Title: Our Truth
Author: elfflame
Characters: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Heavy BDSM, WS
Kinks chosen: See below
Word Count: 1207
Summary: Their friends don’t approve, but that doesn’t matter.
Author's notes: The prompt I chose – 21. Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Themes: Hard-core BDSM, lots of pain, spanking, punishment, tears, love, care, Dom!Harry/sub!Draco. Optional: WS used as marking, breathplay.
Prompt: Harry and Draco need something most people do not and it's the way to truly love each other. Established relationship.
This is based in the loosest of ways on my rp as Draco with kabal42’s Harry. K is such an amazing person, and I can only thank her for inspiring me in this. For so many things, this is for her. Thank you also to ceria, who looked this over for me, despite the content, and did her usual amazing job.



None of them could possibly understand why we do this, why we’re together. Not his friends. Nor mine. How we need each other. How we fit together. They all think we’re bad for each other.

Pansy told me just the other day, that if she heard Harry use that tone of voice with me once more, she’d hex him on the spot. But she can’t understand, even when I try to explain it to her, just how much I need him to call me names. How his words flay me open and heal me and make me feel almost whole again. How much I want to hear them.

His friends look at me like I’m rubbish. To keep every visit from disintegrating into an argument, he’s trained me to behave when they come over. When he first tried to get me to walk on a leash, we had a huge row about it. He couldn’t understand why I refused to do it, and I couldn’t understand what it was that he found so sexy about it. From the moment the leash clicked into place on my collar I was stiff and sullen. Right up to the moment when he yanked me toward him and began to snarl at me for not behaving. His fierceness sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn’t help but relent. After that, even though I never quite admitted that I enjoyed it, I always encouraged him to pull me about on it. Every time he does it, I remember that moment. And each time, I can’t wait for him to do it again.

I love all the things Harry teaches me how to do. And he loves the way I look when I do it. And one of our standing rules is that when they visit, I’m to keep silent. We’ve found it’s the best way for me to keep the peace with them.

The problem is, they get so upset when Harry pulls me into his lap when they’re visiting, stroking me to keep me calm but otherwise ignoring me. Weasley seems disgusted that he touches me at all. Granger seems more upset at how he treats me. “He’s not a house-elf or a pet, Harry! You can’t keep him like this!” I can’t always contain my snorts of disdain at her protestations, but I’m never swatted until after they leave.

The truth is, if she ever saw where he kept me when we play, she’d be horrified. But she could never understand, no matter how I might try to explain, if I were ever to bother, that I like it there. That I want to be there. For the first time since I was sixteen, I feel free. I know he desires me. That he wants to keep me. And that this is his way of telling me. It’s a visual reminder that he actually needs me in his life.

I remember a time when we used to fight every day. Yes, I mean after we started to sleep with each other. There were daily fights. He hated how I goaded his friends, I hated how he derided mine. Doors would be slammed, threats would be made, and silence would ring through the house for hours on end before we made up and made love once more. But nothing ever seemed to really solve the problem, no matter what we tried. Until we found this.

Now, when it’s nearly time for him to come home, I go upstairs, take off my every-day clothes, climb into my cage, and wait for him. Sometimes he makes me wait for over an hour after he arrives before he comes up to make sure I’ve done what he’s told me to. And occasionally, there’s something we’ve added—something I’m required to wear, or do, or say when he comes into the room.

Usually I find a way to mostly comply with his wishes. But never completely. After all, he couldn’t punish me if I were good, now, could he? So I “forget” to do it. Or I refuse. Or I otherwise misbehave.

Then he pulls me from my cage, ties my hands behind my back, and fucks my mouth until he comes. Or he pulls me onto his lap and spanks me until I’m crying and begging him to stop—usually with his favorite paddle—my old wooden hairbrush. Or, if I’m not yet wearing a cock ring—particularly the days when I’m supposed to have put it on before he comes home—he makes me settle on the bed on my hands and knees, fucking me with a dildo until I’m begging to come, then puts on my cock ring, leaving me whimpering and needy for more.

On occasion, when I’ve been especially bad, he has to mark me. And wouldn’t his friends be disgusted by that? Oh, he doesn’t hurt me, or anything. No. He takes me to the bathroom and makes me kneel on the cold tiles, then undoes his trousers, pulls out his cock, and he marks me. I’ve never felt anything quite like it. I can’t help but watch his face as the golden fluid coats my skin. The look of intense need and love on his face. The feeling of his piss as he marks me; showing me just who I belong to. Sometimes he even has me lie down and pees on my cock until I come. We’ve only managed it a few times, but it’s so intense…sometimes it’s all I want to do.

And once he’s given me my immediate chastisement, that’s when he really punishes me. Usually he ties me up, then uses one of our toys on me. Sometimes it’s a flogger on my cock. Sometimes he smacks me with the crop as I crawl around the room. Or sometimes, he fills me with ice until I feel like I will never be warm again, fucking me with it and making me writhe. A few times, I’ve been very lucky, and he actually tied me to the bar above the bedposts and whipped me until I screamed.

Then, once we’re both worked up enough, he fucks me. Sex had been good before we started doing all this, and angry sex was even better, but after he punishes me is the best sex of all. Especially if I’ve been wearing my cock ring all day and haven’t been able to masturbate. Then, when he allows me to come, sometimes it feels like I’ll never stop. He says he loves the sounds I make then most of all. How I clench around his cock until he thinks I’m going to squeeze it off.

And after? He unties me gently, cleans me up, helps me to lie down on our bed, then applies any healing salves or spells I need. When he’s done, he curls around me on our bed, telling me how gorgeous I am. How much he loves me. He heals me with his words, and I tell him how much I need and love him, and how I never want to be free. Because I don’t. I can’t imagine any heaven better than this, resting in Harry’s arms, safe and whole and healed.