Work Text:
Title: Recuperation
Author: cisforcamelot (LiveJournal: mystic_tear)
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.
Warnings: Established relationship, language, slight angst, sexual content of the male/male variety *grins* R.
Summary: Watch as the boys deal with the aftermath of an injury that nearly kills Harry.
*******
When Harry slowly opened his eyes, golden light was filtering into the room from the window, dust particles floating through it and flickering softly as they spun lazily towards the floor. Harry rolled onto his back lethargically, feeling as though his limbs had sunken down into the mattress and been enfolded there. Green eyes skittered quickly around the room, taking in the tie that was draped over the desk chair and the glass of water that was sitting discretely on the night table to his right. Draco had clearly come home from work at some point, but Harry wasn’t sure when; the late afternoon sunlight told him he’d slept most of the day.
Harry put his hands flat on the mattress and pushed himself up gingerly, wincing as the movement sent sharp, biting pains streaking across and into his side. He’d been released from St. Mungo’s this morning, having fought his way out of the Healers’ grasp after insisting quite deliberately that yes, he was fine and no, he would not go back to work for at least three days. He had been hit with a curse the night before that had shattered all the ribs in his left side; needless to say, he’d been one of several Aurors that had been injured in a raid the previous night that had gone terribly sour.
Draco had arrived at St. Mungo’s just minutes after Harry had been admitted, looking put-together and alert despite the fact that he had most certainly been roused from sleep. He had stood at Harry’s bedside, tall and regal, and his presence had demanded strength in that way only Draco had—quietly, but powerfully—grey eyes watching the Healers with keen observation, silently demanding flawless magic. He’d said very little, speaking only when he had to. Draco had turned to Harry as he was gasping through clenched teeth, fighting for air, and had ordered him: “Potter. Look at me.” And Harry had. He had looked, and latched on, and breathed.
Harry sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the slight stubble there and knowing a dark shadow must be covering his jaw. He was still exhausted, even after sleeping the whole day. If Harry had ever found that impossible, he didn’t doubt it now. He sat for a few minutes, trying to muster up the strength to move. His urge find Draco eventually won out over his protesting limbs, and he pushed himself off of the bed and stood carefully. When he was sure he wouldn’t fall over, he padded slowly to the doorway and peered blearily out into the hallway. The door to Draco’s study was ajar, and Harry stepped out of their bedroom and made his way slowly down the hallway, his feet sinking into the cream-colored carpet lining the center of the wooden floor.
Harry had, in foresight, planned on entering the study like any normal person would do, but as he stepped into the doorway he found himself rooted at the threshold, unable to tear his eyes away from the image before him. Draco was sitting at his desk, his profile outlined by the sunlight that was slipping in lazily through the window. He was wearing the thin, gold-framed wire glasses that he would only ever admit he needed at home; they made him look smart, and even more sophisticated than he always did. A strand of pale hair fell down across his forehead to tickle the top of his cheek, and a faint line had appeared between his eyebrows as he studied the papers before him. The cleanly cut lines of his charcoal slacks and button down shirt accented the graceful length of his limbs, hinted at the strength that lay just beneath the cloth. The image he presented stole Harry’s breath away, and he leaned his good side against the doorframe and stared unabashedly, raking his eyes over every facet of the person in the room and doing his best to memorize them.
“Are you going to come in, Potter, or are you going to stand in the doorway all day?” Draco questioned, not looking up from his papers.
Harry smiled slightly, the left corner of his mouth lifting. “I had planned on coming in, but I have a rather spectacular view from here.”
Grey eyes looked up at him over the tops of the gold frames, but Harry received no reply. Instead, Draco flicked his gaze over Harry’s torso, his eyes lingering on the outline of the bandage wrapped snuggly around his upper waist that was just visible beneath the white cotton of Harry’s undershirt.
“You should sit,” Draco said.
Harry looked at his counterpart for a moment and then replied, “Alright.” He ignored the cozy circle of chairs Draco had been referring to and walked instead behind Draco’s desk and then placed his weight onto the desktop just beside the papers stacked neatly in the center, stretching out his legs next to Draco’s chair.
“That’s not what I meant, and that’s also not sitting,” Draco said pointedly before pulling off his glasses and standing up, dropping them negligently on the desk next to Harry’s thigh as he started to head towards the chairs. Harry caught his arm as he moved past and pulled him back until they were facing each other.
“What is it, then?” he asked quietly. He watched as Draco swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Harry wanted to lick it, to latch his mouth over it and suck gently.
“That’s leaning,” Draco stated softly.
Harry looked at his partner, took in the circles beneath his eyes and the tightness of his mouth. Took in the way Draco was, just ever so slightly, avoiding his eyes. He reached out and took Draco’s hand, brought it to his face and rested his cheek against it. The thumb moved of it’s own accord, sweeping across Harry’s cheekbone, and Harry turned his head and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss into the palm.
“I’m okay, love,” Harry said. “Just a bit banged up.”
The hand against his face shook slightly, and then slid around his neck to rest at his nape protectively, thumb now stroking the tendon along the length of Harry’s neck. Their faces were close, now, and Harry tilted his until their lips were brushing, just slightly. “Draco,” he breathed, and then couldn’t anymore because Draco’s lips had pressed themselves against his, covering his mouth with a desperate but carefully gentle kiss. Harry made a soft sound in the back of his throat and threaded his arms around Draco’s waist and tried to tug him closer; Draco started to come forward by instinct, started to step into the arms that were so familiar to him, but stopped himself at the last instant and pulled his mouth from Harry’s.
“Don’t,” Harry said, tightening his arms.
“I’m not,” Draco replied, and put his hands on Harry’s hips. Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly, but then chuckled as he felt the hands urging him up onto the desktop.
“Alright,” Harry conceded. “I’m sitting. Are you satisfied, now?”
“Not nearly,” Draco breathed, and stepped swiftly into the cradle of Harry’s legs and latched his mouth over his partner’s once more. Harry felt a tongue graze it’s way tauntingly across his lips and he parted them eagerly, flicking his own tongue out to capture Draco’s and pull it inside his mouth. Harry reached up with his right arm and wrapped it around Draco’s neck, snuck his other hand under the line of Draco’s shirt to rest it against the heated skin of his lower back. Draco’s hands were skimming his face slowly, traveling across his jaw line to just beneath his ear, and then downwards to trace the contours of his neck. Harry shivered and felt Draco press himself forward further, their chests coming together and creating heat like a brightly burning flame between them. Draco’s left hand slid up his neck, moving ever so slowly, fingers stroking, and then stopped just beneath his jaw. Harry felt Draco’s thumb rub over the soft skin above his pulse point, felt it press there gently, and then suddenly the body pressed against his was shaking. Harry ripped his mouth away, pulled his head back to look at Draco, but he had turned his head to hide his face.
“Draco,” he murmured. When he got no response, he untangled his limbs from Draco’s body and brought his hands to his lover’s face, cupped his jaw gently and turned it to face his. Draco’s eyes were clenched shut beneath drawn eyebrows, his face tight and pained. Harry tilted his head forward and pressed a soft kiss to each eyelid, let his lips skim down a pale cheek, entwined his breath with Draco’s.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered.
A pause, and then, “I can’t,” Draco answered.
“Yes, you can,” Harry argued gently, sliding his right hand down slowly until it was resting on Draco’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. Draco opened his eyes, fixed grey irises onto green and wrapped his fingers tightly around Harry’s wrist.
“You could have died,” he accused, voice hard.
“Yes,” Harry agreed, “but I didn’t. I won’t.”
“You can’t promise me that,” Draco bit out. His fingers tightened further, and Harry felt the tremors beneath his hand increase as Draco’s shaking worsened.
“I’ll die one day,” Harry said gently, “we all have to. But it won’t be soon.”
“You don’t know that!” Draco exclaimed, anguished—finally, finally dropping the cool composure he had retreated behind to keep himself from falling apart. His head dropped forward, his hair falling into his face, and Harry tugged him forward so that his head was cradled against his shoulder and his arms were wrapped tightly around Draco’s back, holding them together. Draco pressed his face against the skin of Harry’s neck, felt the warmth there and cherished it, kissed it reverently.
Harry turned his face slightly to speak hotly into Draco’s ear. “Yes, I do,” he said fiercely. “I do know that. I won’t ever leave you, Draco, do you understand me?”
Draco let out a ragged sob, and Harry felt his breath rush out wetly against his neck. “You were bleeding into your lungs,” Draco stated harshly. “Your ribs shattered and pierced them. They said you could have drowned.”
“Could have,” Harry reiterated. “I didn’t.”
“I hate that you could have!” Draco replied, yanking himself back from Harry’s neck and pushing their foreheads together, almost painfully. “I love you,” he said roughly, and kissed him fiercely. Harry returned the kiss, pressed himself further into Draco, ached for more.
“Harry,” Draco said raggedly, “I love you.”
Harry lunged forward and captured Draco’s mouth again, needing to be closer—to sink into the warmth of Draco’s skin and be enveloped by it. “I love you too,” Harry whispered against Draco’s mouth, his breath brushing across Draco’s skin in short, hot bursts.
It was Draco, then, who pushed forward again, kissed him desperately. Draco’s tongue found its way into Harry’s mouth and he groaned, dragged his lips over Harry’s as he changed the angle of his head and tried to get even closer. Harry’s hands tore at Draco’s shirt, ripped it open distractedly and then sunk themselves into Draco’s back. Harry clung to Draco desperately and knew he must be bruising the pale skin of his back, but he didn’t care. He needed to be closer, and was gratified by the hand against his lower back that pulled him forward towards the edge of the desk. Harry ripped his mouth from Draco’s and groaned into his shoulder as their hips pressed together deliciously, sending waves of heat coursing along the length of his body. Harry snuck his hands down beneath the waistline of Draco’s slacks, gripped the firm flesh there and tugged him closer as he lifted his right leg and wrapped it around Draco’s waist. Draco shuddered and latched his mouth onto the soft skin behind Harry’s ear, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He placed his hand beneath Harry’s left thigh and lifted, slinging Harry’s other leg around his waist as well. Harry sucked in a breath harshly through his nose as the movement contracted his torso, shooting searing pain through his side, and Draco froze, recognizing the sound as one of pain instead of pleasure.
“Shit,” he said, “I’m sorry, I hurt you.” He tried to pull away but Harry stopped him by tightening his legs around Draco’s waist.
“Don’t you dare,” Harry hissed.
“We should stop,” Draco insisted. “You’re still injured, your ribs have only just been put together again—“
“Fuck them,” Harry ground out, rolling his hips the way he knew drove Draco crazy before correcting himself, “fuck me.”
Draco dropped his head forward onto Harry’s shoulder, his resolve wavering as Harry rolled his hips again and sent a shudder running through his body.
“Harry…” he murmured, his voice unconvinced and strained as he fought to keep whatever control was left between the two of them. Harry tucked his chin down and turned his face into Draco’s neck, breathing in deeply through his nose and inhaling the subtle, musky scent he had come to associate with home and warmth and Draco. An image of Draco’s face from the night before—tight, anxious, so opposite from the Draco in his arms—flashed into Harry’s head and he shut his eyes against it, suddenly feeling unsteady. How could he have come so close—‘so close,’ said Draco’s voice—to losing this? He shook in Draco’s arms, his own control shattered.
“God, Draco, please,” he begged, gripping Draco harder and pressing their bodies together, needing to feel every inch of the familiar body against his. “I need you. Please.” Draco’s head came up and their eyes connected and suddenly they were both shaking and Harry whispered, “Please.”
Draco nodded slightly and kissed him before pulling back and saying, “Okay.” He kissed him again softly before wrapping his arms securely around Harry’s waist and said, “But not here,” and then lifted Harry off the desk. Harry tightened his legs around Draco’s waist and thought idly as they moved that Draco was much stronger than he appeared at first glance. Harry latched his mouth impatiently over Draco’s as they left his study, and when Harry bit his bottom lip gently before sucking it into his mouth Draco moaned and paused in the hallway to press Harry against the wall, grinding their hips together and kissing him deeply, their tongues twining together languidly. Harry’s head dropped back and hit the wall with a dull ‘thunk’ as Draco rotated his hips in a slow circle, and then took advantage of the exposed flesh by mouthing his way up Harry’s neck. His mouth didn’t leave Harry’s neck, didn’t relent at all in its assault until they were in their bedroom and Draco had laid Harry carefully down onto the bed. Clothes were peeled off and discarded negligently onto the floor and they sunk into each other, murmuring I love you and I need you and don’t stop into the quiet air as they touched and writhed and sobbed into each other’s skin, and it was slow and desperate all at the same time and Harry couldn’t ever, ever leave this.
*******
The second time Harry opened his eyes, he wasn’t alone. His face was pressed into the curve between Draco’s neck and shoulder and he had an arm thrown across Draco’s chest, and Draco was dragging his fingers along the skin there idly as he breathed softly into Harry’s hair. His other hand was resting gently, protectively, over Harry’s left side.
“Are you in pain?” Draco asked quietly.
Harry shifted slightly, testing his side. “Not any more than I was before,” he responded truthfully.
Draco made a dissatisfied noise and tugged him closer, as if he could ward off Harry’s pain himself. Harry smiled and kissed the skin beneath his lips. “I’m fine, Draco, I promise.”
“So you keep saying,” Draco drawled, and Harry knew he had rolled his eyes in exasperation. Harry nipped his neck in retaliation before pushing himself out of bed and walking towards the bathroom.
“I need a shower,” he said, smirking slightly to himself as he felt Draco’s eyes on his back, and then paused in the doorway and looked at Draco over one shoulder. “You coming?”
Draco grinned as Harry disappeared through the doorway and as he got up to follow him, he couldn’t help but think that the next few days of Harry’s recuperation were going to be quite enjoyable indeed.
Fin!