WIP Wednesday!
Another excerpt from my fic for Goosefest, Memento Mori, formerly a dark Drarry novella, now looking more like a novel. * I’m on the lookout for a britpicker, please message if you can help!
Drarry, rated E
Summary:
Gifted Auror Harry Potter is good at pretending. He pretends that he’s straight, that he’s happy, and that his unique ability to slip into the minds of depraved killers isn’t driving him mad. As long as he’s living up to other people’s expectations, he’s sure it’ll all work out.
When Ginny breaks up with him, a new killer’s file lands on his desk, and Draco Malfoy returns from America, Harry must stop pretending or face dire consequences.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Draco whispers, kissing his neck, sliding down the zip of his trousers. ‘You’re so hot,” Harry says, overcome. “Merlin, your hands. Fuck, I can feel the whole universe spinning… and spinning…” Draco’s hand goes still in his pants and Harry shifts his hips up, searching for friction. “Spinning?” Draco asks. “Like a bag o'Dizzy Drops,” Harry slurs. Draco’s head drops against his chest and Harry pushes his fingers into his hair. It’s soft and perfect. Of course it is. Draco gets up. “Hey, where are you going?” Harry sits up, then falls back down. “Draco!” “I’ll be right there!” Draco calls irritably. Harry is looking at the ceiling, counting what looks like little stars in the tiles there, when he returns. Harry opens his arms. “Come back here, you git.” Draco straddles his hips and Harry grins, sliding his hands under Draco’s shirt again, feeling the muscles under his skin, the hills of his ribs, the way Draco shudders under his touch. “Come on, now,” Draco says, manoeuvring his shirt up over his head—and then replacing it with some sort of pyjama top. “What’s this?” Harry asks suspiciously. “I’m not here for a bedtime story, Draco. You promised.” Draco sighs. “I lied, now let me get this on you.” “Bastard,” Harry tells him, and battles the pyjamas until he falls asleep.
