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firewhiskeyficTitle: The Scars You Choose
Author:lq_traintracks
I am of legal drinking age in my region: Boy howdy!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: Harry/Draco
Challenge/Prompts used: graveyard; Godric’s Hollow
Summary: Just two boys having good sex on a bad man’s grave.
Rating/Warnings: Explicit (I hope); trans man Harry; trans man Draco; t4t; use of a birth name (my headcanon is that this Harry doesn’t mind it so much, so it’s not a deadname); mentions of transphobia; sex; mild angst
Word count: ~900
Author's Notes (if any): In which Lucius is just a stand-in for JKR herself and we do a little grave desecration of the Mary Shelley variaty. Varity. Variety. Goddamn. Love to the mods for running the fest; I needed a drink! And I swear to fuck I was drinking. I think it may have come out with relatively few typos??
“Are you sure about this?” Harry asks, looking around the graveyard. The night is darker than dark, all except for the fog that brushes their ankles, licks up from the ground blindly, curious and alive.
“I’m sure,” Draco says, a hand at Harry’s nape, dragging him close. His fair head is haloed by their wan Lumos, a crescent of gold like a crown.
They kiss, and Harry tastes it. It’s not desperation, or even hunger, though he knows Draco feels both those things. Still, there is a certainty to him… a fixedness. Harry kisses him with eyes half-open to see it.
Then Draco unzips Harry’s jeans, and a thousand possibilities for the night zero in to one.
Harry turns his boyfriend around and pushes him face-down over Lucius Malfoy’s sarcophagus.
He lifts Draco’s skirt, pulls down his panties, kicks apart his black-booted feet.
“You want it like this?” Harry asks.
“Exactly like this,” Draco breathes, his breath joining the fog.
When Harry pulls his strap out over his pushed-down underwear, he feels around for Draco’s entrance, finding him excruciatingly wet.
“Here?” he checks, because sometimes, often, it’s the other.
“Right there,” Draco sighs, gripping the cold stone.
Harry pushes, going in, watching it.
Fucking on his father’s grave had, of course, been Draco’s idea. Harry would follow him anywhere, but he’d had his reservations. They melt away now as he slams into Draco from behind and hears those sweet, high-pitched moans, driven to a staccato rhythm from the force of his cock.
Draco had been having dreams. Dreams of graveyards and broken locks. Of muddy boots and animal whispers. And a voice. A voice asking, Where is the spark of you?
“Harder,” Draco says, and Harry takes his hips in his hands and obeys.
He’s no longer afraid he’s going to hurt him. He knows Draco’s wants, his limits and the heights he can reach when pushed just so.
Harry reaches around, finds his small cock so slick, rubs it.
Draco chants his name now, unravelling, unsewn, all his beautiful self coming to the surface and spilling over like so many crushed flowers into Harry’s hands. When Draco comes, it’s like lighting a fire in the hearth, like opening the front door wide, like watching the sun in its last few seconds of set.
Draco spirals down from it, Harry slowed to coaxing. When Draco’s body wilts over the hard stone, Harry kisses his back, pulls out with care. He helps Draco up, turns him bonelessly in his arms.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Harry asks.
Draco nods, pink in the cheeks, his newly short hair mussed.
“Okay,” Harry says. He lifts his boyfriend onto the stone coffin. “Then this is for me,” he says, taking in the rebellious glimmer in Draco’s eyes before he lays him down, flicks the skirt up his spreading thighs, and kneels to suck his cock.
***
Back home, in the comfort or their cottage in Godric’s Hollow, the place they’re fixing up slowly together—new plumbing in the kitchen this month, securing a good Floo connection the next, flowers on the window sills, fresh bread coming out of the oven—Harry fixes tea, sets it on the bedside table, awaiting Draco’s return from the hot shower.
He comes out in boxers and a t-shirt, still damp, still attractively rosy, his eyes dark and deep from the sex. Harry lounges in bed in his sweats, top off, proud of the scars he chose for himself.
Draco sits next to him, sips the tea Harry hands him. “Thank you, darling.”
“It’s just tea.”
“For everything,” Draco tells him, his palm on Harry’s scruffy jaw, thumb drifting over his bottom lip.
“I…” Harry starts and then falters.
“What, love?” Draco sets his tea aside, scooches down in the bed, peers up at him.
“I couldn’t have… I mean, he deserved so much worse.”
“Definitely,” Draco agrees.
“I’m glad you got what you needed,” Harry says.
“But you wouldn’t have done the same,” Draco guesses.
Harry shrugs, and Draco takes his hands in his one, their fingers tangling in Harry’s lap.
“That’s because your parents would have accepted you,” Draco says gently. “From the start, they would have. They were already calling you ‘Harry’ rather than ‘Harriet’. You were less than a year old, and they knew you.”
Harry meets Draco’s gaze. It’s steady. Steadier than it was before. Like he’s taken a piece of himself back, out of the ground, something living and untouchable.
“They loved you. They would have always loved you.” He squeezes Harry’s hands. “They love you still.”
Harry moves down until he’s on Draco’s level, and they curl on their sides, facing one another. “I love you,” he says.
Draco smiles, holds Harry’s face in his hands. “I know.”
They look into one another’s eyes until they are blinking drunkenly with oncoming sleep.
Draco says, slow and amused, “There’s a pair of my underwear on the ground in a Wiltshire cemetery.”
“Oh shit,” Harry laughs.
“It’s okay,” Draco tells him. “They were an old pair anyway.”
Harry pulls him closer. He leans his forehead against Draco’s. Words well in him. He tries to tamp them down and fails. “I see the spark of you,” he says, feeling foolish until he sees the full-blown rhapsody of Draco’s smile.
Harry gathers him in tight, insinuates a leg between Draco’s. Their lips kiss in the slow-coming dawn, in the quiet so deep every heartbeat makes a sound.
Harry waves a hand and douses the light in the room. But Draco continues to shine.
Author:
lq_traintracksI am of legal drinking age in my region: Boy howdy!
Pairing(s)/Characters/Fandom: Harry/Draco
Challenge/Prompts used: graveyard; Godric’s Hollow
Summary: Just two boys having good sex on a bad man’s grave.
Rating/Warnings: Explicit (I hope); trans man Harry; trans man Draco; t4t; use of a birth name (my headcanon is that this Harry doesn’t mind it so much, so it’s not a deadname); mentions of transphobia; sex; mild angst
Word count: ~900
Author's Notes (if any): In which Lucius is just a stand-in for JKR herself and we do a little grave desecration of the Mary Shelley variaty. Varity. Variety. Goddamn. Love to the mods for running the fest; I needed a drink! And I swear to fuck I was drinking. I think it may have come out with relatively few typos??
“Are you sure about this?” Harry asks, looking around the graveyard. The night is darker than dark, all except for the fog that brushes their ankles, licks up from the ground blindly, curious and alive.
“I’m sure,” Draco says, a hand at Harry’s nape, dragging him close. His fair head is haloed by their wan Lumos, a crescent of gold like a crown.
They kiss, and Harry tastes it. It’s not desperation, or even hunger, though he knows Draco feels both those things. Still, there is a certainty to him… a fixedness. Harry kisses him with eyes half-open to see it.
Then Draco unzips Harry’s jeans, and a thousand possibilities for the night zero in to one.
Harry turns his boyfriend around and pushes him face-down over Lucius Malfoy’s sarcophagus.
He lifts Draco’s skirt, pulls down his panties, kicks apart his black-booted feet.
“You want it like this?” Harry asks.
“Exactly like this,” Draco breathes, his breath joining the fog.
When Harry pulls his strap out over his pushed-down underwear, he feels around for Draco’s entrance, finding him excruciatingly wet.
“Here?” he checks, because sometimes, often, it’s the other.
“Right there,” Draco sighs, gripping the cold stone.
Harry pushes, going in, watching it.
Fucking on his father’s grave had, of course, been Draco’s idea. Harry would follow him anywhere, but he’d had his reservations. They melt away now as he slams into Draco from behind and hears those sweet, high-pitched moans, driven to a staccato rhythm from the force of his cock.
Draco had been having dreams. Dreams of graveyards and broken locks. Of muddy boots and animal whispers. And a voice. A voice asking, Where is the spark of you?
“Harder,” Draco says, and Harry takes his hips in his hands and obeys.
He’s no longer afraid he’s going to hurt him. He knows Draco’s wants, his limits and the heights he can reach when pushed just so.
Harry reaches around, finds his small cock so slick, rubs it.
Draco chants his name now, unravelling, unsewn, all his beautiful self coming to the surface and spilling over like so many crushed flowers into Harry’s hands. When Draco comes, it’s like lighting a fire in the hearth, like opening the front door wide, like watching the sun in its last few seconds of set.
Draco spirals down from it, Harry slowed to coaxing. When Draco’s body wilts over the hard stone, Harry kisses his back, pulls out with care. He helps Draco up, turns him bonelessly in his arms.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Harry asks.
Draco nods, pink in the cheeks, his newly short hair mussed.
“Okay,” Harry says. He lifts his boyfriend onto the stone coffin. “Then this is for me,” he says, taking in the rebellious glimmer in Draco’s eyes before he lays him down, flicks the skirt up his spreading thighs, and kneels to suck his cock.
Back home, in the comfort or their cottage in Godric’s Hollow, the place they’re fixing up slowly together—new plumbing in the kitchen this month, securing a good Floo connection the next, flowers on the window sills, fresh bread coming out of the oven—Harry fixes tea, sets it on the bedside table, awaiting Draco’s return from the hot shower.
He comes out in boxers and a t-shirt, still damp, still attractively rosy, his eyes dark and deep from the sex. Harry lounges in bed in his sweats, top off, proud of the scars he chose for himself.
Draco sits next to him, sips the tea Harry hands him. “Thank you, darling.”
“It’s just tea.”
“For everything,” Draco tells him, his palm on Harry’s scruffy jaw, thumb drifting over his bottom lip.
“I…” Harry starts and then falters.
“What, love?” Draco sets his tea aside, scooches down in the bed, peers up at him.
“I couldn’t have… I mean, he deserved so much worse.”
“Definitely,” Draco agrees.
“I’m glad you got what you needed,” Harry says.
“But you wouldn’t have done the same,” Draco guesses.
Harry shrugs, and Draco takes his hands in his one, their fingers tangling in Harry’s lap.
“That’s because your parents would have accepted you,” Draco says gently. “From the start, they would have. They were already calling you ‘Harry’ rather than ‘Harriet’. You were less than a year old, and they knew you.”
Harry meets Draco’s gaze. It’s steady. Steadier than it was before. Like he’s taken a piece of himself back, out of the ground, something living and untouchable.
“They loved you. They would have always loved you.” He squeezes Harry’s hands. “They love you still.”
Harry moves down until he’s on Draco’s level, and they curl on their sides, facing one another. “I love you,” he says.
Draco smiles, holds Harry’s face in his hands. “I know.”
They look into one another’s eyes until they are blinking drunkenly with oncoming sleep.
Draco says, slow and amused, “There’s a pair of my underwear on the ground in a Wiltshire cemetery.”
“Oh shit,” Harry laughs.
“It’s okay,” Draco tells him. “They were an old pair anyway.”
Harry pulls him closer. He leans his forehead against Draco’s. Words well in him. He tries to tamp them down and fails. “I see the spark of you,” he says, feeling foolish until he sees the full-blown rhapsody of Draco’s smile.
Harry gathers him in tight, insinuates a leg between Draco’s. Their lips kiss in the slow-coming dawn, in the quiet so deep every heartbeat makes a sound.
Harry waves a hand and douses the light in the room. But Draco continues to shine.
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Date: 2022-10-04 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2022-10-10 08:05 pm (UTC)♥
Date: 2022-10-05 05:10 am (UTC)This is fantastic!
Re: ♥
Date: 2022-10-10 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-10-05 01:36 pm (UTC)This was fun-angsty and sexy and somehow domestic-y sweet.
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Date: 2022-10-10 08:52 pm (UTC)