Disclaimer: This stuff no belong to me. Me make no $$. Me suck.

Dedication: Ivy and Aja, this goes out to you, you die hard H/D shippers, you. But most importantly this one is for Isilya, who rules my sweet arse, but will die soon if she does not get Vespa4 back to me. And that’s not a threat, that’s a promise. I will cut your buns off and feed them to... someone who would like to eat your buns.

Additional Notes: This fic is a re-write of a 'fic concept’ I plugged in my live journal not so long ago. This version, however, is un-plebe’d. Sort of.

Harry, Draco & the Reality Check

By Libertine

       

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were making love in their sumptuous bedroom suite on the top floor of a very very expensive British apartment block. It was good love, good and marvellous love that they made, although admittedly it was not particularly specific love.

Sometimes Draco was on top, and sometimes he was not.

Sometimes there were whips and chains, and sometimes there were not.

Sometimes Harry was on his knees, and sometimes, when he was very good, he was allowed onto the bed too.

Despite the wear and tear on Harry's kneecaps, Harry could think of no greater enjoyment in the world than making love to Draco. For when Harry Potter looked into Draco's beautiful silver eyes, he saw Draco's magical message of love written into them, over and over again. 'Do me,' Draco's startling and wonderful eyes would say to him, speaking straight into Harry's heart. 'Do me, Harry Potter. Do me like you've never done me before.'

And Harry, who found it impossible to resist his 'dragon', could only do as Draco asked...

Finally they rolled apart and rested a while in each others arms, staring into each others faces, and pretending they did not notice the blackheads and similar unsightly pockmarks upon the other's countenance. After all, they were in love, and love was blind, or, in Harry's case, terminally myopic. Draco wriggled in his chains at Harry in a naughty, sultry way, batted his eyelashes and pursed his lips -- just so. That morning they'd decided to be very adventurous, and as a result Draco was bound hand and foot to the ends of the bed.

"You're my darling dragon," said Harry to Draco, running his hand down the side of Draco's face.

"I love you so much," said Draco to Harry, and gave Harry a big, wet, meaningful kiss on his lips. "I could lie here and have sex with you all day, you know."

"Yes, well you were doing most of the lying around, weren't you," said Harry quietly, in a sudden moment of pique. But when Draco looked at him funny, Harry realised what he'd said -- and to cover for himself, pretended he was suffering from a coughing fit. "Yes, Draco," he said, louder this time. "Me too. I could do this all day, just you and me. Because I'm so in love with you."

Draco said, "Me too."

"What?"

"I mean, I'm in love with you too! He he," said Draco, giggling.

This exchange pretty much exhausted their conversational capabilities, and so the duo fell to more smooching and spooning.

All of a sudden Harry's alarm rung. He leapt to his feet, stumbled out of Draco and across the room to gather up his clothing. "Oh shit!" he gasped toward Draco. "I'm going to be late for my week long tour around the Ministry of Magic in France!" He pulled on a robe and some shoes, dashed over to Draco, and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Bye bye, love of my life," he told Draco, and was out the door before Draco could get a word in edgeways.

       

It was a very wonderful week in France, and Harry Potter learnt many new things about... France. There was the Eiffel Tower, for a start. It was pretty big. And looked sort of like... a triangle. Yes, a triangle. Harry Potter found the Eiffel Tower very interesting, but he couldn't help but think that he'd forgotten something back at home.

Of course he missed his 'dragon' like crazy! He wrote Draco a post card every day.

       

Harry returned home to his sumptuous apartment with a new tan and a truck load of presents. He was very excited to see Draco again; he'd been missing Draco so awfully while he was away, it made his heart ache in his chest. Quickly Harry set down his suitcases and duty-free bags and opened the front door.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Oddly, there was no reply, and no naked Draco ran up to meet him. Harry frowned. He dragged his bags inside, closed the door. The apartment smelt pretty bad, he noticed. Really bad -- so much that he was almost gagging. His disgust at the stench was quickly overcome by a rising fear -- What had happened to Draco? Was Draco okay? Harry crossed the livingroom and jerked open the door to their luxurious bedroom suite.

"Draggy waggy, are you... Oh my god!"

Draco rolled his eyes towards Harry. He was still chained to the bed, which was now filled with shit and various other Draco emissions. There were claw marks on the bedhead, and Draco's wrists were pusy and raw. As Harry watched, horrified, Draco weakly raised a finger, and pointed it fiercely at his lover.

"This is all YOUR fault, Potter," Draco hissed.

Harry's mouth dropped open. "WHAT?" he snapped. "What do you mean, this is MY FAULT? It's YOUR SHIT!"

       

Author's Note: See, my dear friends. This is why I can’t write H/D. It goes to bad places.

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