I escorted him through the crowded ballroom to the hall, discarding the glasses along the way. I waited until we had successfully navigated the stairs before answering. "Lover's Delight."
His eyes widened incredulously, and well they might. Lover's Delight was a extremely potent aphrodisiac, and given in large enough doses, it could be addictive-or fatal. Unexpectedly, he laughed.
"Harry, you really are a fool. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've even touched another person? You think you have to force me to your bed? Take a chance, and ask me-talk to me, for a change." He was panting now, and could no longer walk; I swept him up in my arms and into my suite.
Laying him down on the bed, I carefully shackled him to the posts. I gently removed his jewelry, his shoes and stockings...pulled the pins from his hair and let it flow free. The locks flowed through my hands softly, and I couldn't resist burying my face in them, breathing deeply of Sirocco...bergamot, jasmine and Draco. Slipping my hands up his legs in a teasing caress that made him whine, I tugged his knickers down around his thighs. Red silk, my favorite. From the nightstand, I took a small pair of nail scissors and cut the panties off, making sure not to nick him. Putting both the scissors and the ruined garment in the drawer, I surveyed my prize. Touching his groin, I rubbed the gown's cool material over his bared hardness, and he gritted his teeth in a snarl. No, he wouldn't go down without a fight. Still, I would take what I wanted, though he hated me for it.
I looked at my long-coveted desire with somber eyes. Left him? I've never left him, though we parted ways. He's with me, always, damn him. Always.
I stripped off my party finery, casting aside the expensive garments with disregard. What did I care for these things, with Draco in my bed and hungry for me?
Silently, I climbed up and straddled his legs. We looked at each other, as his hips began to shift, restlessly seeking the friction that I denied to him...for now. "Careful," I warned him. Was that my voice, so husky and low? "You'll stain your pretty dress. Let me take care of that for you."
"Harry, please...", he begged softly. I didn't know if it was Harry, yes or Harry, no; nor did I care. To the victor goes the spoils, and I was victorious. Prepare to be despoiled, sweetheart.
You know I would never hurt you on purpose, right? I said that, remember? Long ago, I made that promise and you trusted me to keep it. I smiled down at my lover that was, and would be again. Slowly, I slid the cool silk up his legs, making sure to tease him again with the sensual fabric that pooled about his waist. He groaned and I eyed his drooling cock with pleasure. Lovely. I touched the slit, gathering a clear drop upon my fingertip, and put it in my mouth. Closing my eyes, I savored the familiar flavor. Draco growled, fighting the shackles, and the heaving of his body beneath my thighs felt so good. Ask him? Why the hell would I do that? If he said no...better not to ask, wasn't it? I hesitate, remembering long nights of enthusiastic loving marred by days of stupid arguments over differing social goals. He'd never refused me before; he said it had been a long time since anyone had touched him. Maybe he would say yes? A round of curses turning the air blue stirred me from my indecision. To come this far and not take what I wanted would be pointless.
I carefully positioned myself over his cock. It had been a long time for me as well--I'd never been with anyone else but him, ever--and I knew it would hurt, for I refused to use any lubrication other than what we made between us. Pleasure or pain, pain or pleasure, what did it matter, as long as my lover's cock was inside of me where it belonged? I sank. Slowly, he ripped me open and I looked in his eyes as he did so, relishing the pain and the slick heat of blood as I tore... I wanted him to know, to see that it was still me, his Harry. Vanquished dark lords, double-dealing spies, factions, politics and differing ideals...they had no place in our bed.
That's why I left him.
Groaning, Draco arched his body upwards, to push more deeply inside of me. I ground downwards to meet him, until I could fit in no more; and then I began to ride. It's been so long, so long, too long... It's been so long, so long, too long...It's been so long, so long, too long...I realized it was Draco who spoke, in that raw and needy croak, and I rode him harder. Harder, faster, make him forget the years and tears between us. I ached for his touch on my cock but I couldn't risk setting him free. My hands reached for the throbbing hardness between my legs and he bucked, nearly throwing me off.
"Don't you dare, Harry," he hissed. His eyes were wild, and his sweat-dampened hair clung to his face and neck. "That's mine, only mine-I'll kill you if you let anyone else touch it--if anyone else has ever fucked you-! Damn you for leaving me, Harry, damn you to hell!" He was angry and sobbing with his grief and need, and I revelled in his pain, for he still loved me.
For too long this ice has lain between us, the differences of ideals and caste, and expedience over honor. My determination to force the wizarding world into compliance with muggle law, as a way to control dark wizards and rogues had made me cut ties with many friends and associates whom I respected, and whom call me despot and tyrant-or wannabe dark lord--now. His determination to preserve the traditions, power, and sovereignity of pureblood society, no matter the cost to the half bloods and muggle borns among us, has required he ally with those he deeply despises. We've both journeyed far from our true selves, losing each other as well along the way, with lies and double dealing, betrayals small and large.
But with every claiming thrust of his cock, I could feel the chasm between us closing. One moment's hesitation and then--I snapped the shackles that bound him with a thought. What would he do with his freedom?
Draco surged upright, pulling my mouth to his. He rolled us over in a tangle of rustling silk and twining hair, devouring my lips, my tongue, as if he were starved. He was starved, we both were. I wrapped myself around him and he proceeded to fuck me through the mattress, hips pistoning. He whispered words of love and need, of regret and passion, as we danced together; and I returned my own vows of devotion, clawing his back to bloody ribbons when we came.
Lover's Delight, indeed.
Draco watched me in the mirror with drowsy eyes as I brushed his tangled hair. The lovely gown of pewter silk was crumpled; and his mouth needed no lipstick, being bitten to redness...he was a wreck. I smiled down at his bosom--it was askew--and he scowled. With ludicrous dignity, he straightened the false breasts, checking to make sure the beauty mark was still there because the devil's in the details, Harry. I bent to kiss his temple and he leaned into it, turning to nuzzle his face against mine. The brush of his skin sent a thrill through me. No matter what happens between us in the future, I think I'll always respond to his touch.
"So what do we do now," he asked, putting into words the question resonating through both of our minds. I put down the brush and gathered the unruly mass into a pile and then looked helplessly at them. How the hell had he managed to get them to stay put-magic? With a sudden, blinding smile that was gone as quickly as it came, he took the mass from me and began jabbing pins into it. It looked like origami to me.
I sat beside him on the padded bench, still naked...it had been an amazing few hours, but we had finally spent ourselves. I was sore, chaffed, bleeding slightly from various bites and scratches, and my arse hurt terribly. I bore it without complaint. I would regret healing, for it would mean the fading of Draco's masterful possession of me. He'd never fall for that trick again. I sighed.
"Now, you go back to your little friends with the information you took such a risk for. You won't tell them I know you're a spy. That's my price for allowing you to leave with your memory intact. Give me your word and I know you'll honor it." His surprise hurt me, and I snapped, "I told you I'd not hurt you. You trusted me then."
Evenly, he replied, "That was before you decided to set up as the new arbiter of wizarding society, Potter. Killing Voldemort didn't give you the right to try and take us over; it doesn't give you the right to force your ideals on us. What you believe and what you want may be admirable--it is, though I don't want the same things--but you still don't have the right to force people to behave the way you think they should!" He turned to glare at me.
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he wasn't impressed. He never was, damn him. He used to trust me and I--I relied on his judgement, not being as good with words or with people...
"The methods that you want to use to bring about social changes you want are too slow, and I don't agree with your goals, either! How many people have to suffer or die before we get our shit together and do something to unite us? The wizarding world was devastated by Voldemort, and the muggles weren't unaffected, either; how can I ignore that? How can I just stand by and let it keep happening? I'm supposed to be a hero! I save people. Why am I the villain, here, when all I want to do is make people's lives better?" I could feel the tears beneath my words, rising to my eyes. I tried to blink them back, but he saw. His face softened.
"Harry, you can't make people be happy or safe. You can help them, protect them, teach them-but you can't swaddle them in cotton wool and put them on a shelf out of harm's way." He sighed, resignedly. "I can't. I've been just as determined to have my own way as you are, without the power you have to enforce my wishes. I'm...not necessarily right, either." He would have continued, but I put a finger on his lips to hush him. He licked me, smiling at my pretended frown, then pushed me towards the wardrobe. I dressed, blushing beneath his rapt gaze; his eyes devoured me, cataloguing each part as it was covered.
I sat down with him again, and helped him with his jewelry. The long, dangling earrings and the garnet collar settled into place, I smiled at his reflection. They had once belonged to my mother's mother. The silly git was too sentimental to be a spy; or, to spy on me, that is. He turned and hugged me, pushing his face into my neck and breathing deep. I sighed, rubbing his arms, and then pushed him back. Time for him to go.
I rose, pulling him up after me, and we headed towards the door. It was early morning by now, and his contact would be waiting for a report in a few hours. We loitered on the front steps, watching as a few last guests in various stages of intoxication or exhaustion clambered into their transports and departed.
I escorted my lady to her carriage, where a stoic cabby sat waiting. Handing her up the steps, I said, "Lovely to meet you, Miss Hari. I hope you'll be gracing us with your presence again, soon?" I looked at her with a carefully courteous expression, but let my eyes speak for me, and my hand caress hers.
She was silent, twisting her hand from my grasp. Rapping the carriage roof, she braced herself against the motion as it pulled away. I bowed my head, barely beginning to feel the loss, when the carriage stopped, and she leaned out the window. Stormy eyes bore into mine with a challenging stare.
"I will be attending the ball in Madame Bone's honor at the Ministry of Magic next Saturday. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me, Mr. Potter?" It was a gauntlet thrown. The first steps towards mingling again with the world that had refused my well-intentioned, though perhaps misguided, ambitions...and possible reconciliation with my, admittedly not blameless, lover?
I nodded, with some trepidation. "I'll have your fan repaired and returned to you, Miss. Shame to lose such a pretty thing." She smiled.
"Wonderful. I'll contact you with the details tomorrow...and do call me Mata," she added archly, as the carriage resumed its journey.
Mata Hari. I began to laugh, watching the carriage convey its precious burden away from me, and hope rose in my heart for the first time in far too long. He still loved me, still wanted me; and there was a possible future for us. It would take hard work and dedication, but we had that. I was surrounded by sycophants and toadies, feared by those I loved and hated by those I feared; but at least there was one man who wouldn't let me get away with self-deception.
He never was afraid of me, the bastard.
Smiling, I went back inside.
.
Author: Pestilence
Author's email: realpestilence@yahoo.com
Beta: Kestrelsparhawk, a rose by any other name
Rating: NC-17
Challenge Scenario(s): Kind of "Dark Lord", though more of a "Really Bossy Lord", actually
Summary: Well, there was a bad break up, see, due to politics in the boys' bed. It's just an excuse to put Draco in a dress.; This is a response to the Scratched Hearts fic challenge for Crossing the Line
Warnings: Non-con, drugging, cross-dressing, and a really poor plot, folks. But I'm turning it in anyways, because I said I would. Yahoo took down my mailbox that had the original draft in it, so I had to start over; therefore, any flaws are *Yahoo's* fault, not mine. *washes hands of blame* Hope you're buying that...
*This fic is dedicated to my Colibri Vert, who made me write it. Gauntlet accepted, my dear!*
Silk and Regrets
I watched the slender figure swaying gracefully through the crowd, mesmerized by the movement of hips beneath the elegance of pewter silk. Miss Hari was a tall woman, and altogether striking. Long strands of crimson dangled, glimmering, from her ears; and the ivory column of her neck was clasped by a collar of garnet-set silver. Her pert breasts rose in a shy swell above her bodice, creamy skin peeking through the lace which failed to fully conceal her charms. My hungry eyes were drawn to the long, burnished curls spiralling into golden clusters which tumbled lovingly about her shoulders, trailing down towards...ah, she had a dark beauty mark high on her left breast. My lips curved in a sardonic smile--I do so appreciate these little details--and I strolled discreetly after her. A good host pays attention to all of his guests, does he not?
Even those who invite themselves.
My lady fair glanced covertly about the room; then she stepped onto the balcony, her grey ostrich feathered fan in one gloved hand. Overcome by the heat, no doubt. Just as her keen interest in the layout of the house was assuredly mere curiosity over the fine architectural details; and she was not eavesdropping on passing conversations, for that would be tasteless. My smile broadened as I lay in wait. Not long now, and I would have what I had wanted...what I had desperately craved, for so long.
Tapered fingers played with the fan, caressing the feathered ribs. The delicate bit of plumed ridiculousness was slowly waved before her flushed face several times; and then she was turning back to the room. She glanced around as she shut the glass doors behind her, and our eyes met. Caught, she waited as I approached her with refreshments in hand.
It was quite warm in here, after all, and even a spy needs a drink now and then.
"I like your dress," I said, amiably. I did. You can't go wrong with silk.
My companion smiled wryly. "Thank you, Potter. Or should I say...M'Lord?"
Smiling blandly, I replied, "Let's not stand on ceremony, Malfoy. I know what you taste like, after all, and you've a more than passing acquaintance with my arse. I didn't expect to see you here, you fool."
"I didn't expect to be seen here, precious, and certainly not by you. You're supposed to be in Finland, negotiating with the ogres. That's a great idea and why didn't you go? Peikko's not going to be a happy chieftain if you stand him up. Considering how we're kicking your pretty little arse all over the political landscape, you could use all the support you can get. Former Death Eaters and Dumbledorians, throwing their lot in together against a common political rival-who would have imagined?" His stormy eyes glittered with malice; but he was smiling, too. He never was afraid of me.
Airily, I told him, "Snape got to Peikko and his merry troup of flesh-eating minions before I did. Offered some sort of deal, the details of which I've not been able to pry out, yet."
He fanned himself languidly, looking at me through his lashes. "Outmanuevered, were you? I would offer my condolences, except I'm not actually sorry."
"A minor setback. Or two." At his raised brow, I added, "Or more, yes." Somehow, he'd distracted me from my intentions; the cunning bastard always could manage that, needling his way under my skin like no one else ever had. I cleared my throat.
"May I ask what scent you're wearing? It's...appealing." It was, quite. As was his mere prescence, and the warmth of his body radiating towards mine. His charisma still drew me--that "publish and be damned" refusal to bend or break--as much as the perfect cameo of his face ever had. We've been apart longer than we were together, and still I can recall how good it felt to make him laugh.
He was silent for a moment, playing with the fan. The feathers were tattered by now; he shoved it down his bodice with a scowl.
"Sirocco. The last of the bottle you gave me for my birthday, you wanker, right before you fucking walked out on me!"
No wonder it smelled familiar. At least I had good taste, if bad timing. Blinking, I looked at the glasses in my hands. "Champagne?" I offered, hoping the desperation didn't show, though I never was very good at keeping a poker face.
My favorite spy eyed the glasses with understandable suspicion.
"I insist." My tone turning harsh with effort, I allowed the smile on my lips to fade. He had to drink, he had to. Meaningfully, I glanced at the crowd around us. Easily summoned assistance surrounded us, and a few of my aides who were watching intently.
A slender, gloved hand took a flute from my grip. Raising the pale liquid in salute, he dryly said, "Cheers", and drank. Thank Merlin. I had no idea what I would have done if he'd refused.
"What did you drug me with?", he asked evenly. He was already beginning to flush and sweat.
Carefully, I escorted him through the crowded ballroom to the hall, discarding the glasses along the way. I waited until we had successfully navigated the stairs before answering. "Lover's Delight."
His eyes widened incredulously, and well they might. Lover's Delight was a extremely potent aphrodisiac, and given in large enough doses, it could be addictive-or fatal. Unexpectedly, he laughed.
"Harry, you really are a fool. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've even touched another person? You think you have to force me to your bed? Take a chance, and ask me-talk to me, for a change." He was panting now, and could no longer walk; I swept him up in my arms and into my suite.
Laying him down on the bed, I carefully shackled him to the posts. I gently removed his jewelry, his shoes and stockings...pulled the pins from his hair and let it flow free. The locks flowed through my hands softly, and I couldn't resist burying my face in them, breathing deeply of Sirocco...bergamot, jasmine and Draco. Slipping my hands up his legs in a teasing caress that made him whine, I tugged his knickers down around his thighs. Red silk, my favorite. From the nightstand, I took a small pair of nail scissors and cut the panties off, making sure not to nick him. Putting both the scissors and the ruined garment in the drawer, I surveyed my prize. Touching his groin, I rubbed the gown's cool material over his bared hardness, and he gritted his teeth in a snarl. No, he wouldn't go down without a fight. Still, I would take what I wanted, though he hated me for it.
I looked at my long-coveted desire with somber eyes. Left him? I've never left him, though we parted ways. He's with me, always, damn him. Always.
I stripped off my party finery, casting aside the expensive garments with disregard. What did I care for these things, with Draco in my bed and hungry for me?
Silently, I climbed up and straddled his legs. We looked at each other, as his hips began to shift, restlessly seeking the friction that I denied to him...for now. "Careful," I warned him. Was that my voice, so husky and low? "You'll stain your pretty dress. Let me take care of that for you."
"Harry, please...", he begged softly. I didn't know if it was Harry, yes or Harry, no; nor did I care. To the victor goes the spoils, and I was victorious. Prepare to be despoiled, sweetheart.
You know I would never hurt you on purpose, right? I said that, remember? Long ago, I made that promise and you trusted me to keep it. I smiled down at my lover that was, and would be again. Slowly, I slid the cool silk up his legs, making sure to tease him again with the sensual fabric that pooled about his waist. He groaned and I eyed his drooling cock with pleasure. Lovely. I touched the slit, gathering a clear drop upon my fingertip, and put it in my mouth. Closing my eyes, I savored the familiar flavor. Draco growled, fighting the shackles, and the heaving of his body beneath my thighs felt so good. Ask him? Why the hell would I do that? If he said no...better not to ask, wasn't it? I hesitate, remembering long nights of enthusiastic loving marred by days of stupid arguments over differing social goals. He'd never refused me before; he said it had been a long time since anyone had touched him. Maybe he would say yes? A round of curses turning the air blue stirred me from my indecision. To come this far and not take what I wanted would be pointless.
I carefully positioned myself over his cock. It had been a long time for me as well--I'd never been with anyone else but him, ever--and I knew it would hurt, for I refused to use any lubrication other than what we made between us. Pleasure or pain, pain or pleasure, what did it matter, as long as my lover's cock was inside of me where it belonged? I sank. Slowly, he ripped me open and I looked in his eyes as he did so, relishing the pain and the slick heat of blood as I tore... I wanted him to know, to see that it was still me, his Harry. Vanquished dark lords, double-dealing spies, factions, politics and differing ideals...they had no place in our bed.
That's why I left him.
Groaning, Draco arched his body upwards, to push more deeply inside of me. I ground downwards to meet him, until I could fit in no more; and then I began to ride. It's been so long, so long, too long... It's been so long, so long, too long...It's been so long, so long, too long...I realized it was Draco who spoke, in that raw and needy croak, and I rode him harder. Harder, faster, make him forget the years and tears between us. I ached for his touch on my cock but I couldn't risk setting him free. My hands reached for the throbbing hardness between my legs and he bucked, nearly throwing me off.
"Don't you dare, Harry," he hissed. His eyes were wild, and his sweat-dampened hair clung to his face and neck. "That's mine, only mine-I'll kill you if you let anyone else touch it--if anyone else has ever fucked you-! Damn you for leaving me, Harry, damn you to hell!" He was angry and sobbing with his grief and need, and I revelled in his pain, for he still loved me.
For too long this ice has lain between us, the differences of ideals and caste, and expedience over honor. My determination to force the wizarding world into compliance with muggle law, as a way to control dark wizards and rogues had made me cut ties with many friends and associates whom I respected, and whom call me despot and tyrant-or wannabe dark lord--now. His determination to preserve the traditions, power, and sovereignity of pureblood society, no matter the cost to the half bloods and muggle borns among us, has required he ally with those he deeply despises. We've both journeyed far from our true selves, losing each other as well along the way, with lies and double dealing, betrayals small and large.
But with every claiming thrust of his cock, I could feel the chasm between us closing. One moment's hesitation and then--I snapped the shackles that bound him with a thought. What would he do with his freedom?
Draco surged upright, pulling my mouth to his. He rolled us over in a tangle of rustling silk and twining hair, devouring my lips, my tongue, as if he were starved. He was starved, we both were. I wrapped myself around him and he proceeded to fuck me through the mattress, hips pistoning. He whispered words of love and need, of regret and passion, as we danced together; and I returned my own vows of devotion, clawing his back to bloody ribbons when we came.
Lover's Delight, indeed.
Draco watched me in the mirror with drowsy eyes as I brushed his tangled hair. The lovely gown of pewter silk was crumpled; and his mouth needed no lipstick, being bitten to redness...he was a wreck. I smiled down at his bosom--it was askew--and he scowled. With ludicrous dignity, he straightened the false breasts, checking to make sure the beauty mark was still there because the devil's in the details, Harry. I bent to kiss his temple and he leaned into it, turning to nuzzle his face against mine. The brush of his skin sent a thrill through me. No matter what happens between us in the future, I think I'll always respond to his touch.
"So what do we do now," he asked, putting into words the question resonating through both of our minds. I put down the brush and gathered the unruly mass into a pile and then looked helplessly at them. How the hell had he managed to get them to stay put-magic? With a sudden, blinding smile that was gone as quickly as it came, he took the mass from me and began jabbing pins into it. It looked like origami to me.
I sat beside him on the padded bench, still naked...it had been an amazing few hours, but we had finally spent ourselves. I was sore, chaffed, bleeding slightly from various bites and scratches, and my arse hurt terribly. I bore it without complaint. I would regret healing, for it would mean the fading of Draco's masterful possession of me. He'd never fall for that trick again. I sighed.
"Now, you go back to your little friends with the information you took such a risk for. You won't tell them I know you're a spy. That's my price for allowing you to leave with your memory intact. Give me your word and I know you'll honor it." His surprise hurt me, and I snapped, "I told you I'd not hurt you. You trusted me then."
Evenly, he replied, "That was before you decided to set up as the new arbiter of wizarding society, Potter. Killing Voldemort didn't give you the right to try and take us over; it doesn't give you the right to force your ideals on us. What you believe and what you want may be admirable--it is, though I don't want the same things--but you still don't have the right to force people to behave the way you think they should!" He turned to glare at me.
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he wasn't impressed. He never was, damn him. He used to trust me and I--I relied on his judgement, not being as good with words or with people...
"The methods that you want to use to bring about social changes you want are too slow, and I don't agree with your goals, either! How many people have to suffer or die before we get our shit together and do something to unite us? The wizarding world was devastated by Voldemort, and the muggles weren't unaffected, either; how can I ignore that? How can I just stand by and let it keep happening? I'm supposed to be a hero! I save people. Why am I the villain, here, when all I want to do is make people's lives better?" I could feel the tears beneath my words, rising to my eyes. I tried to blink them back, but he saw. His face softened.
"Harry, you can't make people be happy or safe. You can help them, protect them, teach them-but you can't swaddle them in cotton wool and put them on a shelf out of harm's way." He sighed, resignedly. "I can't. I've been just as determined to have my own way as you are, without the power you have to enforce my wishes. I'm...not necessarily right, either." He would have continued, but I put a finger on his lips to hush him. He licked me, smiling at my pretended frown, then pushed me towards the wardrobe. I dressed, blushing beneath his rapt gaze; his eyes devoured me, cataloguing each part as it was covered.
I sat down with him again, and helped him with his jewelry. The long, dangling earrings and the garnet collar settled into place, I smiled at his reflection. They had once belonged to my mother's mother. The silly git was too sentimental to be a spy; or, to spy on me, that is. He turned and hugged me, pushing his face into my neck and breathing deep. I sighed, rubbing his arms, and then pushed him back. Time for him to go.
I rose, pulling him up after me, and we headed towards the door. It was early morning by now, and his contact would be waiting for a report in a few hours. We loitered on the front steps, watching as a few last guests in various stages of intoxication or exhaustion clambered into their transports and departed.
I escorted my lady to her carriage, where a stoic cabby sat waiting. Handing her up the steps, I said, "Lovely to meet you, Miss Hari. I hope you'll be gracing us with your presence again, soon?" I looked at her with a carefully courteous expression, but let my eyes speak for me, and my hand caress hers.
She was silent, twisting her hand from my grasp. Rapping the carriage roof, she braced herself against the motion as it pulled away. I bowed my head, barely beginning to feel the loss, when the carriage stopped, and she leaned out the window. Stormy eyes bore into mine with a challenging stare.
"I will be attending the ball in Madame Bone's honor at the Ministry of Magic next Saturday. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me, Mr. Potter?" It was a gauntlet thrown. The first steps towards mingling again with the world that had refused my well-intentioned, though perhaps misguided, ambitions...and possible reconciliation with my, admittedly not blameless, lover?
I nodded, with some trepidation. "I'll have your fan repaired and returned to you, Miss. Shame to lose such a pretty thing." She smiled.
"Wonderful. I'll contact you with the details tomorrow...and do call me Mata," she added archly, as the carriage resumed its journey.
Mata Hari. I began to laugh, watching the carriage convey its precious burden away from me, and hope rose in my heart for the first time in far too long. He still loved me, still wanted me; and there was a possible future for us. It would take hard work and dedication, but we had that. I was surrounded by sycophants and toadies, feared by those I loved and hated by those I feared; but at least there was one man who wouldn't let me get away with self-deception.
He never was afraid of me, the bastard.
Smiling, I went back inside.
.