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The bed sank next to him. That was Potter lay down behind him, and his hand somehow ended up under Draco's jumper. Touching bare skin, the scar on his chest, it made him feel uneasy. Draco thought it was an accident: Potter's fingertips tickled right along the scar. But when they began to lightly rub and massage exactly the skin that had not healed perfectly under the emergency spell, Draco felt too open again, too vulnerable, like that day. He wanted to shrink and push Potter away.
This scar is the work of this hand. It's not the right thing that Potter can touch this place so freely now.
'Forgive me,' he heard a hot whisper to the back of his head. 'If you had died then, I would never have forgiven myself.'
Draco couldn't breathe evenly. The irrational feeling that Potter could reach inside him now, rip his heart out - would it be difficult for him? - takes the peace from him. Draco was enduring and holding himself still.
At least it was warm under Potter's hand.
Draco let him to investigate his chest, Potter obviously needed that for some reason. Is it supposed to be for some freaky atonement?
'Forgive me,' Potter repeated and buried his face into Draco's back.
Draco finally allowed himself to catch through the fabric of his jumper the hand that was straining him and squeezed it so hard that he felt Potter hurt.
'Malf... Draco,' Potter said awkwardly, 'please forgive me.'
Draco unclenched his fingers, but Potter did not remove his hand. It hung limply, still thrown over Draco.
'Could you... tell me what you felt then? If you can. I know it was very, very bad. But... I deserve to know. Like... like a punishment.'
Draco still felt uneasy. Telling Potter about how he felt would be like cutting himself open again. And not even because he would have to live through it all over again. But because... it was too intimate.
After a long silence, Potter spoke instead of Draco:
'There was so much blood.' Potter pressed himself against Draco's back even harder, getting his own voice muffled. 'Several nights I had nightmares about a room completely covered in your blood.'
Goosebumps ran down Draco's spine. He didn't think Potter could care about his feelings, treasure his blood.
Potter didn't dare stroke him anymore: he probably didn't feel he had the right to do that. And yes, that was so.
'Well... It hurt, Potter.'
Then Potter hugged him so harshly and tightly that Draco somehow felt... needed. How you may be needed by someone who almost fucking killed you?
'Forgive me,' he repeated again. 'I hurt you, the very me did. I hate it.
'Oh, come on, Potter. It's been fifteen years. Nothing hurts anymore.'
It wasn't true. But Draco had no plans to share the truth. The body had healed, but there wasn't that simple for his soul. Potter just... wasn't supposed to know.
'Mal... Draco.'
It was very touching: the way Potter tried to call him by his name.
'Hm?'
'I want you t...'
'Are you gay, Potter?'
'Very funny.'
Potter wanted punishment? Well.
Draco reached under his own jumper, found and grabbed the Potter's hand dangling there. Taking Potter's index finger, he drew a line with his nail exactly along the scar on his own chest. Painfully, tightly; enough to draw blood.
Potter shattered and tried to take his hand away, but Draco didn't let him. If he heard everything correctly, then this is exactly what would be the real punishment for Potter.
Draco scratched the scar along its entire length, all the way to his abdomen, and rubbed the blood with Potter's palm over his own chest. Potter was breathing heavily to Draco's back, but no longer tried to resist.
'Well, now it hurts,' Draco summed up.
Potter abruptly turned him over onto the back, pressed Draco's shoulder to the bed to prevent him from getting up, lifted up his jumper and began to kiss the blood away.
'I should have then...' he muttered.
Potter used his tongue, and Draco began to breathe through his mouth. The way Potter licked the scar: not carefully, but greedily, it was painful and good.
'Be patient, just a little longer... I know it hurts, Draco, be patient, I'm going to...'
Draco realized that Potter was not talking to him. He was talking to that guy at Hogwarts he'd almost killed and couldn't help.
It was so hot, it was so painful and sweet, it was so arousing... Did Potter know it was like that?
Draco was going crazy. For now he somehow didn't mind being open, vulnerable, though it was still tricky. It required crossing the boundaries he'd never allowed anyone to cross before.
There was no blood left, Potter had licked away all his blood, and then his rough tongue was caressing his chest randomly, Draco shuddered every time it touched his nipples. Potter's breath was cold on his damp skin.
'Potter... Fuck, Potter.'
Potter slowed down and exhaled desperately:
'I'm so glad you're alive.'
For a long time no one was glad that Draco was alive. But Potter was. Ridiculous.
'I should have to... Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me,' he still whispered, nuzzling over around the scratched scar.
And Draco was forgiving.