Title: A Second Sun
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Warnings: Sex, established relationship, fluffy fluff
Summary: On a day when most wizards are thinking about the weather, Draco has something better to do.
Author's Notes: This was written for dashadowpanther, who gave me the prompts of "travel," "snow," and "curtains." For some reason, this fic immediately jumped to mind. And I cannot possibly exaggerate the fluff content.
A Second Sun
It was the worst snowstorm Britain had experienced in years, and the Muggles were apparently still exclaiming in wonder over it, at least according to Draco's fellow players who had regular contact with the Muggle world. Only wizards knew why it had buried the cities and villages in more than ten feet of snow and was still continuing. A rare wave of pure, wild magic had combined with the snow moving naturally across the island and changed its nature by amplification.
The magical aspects of the storm meant that most methods of wizarding travel as well as Muggle ones were affected. Apparition in an atmosphere of wild magic might land one anywhere. Likewise, Floos sometimes worked, sometimes didn't work, and sometimes Splinched their occupants. Portkeys were more reliable, and had been used to evacuate some of those who lived in the hardest-hit areas, but as the storm went on, the spells used to make them simply didn't take. And in Draco's view, anyone who flew in a storm like this was mad, unless the alternative was death.
Luckily, he and Harry had everything they needed in their small house: plenty of food, plenty of firewood, a house-elf to cook the one and replenish the other, and each other.
Draco stood beside the bedroom window, holding aside one of the pale blue curtains so that he could peer at the changed world beyond the pane. The snow lay in thick, curving drifts disturbed only vaguely by the outlines of other houses, trees bent nearly in half by the white weight, and the main road through Hogsmeade. Draco drew in a deep breath, which didn't tingle with the chill air outside but might as well have. He had been out in it often enough earlier this week, fetching supplies from the minute the Falcons' owner dismissed them from practice. Draco had understood when he heard about the raw magic that no one could foresee the end of this storm right now, and it was best to pack in as much as he could while the weather was still mild so they wouldn't have to venture into the wilderness later.
It was exhilarating, almost, to watch the weak sun streak blue shadows across the snow during this brief pause in the fall. Draco could enjoy the cold world as long as it stayed out there.
After all, he had the best source of warmth he could ask for in here.
He turned, with a smile, to the form curled in bed, wrapped around a pillow. Harry always seemed to need a substitute for Draco when he moved out of bed earlier—which was always, unless a case for the Aurors had kept Harry awake all night. His snores were soft and constant, and the curve of his shoulders rivaled that of the drifts. Draco let the curtain fall and moved forwards, stalking silently.
It didn't work. When he reached the edge of the bed, Harry had already rolled over and was staring up at him through sleep-blurred eyes. Draco sat down on the blanket and bent to kiss him.
Harry's hand reached up to clamp on the back of his neck and deepen the kiss more than Draco had planned on. He laughed and went with it, dropping down and down and down into softness and sweetness and so much heat that it felt as if he had stepped from a snow-drowned world to a tropical jungle.
They had earned this, Draco thought as Harry rolled above him, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, the glaze of sleep gone like snow melted by a powerful sun. They had fought so hard against their mutual antipathy, their friends' (and, in Draco's case, their parents') disapproval, the public's fascinated gossip, and their own careers, which led them far apart for weeks at a time. That they had survived was a testimony to the strength of the attraction that connected them. That had been sexual only at first, but it had grown beyond that long ago.
Though, Draco thought, arching his back as he felt Harry reach down to his entrance with one slick finger, the sexual part of it is certainly nice as well.
Harry murmured words to him that Draco could barely hear as he stretched and prepared him and then pulled him forwards so that Draco's legs rested over his shoulders, but that didn't matter, because Draco had heard them so often before. Harry loved him and wanted him and liked to fuck him, and all those sentiments were welcome. Draco laughed up at him with his mouth half-open, the way he often did, and Harry felt challenged and pushed into him too hard, the way he often did. Draco arched his back again, this time in triumph instead of surprise.
Harry made love with the kind of single-minded passion Draco had always desired in a sexual partner and had once been sure he'd never find. Hard thrusts, short ones, long ones, but all fast. Draco clenched down to feel Harry spasm and watched his face change, flushing and panting. And, of course, the pleasure that played through him like snow blown by the wind was never less than welcome.
He felt the hand that clasped his cock almost with regret. He wouldn't last long now, and that meant this wouldn't last long.
But then he remembered the winter, and smiled as he arched his back a third time, and pleasure raced up through his body from Harry's cock. They could do this again and again, as long as they were in the house with no way to escape—and Draco didn't think the raw magic would yield for some days—
Then his thoughts blew apart and scattered as his body shook with its own kind of raw magic. Harry followed him with a shaky groan, embracing him with arms that stayed utterly still while his lower body jerked in marvelous counterpoint.
And then he was spent and sleepy again, breathing into Draco's ear with puffs of air that swiftly slowed, while Draco stroked his hair and smiled at the snowshine coming through the window and playing on the ceiling.
There is warmth here that will last a lifetime. My own sun.