[Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of J.K. Rowling and is not my intellectual property. I intend no copyright infringement and seek no financial gain from this work. This work of fiction is purely for entertainment purposes and honestly, it's basically just porn.]  

~*~

The agonised hopelessness rolling off of Harry as he sits slumped on the sofa creeps over Draco, cocooning him in the sort of powerlessness that makes one's whole existence feel utterly inutile.

Draco's gaze never leaves Harry's hunched figure even as he splashes a rather obscenely large amount of whiskey into a tumbler and walks over, pressing it into Harry's limp hand, trying and failing yet again to catch his eye. When Harry knocks back the whiskey like it were merely pumpkin juice, Draco simply takes the glass from him and brings back another large helping of the smooth amber.

Harry holds the tumbler with both hands, his expression vacant, head bowed, fierce, viridian eyes filled with pure, unfiltered anguish as he stares emptily at the floor. Draco's stomach churns as he once again takes in the shapeless, damp patches of stickiness on his robes, the colour blending into Harry's maroon uniform.

Wordlessly, Draco kneels and starts unlacing Harry's heavy, dirty boots; there are splotches off blood on them as well and Draco presses his lips tightly together, trying not to acknowledge the queasiness rising in him. Throwing the boots under the coffee table, he peels the stained, sweaty socks off, briefly squeezing Harry's large, square feet with both hands before he feels one sturdy, grimy hand gentle over his hair.

Looking up, Draco's breath catches sharply in his throat as he watches the fat tears spill over and streak down his grimy cheeks, some catching on the rim of his glasses. His lips tremble and his face starts to crumple and despair climbs up Draco's throat like bitter bile as he straightens up, standing on his knees and holding his arms out.

"Harry," he whispers, cradling Harry's head as it descends onto his shoulder, Harry's quiet, heart-wrenching sobs moist and hot against Draco's neck. "No. Harry, no, please—please don't cry--" Draco sifts desperate fingers through Harry's dirt-caked, blood streaked hair, "Ssshh. Don't, just don't do this to yourself, Harry. Please."

"He can't be older than four," Harry's voice is rough and wracked with the sort of agonising guilt that slowly eats away at one's insides, "barely four—gone—whole family—g-gone."

"He's...you saved him, Harry," Draco tries tremulously, tightening his arms to a chokehold around Harry's neck, "At least you saved him, you saved a child--"

But Harry just shakes his head vigorously, sobbing great, heaving sobs into Draco's shoulder, bent over at the waist as he clings to Draco. It's with some effort that Draco swallows his own tears – he'll never get used to this, never know how to deal with it when Harry cracks like this.

Albeit rare, these unmitigated breakdowns render Draco almost paralysed with shock and fright when they occur, and although he's had over seven years, he's still not managed to learn how to efficiently deal with them, still hasn't learnt the right things to say; and each time, Draco feels severely incompetent, not to mention thoroughly ashamed at the way his own throat closes up.

"Harry, please," he whispers against Harry's tear-moistened cheek, pressing his trembling lips over and over onto his face in small, desperate kisses, "It's not your fault, it was not your fault."

Ten minutes of Draco kneeling on the bare floor, just holding Harry, and a third helping of whiskey later, Harry sits there, pink-nosed and sniffling, Auror robes shrugged off and strewn messily over the sofa, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, smudged, tear flecked glasses abandoned on the coffee table. Draco sits pinned to him, one leg thrown across Harry's lap, one arm around his shoulders while he rubs warm circles on Harry's chest with his other hand.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Draco murmurs plaintively when, several minutes later, Harry still hasn't said a word.

Harry simply shakes his head slowly, more tears silently coursing their way down his face and dripping off his jaw. "I—I think don't know how to do this anymore," he says hoarsely, swiping his face with the heels of his trembling hands. "I don't know how to save people anymore."

"You save people every day," Draco reminds him heatedly. "You've been doing nothing but saving people since you were eleven."

"None of it matters when I couldn't prevent a four year old from being orphaned," Harry's voice is flat – dead, "None of it matters. None of the others matter."

Draco's forehead thumps onto Harry's shoulder, his hand slipping between the buttons on Harry's shirt and resting warm and steady over his heart; Harry smells of blood, smoke, dirt and...of them, of Harry and Draco.

"You...you saved me," Draco breathes, mentally counting each thump of Harry's heart under his palm. "That matters to you, right?" he glances up and Harry, disconsolate and yet beseeching, is staring at him, finally nodding, "Every life you've saved, every single one matters, Harry. You—you're still saving more lives than half the bloody Auror force combined. Sometimes—some of them you...can't save." Harry's shoulders start to shake again and Draco tightens his arms around him, words bubbling up unchecked. "You can't always be in control of a situation, Harry, no matter how bloody powerful you are!"

"People expect me to," Harry croaks, wiping his face again, leaving tracks of dirt. "They expect me to and I let them down."

"That's on them, not you," Draco says grimly. "You do so much, love. You try so fucking hard, but you can't always be in control of the situation, you can't always save the day. And Harry," Draco takes him by the chin and forces him to look around at him, "you've got to accept that. You have to realise that some things are beyond your control, love; you have to cut yourself some slack there."

Harry sniffles wetly, wiping his nose on his sleeve, shaking his head but not saying another word as Draco gently guides his head down onto his own chest, holding him pressed over his heart until he's boneless and palpably calmer.

"You should eat something," Draco whispers hesitantly into his hair after a solid twenty minutes of silence.

"Not hungry," Harry slurs at once, voice slightly muffled against Draco's chest.

It's another ten minutes before Draco's able to coax him to undress and get in the shower, stripping and climbing into the tub after him so he can gently scrub the blood and grime off his skin.

Harry hangs his head as he stands there, one hand braced against the tiles as Draco sponges down his back and heals a long, lightly oozing scratch across it. He sighs softly as Draco guides him to sit on the rim of the tub, blinking up at him, half-blind and strangely sweet, as Draco washes his face with warm, wet hands, resting his cheek on Draco's chest as Draco gently lathers up his hair, shampooing his messy mane thrice before he's satisfied. He stands and lifts his arms obediently so Draco can soap his armpits, swaying on the spot as Draco thoroughly works the soapy sponge over the rest of him, the hot spray a steady, soothing beat across their bodies.

Finally, the water turns clear as it burbles down the drain and Draco shuts it off with a careless flick of his hand, stepping out onto the bathmat, fetching a towel and vigorously drying Harry off before letting him step out as well, patting himself dry carelessly as they make their way out to their bedroom.

Despite the despondence in Harry's eyes, his expression is mild and serene as he gives Draco a small smile, sitting on the edge of the bed, Draco standing between his knees and vigorously towelling his hair dry, rubbing the stark black strands with soft terry until they fall in soft clumps around his face. Swiping the same towel through his own hair a few times, Draco tosses it into the hamper before cupping Harry's upturned face and gently kissing his forehead.

"D'you want to take a vial of Dreamless?" Draco murmurs against his scar. Harry shakes his head with a little sigh, wrapping burly arms around his waist and keeling over sideways so Draco thumps down into bed with him, their legs entangling as their mouths seek each other blindly.

All these years later, Draco's belly still clenches with heated excitement when Harry threads strong fingers through Draco's hair and holds his head in a gentle but unyielding grip as they kiss, Draco surrendering wholly to both the kiss and to Harry himself. Draco doubts it'll ever fail to thrill him inordinately when Harry has his way with him – with an easy sense of entitlement that Draco never has, and never will bother to challenge.

Harry holds his face now, but it's not to keep his head in place as he ravenously ravages Draco's mouth and just steals the breath right out his lungs. Instead, Harry cups Draco's cheek and kisses him with tiny, mournful little whimpers as though frantically seeking all and any sort of comfort Draco can possibly provide him with, hooking a thigh over Draco's waist and dragging him flush, arm crushing him around the ribcage.

And Draco responds with all the vehemently reassuring fervour he can manage, slowly sliding Harry's hot, naked weight off himself and rolling atop him, holding Harry's face with both hands and grinding their mouths together in a slick, scorching kiss that intensifies steadily until it finally ebbs, both of them gasping loudly for air by the time they pull apart.

Harry eyes are closed as he pants, lips wet and dark, one hand in Draco's hair, the other limp on the pillow next to his head. When he eventually blinks his eyes open, slowly zeroing in on Draco gazing down at him, he just gazes back, thumb gentling across Draco's plumped lower lip over and over, eyes flicking back and forth between both of Draco's, expression searching and shuttered but giving everything away anyway.

The uncertainty, the weary, self-deprecating resignation, the continued mental torment – Draco catches all of it flickering behind the half-lidded green eyes. Harry's going to be beating himself up over this for days, weeks, to come and Draco knows it'll be up to him to hold him up through it, keep him intact and pick up the pieces if he crumbles again. Draco's done it before and he'll do it again.

But he needs Harry to let it go for now, for tonight.

Cupping his face, Draco kisses him again, slowly, thoroughly, feeling the dark stubble lightly chafe his palms as Harry tilts his face up into the kiss. When Harry cups Draco's nape, Draco pulls off and pins his hand beside their heads; when Harry strokes Draco's cheek with his other hand, Draco pins that down too.

He doesn't question it, Harry, when Draco doesn't relinquish his grip on Harry's wrists, willingly tipping his head back and sighing with each laving suck Draco bites into his neck, little tremors wracking him by the time Draco lifts ruthless teeth off his thoroughly bruised throat.

"Keep your hands here, hm?" Draco cajoles, finally releasing his wrist, and Harry blinks, a tiny crease appearing between his bushy eyebrows, the slight haze of intoxication still evident in his eyes despite the shower, but keeps his hands, palms up, on either side of his head. Draco smiles softly, nuzzling his jaw before gnawing his way up, stubble scratching his lips and tongue, and running the tip of his nose around the curve of Harry's ear. "Sometimes you're not in control, Harry. And that's okay." He pulls back and notes the way Harry's gaze has sharpened a bit, understanding slowly blotting through the stark emerald; Draco smiles wider, grey eyes warm and besotted. "I'd like you save you too, from time to time."

This time, their kiss is downright feral, Harry emitting sounds that are part-growls and part-whimpers, but his hands staying on the pillow all through it. When Draco pulls away, Harry makes a sharp, hungry sound that has Draco shushing him gently, their lips still brushing lightly together.

They're both fully aroused now, Harry's erection a sharp, solid press against Draco's hip, Draco's cock pressed damply between their bellies. Draco kisses the wide, slightly glazed, green eyes and mouths his way back down Harry's throat, Adam's apple bobbing beneath the tanned, marked skin. Harry sighs when Draco sucks into the hollow between his collarbones, teeth grazing the sharp ridges momentarily before Draco is slithering lower.

He half expects Harry's hands in his hair when he stripes a broad lick over one light brown nipple, glancing up in pleasant surprise when Harry only shivers and arches into it, hands curling into loose fists but staying in place, Draco's own hands stroking up and down Harry's flanks, warm and firm. He applies steady suction, pulling on the pebbled nub until Harry is moaning loudly, hips bucking up into nothing, the skin around his nipple damp and dark when Draco finally lets up, only to move onto the twin, treating it to the same, relentless sucking, adding a generous helping of teeth this time, nibbling and plucking at the nipple with his lips until Harry is a gasping, panting mess.

"Draco," he cracks out hoarsely, twisting slightly at the waist as he searches for more friction against his cock, "Baby, please--"

"I'll get there when I get there, love," Draco informs him gently, wry amusement not fully masking the promise in his tone.

He laves over Harry's nipples some more, biting hard into the skin around them and leaving stark imprints, already purpling by the time he finally licks his way down the taut, quivering muscles of Harry's hard abdomen, dragging his teeth over the firmness of it and lapping at the sparse trail of hair trailing down from his shallow little navel to his thatch of coarse black curls.

Draco gnaws at the rim of the little divot of his belly button, smiling into it when Harry squirms, pressing his tongue flat against the fine hairs and licking over them, from the edge of Harry's trimmed pubes up to his navel, again and again and with unwavering intent, all the while ignoring Harry's cock where it lies against his hip, heavy and leaking. Harry moans again, bucking sharply, and Draco curls his hands around his hips, thumbs pressing into his hipbones as he pins him down.

"You're not in control, Harry," he says resolutely. "Not tonight."

Harry, his breathing loud and ragged, goes somewhat still, chest heaving and limbs twitching, but eyes shut and expression one of tentative surrender. Draco smiles again and, as a reward, moves over and takes Harry into his mouth.

Harry's sharp, choked cry is more grateful than aroused and Draco's heart swells when Harry still doesn't move his hands down to guide Draco's head. Easing the stretched foreskin all the way down with one hand, Draco sucks lovingly at the head, briefly thumbing the slit open wider before licking into it, humming into the saline burst across his tongue. Working the tip along the insides of his lips a few times, Draco finally lets the bulbous, slippery head slide down his tongue, and then lower, pinning Harry's body to the bed as he squeezes it with his throat, swallowing deliberately around it.

Harry is very loud now, swearing and barking with each bob of Draco's head, with each slurped suck Draco gives his cock, his feet planted on the mattress as he uses whatever little leverage Draco allows him to fuck his throat. Breathing deeply through his nose, Draco shuts his eyes, feeling every last ridge and vein along the thick shaft in his mouth, tongue swishing frantically and with no steady rhythm. When Harry's knees fall further open, Draco's obligingly cups his heavy sac with one hand, rolling it around over his palm, giving it a light, teasing tug every now and then.

Draco's jaw is sore and his chin is slick with spit and precome by the time he pulls off, laying an open-mouthed kiss over the glans when Harry groans dolefully. His cock is flushed deep red, throbbing in Draco's hand, the slit dribbling near constantly; when Draco dips his head lower and noisily sucks Harry's balls into his mouth, they throb too.

This time, Harry's hands fly down onto Draco's head, feathering briefly over his hair before, with what must've been an immense burst of self-control, he draws them back, curling them around the headboard and gurgling wetly as Draco obliges him with a sucking tug to his sac. With damp fingers, Draco pushes and kneads Harry's taint, thumb pressing along the smooth stretch of his perineum over and over, until Harry is screaming expletives at the ceiling.

Harry's balls are tightly drawn up against his body when Draco finally lets them slip out of his mouth, nuzzling into the crevice between his spit-slick sac and heavily bobbing cock before finally moving up and straddling him, sighing softly and smiling down at Harry when he wrenches open his eyes to gaze blankly at Draco, heaving great big gasping breaths, eyes filled with nothing but mindless, aching arousal.

Luxuriously gyrating his hips in slow circles over Harry's groin, Draco bites his lip as Harry's dark, esurient gaze traverses down Draco's svelte frame to land on his slender, pink cock as Draco rubs it over Harry's stomach, leaving shiny trails of precome over it.

"Draco," Harry breathes, staring unblinkingly at Draco's cock, gently lifting his hips as though trying to get Draco's body to slide down his torso.

Leaning down, Draco kisses him, sucking his tongue and biting his mouth until it's red and smarting. Then he moves over to whisper into his ear, "You want to taste me, don't you?"

"Fuck, yes," Harry says immediately, shameless and eager.

Belly tightening with something white-hot and lewd, Draco nips his soft earlobe sharply before moving, all at once, to straddle his upper chest, his cock smacking Harry's chin and leaving a smear of moisture on it. Harry dips his head, chin lowering as he mouths fervently, managing to get just the tip of Draco's prick into his mouth. Shuddering and pushing one hand into Harry's wild locks, Draco shifts higher, planting his knees on either side of Harry's neck and angling his cock, sheathing it completely into the wet, heated suction Harry instantly provides.

He's moaning before he can rein it in, his hand tightening in Harry's hair as he drives himself into his mouth over and over, hips snapping and balls swinging wildly against Harry's chin. Harry is unremitting as he sucks and pulls, head lifting off the pillow as he nods it over Draco's cock, slurping and drooling around it, his stomach trembling with strain.

When he abruptly grabs and squeezes Draco's arse, roughly yanking the cheeks apart, Draco cries out sharply, falling forward to brace his hands against the wall, sobbing as he reluctantly pulls out, suddenly way too close to the edge.

"Harry," he's panting hard, so short of breath that each gasp is a sharp stab in his chest, "Fuck, I'm already--"

But he doesn't want to be the first one to fall apart tonight; he's planned it differently in his head and he wants to see it through. Wrenching his cock out of Harry's convulsing throat, he moves even higher up his body, dragging his balls crudely over his face until he's hovering over it, Harry already leaning up towards his arsehole, tongue poking out. Reaching back and prying one cheek aside, Draco sits down.

He's breached at once, of course, Harry stuffing as much of his tongue into Draco as physically possible, growling and moaning as though he'd rather eat Draco open than fuck him or have his own cock sucked. It's something that never fails to delight Draco, Harry's unabashed enjoyment of eating Draco's arse, and so with one hand on the wall and the other back in Harry's hair, Draco rides Harry's tongue in a slow, decadent bounce, looking down and watching his cock leak into Harry's freshly washed hair and his balls quiver against that famously scarred forehead.

Long, dreamy minutes later, he's whimpering as Harry sucks furiously at his rim, jiggling his head vigorously as he loosens the ring of muscle, nipping and licking at it so that Draco grinds down helplessly, seeking more and more of the exquisite assault. Low rumbles sound from Harry, his hands as gentle on Draco's arse cheeks as his mouth is ruthless on his hole.

When Draco's cock twitches threateningly, he pulls away, hurriedly crawling backwards until he's straddling Harry's pelvis again, Summoning the lube shakily and swallowing hard as he drags himself back together, arse clenching emptily as he snaps open the tube and looks up at Harry. He's watching Draco unblinkingly, eyes lust-blown and almost black, mouth slick and pink. Licking his lips, Draco pauses a moment, keeping their gazes locked as he contemplates just giving in to that habitual urge to let Harry have his way with him.

Then Harry blinks, sighing softly through his nose, tilting his head on the pillow with that same look of capitulation, hands back near his head. Snapping back to himself, Draco squeezes out a handful of the clear blue lube, richly sweet smelling and cool, rubs it between his fingers to warm it slightly, and folds his hand over Harry's waiting cock, biting his lip as Harry inhales sharply and arches, mouth dropping open and eyes fluttering shut, trembling thighs falling open as he fucks through Draco's tightly clenched fist.

"You want my arse?" Draco murmurs, twisting his hand right underneath the glans, rucking up his foreskin and bunching it roughly under his fist. "You want me to fuck your cock? Ride it till you come inside me?"

"Yes," Harry whispers without hesitation. "Draco... Please."

"Say it," Draco bends down to lick over one, still swollen nipple, "Tell me what you want."

"I... I want you to ride my cock, Draco," Harry pants, already sounding a bit wrecked, clumps of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, "Give me that gorgeous arse."

With a final noisy suck over his nipple, Draco straightens back up, breathing noisily through his mouth, throat rattling. Swiping his slick hand impatiently through his own crease, Draco settles into place, only briefly using his hand to line Harry's cock up to his rim, finding the tip with an easy swivel of his hips and bearing down to keep it in place.

Harry is straining as though pulling at invisible restraints, wordlessly beseeching Draco, looking guileless and devastated, gently nudging Draco's hole with his cock over and over until Draco, breath shuddering out of him, sits down all at once, wresting a completely shattered, tremulous keen out of Harry, fat tears leaking out the corners of Harry's eyes and trickling down his temples where Draco can see his veins standing out.

Draco's own body is seizing up from the shock of the sudden impaling, his arse clinging to Harry's cock greedily, razor sharp bolts of pleasure shooting up and down his spine and that same tightly knotted, burning hot pool of arousal making his stomach and hips ache. He's gasping quietly, Draco, nails hooked into the sweat slippery skin of Harry's pecs, his long, white thighs trembling uncontrollably against Harry's hips.

"Fuck," he whimpers under his breath as Harry makes a rough sound and fucks up into him on a completely unrestrained buck. When Harry's hands scrabble wildly at the sheets and then slap onto Draco's thighs, he takes him by the wrists, hunching over to hold them pinned above Harry's head and, in the same move, lock their mouths together.

Harry cries out into the kiss as Draco rocks back and forth over his cock, riding it in hard, steadily paced bounces, setting up a brisk yet cruelly teasing rhythm, working his own prostate with every carefully angled sit. Each time Harry trembles and pushes his hips up, going rigid as he hovers right on the very verge of climax, Draco stops moving entirely, getting away with this torture three separate times before Harry snarls up at him, biting pointedly at his lip until it crunches open and bleeds into Harry's mouth. Undeterred, Draco continues bouncing on a gradually building tempo, murmuring nonsense against Harry's lips as he babbles Draco's name over and over, wrists pliant in Draco's grasp but hands clenched into trembling fists.

"Beg me," Draco breathes against Harry's briny temple as he starts to sob hoarsely, hips flying up into Draco's. "Beg me, love, and I'll give you what you want."

"Please!" Harry cries out at once. "Fuck—baby, just let me—please!"

"You want to come?"

"Yes, oh fuck, please, please let me come, Draco!"

"You're gorgeous like this, Harry," Draco sighs, licking a broad swathe up the side of his face, lapping up the sweat there, before pulling back a bit, hands still wound around Harry's wrists. With a tiny smirk, Draco begins whipping his hips in earnest, riding Harry's cock with a fierceness that perfectly masks Draco's own rising desperation. His swollen rim locks around Harry's slick shaft with every pull-out, his prostate so overstimulated that Draco feels the first stinging of tears behind his eyelids now, Harry's cockhead carelessly nudging past it on each stroke.

This time when Harry freezes, eyes bulging slightly, sweaty hands slipping as he grabs the headboard, Draco tightens his arse around his cock and takes him in as deep as possible, shuddering back on an arch just as Harry explodes inside him, their cries mingling as Draco paints Harry's chest with gleaming ropes of white. He's clawing at Harry's abdomen, arse still working over his cock as they both ride out the dregs of their orgasms, skin gleaming with perspiration.

Then they're both panting, completely winded, Harry's hands slowly sliding up the cooling sweat on Draco's back, Draco's cheek plastered to Harry's damp chest. The calm silence between them is somehow more significant than anything either of them could've said in the moment.

Lifting his delightfully sore arse off Harry's sticky cock, Draco flings himself into the crook of Harry's arm which then automatically curls around his waist. Cleaning Charms are murmured, Draco's lip is Healed and the lights are spelled off, so that in the shadowy darkness of their room, the half-moon playing shameless voyeur, it's just them, Draco and Harry, entwined mind and body.

"Harry?" Draco eventually whispers. Except to turn his head to face Draco, Harry doesn't move or react. "Are you...alright?"

Harry doesn't answer right away and so Draco blinks at him in the semi-darkness, tracing the faint upward curve of Harry's mouth with his fingertips. "Did I scare you earlier?" he suddenly asks.

Not bothering to pretend not to understand, Draco says, "A bit..."

"And you decided that the best way to comfort me would be to boss me around in bed?" There's a slight grin to Harry's voice and Draco feels his face heat.

"What can I say?" he drawls airily, "The opportunity was too good to pass up."

"So I just have to cry more often to get you to hold me down and ride me like you're trying to kill me?"

Draco smiles softly, running his hand over Harry's chest, palm grazing the raised buds of his nipples. "Let's hope the crying isn't a regular part of it," he says softly, pressing his hand down over Harry's heart when he feels him stiffen. "But you can always just ask if you feel like being bossed around," he adds at once.

There's a quiet snort and then Harry's mouth lands on Draco's forehead, his quiet sigh barely ruffling Draco's hair. "Am I still a good person, Draco?" he breathes, as though barely daring to ask out loud.

"I doubt anyone better even exists, love," Draco answers truthfully. "If your tears didn't prove that, then you still have your whole life as proof."

"I couldn't--"

"You couldn't do anything about it this time," Draco interrupts calmly. "You probably will next time, if your innate tenacity and incurable Saviour Syndrome are anything to go by."

Harry snorts and this time he kisses Draco's mouth, slowly parting his lips with his own and sliding their tongues together. Draco clutches at him, pouring himself into the kiss until there's nothing left to give, yielding completely within the circle of Harry's arms.

They lie together in silence for long enough that Draco assumes Harry is asleep – but then, mildly curiously, "Who or what did I need saving from, then?"

Draco burrows sleepily into the curve of Harry's throat, sighing as they tangle together impossibly close. "Yourself," he replies.

~end~