Harry always knew that him and Draco becoming friends would be a sign of the apocalypse. Not that their relationship could be termed friendship, precisely, and it was less a harbinger of the apocalypse than one of its side-effects, but viewed broadly, he was correct.
"Harry," mumbled Draco, one hand reaching behind him in his sleep, and Harry snatched it up with a guilty pang. He dropped a kiss on the knuckles, above Draco's missing middle and ring fingers. (A flash of memory: Draco saying, "Fuck my hand, Harry," and offering not his open palm but his maimed fingers; Harry sliding his cock into that absence, and climaxing after less than a minute with the realization that Draco felt his loss less keenly than Harry did.) Draco sighed softly in his sleep, and Harry wondered--not for the first time--if it were the broken parts of Draco that let him love Harry at all.
"Harry," Draco said more insistently, turning over, and Harry met his eyes.
"You want breakfast?" he asked, even as he trailed his hand down Draco's warm side, damp with sleep.
Draco shook his head. "Better things to do."
"If you're hungry, we should eat first," Harry forced himself to point out. The still-too sharp framework of Draco's ribs was a great motivator.
"Shouldn't eat on an empty stomach, anyway," Draco said nonsensically, and before Harry could correct him, he lunged forward for a kiss.
Their teeth clacked together painfully, and a corner of Harry's mind wondered whether one of them had cut his lip or if he'd simply been ambushed by another sense memory of blood. The rest of his mind was far too preoccupied with the feel of Draco under him to care.
Draco arched upwards, rubbing his clothed erection against Harry's bare stomach--he always wore pajamas to bed, though he preferred Harry to sleep in the nude--and he keened low in his throat.
"Yeah," Harry muttered. He shoved Draco's pajama bottoms down with one hand and wrapped the other around Draco's cock.
Draco expressed his appreciation with a murmur that became a strangled moan when Harry began to move his hand.
Harry brought his other hand up and placed it on Draco's stomach, where he could feel each inhale and exhale under his palm. The tip of Draco's erection brushed wetly against Harry's wrist, and Draco sucked in an unsteady breath.
"Oh, yeah," Harry said. Draco's breath came short, his muscles trembling, and Harry gave him another minute before urging him over onto his hands and knees. "Like this okay?" he asked.
Draco nodded a little desperately.
Harry felt a tinge of guilt at the realization that Draco almost certainly was agreeing to something other than what Harry had planned, but the curve of Draco's ass and the length of his pale, trembling thighs were irresistible. He pressed closer, draping himself over Draco's back.
Draco pressed back against him, whimpering under his breath, and Harry placed his hands on Draco's hips to hold him still. He nudged Draco's legs as far apart as they could go while he was still hobbled at the knees by his pajama bottoms, then leaned back on his heels to look at him.
"You're beautiful," Harry said softly, tracing his finger along the juncture where ass met thigh. Draco shivered under his touch.
That shiver became more pronounced when Harry reached for the lubricant that they kept in the bedside table and snapped it open, spreading a generous amount on his fingers. "Just hold that position," he said, and Draco nodded.
Harry slathered the lubricant over his cock, gasping at the feel of cool and slick on his heated flesh. Then he pressed forward, sliding his cock into the space between Draco's thighs.
"Just a bit tighter," he said, and Draco obliged him. Harry gasped at the first thrust forward, and his eyes fluttered shut. Draco was hot and tight around his aching cock; his balls a welcome weight that shifted along Harry's length.
"God," Harry said. He thrust again, and again, brushing against the soft, sensitive skin of Draco's inner thighs in a way that made Draco's breath catch even as it set Harry's nerve endings alight. He curled his sticky fingers around Draco's hipbones, and the certain knowledge that Draco would be bruised as a result wasn't enough to make Harry relax his tight hold on him.
Draco trembled more violently. "Please, Harry..." and Harry released his right hand and slid it upwards to rest against Draco's lower belly.
"Harry," and Harry wrapped his hand around Draco's cock. He felt Draco's thighs quiver, and then Draco came with a choked moan, pulsing wet heat over Harry's fingers and his own stomach and the crumpled bed linens beneath them.
Harry caught him with one strong arm, holding him up when Draco would have collapsed onto the mattress. His body was relaxed with orgasm, but the space between his thighs was still warm and welcoming, and the brush of Draco's softening cock on Harry's erection an additional incitement. Harry could have made himself last, but Draco was shaking with aftershocks in his arms, and his muscles were beginning to strain with the effort of holding up both of them, so he let himself go for the few quick, deep thrusts it took before he came.
Harry eased Draco carefully down onto the bed and settled himself at his side. They lay together for several long minutes, catching their breath. "It's been quiet this past week," Harry said at last, half-hopefully.
"It's not over," Draco said. His voice was firm and certain, but his hands twitched restlessly on the bedspread.
"No," Harry agreed. He didn't even bother feeling disappointed or resigned. It would never be over until...unless...Draco decided that it was over.
Draco had needed a grand gesture before he'd entertain the notion of a relationship with his oldest enemy, and Harry... well, Harry had long been more than willing to give Draco whatever he needed.
Harry glanced out the window at the North Sea. Maybe he'd set the seas to boiling today. Draco was always complaining about the cold. He might enjoy that one.