Title: had my heart on lockdown (and then you turned me around)
by magique
Fandom(s): Harry Potter
Pairing(s): Draco/Luna
Genre/Rating: PWP, Angst/R
Word Count: 911
Summary: Draco's stupid and weak and pathetic; Luna helps.
Warnings/Spoilers: A sex scene, sexual content between minors, coarse language/set during HBP.
Notes: Yeah, idk, I just felt like writing Draco/Luna again and this is what happened. I finished, like, all bar one paragraph in one or two sittings a few weeks ago and then got stuck on how to connect them (surprise surprise, I got stuck on the most sex-filled bit :/) and finally got it done tonight! \o/ It's probably kind of obvious, but I love writing unreliable narrative, and Draco is the most unreliable narrator, like, ever! He goes from, idk, "Hi, I am the most excellent person you will ever meet," to something like, "Mine is the worst existence ever and I deserve every bit of it boo hoo." Oh, Draco, you are so ridic.
Title comes from Boys Like Girls' Hero/Heroine.
Concrit welcome! Since, you know, letting readers have at my work is easier than actually finding a beta *is terrible*.

"I hate you," Draco mumbles, pressing kisses to the swell of her breast. "You're weak and pathetic and I hate you."

Luna's head falls back onto the pillow and she arches into the touch and she moans. Her fingers curl into his hair; her nails brush against his scalp like feathers as they run through it. She knows, without needing to be told, that he doesn't mean her, that it is nothing to do with her or anyone else, that it's about him because he's stupid and self-centred and he can't help it.

Draco knows, logically, that somehow this will come back to bite him in the arse eventually, as everything always seems to with him. Whatever reason Luna has to let him indulge in her soft body and his self-hate can't possibly last, can't possibly be enough to prevent her spilling any sordid details she feels like when the opportunity presents itself, but Draco never really learnt the art of restraint. He can promise himself a thousand times over never again on his way back to the dungeons afterwards but all Luna has to do is look at him with that small, secretive smile that feels like it's all his (even though it's not and it can't be because nothing about Luna is his) and he has to have her. And he's stupid weak pathetic spineless self-centred but he does.

He's not even sure how it started, really, except that he was crying in some abandoned tower (stupid weak pathetic) and then she was standing in front of him and speaking, then something and something and something, and Luna was crouching, Luna was kissing the tear tracks off his face, Luna was curling her palm around his jaw and smiling smiling smiling. And Draco was at his lowest, at his very fucking lowest in that moment, so he pulled her closer and pushed her down until she was lying under him, mouthing at his neck and rolling their hips together. "Draco," she'd promised into his collarbone, "I won't judge you," and a cacophony of words fell out of his mouth.

"Draco," she says now, sweet, "It's okay to make mistakes," because she sees right through him and she knows, like instinct and without ever having to be told, what to say and how to say it and what to do and how to do it. Anyone else and it would be as sad pathetic stupid as everything else because who wants to be that easily read but Luna's a little mad and the silver of her eyes is like clouds over the moon and she looks, dreamily, at nothing and smoothes his fears away.

He shifts, lifts his hands to cup her breasts and flicks his thumbs across her nipples.

"Oh," Luna breathes. "Oh, yes."

"Coward coward coward," he tells her sternum, her stomach, her navel, her hips. Luna groans and pulls him back to meet her mouth so they're kissing, slow and messy, as she fumbles with his belt.

She makes quick work of the rest of their clothes while Draco finds his wand to incant a contraception charm, and then her legs slide open around him and he's pushing inside. Her eyes flutter shut, lashes making fans of dirty blonde on her cheeks, and she murmurs, "It's okay to be scared."

Draco clenches his eyes shut against it because he's not scared, he's not, but Luna's fingertips brush down his cheek and (stupid pathetic weak) he is. He's terrified; he's still failing over and over, and he's running out of time. He pulls out a little and thrusts back in, hard enough that she cries out, sweet with an edge of pain. He pauses, waits for her to relax around him again, waits for her to smile, waits for her to murmur, "It's okay," before he does it again again again. Until his senses narrow to Luna, to her groans and her smell and the line of her throat; until his movements become unsteady and his vision whites out and he's pressing his forehead to her shoulder and losing that train of thought, losing the weak and the pathetic and the stupid and the spineless, and then he's coming.

She gives him a few seconds before she sighs quietly and says, "Draco, I still haven't..." so he pulls out and rolls off her. His fingers find her clit and rub lazy circles over it until she's gasping and trembling and whispering his name like a mantra. She says, brokenly, "It's okay to feel overwhelmed," and her forehead crumples and she's shuddering and biting her lip, and then she's still.

Later, they will get dressed. Luna will tidy his hair, smiling, and press a kiss to his nose. "Goodnight, Draco," she'll say, and Draco will look away awkwardly and just say, "Yeah." They'll walk in opposite directions, Draco down to Slytherin and Luna up to Ravenclaw, and Luna will fall asleep immediately while Draco will lie awake and think about killing Dumbledore and feel the stupid weak pathetic claw back in.

Now though, Luna frowns at his hollowed-out cheeks and the bags under his eyes, she curls an arm across his thin chest and pillows her head on his bony shoulder, and she says, "You need to look after yourself," and Draco closes his eyes tightly against the throb in the back of his head and pretends she could possibly care about him as much as it sometimes seems.