Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: torino10154
From: lilmisblack

Title: Brave new world
Characters/Pairings: Severus/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Restraints, blow jobs, desk sex
Other Warnings/Content: bit of angst, bossy Severus, AU
Word Count: 4200
Summary/Description: The war has been over for seventeen months. I have been a free man for five. The world is a different place now. And it has no room for me.

Author's Notes: Merry Kinky Kristmas, dear Giftee, I hope you enjoy this! Fair warning, I don’t usually write hurt/comfort, so this might be consider more angsty than H/C, not sure, and try as I might to put some Christmas spanking, the boys just wouldn’t have it, but I’m sure they’ll get up to all kinds of naughty in the future XD

Sometimes, if I’m not paying close attention, it almost feels as if nothing has changed. I’ve walked down these very same streets since I was a child. It’s the same cobblestone I stepped on countless times, the same alleys I often ventured into in search of new, forbidden wonders, the same shops that used to offer everything and anything I could ever wish for, the same shopkeepers willing to do whatever it took to keep me pleased, to make sure I returned. Even those who feared or disliked my family took great care to hide it. Because that’s what being a Malfoy means. Meant.

I was raised knowing I was better than others, I knew even as a child that I could bend them to my will, that I could have it all. There were no limits. Pure blood, bottomless pockets, infallible contacts. The world was in my hand.

The war has been over for seventeen months. I have been a free man for five. The world is a different place now. And it has no room for me.

I’m thankful for the cold, it gives me an excuse to pull my robes higher up, to cover my face without feeling as if I’m hiding. I used to walk in the light, enjoy the attention, now I keep to the shadows, keep my fingers wrapped around a stolen wand that will send me right back to Azkaban if found, and hope no one will notice me.

As the sun slowly sets the streets grow darker and darker. I remember Christmas here as a child, with white lights everywhere, snow always falling, real or charmed, changing the landscape into something so beautiful. I remember the people on the streets, rushing from shop to shop, carrying bags and boxes filled with presents. My presents were always the best of them all, the most expensive, the most exclusive. The white tree at the Manor would be surrounded by boxes upon boxes neatly wrapped in silver and green, waiting for me to wake up and open them. Christmas was my favourite time of the year.

Now the Manor is no more, bought and burnt to the ground by someone who thought it would give them closure. Now my family is no more, my mother died in Azkaban awaiting trial, my father will never see the light of day again, however long he has to live. Now my future is no more, the money is gone, the power is gone, the connections are gone. If I’m lucky, people on the street turn away from me, whisper to their friends who I am, or who they think I am, and walk on. If I’m not lucky they’ll approach, too drunk or too stupid or too uncaring to know what really happened to me during the war, or why I was finally released from Azkaban, too eager to avenge their loved ones, make me pay for their suffering, for any slights committed. I can recognize those more easily now, I’ve had some practice. I know pride has no room in my life anymore, I know to avoid them, I know to hide, I know to escape. I can’t focus on living yet, my life is about survival, much as it was during the war. I suppose in a way it hasn’t changed that much.

Today I’m feeling lucky, I’ve been walking for hours, up and down those empty streets, and nothing bad has happened, so I decide to tempt Lady Luck and walk into one of the shops, a small, dark and barely clean bakery. I haven’t had a bite to eat all day. I reach into my pocket and carefully sift through the coins there, trying to decide what I can afford with the meagre allowance the Ministry has been giving me.

It turns out it doesn’t really matter whether you finished Hogwarts second in your class, that you are smarter and more powerful and more capable than most people on the street, if there’s a Dark Mark on your arm, there are no jobs to be had. Those I once considered friends are now dead, or imprisoned, or putting all their efforts into staying as far away from me as possible. The same can be said for those once thought of as allies, as business partners, as acquaintances. I have become toxic, and no one will risk exposure. So since my release the Ministry has deemed it appropriate, given that they took my family’s money and properties as retribution for crimes of war, to offer me, in all their kindness, a small allowance, lasting up to six months, to survive until I can find an alternate source of income.

I wonder sometimes if they made that decision simply as another form of torture, wanting to watch me slowly wither and die, or to have me return to their doorsteps begging for their mercy; or if perhaps they truly have no idea what life is like now, for someone with a Mark. There aren’t many of us left, of course, so their decision could be a simple matter of stupidity.

Since the day the war ended, only one person with the Mark has been released from Azkaban. I am still not sure why they let me out, perhaps it was Mighty Potter’s sense of guilt, after my mother died in her cell, that had him using his contacts to repay her favour with my life. Perhaps there were already too many Death Eaters imprisoned, and more being tracked down and taken every week, so they decided I wasn’t worth the space I took up. For whatever reason, they left me to die on my own, and for the first few months I was sure they would win.

My lips almost curve into a smile as I see a tray at the other end of the counter full of almond biscuits covered in white frosting with a shiny green tree in the middle. They were my favourites once, in another life. My mother used to buy them for me every year, and I would eat every last one of them, never letting anyone have even the crumbles. But this time, for the first time, I want to share. I check and recheck the coins and buy two biscuits, being careful as I slide them into my pocket. There’s still a long way back, and I don’t want them to get ruined before I arrive.

The money the Ministry gave me was barely enough to keep me from starving, there was no way I could afford a place to sleep as well. It took me about two weeks to swallow some of my pride and reach out to old friends. None of them wanted to help. After that I tried to contact my father’s old acquaintances, his old business partners. Nearly everyone I ever knew. Most of them wouldn’t so much as answer my letters. The days were still warm, so I spent them walking all through the city, trying to find work. The nights I spent in some alley or other, trying to stay hidden and get some sleep. Not even charities would help me survive. Not Draco Malfoy, that Death Eater that got away.

I had been out for almost two months the first time I was attacked. I spent the next month at St Mungo’s. It was a good month despite the pain, I was warm and fed and mostly safe, but I wasn’t willing to repeat the experience, so I learnt to be more careful. By month four I was desperate. I was out of ideas, out of strength, nearly out of my mind. I would’ve moved to a Muggle town, to live among them, where no one knew who I was, but the terms of my release forbid it. As they forbid me using a wand or performing any type of magic. For a whole year, as they evaluated my reinsertion to society, I was on probation, kept under their thumb, and they were waiting eagerly for the first opportunity to squash me.

Then came my lucky day. The day I discovered I wasn’t really the only Death Eater out there that wasn’t on the run. The day I discovered there was someone else who knew what it felt like. I wouldn’t have noticed him hiding in the shadows if I hadn’t been doing the same thing myself for so long, and if I wasn’t so used to checking my surroundings constantly, searching for danger.

I was careful as I followed him, terrified I would lose him, or he would notice me and disappear. But his steps were slow, uneven, and he seemed more concerned with avoiding pedestrians than with checking for someone following him. It was a long walk, all the way through town and past its edge, but finally we reached a small house at the end of a dirt road and he stopped, opened the door and walked inside. Just as he made it through the threshold he turned back, only for a second, his eyes searching the darkness around where I stood. Then he walked inside and left the door open. For me.

I hadn’t known he was alive, and he hadn’t known I was out. He didn’t like to talk about what had happened to him, I didn’t want to talk about what had happened to me, so the house remained silent most of the time. But he understood, and I understood, and that was enough. I had a roof over my head once more, food and warmth, and someone who didn’t recoil at the mere sight of me. With him I felt like a person again. I felt a glimmer of hope I’d thought had been lost forever.

It’s almost completely dark by the time I reach the house, but by now I know the way enough that I barely need to see. I open and close the door carefully, knowing Severus doesn’t like to be disturbed while he works. I can smell something cooking, so I make my way to the kitchen to leave the biscuits for later. Then I set out to find him.

I check the lab first, he spends most of his time there, getting everything ready for the new year, when Prince Potions will be open for owl-order business. Even after being cleared officially, the wizarding world isn’t ready to forgive and forget, so he, like me, has to keep a low profile. Potter, of all people, helped him set it all up, assisting him with the paperwork, making sure his real name can’t be associated with the business. I’ll be working with him, helping only on those potions that don’t require the use of wands until my year of probation is finished.

The lab is empty, so I make my way to his study. The door is open, and there’s light coming from inside, but I can’t hear any sounds, so I’m hesitant as I approach, I’ve learnt to be careful the hard way. He’s in there alone, sitting behind his desk, a look of concentration on his face. I’m not sure why, but I stay in the doorway for a moment, silent, unnoticed, watching.

There’s a small box on the desk, and as I watch his hands move slowly over it I realise he is wrapping it. I watch his fingers move over the paper with care and precision I’ve seen before but never really noticed. I watch him fold the paper over the box, smoothing it over the surface carefully, his long fingers sliding over the edges, making sure it’s perfect, working as if it’s the most important thing in the world. Then he reaches down and pulls a small white bow from his desk drawer and attaches it to the box. And something inside me twitches. Because I know who that present is for, there’s no one else for him to give it to.

The present is ready and he rises from his chair, and that’s when he sees me standing there. And he must see something in my expression, because he frowns in confusion, but doesn’t say a word. And neither do I. I reach behind me and close the door, then walk towards him, slide between him and the desk and sit back on it. I don’t know why I’m doing this, or why tonight, all I know is that there is nothing in the world that would stop me right now.

I give him a moment to react, and when he doesn’t I reach forward slowly, taking the present from his hand and leaving it on the desk beside me before hooking a finger into his belt to pull him closer. His eyes are intent, searching my face for some kind of explanation, but I have none to give, because I don’t understand, I just know. Seconds tick by, and they feel like hours, and just when I think this was a bad idea, just when I’m ready to jump off the desk and crawl into a hole and never come out again, he moves.

At first he moves slowly, hesitant, as if giving me time to change my mind. He leans forward, letting his lips ghost over mine, just for a second. Then, when I don’t run away screaming, he does it again, letting me feel him press against my mouth. And with a gasp I part my lips, and the dam breaks.

He kisses me with a hunger I never knew was possible, and I kiss him back just as desperately. He moves one hand into my hair and pulls, tilting my head back and forcing my lips wider as his tongue presses between them, taking control. His other hand is on my hip, pulling me forward until I’m at the very edge of the desk. Then he leans closer, presses against me, and I feel him hard against my thigh. I tilt my hips forward, pressing my own erection against his, use my hands to pull his hips closer, and he growls into my mouth.

Then his hand in my hair is pulling me away, and he all but slams me down onto the desk, my back flat on the surface, his other hand pressing into my chest, keeping me down. I’m confused for a moment, and when I try to sit up he puts more pressure on my chest. Just as I think he wants to stop he rocks his hips forward, pressing his cock against my arse, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a moan.

The corner of his lips twist into a smirk for just a fraction of a second, then he lets go of my hair and slides both hands down my chest. He hooks his fingers between the buttons on the front of my robes and pulls hard enough that I hear the buttons pop and the fabric tear. My body jerks, from surprise or pleasure, I’m not sure. He slides the sides of my robes apart, runs his hands over my shirt, his thumbs ghosting over my nipples, circling, circling, driving me mad. But when I arch my back in search of more contact he presses me back again, flat against the desk.

He leans forward finally, covering my body with his, his lips on my neck, his tongue, and I feel as if I’m about to go insane. It’s been so long since the last time I was touched like this, I’d almost forgotten how good it felt. But even if the memories of old encounters are somewhat vague by now, I do know none of them ever felt this good. I feel his fingers working on my shirt buttons, his hands so steady while mine are trembling by my sides. Every time he undoes a button his lips follow, teasing the skin as it’s revealed, moving urgently and taking forever at the same time.

When he reaches the last button he leans back and spreads my shirt open, leaving me on display, his gaze heated as he takes in every detail, the flawless skin and the old scars alike. He traces the scars lightly with his fingers, making me shiver, then leans forward and takes my nipple between his lips, teasing with his teeth. He’s constantly changing the rhythm of his movements between maddeningly slow and aggressively fast, as if he wants to savour it and can’t hold back, all at the same time.

It’s in one of those slow, teasing moments that I lose my patience, sliding my hands into his hair to press him closer, urge him on. But I’ve barely touched him when I feel his fingers around my wrists, pulling me away. He gives me a warning look as he presses my hands to the desk by my sides, but at least his movements are more urgent again. With the same speed he used to grab my hands he unzips my trousers and pulls them down, then my pants, leaving me all but naked in front of him.

One hand is back on my chest, pressing me down as the other one wraps around my cock. Those fingers that can be so gentle when he’s working are firm now, wrapped tightly, and his eyes lock on mine as he begins to stroke. Then, with another teasing twitch of his lips, he leans down, and his tongue darts out to catch the drop of come on the head of my cock. I bite my lip to muffle the guttural moan I can’t keep in. Even that small sound seems deafening in the silent house, and I’m afraid that if I’m louder I might break the spell.

His lips tease the head of my cock, his hand takes care of the rest, and his eyes are locked on mine, taking in my every reaction, quiet as it may be. When my hips jerk he moves his hands to my sides, keeping me firm against the desk, then suddenly takes half of my cock into his mouth, and there’s nothing I can do to stop my hands from going back to his head to pull him further down. He had to be waiting for it, because the next second my arms are above my head, and a thick, black rope materialises form thin air to wrap around my wrists and keep them tight against the desk.

I moan and arch my back, and test the firmness of the bindings, hoping they won’t give. I’m on Severus’ desk, almost naked, my legs spread open for him, my hands bound tight above my head, my cock so hard it aches, a good half of it buried between his lips. And the way he’s looking at me, as if he wants to devour me, as if he wants this as much as I do…

My lips part, ready to plead for more, ready to give anything if he just makes me come, but the words die in my throat, swallowed by another strangled groan as he takes the rest of my cock in, and I feel the back of his throat, feel my cock slide deeper, and it’s so hot, and so tight, and I close my eyes, trying with all my might to hold back, to not come down that throat, because I never want this to end.

When he pulls back it’s slow, his tongue twirling against my cock as it slides out. His fingers wrap tight at the base, even as his other hand reaches for my sack, and it’s torture. He sucks on the head, hard, he rolls my sack, and one of his fingers slides further down, circling my hole, and I arch my back and muffle my cries against my arm, and it’s only his fingers tight at the base of my cock that keep me from coming all over his hand.

It feels as if an eternity has passed before he eases his hold on my cock, and once more his mouth slides down, his head bobbing as he takes me deeper, sucking and stroking and I have to open my eyes, I have to watch him do it to believe it’s real, that something can feel this good. He’s still looking at me, still studying every move I make, every cry I muffle. When our eyes meet he slows down again, teasing, and I find myself struggling against the rope binding my wrist, wanting to be free to touch, to tease him as he’s teasing me. Even stretched tight around my cock I can see his lips twitch into a smile. Then his fingers, slicked somehow, push inside me, and I can’t see any more.

He stretches me fast, as if even he has ran out of patience, his mouth still around my cock, his other hand still keeping me from coming. I can feel my body twisting on the desk, pushing closer to his fingers, pulling on the ropes, jerking into his mouth, and there is nothing I can do control it.

Finally, he pulls away, takes a step back, and as I try to make my eyes focus I realise he’s still completely dressed, and except for his lips, slightly swollen from sucking my cock, he looks almost unaffected, not a strand of hair out of place, while I’m a writhing mess. The thought makes me even hotter, and I silently plead for more. The corners of his lips twitch again as he watches me, and his hands deftly undo his belt, the button on his trousers, the zip. I follow his every move, hungry for a glimpse of him. He’s been hard all this time, I’d felt his cock against mine as he was kissing me before, yet he never reached down, never touched himself. I’m both amazed and irked at his self-control, and promise myself to turn the tables on him at the first opportunity, to make him suffer and ache and want, like he’s making me.

Then he reaches inside his trousers and pulls his cock out, long and thick and hard and moist, and all I can think about is how much I want it inside me, every other thought gone. I arch my back and tilt my hips and do everything I can to get him closer, short of using words. But he’s had enough teasing, he doesn’t make me wait, he wraps his hands around my thighs, and pulls them up and back, spreading me open for him, baring me to his hungry gaze, and finally, finally I feel the head of his cock press against my opening, feel the slow give of muscles that have been stretched, but not enough, feel that sweet burn as he slides inside, and I’m in heaven.

He leans forward, pressing my thighs closer to my chest, and his hips start moving, slow at first, until the last reserves of his self-control run out. Then he’s thrusting into me hard and fast, fucking me into the desk with all his strength, pressing my thighs down until they ache so he can have a better angle, so he can thrust more of that thick cock inside me. And I’m pulling at the bindings again, because his thrusts are driving me wild, but I need to touch my cock, I need to stroke it, I need more, I want more.

As his thrust become more and more erratic he takes pity on me, or perhaps it’s just luck, but as he leans further down, closer to me, his stomach presses against my needy cock, his coarse hair teases my sack, and I arch my back and lift my hips, and thrust against him and then I’m coming between us, and he’s coming inside me, his cock pulsing, and I can feel it all. And I never want it to end.

It takes me forever to come back down, to catch my breath, and it’s harder with him stretched on top of me, but I don’t want him to move. His hands slide slowly from my thighs to my hips, up my sides, then along my arms until he reaches my wrists. The second his fingers touch the black rope it vanishes, but I still keep my arms above my head. I don’t want to move. I’m scared of what will happen next.

Before tonight, he never gave any indication that he wanted this, although neither did I. But now I’ve had a taste of it, I don’t want to lose it. All I know is that he is the only thing I have in my life, and I want all of it, all of him.

Then he lifts his head, looks at me, and I’m not sure how, but I can tell he wants the same thing. He doesn’t have to say it, and neither do I. We both know what it feels like, having no one for so long, no one to care for us, no one to need us, no one to want us. For a long time I felt the world had no room for me, and I know he felt the same. But maybe things are finally changing, maybe the world will never have a place for me, but Severus will. Maybe I’ve finally found the place where I belong

Suddenly it doesn’t feel as if my life is about survival anymore. Maybe it’s time I live again. Maybe he can, too.