Kisses Sweeter Than Wine
A/N: HAHAAAA!! I've crawled pathetically back to my original calling everyone! H/D! Hee. Now, this may be a bit confusing and I apologize for it. Bad me, very bad! So, we get the whole plot, right? Simple, Harry remembers some key points in the molding of his and Draco's relationship. And their ages now are like..... 22? That good? Spiffers. *thumbs up* Enjoy, lovelies.
Chapter One: Wet
It was raining outside, the tiny ice cold droplets pitter-pattering almost musically on the rooftop of the quaint little cottage on the side of a lake deep in the green forest of the English countryside. The house would barely qualify as living space for most people, but the two men who lived there now found it perfect for their simple needs.
Inside nestled among layers and layers of blankets upon a huge old fashioned bed facing a cheery fire was curled up Harry Potter. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran his fingers through his still unruly black hair. Just a week ago he had gone to see his Godfather and Sirius almost broke down, exclaiming how he always did just how alike Harry and his father, James, looked.
He looks like his father, too, thought Harry, looking over the man sleeping peacefully cradled in his tanned arms. Just like him.
Shivering slightly and wishing for a nice comfy sweater to snuggle into instead of his bare skin, Harry drew the other body closer to his, feeding to and off heat between them. Looking out the window at the gloomy drizzle, Harry found himself smiling in a way which he knew sent his eyes sparkling with a happy gleam, or so the man next to him would constantly remind him. The rain continued to fall, once in a while a soft rumble of thunder rolling over the clouds and a quick flash of lightning brightening the darkened sky.
A day like this, years ago. Had started it all.
Harry leaned back with a contented sigh, placing a soft kiss on his partner's brow. He remembered that day - that beginning and all that followed crystal clear. A day like this, exactly like this one when they had been playing Quidditch. Gryffindor versus Slytherin........
......... The rain came down in icy turrets as tiny freezing spears. Pewter gray clouds turned and rumbled above the Quidditch pitched and thunder crashed while lightning flashed wickedly through the crisp, sharp air. Hundreds of students and teachers alike sat up in the stands screaming themselves hoarse as Alicia Spinnet made a goal, bringing the game to a nerve wrenching tie of 80-80.
High above all the speeding young witches and wizards, two boys hovered motionlessly except for their eyes, which were darting this way and that nonstop. Emerald green eyes intently studied the field, wondering how in the world he was going to spot the Golden Snitch with so much darkness and gloom dulling the pitch. A few feet below, eyes matching the storm overhead both in color and ferocity were fixed unblinkingly upon the boy who flew over him. For he had learned early that the only way to beat Harry Potter was to know what the boy would do even before Potter himself did. And so they sat; Harry occasionally glancing down at Draco, who would sneer, his gaze not wavering for an *instant*. It only took an instant, and the game could be lost.
Butterflies would erupt inside Harry's stomach and he would blush feverishly up around his neck and hurriedly look away. He never knew if Draco saw, but he would resume his tedious search for the Snitch, his face burning as he felt those violently beautiful eyes bore into him mercilessly, itching at his consciousness and coyly toying with his teen heart. And yet Harry didn't know if Draco had the faintest inkling of the other boy's feelings for him. How those eyes, that face - that attention he received from Draco - made him feel through the very roots of his soul a burning passion that almost went to hurt.
But no one must know. No one must ever know of the great Harry Potter's *lust* for the Slytherin champion, Draco Malfoy. It was sad really: Draco swaggering about the school, proudly keeping the eyes of those who supposedly "hated" him fixed on his form and artful grace. He was known to use. A quick fuck and it's all over. Unless you're good. Damn good and then maybe - just maybe he'll draw you back in. Though everyone knows - and may have indeed tried - the Silver God, the mercury Fallen Angel will not be teased, will not be seduced. He may have whoever he chooses. It was a fact of life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as the general populace of the school knew all too well.
And Harry wished more than anything that he could have that. Even if it was just to say that he, Draco Malfoy, had fucked Harry Potter. No matter, for all he wanted was a moment of heated passion to sate his growing lust and his growing obsession. To be where he knew Draco was on the same level as he in a web of heat and passion.
Draco was well known as the tough lover unless he was feeling like something different. His brief lovers (lasting at most a night or two, perhaps a moment between classes) would sport vicious bite marks and deep bruises from those impossibly strong feminine fingers and pearly white teeth. He wouldn't let them magic the marks away, no chance. Malfoy's mark was an honor to have indeed.
He made it a good sport to split up happy couples if he was feeling especially spiteful that day. Most often Gryffindors. Harry would worry of Ron and Hermione. But surprisingly Draco left them alone. No one asked questions. Ron and Hermione remained cheerful companions in their marital like bliss and acting much like an old married couple every day.
Once every while a person would come along thinking to outwit or outplay Draco. Thinking to tease him and then be the dumper, and not the dumped.
He would put them shortly after in their place.
So now Harry was looking at him again. That cursed creature almost too perfect to be real. Gray eyes peered back at him. Harry could feel each and every drop of rain as it struck him and thudded against his person. He felt the cold to the very marrow of his bones.
Then they both saw it at the same exact moment, hovering almost playfully between them, bobbing up and down, teasing. Harry reflexively dove at a sharp downward angle as Draco cut straight up. Their hands reached, lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and out of nowhere; two bludgers came streaking through the storm straight at the seekers.
Harry was hit roughly from behind and Draco was caught on his hip. The Snitch vanished again and they both cursed. But still flying off avoiding the path of more bludgers, the two boys didn't see where they were going and came together with a gut wrenching thud, the impact sending their robes into tangles about them, holding together due to the rain. (A/N: We all know how wet cloth clings! Yup, *nods* work with me here, people!)
And their lips met in a crushing kiss.
At first as Harry felt Draco's arms wrap around him (caused by the impact) and the tight fit of their sweat soaked, rain drenched bodies, he was sure that he had died and gone to Paradise.
Both of them were still and Harry managed to force opened his eyes. Draco's were closed and the raven haired Gryffindor took a moment to study the refine features on the stunningly delicate face. When the gray orbs flicked open, they met Harry's squarely and time froze: The yelling was dulled to a low hum and all that Harry could see was Draco's face, his storming gray eyes mirroring the raging fright going on right over their heads. Harry's breath caught painfully as the kiss broke. Their arms remained locked around each other's tense frame. Swirling gray hiding all peered deeply into the vibrant green which matched the whipping trees of the Forbidden Forest in the background. Harry's lips were parted in a look of awed innocence. Water cascaded down their faces, dripping off their chins and making the long curved lashes sparkle in dance with rain light.
Suddenly there was a tiny flash of gold and Draco's hand whipped out to close around the Snitch. He did not even bat an eyelid. Slowly, he leaned forward and breathed hotly onto Harry's ear, "Looks like I've won you over, Potter."
On the ground Harry felt dazed and could barely walk straight. Draco's last comment had him dreadfully confused. What had he meant by saying such a queer thing?
Don't be stupid, Potter, he chided himself, bitterly amused. Draco had meant the *game*.
Tingling sensations of electricity prickled on the back of his neck. He felt that piercing gaze and looked up wonderingly. Draco was watching him, his fair face that of an impassive mask. Surprisingly the Slytherin didn't look smug with his victory. He just...... looked.
Merlin, thought Harry in a giddy panic, his mouth going dry. Draco *had* meant the game!
Right?
~*~
Harry fell back on his bed, eyes sparkling with a manic giddiness; not minding that his muddy robes were running all over the nice clean sheets, nor that he could be catching his death of pneumonia right that moment, or that he should be writing to Sirius and not having a girlie fit of giggles about kissing Draco Malfoy out on the Quidditch pitch in the pounding rain. In front of the whole school.
Quidditch.
Kiss.
Draco Malfoy.
Wet.
Life was all too good.
Hedwig tapped her claws on the top of his bedside desk, eyeing the unfinished letter to Harry's Godfather with impatience. But Harry was much too busy ranting off to any wizarding picture that would stay and listen and did not notice his indignant owl in the least. He had skipped the locker room and a nice shower to rant, and that's what he was going to damn well do!
By the time he made any sense, Hedwig was asleep and the only photographed people left in the room were Dean's West Ham soccer players in their muggle poster. And even *they* looked sorry to be there.
"Merlin! I can't believe I did that! We..... we kissed! Our lips were touching! In contact! Together!" He drew the pillow up over his face and squealed into it. Then, drawing it back in horror, he threw it away, shrieking, "Oh no! What if I rubbed his lip essence off or something! Hedwig!" Then, overtaken by giggles, he buried his face into the sheets. Coming up for air, he gasped to the disgruntled owl; "I didn't pull away - *he* didn't pull away! Neither of us pulled away! I wonder if anyone noticed? I mean, we did hit pretty hard, right?" His face had abandoned the jubilant glee of earlier to take on an expression of terror. "No one would suspect anything. AAURGH!!" Once again, his face disappeared into the muddied sheets. Hedwig rolled her golden eyes, gave a pitying glance to the soccer poster and stole quietly out the window.
Now, no one knew that the famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the savior of all wizarding kind was..... gay. In fact, Harry himself had come to the full realization only at the beginning of the school year. And the whole cause of that realization had *kissed* him less than an hour ago.
Then of course that same cause of realization caught the Golden Snitch and won the match - a victory for Slytherin. But that really wasn't important now, was it? The point was, they had *kissed*! There was almost-but-not-so-major-snoggage happening!! True, no tongues were intertwining zealously with each other, or hands diving beneath robes to caress hot and sweaty skin. Nope. But hey! A kiss is a kiss is a damned kiss, and Harry Potter was now giggling madly into his pillows again just remembering the soft, slightly tickling sensation of Draco's lips on his own.
"Oh, and he closed his eyes, too," squeaked Harry breathlessly, toppling over the side of the bed and landing with a painful thump on the ground. He picked himself up, still grinning broadly. "Hedwig," he called, "Where'd you go, girl! I haven't finished my letter to Sirius." He went over to his desk, straightening his crooked glasses. Upon noticing the quaint little present his rather miffed owl had left him, Harry cringed and pulled out his soggy wand.......
....... Harry grinned and blushed with the memory. He still couldn't believe that no one had guessed him gay! Merlin, even most girls weren't *that* bloody giggly.
Sighing, he glanced at the grandfather clock standing regally in the corner. It chimed seven in the morning. Harry had not slept that night. No, he had been *very* active indeed.
~~~~~*_~~~~~
A/N: Well then, my pretties. Shall we continue? *mentally says YES!!* I've kind of already started chapter two. So, you know, encouragement for a struggling writer is nice. ^_^ And if you have any pleasant suggestions for memories, be free to share them! Cod in Yemen knows I need all the help I can get if you have witnessed my other stories. Yeesh. It would be well appreciated. Ay revior!
~*Villain*~
A/N: HAHAAAA!! I've crawled pathetically back to my original calling everyone! H/D! Hee. Now, this may be a bit confusing and I apologize for it. Bad me, very bad! So, we get the whole plot, right? Simple, Harry remembers some key points in the molding of his and Draco's relationship. And their ages now are like..... 22? That good? Spiffers. *thumbs up* Enjoy, lovelies.
Chapter One: Wet
It was raining outside, the tiny ice cold droplets pitter-pattering almost musically on the rooftop of the quaint little cottage on the side of a lake deep in the green forest of the English countryside. The house would barely qualify as living space for most people, but the two men who lived there now found it perfect for their simple needs.
Inside nestled among layers and layers of blankets upon a huge old fashioned bed facing a cheery fire was curled up Harry Potter. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran his fingers through his still unruly black hair. Just a week ago he had gone to see his Godfather and Sirius almost broke down, exclaiming how he always did just how alike Harry and his father, James, looked.
He looks like his father, too, thought Harry, looking over the man sleeping peacefully cradled in his tanned arms. Just like him.
Shivering slightly and wishing for a nice comfy sweater to snuggle into instead of his bare skin, Harry drew the other body closer to his, feeding to and off heat between them. Looking out the window at the gloomy drizzle, Harry found himself smiling in a way which he knew sent his eyes sparkling with a happy gleam, or so the man next to him would constantly remind him. The rain continued to fall, once in a while a soft rumble of thunder rolling over the clouds and a quick flash of lightning brightening the darkened sky.
A day like this, years ago. Had started it all.
Harry leaned back with a contented sigh, placing a soft kiss on his partner's brow. He remembered that day - that beginning and all that followed crystal clear. A day like this, exactly like this one when they had been playing Quidditch. Gryffindor versus Slytherin........
......... The rain came down in icy turrets as tiny freezing spears. Pewter gray clouds turned and rumbled above the Quidditch pitched and thunder crashed while lightning flashed wickedly through the crisp, sharp air. Hundreds of students and teachers alike sat up in the stands screaming themselves hoarse as Alicia Spinnet made a goal, bringing the game to a nerve wrenching tie of 80-80.
High above all the speeding young witches and wizards, two boys hovered motionlessly except for their eyes, which were darting this way and that nonstop. Emerald green eyes intently studied the field, wondering how in the world he was going to spot the Golden Snitch with so much darkness and gloom dulling the pitch. A few feet below, eyes matching the storm overhead both in color and ferocity were fixed unblinkingly upon the boy who flew over him. For he had learned early that the only way to beat Harry Potter was to know what the boy would do even before Potter himself did. And so they sat; Harry occasionally glancing down at Draco, who would sneer, his gaze not wavering for an *instant*. It only took an instant, and the game could be lost.
Butterflies would erupt inside Harry's stomach and he would blush feverishly up around his neck and hurriedly look away. He never knew if Draco saw, but he would resume his tedious search for the Snitch, his face burning as he felt those violently beautiful eyes bore into him mercilessly, itching at his consciousness and coyly toying with his teen heart. And yet Harry didn't know if Draco had the faintest inkling of the other boy's feelings for him. How those eyes, that face - that attention he received from Draco - made him feel through the very roots of his soul a burning passion that almost went to hurt.
But no one must know. No one must ever know of the great Harry Potter's *lust* for the Slytherin champion, Draco Malfoy. It was sad really: Draco swaggering about the school, proudly keeping the eyes of those who supposedly "hated" him fixed on his form and artful grace. He was known to use. A quick fuck and it's all over. Unless you're good. Damn good and then maybe - just maybe he'll draw you back in. Though everyone knows - and may have indeed tried - the Silver God, the mercury Fallen Angel will not be teased, will not be seduced. He may have whoever he chooses. It was a fact of life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as the general populace of the school knew all too well.
And Harry wished more than anything that he could have that. Even if it was just to say that he, Draco Malfoy, had fucked Harry Potter. No matter, for all he wanted was a moment of heated passion to sate his growing lust and his growing obsession. To be where he knew Draco was on the same level as he in a web of heat and passion.
Draco was well known as the tough lover unless he was feeling like something different. His brief lovers (lasting at most a night or two, perhaps a moment between classes) would sport vicious bite marks and deep bruises from those impossibly strong feminine fingers and pearly white teeth. He wouldn't let them magic the marks away, no chance. Malfoy's mark was an honor to have indeed.
He made it a good sport to split up happy couples if he was feeling especially spiteful that day. Most often Gryffindors. Harry would worry of Ron and Hermione. But surprisingly Draco left them alone. No one asked questions. Ron and Hermione remained cheerful companions in their marital like bliss and acting much like an old married couple every day.
Once every while a person would come along thinking to outwit or outplay Draco. Thinking to tease him and then be the dumper, and not the dumped.
He would put them shortly after in their place.
So now Harry was looking at him again. That cursed creature almost too perfect to be real. Gray eyes peered back at him. Harry could feel each and every drop of rain as it struck him and thudded against his person. He felt the cold to the very marrow of his bones.
Then they both saw it at the same exact moment, hovering almost playfully between them, bobbing up and down, teasing. Harry reflexively dove at a sharp downward angle as Draco cut straight up. Their hands reached, lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and out of nowhere; two bludgers came streaking through the storm straight at the seekers.
Harry was hit roughly from behind and Draco was caught on his hip. The Snitch vanished again and they both cursed. But still flying off avoiding the path of more bludgers, the two boys didn't see where they were going and came together with a gut wrenching thud, the impact sending their robes into tangles about them, holding together due to the rain. (A/N: We all know how wet cloth clings! Yup, *nods* work with me here, people!)
And their lips met in a crushing kiss.
At first as Harry felt Draco's arms wrap around him (caused by the impact) and the tight fit of their sweat soaked, rain drenched bodies, he was sure that he had died and gone to Paradise.
Both of them were still and Harry managed to force opened his eyes. Draco's were closed and the raven haired Gryffindor took a moment to study the refine features on the stunningly delicate face. When the gray orbs flicked open, they met Harry's squarely and time froze: The yelling was dulled to a low hum and all that Harry could see was Draco's face, his storming gray eyes mirroring the raging fright going on right over their heads. Harry's breath caught painfully as the kiss broke. Their arms remained locked around each other's tense frame. Swirling gray hiding all peered deeply into the vibrant green which matched the whipping trees of the Forbidden Forest in the background. Harry's lips were parted in a look of awed innocence. Water cascaded down their faces, dripping off their chins and making the long curved lashes sparkle in dance with rain light.
Suddenly there was a tiny flash of gold and Draco's hand whipped out to close around the Snitch. He did not even bat an eyelid. Slowly, he leaned forward and breathed hotly onto Harry's ear, "Looks like I've won you over, Potter."
On the ground Harry felt dazed and could barely walk straight. Draco's last comment had him dreadfully confused. What had he meant by saying such a queer thing?
Don't be stupid, Potter, he chided himself, bitterly amused. Draco had meant the *game*.
Tingling sensations of electricity prickled on the back of his neck. He felt that piercing gaze and looked up wonderingly. Draco was watching him, his fair face that of an impassive mask. Surprisingly the Slytherin didn't look smug with his victory. He just...... looked.
Merlin, thought Harry in a giddy panic, his mouth going dry. Draco *had* meant the game!
Right?
~*~
Harry fell back on his bed, eyes sparkling with a manic giddiness; not minding that his muddy robes were running all over the nice clean sheets, nor that he could be catching his death of pneumonia right that moment, or that he should be writing to Sirius and not having a girlie fit of giggles about kissing Draco Malfoy out on the Quidditch pitch in the pounding rain. In front of the whole school.
Quidditch.
Kiss.
Draco Malfoy.
Wet.
Life was all too good.
Hedwig tapped her claws on the top of his bedside desk, eyeing the unfinished letter to Harry's Godfather with impatience. But Harry was much too busy ranting off to any wizarding picture that would stay and listen and did not notice his indignant owl in the least. He had skipped the locker room and a nice shower to rant, and that's what he was going to damn well do!
By the time he made any sense, Hedwig was asleep and the only photographed people left in the room were Dean's West Ham soccer players in their muggle poster. And even *they* looked sorry to be there.
"Merlin! I can't believe I did that! We..... we kissed! Our lips were touching! In contact! Together!" He drew the pillow up over his face and squealed into it. Then, drawing it back in horror, he threw it away, shrieking, "Oh no! What if I rubbed his lip essence off or something! Hedwig!" Then, overtaken by giggles, he buried his face into the sheets. Coming up for air, he gasped to the disgruntled owl; "I didn't pull away - *he* didn't pull away! Neither of us pulled away! I wonder if anyone noticed? I mean, we did hit pretty hard, right?" His face had abandoned the jubilant glee of earlier to take on an expression of terror. "No one would suspect anything. AAURGH!!" Once again, his face disappeared into the muddied sheets. Hedwig rolled her golden eyes, gave a pitying glance to the soccer poster and stole quietly out the window.
Now, no one knew that the famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the savior of all wizarding kind was..... gay. In fact, Harry himself had come to the full realization only at the beginning of the school year. And the whole cause of that realization had *kissed* him less than an hour ago.
Then of course that same cause of realization caught the Golden Snitch and won the match - a victory for Slytherin. But that really wasn't important now, was it? The point was, they had *kissed*! There was almost-but-not-so-major-snoggage happening!! True, no tongues were intertwining zealously with each other, or hands diving beneath robes to caress hot and sweaty skin. Nope. But hey! A kiss is a kiss is a damned kiss, and Harry Potter was now giggling madly into his pillows again just remembering the soft, slightly tickling sensation of Draco's lips on his own.
"Oh, and he closed his eyes, too," squeaked Harry breathlessly, toppling over the side of the bed and landing with a painful thump on the ground. He picked himself up, still grinning broadly. "Hedwig," he called, "Where'd you go, girl! I haven't finished my letter to Sirius." He went over to his desk, straightening his crooked glasses. Upon noticing the quaint little present his rather miffed owl had left him, Harry cringed and pulled out his soggy wand.......
....... Harry grinned and blushed with the memory. He still couldn't believe that no one had guessed him gay! Merlin, even most girls weren't *that* bloody giggly.
Sighing, he glanced at the grandfather clock standing regally in the corner. It chimed seven in the morning. Harry had not slept that night. No, he had been *very* active indeed.
~~~~~*_~~~~~
A/N: Well then, my pretties. Shall we continue? *mentally says YES!!* I've kind of already started chapter two. So, you know, encouragement for a struggling writer is nice. ^_^ And if you have any pleasant suggestions for memories, be free to share them! Cod in Yemen knows I need all the help I can get if you have witnessed my other stories. Yeesh. It would be well appreciated. Ay revior!
~*Villain*~