Title: On a Black Night
Author: ldymusyc
Characters/Pairings: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Handkerchief codes
Other Warnings: Angry sex
Word Count: 1885
Summary/Description:
It was usually green, but sometimes it was blue, sometimes red, and on very, very rare occasions, it was black.

Harry shivered over the black days.

Author's Notes: Ahhhhhhhh, I have no idea if this works the way I wanted it to because it has been ages since I wrote slash. Um. Hope y'all enjoy. XD



Few people questioned a handkerchief, even one that looked to be more decorative than utilitarian. It sat on Harry's desk, crumpled in the corner of his out-box, next to stacks of parchments and piles of broken quills, next to crumpled newspapers and memos. It was usually green, but sometimes it was blue, sometimes red, and on very, very rare occasions, it was black.

Harry shivered over the black days. Draco was subtle about his signals, except for that one. Green was normal, fine, a good day, a quiet evening, pleasant kisses after dinner. Harry was happy to give him that. Blue meant needy and desperate, seeking attention, demanding and selfish. Harry rolled his eyes, but understood. Red was irritated, sulking, another Ministry proposal shot down or another meeting gone awry, and Draco was rough those nights, leaving Harry with finger-tip bruises on his hips and beard rash down his chest.

Black was angry.

Black was muttered whispers about Death Eaters, murmurs following him in the corridors of the Ministry and the shops of Diagon Alley. Black was a shove when no one was looking; black was a hex thrown at his back that no one saw. Black was angry, black was revenge.

Harry left work early on black days.

He avoided the pubs and the shops, didn't speak to his friends or stay for a drink after the work day was finished. He went home, straight home, and he waited.

Draco wouldn't hurt him, never hurt him, but if he wasn't ready, if he wasn't willing, Draco would leave. Harry would find him hours later, drunk in some Muggle pub in the worst part of London, trousers to his ankles and some man's mouth around his cock. Sometimes there'd be a line of watchers, of men waiting to take their turn with the slender blond man who'd take on anyone who asked those nights. Harry couldn't stand that. Couldn't stand finding Draco bollocks-deep in some other man's arse, thin lips stretched wide in a grimace as he tossed his head back and fucked out his anger. Worse was not finding him until near dawn, when he'd wake to find Draco passed out on the carpet in the sitting room, bruises and love-bites on his throat, smelling of sweat, beer, cologne, and come, his shirt stuck to his stomach and his trousers stained with dried white specks.

Harry had a saving-people thing, and sometimes he had to save Draco from Draco. He went straight home on the black handkerchief days, and he waited for Draco to slam into the flat, for boots to pound across the room and ragged breathing to fill his ear.

That day, the handkerchief was blacker than black, shadows of midnight no comparison to the shadows of the handkerchief on his desk, and Harry didn't have to question why. It was the anniversary of Dumbledore's death, the marker of the beginning of the war, and Draco was one of only two Death Eaters still free of Azkaban. The other was his father. Harry knew what would happen that day. The whispers would be loud, the murmurs would be shouts. The previous year, and the year before that, Draco had disappeared into the alleys of London and not come home for days. Harry wouldn't put up with that this year. He couldn't.

He went home early, and he cleaned up the flat, and when the door slammed open, he hunched his shoulders over the sink as he finished the last of the washing up. Long hands slid around his chest, sharp hips pressed through the fabric of his trousers, and Draco's pointed chin pushed into his shoulder. "Potter," Draco said, in that slow drawl that always crept under Harry's skin.

"Malfoy." Harry caught his breath as Draco's fingers slipped over his nipples. Harry sank his teeth into his lower lip when Draco plucked at him, twisted his nipples until they formed small, solid points. "What do you need?"

It was a simple question, only four words, and it made Draco shiver against Harry's back. "Mmm." He lifted his head and breathed against Harry's ear, scraped his teeth against the shell of it, licked a trail down Harry's neck to bite at his shoulder. "Suck my cock."

Harry didn't hesitate. He turned and slid to his knees, hands at Draco's waistband. He unfastened Draco's trousers and tugged them down his thighs, shoved Draco's shirt up and out of the way. Draco was already hard, his long cock stiff and bobbing, with small beads of thick fluid on his skin. Harry stuck out his tongue and caught one as it dripped, then opened his mouth wide and pulled Draco's cock full into his mouth. Sometimes Draco gave him control, sometimes they battled over it.

Today, Draco took it.

He locked his fingers in Harry's hair, grabbed a fistful of the messy black strands, and held Harry still. He shoved forward, pushing his cock into Harry's mouth, thrusting deep to his throat. His fingers tightened when Harry gagged and he drew back only enough to give Harry a chance to breathe. The handles of the cabinet doors pressed into Harry's spine; the edge of the counter rubbed the back of his skull. Draco thrust again, and again, and deeper. Faster, until Harry dropped his jaw and breathed through his nose, body loose and relaxed as Draco fucked his mouth.

It didn't take long. It never did when Draco was angry. He snapped his hips and jerked his cock out of Harry's mouth, then gave it quick pumps with a loose fist. One, two, three, and Draco came, thick strings of semen dripping over his fingers and onto Harry's upturned face. Draco groaned, his pale skin flushed deep red from his hairline to his chest, and he wiped the head of his cock on Harry's cheeks and lips.

Harry licked his mouth and swallowed down what little Draco had given him. He hated the feel of come drying on his skin, but Draco loved the image, and tonight was not a night to protest something so minor. Not on a black handkerchief night. He pushed his hair out of his eyes once Draco had released him and staggered back to breathe hard and ragged. Harry blinked, swallowed, and took a shuddering breath, his knees aching on the tile floor of the kitchen. "What do you need?"

Draco's eyes had gone dark, silver turned to steel, and his hand wrapped around Harry's throat. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. Draco's grip tightened.

Harry swallowed again, feeling his Adam's apple move against Draco's palm. They'd tried this before, and he'd choked and fought, unable to surrender to Draco's control, and that had been on a green handkerchief night. Not tonight. Not on a black night, when Draco's anger held him in a grasp that made his emotions as taut as bowstrings and his self-control almost non-existent. "No, Draco," Harry whispered, and Draco let go. His hand fell away from Harry's throat, and he stepped back.

"Fuck."

It wasn't a request or an order. Harry looked up, still feeling Draco's hand around his throat, still tasting Draco's cock in his mouth. "Anything else." He got to his feet, slowly, moving with care to avoid startling Draco. "What do you need?"

Draco stared, a muscle jumping in his cheek as his jaw worked. "Fuck."

This time it was an order, and Harry nodded, turning to leave and go into the bedroom. He didn't make it more than two feet. Draco grabbed him, slammed him into the counter, and yanked his glasses off. They flew across the kitchen as Draco kissed him, kissed him hard enough to split his lip against his teeth. Draco's hips ground against his, Draco's cock pressed into his zip, and Harry bit back a moan as they rocked together, muscles tense and blood on their tongues.

Draco barely gave him time to breathe, much less to think, and Harry yelped in surprise when Draco spun him around, shoved him down on the counter next to a pile of drying flatware on the stained and knife-scarred wood. Draco scrabbled Harry's trousers and boxers down, kicked his feet as wide as they could go. Harry heard the slick noise of Draco sucking on his fingers, felt Draco probing at his arse. He held his breath and closed his eyes, exhaled in relief, his own cock stiffening against the cabinets. They didn't do this often, but it was so, so glorious when they did. Harry shivered over black handkerchief nights because of this. This feeling, this need.

He clutched the edge of the counter and yelped again when Draco's fingers drove into him, and his knees buckled in surprise when Draco stopped. Harry could feel the tension in Draco's frame, could feel the tremor in his body as Draco fought to hold still against his own angry needs. Harry felt his skin flare hot as Draco rubbed against him. Draco wasn't gone yet, was still in control of himself. "Slow?" Harry said, tipping his head enough that his cheek was on the counter instead of his nose. Draco was riding the edge of his anger, taking what he wanted, taking it out on someone who wanted it just as much.

Harry breathed out and relaxed, pressing his chest into the counter. No other man would get this tonight. This was his. Green, blue, red, and especially black nights were his. "Slow."

Draco listened. "Slow. Careful, please. There."

Draco took his time. "Draco. Draco, there. God."

Draco stretched him, worked him, prepared him with spit-slick fingers and biting kisses along his spine, and Harry struggled out of his trousers to widen his stance further, to give Draco more access. "Please. Please."

He exhaled, he pushed back, and Draco pushed forward. Harry scrabbled at the counter and moaned when Draco's cock filled him; Draco groaned and slammed both hands onto Harry's wrists, pinning his arms down. Draco took him, fucked him, and Harry closed his eyes to hang on for the ride.

Draco fucked him hard, ground into him deep, hips slamming into his buttocks, cock driving into his arse, and Harry whined in protest when Draco pulled out. He slapped his cock against the small of Harry's back and came. Harry knew Draco's eyes were open, knew he was watching as his semen spread across Harry's skin. He held still, looked at Draco's arm beside his head, waited until the tense, bunched muscles relaxed and the prominent veins subsided. He knew when Draco bowed his head, and he sighed as Draco took a shuddering breath. "Dammit, Potter."

Harry straightened up as Draco released his wrists, and he turned to face his partner. "Who was it today?"

Draco shook his head, eyes closed, jaw working, and he didn't answer. He never answered. Harry folded his arms to fight back the temptation to touch Draco's reddened lips. Affection was a bad idea when Draco was like this. "Right. No matter."

He looked at Draco's lowered lashes, watched Draco struggle for control. It might be time for a shower, might be time for bed. Might only be time to recover. He never knew on black nights. It was his job to wait, and to ask, and to give. "What do you need?"