Smoke

By darkmosmordreheart

Summary: H&D. "Kisses are just sensations. You feel them. Everyone does. And they feel good." Non-Magic.

Warnings: Slash, language, sex, references to suicide, references to drug use, and a giddy author. Hell yeah, I'm giddy. I love this damn story!

Disclaimer: Not my characters, but . . . one can wish.

"Need a smoke?"

A blonde head turned at the unexpected question to stare at the unexpected person.

"Need a smoke?" the dark haired teen asked again, his back leaning against the railings of the Hogwarts High roof, a pack of cigarettes set in his hand, held out as an offering.

"I don't smoke," Draco said dismissively, moving to sit on the opposite side of the roof.

"Sorry," the brunet said, lighting a cigarette between his teeth as he said it. "You just didn't look like you knew what to do with yourself. When I'm like that, I smoke."

"It's ok," Draco mumbled; looking out to the view of the school's surrounding neighborhood.

"What?"

"I said 'it's ok'," he repeated, looking back to the other boy who was rising and moving to where he was sitting. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," the brunet said simply as he sat, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "I can't hear you from all the way over there."

"Oh," he replied. He really didn't care whether or not the boy heard him, he didn't want to be heard or seen or talked to by anyone.

"So what's up?"

Draco turned his head at the question and looked at the boy who asked it. His dark hair was disgraceful, sticking up at all angles, as if he had just woken up this morning and refused to brush it. His uniform was ruffled and wrinkled, the shirt un-tuck, his pants too baggy, and he was wearing motorcycle boots. Draco frowned and looked away.

"Seriously," the boy said, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it," he said softly.

"Well, it's obviously a problem if you're skipping class with me up here. I've never noticed you before so obviously you're not a juvenile delinquent as I, myself, am. What's your name?"

"Why are you talking to me?" Draco finally said, turning his head and looking into the deepest green eyes he had ever seen.

"You looked upset. I find that talking to complete strangers about my problems is very therapeutic. You can tell anyone your deepest, darkest secrets and it doesn't matter because they don't know you and will probably never see you again." He smiled and pushed his hand through the wicked black locks of his hair. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

"Pots."

"Pots?" the blonde asked disbelievingly, his light grey eyes going wide.

The brunet laughed. "Well, not really. It's a nickname my exgirlfriend gave me. Her name was Pansy; I called her Pans, she called me Pots."

"Pots and Pans? How incredibly . . . corny," Draco replied with a quizzical expression.

"I know, but we were in seventh grade. Everything was corny," the boy, Pots, explained with a chuckle.

"That name stuck with you all the way to twelfth?"

"Well . . . yeah. You see, my last name is Potter. I didn't tell you that?" Pots asked, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"No. You didn't." The two boys stared at one another for a moment. "I'll never see you again, right?"

"Sure, but only if you don't come up here again. I spend a lot of my free time here. And a lot of class time," he added with a smile. "Do you want to tell me why you've escaped civilization to sit on a rooftop with a loser like me?"

"My grades are not what they should be, my mother has cancer, my father still beats her, and he thinks that I'm gay. I can't sit in class because I can't concentrate on anything and I don't want to talk to my friends because I know they all secretly hate me for being privileged. I pop pills like they're skittles and two months ago, I tried to kill myself," he let out with one breath. For a moment, the pressure from his chest was so fully relieved that he thought he might float from the loss of weight, but then he remembered about Pots and panicked at how he thought the boy would react. He turned his head to see the reaction.

And met soft, warm lips against his.

A tongue licked out, caressed his bottom lip and he moaned, and then pulled away when he realized what he was doing. "You kissed me!"

Pots shrugged and put his cigarette back into his mouth. "I did."

"You kissed me!"

"After all that, you seemed like you need a kiss . . . or a hug or something," he said simply, inhaling smoke one last time before stubbing the white stick out on the concrete they were sitting on.

"I'm not gay," Draco told him.

"Me neither."

"But you kissed me."

"I did," Pots said again, his brow raised as if to ask what of it?

"I'm a guy."

"Yes you are. Obviously."

"You kissed a guy," Draco unnecessarily informed him. "That makes you gay."

"Why can't that mean I just like to kiss?" he was asked quite easily by the green-eyed teen. He opened his mouth to give a comeback, but couldn't find anything to say. "I do like to kiss."

"I'm not gay."

"You've said that," Pots laughed leaning closer once again and capturing shocked lips. The blonde seemed just as surprised about this kiss as the other, but this time, he didn't pull away first. Pots settled back into his original position as he watched the other boy tentatively touch the tips of his fingers to his lips. "Kisses are just sensations. You feel them. Everyone does. And they feel good."

"You're a guy."

"I am, as are you. But why does that even matter? I closed my eyes when I kissed you. I close my eyes when I kiss girls. All cats are grey in the dark," Pots reasoned, his hand reaching out to cup the blonde's chin in his hand.

"That's a saying for someone who sleeps around with just anybody," Draco said softly as he allowed his lips to be teased again. A new pressure began to rise in his chest. He moaned and his fingers somehow found their way into those unruly black locks and he tugged.

"Mmm," Pots moaned into his mouth, his tongue too busy with his own to complete real words. After one final kiss, he pulled away. "Come with me after school?"

Draco looked away and nodded.

"I'll be in the parking lot, under that large oak tree."

"Alright."

Pots stood and moved to the roof exit, but then stopped and turned back to the sad looking blonde. "I'm sorry about your mum."

"Me too."

Draco met the boy under the large oak like he said he would. He thought it was a lie when he said it, but somehow, he was standing under the oak with the boy and his motorcycle.

"This is a nice bike," he said absently, settling behind the brunet on smooth, dark leather.

"Thanks. My godfather gave it to me. We fixed it up together and he gave it to me for my birthday last year," the teen replied, slipping sunglasses over his dazzling green eyes as he looked at Draco over his shoulder. "Hold on tight to me."

Draco blushed and complied, ignoring the strange looks they were getting from other students. "Where are we going?"

"My house," Pots answered, revving up the bike and taking off so suddenly that Draco's arms tightened twice as much. "Hey! I need to breathe to stay conscious to drive this thing!"

"Sorry," Draco said, loosening his hold as they stopped at a red light.

Pots turned back to look at him. "Hey?"

"What?"

"Kiss my neck."

"Your neck?" he asked nervously, earning a nod from the other boy. "People could see us."

"Not while we're driving. No one will notice," he said, taking off once again and laughing at the yelp Draco gave. He smiled widely when he felt soft, shy lips near the base of his ear. A tongue traced edges of the hair on the nape of his neck and his eye focus went hazy, so he yelled back to the blonde, "Maybe you should stop. I need blood in my brain to drive this thing, as well."

"Sorry," Draco murmured into his ear. He felt the blonde's smile against his neck.

Shortly afterwards, they pulled up to a small apartment building. "This is where you live?"

"It's not the Ritz, but at least I have a bed to sleep in at night," Pots said, standing and swinging his leg over the bike. He held out his hand and lifted Draco from the motorcycle easily. "It's a big bed, by the way."

The blonde blushed the entire way up the flight of stairs and into the second floor apartment.

"Harry? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Dad," Pots said as they walked through the door. A head peeked out at them from what appeared to be the kitchen. "This is my godfather, Sirius."

"Draco," the blonde said, holding his hand out in greeting.

"Your name's Draco? That's nice," Pots said, earning a quizzical stare from his godfather who only shook his head and said nothing. Pots sniffed the air and looked into the rather small kitchen. "So, Dad, what's to eat?"

"Nothing for you," the man said as he untied his apron and pulled it over his head. "You know that Bella is coming over tonight and she hates pasta, so I'm making pasta."

Pots shook his head and Draco couldn't help but be fascinated at the way his hair swished around.

"You and your cousin Bellatrix," he laughed, putting his arm across Draco's shoulders. "Me and . . . Draco are gonna go study in my room."

"Right," Sirius said; a bored look of disbelief on his face. "I'm sure you'll be hungry after that."

"So I can have some pasta?"

"No, you can make yourself a sandwich. There's bologna in the fridge."

Pots pulled a face at his godfather's back as the man walked away, then guided Draco down a small, cramped hallway. He stopped at the second door at the right and entered the room first. "Lay across the bed."

All the room seemed to be was bed.

It was huge, covered in various mixed and matched sheets and blankets, taking up more than half the space in the room.

"Lay across the bed," Pots said once again, closing the door and flinging his schoolbag to the floor. Draco set his down next to the small desk that Pots had managed to wedge into the space between the bed and the wall and climbed onto the bed, immediately sinking into the monstrous comfort. The green eyed boy smiled and pulled off his sunglasses, setting them on a nearby dresser. He stared straight into Draco's eyes as he pulled off his school blazer, revealing the plain white---wrinkled---shirt rolled up o the elbows. He avoided unbuttoning it all together and just pulled it over his head. His body was nice; not too muscled, but tight at the right places. He looked to have a hard chest, his abs seemed strong. His muscles rippled as he moved to lie across the bed next to Draco.

He rolled onto his back, looked at Draco and, of course, smiled. "Come kiss me."

The blonde hesitantly sat up and leaned over the other boy. "So your godfather knows that you're gay."

"I'm not gay," the brunet laughed, reaching up to cup Draco's cheek and stroked across it with his thumb.

"So you're bisexual?"

"I'm all sexual," he smiled, raising his head a bit to peck the other boy on the lips. "Why are you over-thinking everything? We don't need labels right now. We need sensation."

"Sensation?"

"Yes, sensation. To have human contact, any human contact. Sensation is caused by having one or more senses stimulated. It doesn't matter how. It doesn't matter who. All that matters is the sensation. You've been getting certain senses stimulated by people, both male and female, that were bad. I can give you good sensations. Great stimulation."

Draco lips parted at the way Pots had purred the last word and he leaned forward to press them to the other's. The kiss was hot and breathy. It was rushed, sloppy, and he loved it. He sat up quickly to yank off his blazer just as he felt the other boy's hands pulling the tails of his shirt out of his trousers. He moaned loudly when he felt those hands sliding against the sensitive area of his lower back.

"Kiss me, Draco. Sit on top of me," Pots said breathlessly. His vivid eyes closed as the blonde followed his orders. Once Draco was comfortably seated, the brunet flipped them over so that he was on the bottom, his legs wrapped around Pots waist.

"Pants," the green-eyed boy said simply, sitting up on his still shoed heels and unbuckling his belt. He looked at Draco pointedly. "Pants."

It took the other boy a moment, but he finally realized what to do. He kicked off his shoes, not caring if they landed on the floor or not and worked on unfastening his own slacks, pulling them down to his knees then kicking them off the rest of the way just as Pots had finished taking off his.

"You have pretty skin, Draco," he sighed into that skin, his face pressing into the blonde's pale stomach.

"T-Thank you."

"Will I be your first sexual experience, Draco?" Pots asked; lifting up his emerald gaze to survey Draco's reddening face.

"Yes."

"I'll be gentle with you. I promise."

Draco nodded and groaned as he felt short nails rake across his hipbones and hook into the waistband of his underwear.

"I'm going to suck you, Draco."

He nodded and tried to keep the scream that had lodged itself into the back of his throat firmly in the back of his throat. He looked at the blank white ceiling, refusing to whimper as Pots tugged down his boxers, refusing to cry out as the rough velvet of Pots' tongue stroked over him. He began to tug wildly at his own hair, pulling the white-blond strands until he was sure they would be standing on end like Pots'. Lips began to kiss him; the underside of him, then the tip; the tongue peeking out occasionally to greet his hardness with pinpoints of hot, wet intensity.

His eyes widened as the hot mouth engulfed him and soon the blank white ceiling was filled with every color imaginable, maybe even a few he had made up, and the pressure in his body released and came back and released again. It was too hard, it was too fast, it was too much, it was almost painful . . . Oh God, this was fantastic.

He saw the colors even with his eyes closed, but when he heard chuckling he opened them to meet green.

"Wow. You taste nice," Pots said, licking the corners of his mouth, and then leaning forward to nuzzle and kiss Draco's neck.

"Thank you," the boy replied breathlessly, arching up into the other's heat. "I'm not gay."

"Mmm," the other boy said with a mouthful of his skin.

"I'm not gay."

Pots kissed his lips.

"I'm not gay."

Pots reached above him, towards a small shelf hanging over the humongous headboard. Draco closed his eyes.

"I'm not gay."

He heard something like a cap unscrewing. "Taste this."

A finger was pressed against his lips, coated in a sticky fluid. His tongue flicked out and reacted to the sweetness. "What is it?"

"It's strawberry flavored. You like it?"

"Yes."

"I like it, too. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I touch myself . . . Inside myself, you know. Then I lick my fingers afterwards . . . it tastes so good."

Draco's back arched, he didn't know if it was the other boy's comments or the strawberry flavored finger that began to probe him, but he didn't care.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you . . . You're so tight. I'm going to hurt you."

"I'm fine," Draco hastily assured the other, surprised at the concern. He felt the finger slip in further and he arched up again, a hiss sliding past his lips.

"I'll stop, I'm sorry."

"Don't stop," Draco whispered. "More."

"More?"

"I like this . . . pain. It feels right."

"It does?"

"That doesn't mean I'm gay."

"Of course not, you just like the sensation, right?" He heard the bed creak with Pots' movements. He felt hot breath against his ear. "Watch what happens when I curl my finger."

Draco wanted to ask what, but that finger touched something . . . something that had him moaning and arching. Something that had him rigid and leaking once more. "Pots!"

"Harry . . . Call me Harry, Draco," the voice murmured into his ear, even as another finger was added and Draco cried out again. "Say it, Draco."

"Harry," he moaned, his eyes opening pleadingly for more. He shuddered as the green-eyed boy began to pump the fingers inside of him. "Oh God, Harry . . . God . . . Harry . . . Harry . . ."

Pots . . . Harry smiled and moved to sit up on his knees. Draco watched as he pulled down his Spongebob boxers, his breath catching at the size of what was to be inside of him. "Don't worry. It'll be easy for me to slide inside. I think you're stretched enough."

"Do it then."

"I will," Harry promised, reaching to the shelf once again and pulling back a gold foil packet. The blonde watched through hooded grey eyes as the condom was rolled on. His breath hitched again when Harry lifted his legs up and draped them over his shoulders. "I want to look at you when we do this. Do you want that?"

"Yes," Draco whimpered; his body tensing as he felt Harry push against him. And then Harry was inside of him. Or at least, partly inside of him. "Why did you stop?"

"You made a face," Harry answered, his own face flushed as he restrained himself.

"Don't stop." The brunet nodded and settled his hands on Draco's pale thighs. He rocked forward and Draco cried out. "More."

Harry kissed his calf, nuzzled his nose in the nearly transparent hair he found there. Draco wanted him to push, to thrust, but he only rocked. It was torture . . . Even more torture when the green-eyed boy rocked against that something inside of him.

"More!"

Harry rocked faster.

"Please . . . God, please!"

Harry rocked harder.

"Please . . . Harry! Oh Harry!"

Harry pushed. Harry thrust. The bed trembled with their steady movements. It shook when the rhythm was suddenly off. It jerked when the erratic rocking of the two bodies began. Draco found his hands twisted fiercely into the sheets, so tight that he knew they would be red for hours afterward.

This was so good. So good. There was nothing ever like this. Absolutely nothing.

He was feeling.

He was feeling Harry.

He wasn't alone. He wasn't dead. He wasn't worthless or stupid or anything. He wasn't anything but this. Anything but under Harry. Around Harry. For Harry.

He cried out, shaking and spilling himself across himself and Harry, his body tightening all over until he felt he would burst from his skin.

"Oh, yes, Draco," Harry moaned out above him, the frantic thrusting finally fading to an end with one final pump. He looked as if he was ready to collapse, but Draco's legs held him up. He opened his vivid green eyes and, of course, smiled. "Did you like it?"

"Yes," Draco laughed, thinking it an odd question while the other boy was still inside of him and covered with the evidence of his enjoyment. "Did you like it?"

"I always like sensations," Harry said, gripping the blonde's knees and pulling himself out slowly, causing a whimper in Draco's throat. "You have stimulated me such that I feel that I'll be numb to everything else today."

Draco smiled and stared at the ceiling as the brunet released his legs and rolled onto his back. "That was nice."

"It was, but that does not mean you're gay, okay?"

"Alright," Draco laughed, turning his head to look into emerald eyes. He lifted his hand and hesitantly---shyly---brushed his fingers across Harry's sweat dampened hair. Harry smiled. "Are we still complete strangers? Can I still tell you anything?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, his smile slipping from his face to be replaced with a look of concern. "Anything."

"I love you."

Harry was silent and he looked away. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry about it. I don't mind. I needed something to love," Draco answered, tracing his hand up and down his own naked stomach. "Do you mind?"

"Not really," the brunet replied. "I just thought that you'd be upset about something like that."

"I'm not. Why would you think that?"

"I'm a loser who just sits on rooftops and smokes cigarettes all day."

"That's called a loner, not a loser. You know, you don't have to hang around on the roof all day," Draco told him.

"I know, but I have low motivation and drive," was the reply he gained. "Plus I procrastinate."

Draco laughed and pushed up close to the stranger he felt he had known his entire lifetime. "Does your godfather know about you?"

"Hanging out on rooftops all day? No," Harry told him with a laugh as if to say yeah right. "He thinks I'm a perfect straight A student. That's why he puts up with all my bullshit, but then again, I put up with a lot of his bullshit, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he said, turning to take Draco into his arms. "You know his cousin Bellatrix? They're lovers."

"Lovers? But they're cousins!"

"Maybe, maybe not," Harry shrugged. "She's married so I think it's all just a ruse to fool her husband as to why Sirius is around there all the time. They're probably not cousins."

"Wow . . . I think I may have an Aunt Bellatrix," Draco said suddenly.

"Well then, welcome to the family," Harry laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him soundly on the mouth.

Draco pulled away and smiled. "So Sirius thinks you're a straight A student."

"Yeah, because I am."

"How?"

"How?" Harry echoed; an ebony eyebrow rose in question.

"Yeah. How are you a straight A student if all you ever do is lounge around on the roof?"

Harry frowned and looked away. "I fuck my teachers."

"Be serious," Draco laughed, pushing the other boy's shoulder playfully.

Harry sat up and looked down into grey eyes, watching the playfulness seep out of them in reaction to his serious expression. "I'm not lying. I fuck my teachers."

"Harry, that's not . . ."

"Not what? Cool, safe, smart? I don't care, the school year is almost over and I'm passing all my classes with flying fucking colors. I don't care," the boy said, sliding from the bed. "You can leave now."

"You have to give me a ride back. I don't know this neighborhood," Draco said softly, looking away from the other teen as he hastily and roughly dressed himself.

"I don't want you here anymore," Harry said.

"What happened to we're still strangers? You can tell me anything, right?" Draco asked, crawling to the edge of the bed with a hopeful look on his face. Harry looked at him for a moment, apprehensiveness clouding his features, but eventually he dropped the pants he only had one leg in and climbed back into the bed next to the blonde.

Draco smiled, but Harry launched himself at the other boy, straddling the naked boy and pinning him to the bed.

"What the hell are you doing, Pots?!"

"I've fucked Mr. Snape. I suck at chemistry, so I suck his big fat stick. I stink at Statistics, so I bang Ms. Trelawney into her desk. English is boring, so I make sure to give Mrs. McGonagall multiple orgasms. History is tedious so I let Mr. Binns pound me into oblivion. And, even though I actually do go to gym, I still fuck Mrs. Hooch. Do you promise to never see me again, stranger?"

Draco had closed his eyes during the middle of the angered speech and now he felt a warm wetness dripping onto his face, so he looked up.

To see Harry sobbing above him.

"Harry?" he asked, lightly cupping the boy's wet cheek, but Harry shook it away.

"Don't call me that! Don't you fucking say my name! What happened to strangers, huh? What the fuck happened to that?!"

"Harry, calm down, you're scaring me."

"I don't care! I don't fucking care! Shit, this wasn't supposed to happen! No one was supposed to know."

"I know, Harry," Draco said calmly, tears forming in his own eyes. "I know."

"I have something else to tell you," Harry said tonelessly. He sat up and held out his arm and pointed out tiny pinprick-sized scars. "I've only been clean for three months. Sirius thinks that it's been a year. I lie so much to everyone. I'll lie to you, too. I'll hurt you."

"Not anymore than I've ever hurt myself," Draco said softly, sitting up and holding out his own arms, showing Harry the thin white scars on the underside of his wrists.

Then Harry collapsed on top of him, kissing and licking and crying all over his skin. "I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . . Do you still love me?"

"Yes," Draco said softly, brushing dark hair away from his lover's red, wet face. "I love you."

"Like I said before, I'm sorry about that."

"Me too."

Author's Note: I have no idea why the hell I wrote this, please don't ask me. I was thinking of it one night and then BOOM! There it is! I'm just glad I wrote it or else it would have irked me for the longest time. Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think of it. -DMH