Summary: Take one insatiable werewolf and pair him with an arrogant blonde with a softening heart. Add two very different gift ideas and the traces of a few memories of a darker past. Stir carefully, and you have Christmas.
Warnings: Explicit SLASH. EWE (Epilogue, What Epilogue?) and EDOFWEDOF (Evil Death Of Fred, What Evil Death Of Fred?).
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: I know Bill only possesses werewolf traits, but who cares about minor details, right? And no Fleur.
Blessings of the season.
"If I didn't know better, I would say that you are enjoying yourself."
Draco arched a pale eyebrow. "You don'tknow better." He turned his back to Bill and his face to the mirror. The silvery-blond hair was sprinkled with glitter and there was a smudge of soot on his cheek.
Bill had meant to tell him about that but... well, hadn't got around to it yet. He ignored Draco's building frown that grew opposite him in the mirror. "See... the way I interpreted your smi–"
"Ah, but you don't see," said Draco, slowly turning so that he was once more facing Bill, "which is obvious, or you would have said something about this." He gestured at his own hair. "I'm not some bloody twinkling Christmas fairy!"
Bill grinned. "Are you quite sure about that?"
"Git." Draco crafted an expression of perfect disgust. "Fuck you."
"You wish." Bill strolled across the beaten wooden floor to lounge against one of the carved bedposts. He casually dropped his wand onto the mess of blankets. "Last I remember from that discussion was you begging me to shove my hard cock up your quivering arse."
Draco's mouth had formed a thin line. "I do not express myself like that."
"Maybe not," Bill allowed. "But you did beg," he added, with a wink. He let Draco fume in peace for a moment over by the mirror while he untangled a stray holly leaf from his own long hair. "But I did see you smiling at Harry..."
"You are old. Your eyesight is clearly failing you."
"I'm not complaining," said Bill. "I rather like my version."
Draco only shook his – glittering – head. "Who decides to decorate their house the Muggle way, anyway? Using... a ladder."
"Well, to be fair... he isn't." Bill pushed himself off the bedpost and wandered up to Draco. His reflection mirrored him as he lifted a hand to the pale hair and touched it. Draco was tall but Bill was taller. "That plan failed as soon as Fred and George Flooed in," he smiled.
"You're crazy, all of you."
"And yet..." Some of the glitter rubbed off on Bill's palm. "Yet you prefer to be here..."
Draco's grey eyes grew hard. "Where else do you propose I go? Hm, Weasley?"
Bill wiped his palm on his scuffed jeans and inched a little closer. He could smell Draco now: all those desperate, worn-out remains of pride, and the lingering fear... and the tiny hope, and that sweet, bubbly joy that he was so good at holding at bay. He ran the tip of a forefinger along the clenched jaw. "You could go anywhere, with all that gold of yours, Malfoy."
There was a glimmer of defiance in Draco's eyes but his cheeks went pale under Bill's touch. An ocean of tension was seeping into his shoulders; Bill felt it as though they were his own. Outside their closed door something crashed to the landing. Ignoring whatever was going on out there, Bill moved his hand to Draco's hip and very gently cupped it.
Draco swallowed. "Don't..." His voice was strained and he did not seem to be able to finish.
Bill's hand tentatively slid a few inches closer to the base of Draco's spine. "Marry me?" he said quietly. "And you'll go by a different name."
"You are mad."
Bill smiled. "Does it matter?"
"You think," Draco said, his eyes challenging, "that people would fail to recognise me just because I changed my last name? And you seriously believe that I would take your name? 'Draco Wea–'" He bit off the word, looking deeply disturbed. "I can't even say it."
"I'm as much pure-blood as you."
He regretted his words as soon as he had spoken them. Draco's face fell, his distaste dwindling into a pool of blank, impenetrable nothingness. Bill could have bitten his tongue off. "Draco, I'm sorry." When the younger man began turning away from him, slithering out of his light one-armed embrace, Bill tightened his hold on him. "Listen, it's only been six months..."
"Seven. Seven months and three weeks since the war ended."
"All right. Seven months and three weeks. Still, that's nothing. You've got to give people a chance to see you for what you really are."
"A pure-blooded Death Eater." Draco's voice fell flat between them. "To them that's what I'll always be. I'll always be hated."
"No," said Bill firmly, shaking his head. "You won't." His other arm came round Draco's waist as well and he gently urged him deeper into the embrace. "My family doesn't hate you. Harry doesn't hate you... Hermione doesn't." His fingertips found Draco's spine through his plum-coloured shirt and pressed into the taut muscles supporting it. "And I love you."
Draco gave a half-hearted snort but his hands wandered underneath Bill's worn t-shirt and came to a rest in the small of his back. His head landed, after a moment's hesitation, on Bill's chest. Bill worked his fingers into the muscles, traced them all the way up to Draco's shoulder blades, and all the way down to where the passage was cut off by those alarmingly expensive trousers. He counted it as a small victory when he was not reprimanded for creasing the shirt.
Outside, large snowflakes were floating heavily through the cold evening air. The sky had turned a dark blue and Bill could see lights gleaming in the Muggle houses across the small square. Somewhere above the rooftops a sliver of a waning moon was rising. Bill exhaled, slowly, into Draco's hair; Christmas would come and go before the moon was full again, which meant that the promise of little over two weeks of peace and quiet stretched out lazily before them. Pressed against him, Draco relaxed, too, as his muscles were kneaded into submission. Bill did not know that his eyes had fallen closed before they tore open to the deafening roar the door performed as it exploded into a firework of splinters whizzing through the air.
Bill stumbled backwards in shock with Draco still in his arms. "What the he–!" A ball of shining blue light came zooming towards them, and then another, and a third, and Bill's first instinct was to duck rather than try to reach for his wand. Grabbing hold of Draco he shoved him down and the lights came skating their hair.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Fred and George had appeared in the doorway, looking flustered. Wands at the ready, they were keeping their eyes on the jets of blue light that were regrouping by the window.
Bill shook some hair out of his eyes and ignored Draco who was cursing under his breath for a moment. "What the fuck's going on!"
"You'd best stand aside," Fred advised grimly.
"This might get ugly," said George, and grinned.
In their half-crouch, Draco's arms were still awkwardly wrapped around Bill's waist, and his own fists were twisted in Draco's shirt. Then he had no more time to think before a bright blue blur was shooting across the room, perfectly aimed for his head.
Draco let out a shriek which Bill just knew he would deny all knowledge of later, and leapt aside, dragging the older man with him. They staggered sideways, still locked together in their tangled embrace. In the corner of his eye, Bill saw a new stream of blue light whirling past, and another that came so close he could feel it rasp his temple.
The ball of light struck an invisible wall and was left hanging in mid-air only a couple of feet from Bill's face. George looked pleased. "Saved your ears, there, brother."
"Immobulus!" Fred caught the second one just as it was gathering speed, circling one of the bedposts.
The third and last was hovering over by the mirror, appearing angered by its two companions' unfortunate fate. Bill, trying to gain control over his breathing again, unclenched his fists and left Draco's shirt alone as they straightened. Draco's arm slid from his waist but he did not move away.
"Hold..." mumbled Fred, his eyes narrowed at the restless blue blur. "Hold..."
It was weaving circles in the air now, zooming faster and faster, round and round, until the core of it could no longer be told from the stream of light it left behind.
It charged. In one moment, Bill was looking at the spinning blue circle, in the next a crackling little wildfire was speeding his way.
The light Froze, two inches from Bill's nose. He felt ridiculously relieved.
"Extraordinarily well charmed!" Fred exclaimed, patting his twin's back. "We shall make a wizard out of you one day, young Weasley."
Slipping his wand into the back pocket of his jeans, George sauntered into the bedchamber. "Not so bad, if I do say so myself." He walked over to where Bill and Draco stood to inspect his work. He gave them his best grin. "Nothing like a pixie to spice up an evening, eh?"
"A pixie?" Bill asked, incredulous. He put some more space between himself and the blue blur.
"Pixies are creatures, Weasley," said Draco. He had lifted his chin in defiance though his feathers were clearly ruffled. "Not spinning globes of light."
"Twat." George smiled at him lovingly. "Give them a moment, will you!"
"You're mad," said Draco. It was his usual accusation. He began to smooth out his shirt, interrupting his task only to offer Bill a scathing look. "You beast. This is Italian silk."
"If it would make you more comfortable, you're free to take it off," Bill smirked, delighting in the way Draco's cheeks flushed.
"I see you two have no need of any aphrodisiac," remarked Fred dryly. "Which is just as well since the pixies were not meant for you in the first place." He singled out one splinter of wood and pointed his wand at it. "Reparo."The door flew into place but stayed ajar.
"First we thought we'd sneak them into Ron's room – Merlin knows that boy needs a push in the right direction or soon Hermione will be falling asleep the minute she lays eyes on him – but now we've settled on Percy," said George.
"Percy?" said Bill doubtfully, tugging his t-shirt into place. Without really thinking, he slid up to Draco and trailed his fingertips down his spine again, ran them along the soft fabric of his shirt, and revelled in the contact. Bill needed touch – had always liked it, but ever since Greyback's attack he positively craved it. It had taken him a good long while to make a terrified and battle-scarred Draco see how much he needed it too, but it had been worth the wait. Now Draco shifted, met him halfway, leaned against his chest almost instinctively. Bill's arm went around his waist and he pressed a warm palm to Draco's abdomen.
"There's a man in need, for you," nodded George. "Poor Perce is always so keen to please that he never gets pleasured himself." He winked.
"Didn't he have that girlfriend, though?" Bill asked over Draco's shoulder. "You know, 'P'... something...?" He brushed some of the silvery-blond hair aside with his nose and left a light kiss behind Draco's ear. The younger man tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, but certainly enough for Bill to repeat the action. Draco shivered against him and an addictive heat uncoiled in Bill's stomach.
"Mm... Penelope Clearwater," supplied Fred, joining his twin. "Most likely she ran off with some Quidditch Captain or other."
"In any case," said George, "we might pop these sweethearts into his room tomorrow morning. Just to stir the cauldron, if you get my meaning. A fine Christmas present, I say."
Draco snorted. "They must be the worst aphrodisiac in the history of magic."
"Oh?" George raised one ginger eyebrow. "In my humble opinion you two are looking pleasantly hot and bothered. Ah! Here we are!" With his wand he indicated the ball of light before them.
Bill frowned at it, and then had to admit that his brothers were right. Where there before had been only a mass of light there was now a shape: encased in an aura of glimmering blue, swam an immobile pixie. Its small hands were fisted and its features frozen in a growl.
"Why weren't they screeching?" Draco asked. He sounded intrigued in spite of himself, something which Bill was careful not to comment on.
"Silencing Charm," said Fred offhandedly. "Completely harmless. And so is the added light. It only lasts for a little while, somewhere between eight to ten minutes." He eyed the pixie thoughtfully. "They still like to lift people up by their ears, though."
"Grew bored of me pretty quickly," said George with a grin.
"And how exactly will Percy be enjoying himself when he's hanging from the chandelier?" Bill asked them, cocking an eyebrow.
Fred shrugged, but there was a twitch in the corner of his mouth. "He shall have to be creative for a change. Besides, he doesn't have to enjoy, enjoy himself, only... give that terribly rigid framework of his a healthy shake."
"See the world from a different perspective," supplied George.
"You are completely mad," stated Draco. One of his hands was covering Bill's now, where it rested near his navel.
"Draco, darling," said George sweetly. "We're not the ones with glitter in our hair."
Draco spluttered at that but before he had time to launch into the story about his innocence and how one of those bloody glass baubles that Potter had dug out from some godforsaken corner of a mouldy old cupboard had exploded and–Fred and George had Summoned the pixies and were halfway out the door.
"Got to run! Oh, and Bill, don't eat him... He does have a certain charm." George winked.
"Besides, mum is knitting him a jumper," Fred grinned. "And it would be cruel to deprive the world of the sight of Draco Malfoy wearing it!" They were gone in a flurry of red and blue.
As soon as they were alone again, Draco turned. Suspicion was narrowing his eyes and he was looking appropriately bemused. "A jumper?"
Bill bit his lip to keep from smiling. "Hmm," he said, vaguely.
"Your mother is making me a jumper?"
Securing his hold on Draco, Bill inclined his head. "She would, yes."
Bill shrugged, his hands were once more finding their way to smooth, warm skin. "It's just something she does..." He explored the shallow bay that was the small of Draco's back, teasingly, and found that goosebumps rose in the wake of the touch. He studied the younger man's face as he spoke, gauging his reaction. "Everyone in the family's got one..."
Draco's pale brows furrowed and a deep line settled between them. His grey eyes darkened a little. "The family?"
"Yes." He worked his hands downwards, inch by inch, sliding his palms over Draco's perfect arse and was pleased when the pale lips before his face parted. "The family you are more than welcome to officially become a part of."
Draco looked as though he were about to protest but Bill's palms stroking down his thighs seemed to chase any reply from his mind. He shifted his stance but though his back was perfectly straight, he was leaning in just a little. With a smile, Bill closed the distance between them by dragging the tip of his nose down Draco's temple, his cheekbone, his jaw... smelling him, sensing the conflicting emotions that lay simmering just underneath that flawless skin. Draco's eyelids fluttered but he did not close his eyes. His breath was very warm on Bill's scarred cheek.
"Marry me," he murmured against Draco's neck, seeking it out with his lips and leaving a patchwork of light kisses there.
"Not bloody likely." But his voice had gone a tad hoarse.
Bill liked shagging in the old Black residence. That was partly because the beds were enormous and would readily accommodate two fully grown Hippogriffs (should the need ever arise) and partly because the house itself made so much noise that one or two ill-timed growls or grunts could be ascribed to the grumbling floorboards or the cantankerous pipes. Draco cared about such things: not making too much noise, not giving Harry a reason to smirk at them in the morning (it had taken him eighteen years, but Harry was finally beginning to learn how to pull off a decent smirk; Draco might have had something to do with it though he adamantly refused to admit to any blossoming friendship with 'Potter'), and certainly not giving the twins any juicy material to work with. Bill really could not care less, but if a reasonable amount of discretion was crucial for Draco to be willing to spend the night here now and then, then so be it. After all, they could not surround themselves with a net of silencing charms constantly and Bill liked to be close to Draco... a lot.
He untangled himself enough to be able to fist a hand in Draco's shirt. "Come to bed." He loved the way outrage warred with lust in the grey eyes. "And I know it's silk and I know it's Italian," he added, lowering his voice to a purr, "and I'd love to rip it apart to see you in all your bare-chested glory."
"Brute." Still, Draco let himself be dragged across the floor and towards the large four-poster bed. "The sheets are soiled."
"When aren't they?" Bill winked at him, before yanking him close again. He inhaled the tantalising scent of surrender that slid over the younger man's skin. "Tell me what you want, Draco."
Draco's hands had moved to his waist and he let out a tiny gasp as Bill's teeth grazed his throat. "Don't think you can..." He gasped a second time, rougher and deeper, when Bill pushed him up against a bedpost. Seemingly without his consent, Draco's own hands found their way to Bill's fly and began to unbutton his jeans. "Aren't we supposed to be Flooing to that ramshackle so-called house of yours?"
Bill smiled contentedly as Draco's fingers lightly brushed his stirring flesh. "As long as we're there by tomorrow morning mum won't argue."
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Draco muttered.
"What?" Bill grasped him by the wrist and rubbed his palm against his hardening cock. "Feeling me up or coming with me to The Burrow?"
Draco's façade was slipping, little by little, but steadily. Even so, he did a grand job of pretending he was still in complete control. He sneered as he glanced downwards. "Still haven't figured out the use of underwear, Weasley?" His fingers curled around the thick member and stroked, once.
Bill grinned through the wave of satisfaction that washed over him. "Seeing as I spend more time out of my jeans than I do in them, no."
Draco snorted but stroked again, a bit more forcefully this time. "Christmas with your family."
Bill let him stroke. Draco had turned out to be a complicated lover – which, honestly, had not come as much of a surprise – who needed both space and encouragement in reasonable doses. He had come to The Burrow wary, very wary, of touch: a hand on a shoulder had been enough to chase him out of a room. The first few days after Bill and Charlie had found him after the final battle, curled tightly into a ball on the floor near Snape's office in the Hogwarts dungeons, he could barely stand another's presence. It had taken weeks of gentle persuasion before he would allow anyone to even brush his personal space.
To his credit, Bill had not set out with the goal of becoming his lover, but the lines had blurred one night before the fire in Harry's drawing room here at Grimmauld Place when Draco had flinched but not pulled away when Bill took his hand. And Draco needed more, needed someone to appreciate him for all that he was – Dark Mark included – Bill had figured, and here they were.
He had never told Bill what had happened to him during the years the Malfoys had served Voldemort, and Bill had never asked. Maybe someday he would. Or, preferably, maybe someday Draco would trust him enough to open up all by himself. Then again, perhaps it did not matter now. He might never be fully healed and the going had been slow but it had been worth it; Draco laughed sometimes.
"You'll love it," Bill breathed now, as the hand slid slowly towards the base of his cock. He swayed forwards slightly, pushing deeper into the warm fist.
Draco made no response other than a huff. His fingers moved skilfully over the heated skin while a frown settled in his features. Disrupting the pace of his stroking, Bill leaned in to claim his lips. Draco's kisses reflected his mood. They were always bolder in the evenings, and more challenging. In the mornings, when he found himself in Bill's arms yet again, in an embrace that promised that last night had indeed been part of a greater design, they were softer. He kissed earnestly, then, and, though he had never said so, with relief as his fuel.
Tonight, Draco's kiss was confused. Bill could almost hear his heartbeat thunder between them. He slid his tongue alongside Draco's and tasted reluctance and worry. "I love you," he countered, and felt his murmur send a ripple of a familiar fear through his lover. "We'll have our own room at The Burrow," he mumbled, before he moved to suck gently on Draco's lower lip. The younger man's hand had stilled on his hard member. "Just like we always do. And as soon as Christmas is over, we can go back to my flat any time you like. Or come back here. Harry won't mind."
He had expected Draco to counter with some gibe but that never happened. Instead, the younger man ended the kiss, his lips red and swollen, and with eyes shying away from Bill's, sank to his knees. Trapped between the bedpost and Bill's legs he did not have much space to work with but his mouth found Bill's cock and everything went warm and soft and wet. With his own eyes falling shut, Bill buried his hands in Draco's glittering hair and rocked tentatively into his mouth. Draco sucked and Bill moaned – and realised that they had not put up any silencing charms this time either. There was, however, no way that he would interrupt Draco's ministrations to gather enough wit to perform any magic. His fingers twined firmly into the blond hair and he shivered as Draco's teeth grazed the bulbous head of his cock.
"Shit..." He groaned as Draco let him pull almost all the way out before pushing into his mouth again. It took a lot to restrain himself from burying himself completely in Draco's wet heat, but though he wanted to fuck, he knew his lover needed to breathe. At some point, anyway.
Draco's hands were on his hips, then his thighs, then his belly. Fingertips brushed his balls and navigated the thatch of red hair surrounding the base of his cock. Bill's blood was rushing through his veins and making him tremble when he stood. He swayed forwards again, blindly into the sweet darkness of Draco's mouth and felt his flesh throb in time with their heartbeats. By Merlin he was hungry. Then Draco's fingers closed around his length again and tugged, and Bill growled in the back of his throat, something of a warning. When Draco made no sign of wanting to pull back, Bill dazedly decided that he would not be held responsible. Cupping the back of Draco's head and holding him firmly in place, he allowed himself to come. And Draco sucked and there was perfect, bone-melting release.
They ended up on the bed. Draco's lips yielded when Bill kissed him and pushed his tongue into his mouth, tasting himself. Then he kissed his way down the pale throat and cherished the way that Draco's fingers tangled in his hair. "Have you got your wand within reach?"
"Is that a bad joke, Weasley?"
Bill chuckled as he fingered one of Draco's shirt buttons. "No."
"Why?" Draco attempted to sit up and Bill obediently slid off him. "You need a charm to become presentable again?" He nodded at Bill's groin.
"Want me to tuck myself in?" With a smirk, Bill stretched himself out on their bed. "Or would you like to find out what could happen if I don't?"
Draco snorted. "You're despicable."
"You love it."
Ignoring this, Draco lifted his chin. "What about my wand?"
"Well..." Bill made a vague gesture towards the trunk that stood patiently waiting by the bedside. "I was thinking we could Apparate to The Burrow instead."
"Now? Like this?"
"Yes. Why? You need a couple of hours' grooming first?" He trailed a finger down Draco's cheek. "No one will care."
"Oh, I'm perfectly aware of your family's utter disregard for appearances. Never doubt it. But I will care."
"All right." Bill dropped his hand back to the tangled covers. "In the end it comes down to this: do you want a good and thorough shag here or there?" When Draco only stared at him, he grinned. "Or both?"
"If you think for one moment that I will let you... manhandle me–"
"Draco," Bill cut across him, quite sternly. "Come here."
Draco's mouth snapped shut but he did not move. His eyes were a hard silver as Bill reached out for him and tugged him down. They ended up face to face, and Bill read only rebellion in the pale features.
"Listen," he said, quietly. His fingers hovered for a few heartbeats above Draco's temple before they landed there. "I'm not playing with you, Draco. Not the way you think, at least." he added with a crooked, somewhat self-conscious smile. He traced the sharp line of the jawbone. "And deep down I think you know that." Cautiously he dropped a kiss to the younger man's brow. "You've got my heart, whether you like it or not, but I'll be trusting you to be kind enough to not crush it completely."
While he spoke, Draco kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on a spot near Bill's collarbone. When he fell silent, Draco said nothing. They lay for a while, listening to the creaking of the house and the faint traces of voices that sifted up through the floor. Bill's thoughts had wandered away from the subject when Draco finally spoke up, very softly:
And that made Bill smile.
The Burrow lay shrouded in darkness as they finally made their way as quietly as possible to Bill's old room that he had once shared with Charlie. The way Bill reasoned, he was the one with a boyfriend (of course, his brother would rather be fried by a Norwegian Ridgeback than find himself with any other male competition in bed, but as far as Bill knew he was not bringing some girl) and consequently the one with the best claim to the room. Charlie, whenever he chose to arrive, was welcome the sofa in the living room.
In the end, they had opted for Flooing. With only one trunk between them, Apparition would have worked just fine, but Harry had popped his head in – after knocking, which Draco grudgingly admitted had been a clever move on his part – to ask them if they could bring over some of his stuff as well. So now it was that they were manoeuvring quietly through the Weasley home, trying not to wake anyone.
"Potter is so bloody obvious," muttered Draco, as soon as they were securely behind Bill's closed bedroom door. "Anyone could figure out there is a broomstick beneath those wrappings. Even Ronald."
"What do you suggest he should have done, then?" Bill asked, guiding the Levitated trunk to land softly by the foot of the bed. "Break it in half and have Ron Mend his own gift?"
Draco had restored his hair to normal before Flooing and had carefully wiped away the soot on his cheek. He was looking distinctly less festive but decidedly more comfortable with himself. "Why not?"
"Because you don't give your friends broken things," Bill replied, with a smile.
The room already bore signs of their previous use. There were stacks of Gringotts reports sharing desk space with a few of Draco's books and quills, and a pair of meticulously polished loafers that Bill could never credibly have claimed for his own stood patiently waiting over by the wardrobe. He liked this. He liked that his living space (and, on occasion, Charlie's, as things stood) showed signs of Draco's presence in his life.
Draco sorted through his belongings in silence and Bill chose not to coax him into conversing. He knew Draco knew he was watching him, though. Bill had watched Draco for seven months and three weeks, watched him sneer and mock, and tentatively smile and... just be. Gradually, Draco was allowing himself to live just for the sake of living, and not because he was needed for some dreadful act; there was no longer a price on his every next breath. As they readied themselves for bed, Bill caught himself thinking that this Christmas might just turn into something not too bad.
Their bed at The Burrow was narrower but Bill did not much mind that when a naked Draco moved into his arms under the covers. The night was dark and the bleak spill of winter moonlight through the window was barely enough to see by. He buried his nose in the pale hair and let his palm travel down Draco's side, suggestively stroking the bare skin until he reached his hip. Draco shifted where he lay on his side and Bill pressed up against him until their bodies were perfectly aligned. He sighed into the blond tresses and was about to murmur something, anything really, when Draco made a little noise.
Stilling, Bill raised his head. "Draco?"
"I..." His hand hesitated on Draco's hip and he frowned. "Of course. I won't... Are you all right?"
There was a moment of silence before Draco answered, "I don't hate them."
"I don't hate them."
"Who?" Their voices sounded oddly muffled among the shadows.
Bill opened his mouth to reply but found that he did not know what to say. He made to move away a little from Draco when the younger man reached for his hand and twined their fingers together. Stunned, Bill let his hand be tugged up to Draco's chest and soon he found it laying very near to Draco's heart.
"I don't hate you," mumbled Draco, his words nearly lost in the night. "I..." He swallowed audibly. "You know, I..."
Bill cautiously lay down again, and after a heartbeat's hesitation, spooned up behind him. "I know," he whispered. "I know."
He could not remember falling asleep but when he woke it was dawn and Draco was stretched out on his belly, pale lashes only smudges of silver on his cheek where the cold light fell on them. Smiling to himself, Bill pushed aside the covers and draped himself over Draco, covering his lover like a blanket. He was already half hard and he rubbed his stirring cock between Draco's arse cheeks.
"Fuck you, Weasley." Draco's voice was roughened with sleep.
"No. Other way around." He kissed his way down the pale neck and all the way to a shoulder. "Want you."
Draco only grunted in return and did not move an inch. His long exhale sifted through Bill's hair that fell around both their faces.
"All right, you just stay like this," said Bill, "and let me do the work. Promise you'll like it." He gave a gentle push of his hips and was pleased when Draco's legs parted instinctively. Sliding off Draco a little and supporting himself on one elbow, Bill ran his fingers down Draco's back and down to the alluring crease between his buttocks. "You'll definitely like this," he murmured.
His wand was atop the bedside cabinet, however, and there was no chance of reaching it without sitting up properly. Regretfully abandoning Draco's smooth planes and pale skin, he pushed himself up – and started when something fell to the floor with a muted thud. On the thick carpet, over by the trunk, lay a bundle wrapped in brown paper decorated with tiny silver snowflakes.
"Weasley?" Draco lifted his head and attempted a glance over his shoulder. "I thought you were going to fuck me?"
"I was... I am." Bill crawled over to the foot of the bed and snatched the parcel off the floor. "Only I found this." He turned it over and spotted the card. "It's for you."
"What are you..." Draco, too, was sitting up now, and pushing his hair out of his eyes. He was a delightful mess. "What is that?"
"Your Christmas present. She was quick this year." He tossed the parcel to Draco. "I think I know what it is."
Draco stared down at the glimmering snowflakes. "For me?"
"From mum, I'll wager. Go on, open it!"
Handling the gift as though it were likely to contain Dungbombs, Draco carefully pried the paper open. Bill found his wand and moved up to the headboard to join him. He nodded sagely when the content was revealed. "Told you."
Draco's eyes were wide in incredulity as he beheld the emerald green jumper with the 'D' worked in silver on the front. "She made this?"
"Yeah... It could have been worse, though," said Bill, leaning in and eyeing the needlework. "Believe me, I've seen Ron's."
When Draco made no reply he lay down his wand quite decisively. "Listen, you don't have to wear it. OK, maybe for a few hours this morning but after today you can toss it into you deepest, darkest wardrobe and forget all about it, yeah?" He took the jumper from Draco's unresisting hands and dropped it onto the floor in a heap. "Now I am going to fuck you."
Bill had never been one to turn down a good, solid shag. He was good, too, and his list of conquests was... long. The Greyback incident had not much changed things for him except that men shorter, thinner and slenderer than him seemed to shy away from him now, possibly believing that his scars were the outward signs of a brutal and dangerous nature. Draco – long-limbed and lithe, and infinitely much more insecure than his meticulously polished mask of arrogance suggested – had come as a treat. He had unabashedly stared at Bill's face the first time they met and Bill had let him; the cool grey eyes had been large, shining with horror and fear and fascination combined. So very conscious of every little panicked beat that Draco's heart performed, Bill had flipped his hair back and met that gaze straight on – and was pleased when Draco flinched but held his ground and did not turn away. And that had, more or less, been that.
"On your side."
Draco's face was oddly blank but he complied. He eased himself down and stretched out – all blond hair and ivory skin – beside Bill who joined him, his chest tight against Draco's back.
"I've been of a mind to have you like this for some time now," Bill purred, hooking a leg over his thighs.
Draco responded with a snort. "Ever since yesterday morning, you mean? After you finished pounding me through the bottom of the bathtub?" He slid one arm under his pillow to support his head.
"Something like that." Bill smirked. He brushed some of Draco's hair aside and dragged the tip of his nose down his neck. The skin there was warm, and sweet, and he let his teeth graze it ever so gently, earning himself an exhale from his quarry. There was anticipation bubbling just underneath that smooth surface; he could almost taste it. Wandering upwards again, he nibbled gently on Draco's earlobe before sucking it into his mouth. Draco's hips flexed, and both the movement and his soft whimper sent warmth swirling through Bill's stomach. With a kiss to the sensitive skin behind Draco's ear, he let the question finally pour out of him. "Fancy fucking me?" He smiled at the explosion of shock in the body against his.
"Wha- Now?" Draco's confusion was palpable, his voice strained and slightly hoarse.
"No..." Bill slid a hand down his side, from his armpit to his hipbone. "Not now. But sometime." He felt Draco relax a little under his touch, the fear of high expectations receding. "Think on it."
"You... You'd let me?"
Bill picked up his wand and lay back a little, enough to be able to drag the tip down the tempting crease between Draco's buttocks. In its wake, the wand left a glistening trail of lubricant and the younger man shuddered. Putting aside his wand, Bill draped himself over Draco's side and aimed a first finger for his entrance. "Yeah, I'd let you," he murmured as he worked the single digit past the first ring of muscle, to the sound of a strangled moan. "I'd let you stretch me..." He left kisses all over Draco's temple. "I'd let you use your fingers, or your tongue... anything you like. Provided..." he pushed deeper, until his knuckles met with Draco's skin, "provided it ends with your cock up my arse."
Draco bent his top leg at the knee and pulled it up high, opening himself up shamelessly. His skin was coated with a thin sheen of sweat now and he trembled as Bill twisted his finger inside him and made him whimper again. Sinking his teeth into Draco's already abused earlobe, Bill worked the finger all the way out of him and noted with increasing satisfaction the way Draco ground back against him, in a frustrated demand for more.
Obliging, Bill plunged two fingers into him this time and shared in Draco's shudder as the tight muscle clamped down around them. Slowly twisting and scissoring, he coaxed the muscle to relax, while his lips wove a pattern of hungry kisses on Draco's cheek and throat. Draco's hand was fisted in the sheets and his eyes were squeezed tightly shut under a deep frown. He was focused like that, spending all his energy on one single sensation and having none to spare for any of the rest of it.
Bill pulled his fingers out of him and lifted himself up enough to slide his slick hand over Draco's balls and find the base of his cock. With a hiss, Draco jerked and he fell forwards a little to give Bill better access.
"What d'you want?" Bill muttered, his own length swelling rapidly as he explored further. "Come first?"
Draco shook his head into the pillow. "Just you..." His voice was muffled, but to Bill's ears he sounded out of breath.
For a moment, Bill abandoned Draco's cock and took himself in hand, giving a hard stroke. He loved Draco like this: pliant, open, wanton. His own breath was coming in shorter and quicker puffs, and he could hear the sizzle of his own blood. His teeth itched as he fought the urge to bite his way down Draco's back, and all the way up again, before he slammed into him so hard they both forgot which holiday they were celebrating. Another stroke had him bucking his hips and without warning, he drove three fingers into Draco and fed on the cry of surprise that treatment caused.
Draco was cursing into his pillow, tossing his head from side to side as Bill made quick progress. What little patience he had harboured was now used up, all of it, and he was hovering dangerously close on the beastly border of not caring if he ripped Draco to shreds. His eyesight dimmed as his fingers dipped lower and found Draco's cock hard and twitching; and his own was aching. With a growl, he planted his hand between Draco's shoulder blades and held him down as he positioned himself, and finally – finally – drove into the writhing body, barely able to retain enough sense to keep from pounding into his lover without consideration for any consequences. Draco's harsh groan rang through his bones, brought his blood to a boil and made his head swim. The angle was damn perfect: Draco's knee was on a level with his ribs and he lay almost fully on his belly now. Bill's hair clung to his neck, sticky with sweat, as he strove to hold back while Draco's body adjusted to the intrusion. He knew he breathed because the air tore at his lungs with sharp claws.
"Fuck..." Draco's knuckles were white around a handful of linen.
Bill would have eaten him whole if he only could. "More?" he rasped out.
Draco nodded, and by the way the muscles corded along his arms, it was easy to tell that he was bracing himself. "More."
Bill gave it to him. To be in control, to master his heightened senses was glorious, but to let go, to give in, to succumb to that hunger was greater than anything else he knew. He needed to be close to Draco while he fucked him, and he fell on top of him, uncaring of any sharp elbows or shoulders. Draco's neck, his hair, his scent, his taste were filling Bill's mouth, his nostrils, were hot on his tongue. He found Draco's hand and covered it with his own as he pulled back and let his cock slide out of his arse, before he pushed inside again, and again... again, again... He buried himself to the hilt and Draco cried out, his body arching upwards, even under the weight of another on top of him.
Skin slicked with sweat meant only new scents: deep, musky, frantic. He matched his ragged breathing to Draco's as he slammed into him anew. Heat was flooding his lover, nearly drowning him, and it soaked into Bill and rushed down his spine at a maddening pace. The world narrowed down to a silvery-gold blur as he pushed and pulled back, pushed and pulled back, and their mingling groans made his throat raw and searing with an awesome pain.
Draco was moving under him, angling his hips as best he could and he clenched his inner muscles, and Bill bit back a howl. He found Draco's lips and their kiss was a bruising mess. Bill tasted impending release and when it came, he sucked Draco's gasp from him and increased his pace until he could only hear the roar of his blood. Draco came with him sheathed in smouldering, velvet darkness, and Bill bit into his shoulder and wished it could last forever. With a deep thrust of his hips, Bill felt his balls tighten and Draco's shudders were all around him, and then he was coming too, violently, with the taste of his own blood in his mouth.
They fell together; it was now months ago that Bill had promised Draco that he would never again be alone.
"Fuck... fuck, fuck... Fuck."
Draco's shaky exhale washed over Bill's face. "Fuck."
"You could say that again."
"I just did, William."
Bill cracked open one eye. The daylight was a little brighter by now and had an icy feel to it, but Bill's skin was still scorching. Draco, however, had pulled a corner of a blanket over his legs. The mattress was damp where Draco's release stained it and there were traces of it on that delicious belly of his too.
"Should get you cleaned up," remarked Bill, more out of courtesy than anything else. He definitely did not mind Draco's appearance at the moment. He lifted a heavy hand and dipped the tip of his forefinger into Draco's navel. He grinned. "Happy Christmas."
"Mhm." Draco rolled his eyes, but he did not look unhappy. "To you too, I suppose. You brute."
Scooting a bit closer, Bill pressed a kiss to his swollen mouth. "Love you."
"I will be limping, Weasley."
"You asked for it." Draco's lips parted and he slid his tongue inside. The kiss was lazy. Draco tasted sated.
When it ended, Draco pushed himself up and made a point of wincing as he sat up straight. Bill's hand fell to a rest just above his arse crease. "I've marked your shoulder," he said, with a frown. "And your neck."
"I am so very surprised," said Draco dryly, but that was all.
Bill traced his spine as far as he could reach and was only half conscious of what it was that Draco was actually doing. Therefore he started when Draco turned to face him, a bundle of something plum-coloured and silky in his hand. To Bill's utter astonishment, Draco unceremoniously began wiping his release off his belly with his find.
"Draco? Have you gone completely mad?" Eyes wide, he watched as the fabric was stained and creased. "That's your shirt. Your Italian silk shirt."
Draco did not answer him. His cheeks had lost their flush and he evaded Bill's eyes. He worked slowly and when he was done, he dropped the shirt carelessly onto the floor. "I know that, William."
"But..." He found he really had no choice but to accept the smooth body as it slid down to lie beside him, in an echo of their former position. Confused, he wrapped an arm around Draco's waist, only to find that the younger man caught his hand and held it in his. "Draco, are you OK?"
There was a long moment of silence during which Bill almost lost track of Draco's heartbeat. When the younger man finally spoke, he did so hesitantly and quietly, as though he did not trust his own voice. "Yes."
"But..." Bill dared to move a little closer, and wished he'd had the sense to pull the covers over them when Draco shivered. Gently extricating his hand from Draco's grasp he grabbed hold of a blanket and pulled it over them. He did not know whether to offer his hand again for Draco to hold and so he rested it on his lover's hip instead. "You ruined it."
"It doesn't matter."
"Are you, um... sure?"
Draco lay very still. "You mum made me a jumper," he mumbled, at long last. When he turned his head and met Bill's concerned gaze, his eyes were oddly bright. "She made me a jumper."
Bill kissed him. He tightened his hold on Draco and kissed him until he was sure that even the sharp morning light had softened and sweetened. Draco moulded against him and his breathing was light and even. Bill pressed a final kiss to his lips and smiled. "Marry me."
Draco's glistening lips twitched into a peculiar smile. "Maybe. Someday. If you behave."
"I'm taking that as a yes," Bill warned him, but with a heart so light it was nothing but a wisp of cotton in his breast. "I always behave."
"Except when you don't."
"But you never complain. Not really."
Draco only huffed, but his eyes were shining. "We'll see. Now will you let me sleep some more or shall I have to face your family looking like a bone-weary wraith?"
With a grin, Bill let him resume his position on his side. He was about to lie down as well when something emerald green on the edge of his vision caught his attention. Looking up, he saw that Draco's new jumper was no longer on the floor but lay neatly folded atop the bedside cabinet, his wand resting beside it. Bill said nothing about it, nor did he mention the fact that he might, just might, have forgotten to put up the Silencing Charm yet again.
Oh well, it was too late now. Burying his nose in Draco's hair he smiled. The concept of Christmas had never looked more appealing.
Thank you for reading!