Title: Invisible Touch
Author: Leela (leela_cat)
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Themes/kinks chosen: Touch
Warnings: None.
Word Count: ~2,700
Beta: angela_snape
Summary: Draco went for months without anyone touching him, until Harry invaded his bedroom one night.
A/N: With this being past Draco's birthday and not quite Harry's birthday, writing this pairing seemed appropriate.


No one came near Draco. Not anymore. With his father in Azkaban and his mother off on a yearlong shopping therapy tour of the continent with Pansy's and Blaise's mothers, Draco was completely alone. Even Pansy had abandoned him, marrying a wizard of dubious ancestry but brilliant mind and body, and moving to Canada of all places.

Oh, there were house-elves. Always tugging at his clothing and demanding that he give them something to do or approve of the work they'd found for themselves. And there was the once-monthly appointment at the Ministry to have Priori Incantatem and a host of other checks run on himself and his new wand. A former Death Eater not being considered an appropriate guardian for the Wand That Killed Voldemort. Still, the required Ministry checks did give him a chance to visit his wand and stare at it through the transparent case and glistening wards that prevented anyone from getting near it.

Anyone but Potter. Since Draco had seen the Git Who Couldn't Stay Dead — looking like something the Kneazle had dragged in — press his hands through both magic and glass and caress the wand as if it were alive.

That had been the closest anyone had come to touching him in months. Draco had felt the ghostly brush of those calloused fingers, as if the wood grain of his wand had been his own skin, and he still hadn't worked out how Potter had managed to do it.

Suppressing a shudder, he ran his hands up and down his arms but the goosepimples remained, and the sensation only reminded him of how lonely he was. Three more months before his mother returned, and her perfumed hugs and kisses to his cheek were mere stopgaps.

He glanced at himself in the mirror and frowned at his flaccid cock. Even wanking was losing its attraction, becoming a reminder of everything he didn't have in his solitary existence.

Still... Draco sighed and made his way to the bed. He lay back and considered the ceiling. No mirror this time, he decided. Just himself and his hand and his cock. Like it had been on his birthday, which, unlike Potter's, was celebrated with neither a bank holiday nor a series of public celebrations.

Draco laughed, at himself and his ridiculous self-pity and bitterness. Then he grabbed his wand and cast two charms: one to activate the mirror above his bed and one to prepare himself. Let the nine thousand year old hag who inspected his wand every month enjoy that.

An odd sound, an unidentifiable sensation dancing across his nerves brought Draco to full alertness. He sat up, wand aimed at the door, but nothing further happened. The house-elves didn't raise an alarm. The wards didn't blare the news of an intruder caught in their web.

A swish of his wand conjured up a ward tracer. A flick sent it skimming through the manor. A few seconds later, it flashed up before him and disintegrated in a shower of green sparks.

"Nothing and no one," he told himself, breathing deeply and regularly in an attempt to calm the triphammer that was his heart. "Just your imagination."

He forced himself to lie back down again, to put his wand down on the bed beside him, and to run his thumb over his cock. After the scare it was more shrivelled than flaccid, but he'd fix that soon enough.

"Draco." His name was whispered over his neck in a breath of warm air, sending shudders down his spine and into his cock.

"Who's there?" Reaching for his wand, which wasn't fucking where he'd left it, Draco scuttled back against the headboard and pulled a pillow in front of him. A quick check of the room showed no one else there and nothing missing. Except his wand.

"I'll..." he started to threaten, but then changed his mind. "Give me my wand back, and I'll protect you from the manor wards."

The only response was another breath of air across his right ear.

"Our house-elves are very protective," Draco said, turning his head from side to side and narrowing his eyes, trying to find whomever it was. Everything left a trace: charms, potions, invisibility cloaks... Bloody Potter. It had to be.

"Do you really want to know?" The whisper was hoarse, but Draco thought he heard the edge that was almost as arrogant as his own. He was almost positive he was right.

"And if I don't try to find out?"

"This." The fingertip was warm. Its calluses lightly scratched the sensitive skin of Draco's collarbone and sent arousal prickling across every inch of his body, even his scalp.

A sigh escaped from Draco's mouth and, before he could say something sarcastic to undercut it, Potter murmured, "Good answer."

Palms skimmed down Draco's arm and lifted away, taking the pillow with them. He bit his lip and tightened his muscles to prevent himself from following them. Then a spell was muttered too quietly for him to hear and he was caught in a web of magic, flipped over, floated down the bed, and left in the middle, lying on his stomach.

He briefly contemplated getting up, moving away, leaving the room, but a weight settled on the backs of his thighs. He could feel warm bare skin against his own, warming him. He wriggled, and Potter's erection settled against his arse.

Potter's chuckle was a huff of air against Draco's lower back, and then the torturous pleasure began.

The touches were brief, glancing, and almost too gentle. Fingers, thumbs, and palms smoothed his shoulders, back, spine, arms, legs, and arse. Potter's weight shifted up and down, back and forth, side to side.

"I won't shatter," Draco complained as soon as he was sure he wouldn't moan. He humped his arse upwards to emphasise the point.

"You already have. I'm trying to put you back together."

Thumbs pressed into either side of Draco's spine, digging into the knots of tension just above the curve of his arse. Sparks of pain spread through Draco's body, twitching nerves and muscles in his toes and shoulders. Draco yelped and bucked and tried to get Potter off him. "Fuck, Potter, that hurts."

"Shhhhh."

For some reason that he couldn't begin to articulate, not even to himself, Draco permitted Potter and his hands to soothe him, to push and press and massage and stroke. The pain eased, his muscles began to relax, the tension to lessen. He soaked in every sensation, drinking in each touch as if his skin were parched, and had to bite his lip to hold in the sounds that he didn't want anyone to hear.

Potter shifted downwards. His cock left a damp trail along the line between Draco's thighs as he moved his weight to Draco's lower legs and the massage to his arse. Who held tension there? Yet Draco clearly did. His arse was worked and squeezed. Each globe separately and then in parallel. Potter working and working at the muscles, yet never slipping down his cleft.

Draco's muscles were lax, and his cock was achingly hard. His fingers flexed into the covers on his bed as he groped for the anger, the jealousy and hurt that had always made it possible for him to keep Potter at a distance. But they were gone, and he couldn't find it in himself to care about anything except the pain-pleasure that swamped him with conflicting feelings of arousal and relaxation.

It was overwhelming. He hadn't a clue how to react to Potter's relentless kneading, to his occasional rasping whisper of encouragement. No one had ever touched him that way. He'd had massages before, but they bore no resemblance to what Potter was doing.

Before Draco could cudgel his brain cells into thinking, Potter's hands stopped. He seemed to levitate off Draco's legs, and Draco couldn't help himself: he whimpered.

The touch was fleeting. Apology and appreciation combined into a caress over the nape of Draco's neck. And then Draco's wand was dropped onto the bed and rolled into his side, and he could feel Potter moving away, towards the door.

"No!" Snatching up his wand, Draco made the quick slashing gesture and muttered the charm that petrified all intruders. A grunt of surprise gave him a clue towards Potter's direction, and he called out, "Accio Potter's invisibility cloak."

The famous cloak rose into the air and flew towards Draco. He caught it and held it, rubbing it against his cheek, enjoying its heavy, silken feel and then casting it aside and getting off the bed.

Potter was still invisible. Disillusionment charm, the wards informed Draco as he stalked towards the section of floor that was haloed in twisting strands of red light.

With every step, Draco felt the weight of his bollocks and the bobbing of his still-hard cock. He wanted, he needed, and he was going to have. There was nothing else to it. Potter had come to him, had teased him and taunted him, and now Draco was going to have his way with Potter.

Twice he circled the space where he knew Potter had to be. Then he stepped close enough to feel the heat rising off Potter and reached for Potter's chest with its soft skin and curling hair and crinkled nipple.

The gasp that came from Potter was short and sharp, leaving the impression that Potter had an aching desire caught in his throat.

Draco's mouth tingled with the urge to kiss him, to follow his hands with his lips and tongue, and discover what Potter tasted like. He settled, instead, for inserting one forefinger into Potter's navel and using his other hand to toy with the coarse hair that trailed downwards.

A shiver rolled across Potter's invisible skin. "Only if you really want me," Potter murmured, threat lacing each word.

"Want you?" Draco didn't know how to answer that. "You break into my house, bind me to my bed, force me to endure your touches, and then you ask if I want you?"

"When you put it like that—" Potter stopped abruptly, obviously incapable of finishing that thought.

"How could I want you?" Sliding a hand upwards, Draco felt his way to Potter's mouth and hooked a finger into the corner of his mouth, pressing inside to feel damp heat, inner cheek, gums, and teeth.

Potter's mumbled response was rendered incomprehensible by the way his tongue curled around Draco's finger.

Draco was losing, and he knew it. There was no possible way for him to win against Potter. Not when every touch echoed inside him, between them, arousing him, and making him want to lay back and part his legs and demand that Potter give him everything he wanted.

Unless... Bringing his other hand up, Draco reluctantly withdrew his finger from that mouth and mapped the dips and hollows of Potter's cheeks, the arch of his eyebrows, the bumps caused by the shape of his skull, the dent of his famous scar. That last drew a distorted sound from Potter, as if didn't know how to react, so Draco traced the lightning bolt again and again.

Was it possible, he wondered, that Potter was as touch-starved as he had been?

Not that it mattered, because now that he had felt Potter's skin, understood how to make Potter tremble, Draco had no desire to stop.

"Tell me that you want this," he demanded.

"I came to you."

"Not good enough."

"Only if you want me."

Draco growled, slid his hands to either side of Harry's face, and held it in place. Utterly unnecessary, given the binding spell, but Draco wasn't going to take any chances. He leant forward until he could feel his lips brush against Potter's when he said, "I want you."

At the words, Potter flexed. There was no other word for it, no other description. Magic eddied through the room, shimmering in the air like oil on water. Then, with an odd fizzing pop, the charms around Potter dissipated, and Draco could see him.

"Want you," Potter said, and his gaze burned with a fierceness that made Draco bring their mouths together and rut against him.

Potter pressed forwards, forcing Draco to stumble backwards, even as they continued to kiss and touch each other, until the bed caught him behind the knees and he fell, dragging Potter down with him. They lay there for a moment. Potter on top of him, their faces close enough that Draco could see the laughter in Potter's eyes.

Then Potter raised himself up, mumbled a few words, and Draco found himself on his back in the middle of the bed. Before he could move, Potter was straddling him. He grasped one of Draco's hands, lifted it to his mouth, and licked a strip up his palm.

"You ready?" Potter asked, and then before Draco could respond, he reached behind, took a hold of Draco's cock, and sat on it. Carefully, slowly, he sank down.

"Ah." Grabbing for Potter's thighs, Draco clung on. He flattened his feet on the bed, gritted his teeth, and held himself still until his cock was buried inside Potter. He could feel Potter's arse and weight, was surrounded and welcomed by Potter.

Curling his upper body, using his grip on Potter's hips for leverage, allowing Potter to help him, Draco manoeuvred them both until he was sitting up on his knees, and Potter was resting on him. He slipped one hand around Potter and then down into Potter's cleft. Arousal shuddered through him, leaving him with a dry mouth and an aching throat, when he felt Potter's arsehole and his own cock filling it.

"Draco. Ah, gods."

"You want me." It wasn't a question, although Draco knew the words contained a world of wonder. He'd never been able to hide his emotions during sex, and for the first time, he didn't care.

In answer, Potter rocked back and forth.

Without thought, allowing himself only to feel, Draco thrust into him.

"Yes." Potter arched his back, reached behind himself past Draco's fingers, and twined his own fingers around the base of Draco's cock. Then he rocked again, squeezing Draco's cock as he moved.

He looked awkward, was possibly uncomfortable, but his eyes shone, and he used his other hand to pull Draco into a kiss of teeth and tongues, of biting and licking and sucking. It wasn't enough though, not nearly enough. So Draco looped his arms around Potter and began to thrust upwards, timing his movements to Potter's rocking and squeezing, pulling them together so that Potter's cock was caught between them, rubbing against them.

Faster and faster they moved together. Draco was in a whirlwind of need and want and feeling. He was inside Potter. Every scrape over Potter's prostate sent him whirling higher and higher. Until he was up on his knees, clinging to Potter, barely thrusting, just pushing harder and deeper inside, and Potter had removed his fingers and was swaying in play, holding on to him with his arms and his thighs, pressing down as if he were trying to absorb all of Draco.

They could stay like that forever, Draco thought. But Potter drew back and grinned at him, reached out and stroked Draco's jaw with the back of his hand, and said, "I could touch you forever."

And Draco came, toppling over the edge into orgasm and down and down and down, feeling Potter's arse clench around him, holding him tight as he pulsed his own release between them.

~*~*~*~

Draco woke up on his back, sticky and sated, with a sleeping Potter sprawled on top of him. He considered pushing Potter to one side, getting up, and going back to his life as he knew it.

Then Potter made a noise of complaint and shifted, clearly starting to awaken.

An odd and strange emotion filled Draco. Tentative, unsure, he ran his hand along the bumps of Potter's spine. Humming against Draco's chest, Potter settled down.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured, hesitating before adding, "Harry."

"'kay," Potter mumbled.

And Draco fell back asleep with his nose buried in a mass of tousled black hair, his arms around Harry Potter, and a smile quirking one corner of his mouth.