Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I'm Leaving Without You)

chapter 7

Harry's always been better with actions than with words. Maybe that's why he couldn't speak up when they filled his usual order at the restaurant. And now he's got two portions of curry, one of which is completely inedible. Draco always orders his curry as spicy as the cook is willing to make it. Somehow he'd wandered under the impression that if his eyes and nose weren't streaming halfway through his meal then he wasn't doing it right, and nothing Harry's said has convinced him otherwise. Harry finds the whole thing baffling and a little masochistic, but in the end he'd chalked it up as just one more of Draco's little idiosyncrasies, like his fussiness about bacon, or his inexplicable affinity for Mug-Harry, or all his damned socks.

The paper bag crinkles as he balances it in the crook of his arm while he locks the door and toes off his shoes. He starts to walk to the dining room, but abruptly remembers the tea. So instead he goes to the coffee table and unpacks his bag there. And that's fine, sometimes they eat in here if there's a movie they're particularly eager to watch. Sunday is always takeaway curry and movie night.

Harry sits on the sofa and turns on the television. An ad for toothpaste is playing and he mutes the sound, then takes up his curry and the plastic fork it came with and eats even though he's not hungry. He skipped lunch and he thinks he should. He only manages about half of it, and he sets it on the coffee table beside the unopened container, then curls up on his side on the sofa cushions. There's a grey jumper thrown carelessly over the arm. Draco's. He'd tossed it there yesterday on his way to the bedroom to change into his uniform, and now Harry pulls it down and bunches it up and rests his head on it.

It smells like Draco, and Harry can almost pretend that this is any other Sunday night, that he's calm and relaxed, his belly pleasantly full, and he's dozing lightly with his head on Draco's lap while a movie plays in the background. If he closes his eyes and really concentrates, he can almost just feel Draco's fingers sliding through his hair, stroking gently, pausing to idly toy with a dark lock, winding the glossy strands around a fingertip before carding through his hair again. Harry loves Draco's hands, the narrow palm and long fingers, even the slightly-too-large knobs of his knuckles. They're graceful and elegant and entirely aristocratic, and Harry's loved them since before they were even his to love.

Harry's eyes followed the quick curl and flick of his long fingers as Malfoy waved a hand to illustrate some point he was making, and the entire length of the pub wasn't enough to hide the careless elegance of the gesture. Malfoy half-turned in Harry's direction as someone called his name, and Harry quickly turned away even though Malfoy wasn't looking at him. He shoved a hand through his hair while he waited for the bartender to bring him another drink.

They'd just been promoted from trainees to Aurors, and their entire class had gone out to celebrate. Harry had watched his former classmates grow steadily drunker around him as he nursed one tumbler of sparkling water after another. Malfoy's words from the previous week had stuck with him and Harry was determined to prove that this ongoing thing with Malfoy wasn't just a string of drunken mistakes. He still didn't like Malfoy, but he'd been watching him more closely in recent weeks, and Harry thought there was a pretty good chance that maybe he could eventually grow to like Malfoy. If only Malfoy would let him.

The longer the night stretched on, the more nervous Harry became. He wished Ron were there with him, but Ron had decided to help George with his shop instead of going into Auror training, and Harry hadn't wanted to invite him along only to disappear on him partway through the evening. He had absolutely no desire to tell his friends that he was sleeping with Malfoy until there was no other choice about it.

Harry sighed and turned around again to watch Malfoy across the room, talking to another person and wavering slightly where he stood as he gestured grandly with his glass, then laughed at something his companion said. Something hot and aching squirmed through Harry's stomach. He hated that Draco was like that for everyone but him.

It was after midnight by the time Malfoy broke away from his little group and wove his way to the back of the pub, and Harry didn't miss the expectant look he tossed over his shoulder. He gulped down the last swallow of his sparkling water, put his glass on the bar, and hurried after Malfoy.

Harry caught up with him in the alleyway. Malfoy turned as Harry stepped out, the door falling shut behind him and cutting off the raucous noise of their classmates' celebration. Without his head clouded and spinning from a night of drinking, Harry felt hesitant. Unsure. But luckily Malfoy had been drinking enough for the both of them and hadn't even bothered with the pretence of a cigarette this time. He wobbled a bit as he flung his arms around Harry and kissed him without saying a word. Malfoy tasted like gin, and his fingertips were cold when he slid them up the back of Harry's neck and into his hair. Harry pulled away.

"Come home with me?"

In answer, Malfoy kissed him again, and Harry Apparated them both to his bedroom. And then Harry forgot all about his uncertainty because it happened the same as it always did, and he let himself get swept away by the comfort of routine. They wrenched each other out of their clothes, leaving them to mark out a haphazard trail to the bed. Harry let himself sprawl back across the mattress, and Malfoy shoved his legs apart to settle between them, and Harry leaned up to kiss him again.

Harry thought it was strange that he should like this as much as he did. As always, Malfoy wasn't gentle. He used his teeth too much as they snogged, and he prepared him roughly with two fingers at first, then three, and when he pushed his cock inside Harry he didn't pause for Harry to adjust to being stretched wide before Malfoy pulled nearly all the way out and slammed back in. He fucked Harry so hard that the bedsprings creaked and the headboard slammed against the wall, and Harry loved every fucking second of it.

It wasn't until after they'd both come that it changed, as it always did. Harry had always assumed Malfoy was just drunk and sated from his orgasm, but now, sober, he thought it might be something else. For a long minute they lay tangled together, still intimately connected, their limbs entwined. Malfoy's thumb rubbed over Harry's shoulder in small circles, his nose pressed against Harry's neck. And when he lifted himself up, there was a long, strange second where he carded his hand fondly through Harry's hair, swiping it back from his forehead, and for that one small moment they felt like lovers. Then the moment broke when Malfoy rolled off Harry and stood up to get ready to leave, and Harry suddenly didn't want him to go. He sat up.

"Stay with me," Harry said, catching Malfoy's elbow. "Stay here tonight."

"You don't mean that," Malfoy told him, looking down at him with a curious little frown pulling at his mouth. "You've been drinking... and you don't..."

"I haven't," Harry said. "Haven't had anything tonight." He meant to follow that up by pointing out that this couldn't be a drunken mistake if he hadn't had anything to drink, but Malfoy was staring at him with such a stricken look on his face that Harry abruptly changed tack. Proving his point to Malfoy wasn't worth it if it made Malfoy leave. "The best part of bringing someone home is the morning sex that comes after, and you always leave. Stay here tonight."

Malfoy shifted a little, his shock fading, leaving behind a faintly puzzled frown. "You just want sex in the morning? That's it?"

Harry nodded eagerly, because that was very much true. "Yeah. That's it."

"Oh." Another moment dragged by, then Malfoy shrugged a shoulder in a sharp jerking motion that Harry thought was probably meant to look casual. "All right. I probably shouldn't be Apparating, anyhow. Budge over, then."

He toppled into bed and was snoring before Harry finished untangling the blankets and draping them over Malfoy. Harry turned out the lights with a flick of his wand and turned away from Malfoy, then scooted closer so the length of his back pressed snugly against the warmth of Malfoy's side. Warm and content with Malfoy beside him and the promise of more sex to come, Harry let himself tumble into sleep.