An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 7/7
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/OMC
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, OCs, Andromeda Black Tonks, Teddy Lupin, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Additional Tags: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Self-Hatred, Anxiety, Social Anxiety, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Survivor Guilt, Implied/Referenced Suicide (not Harry or Draco), Suicidal Thoughts, Slurs, Loneliness, Promiscuity, Dubious Consent (due to Drugs & Alcohol), implied unsafe sex, Drinking & Talking, Talking, Music, Inspired by Music, Clubbing, Harry Potter in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy mends Magical Artifacts, Same-Sex Marriage, Morning Cuddles, Boys Kissing, Boys In Love, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Musical References, News Media, Daily Prophet (Harry Potter), Phobia | Nothing But Thieves, Unreliable Narrator, Non-Linear Narrative, H/D Wireless 2021, Samhain, magical objects, Genealogy, Drugs & Talking, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Addiction, Obsession, Love, Erectile Dysfunction, Panic Attacks, Mention of Panic Attacks, Mention of blood, Mention of Animal Slaughter, Discussion of Animal Rights, Mention of Livestock Sacrifices
Driven by trauma, Harry cuts ties with friends and family. From crowded nightclubs and enthralling live shows, Harry finds himself stumbling into a superficial world where he's lonelier than ever. When even the constant blithe of substance-induced highs can't prevent things from becoming what he ran away from, Draco Malfoy finds Harry. Draco, who’s wearing Muggle jeans and who’s listening to Muggle music and who suggests having a nice little chat on mephedrone. And whose nose crumples beautifully when he laughs.
Or: A story about Harry trying to cope with the help of drugs until he finds a new addiction. Draco likes to mend things.
H/D Wireless 2021 fic! Song: Phobia - Nothing But Thieves
Ears hungry for Draco’s words, eyes increasingly hungry for his lips, Harry stretches out his arm on the backrest of the settee, in-accidentally grazing Draco’s shoulder. He doesn’t lean away.
The thrill of a familiar nervousness blooms in Harry’s chest, both familiar because it’s Draco Malfoy, but mainly because there are enough cases in which it is hard to figure out if a bloke is into men or not. Luckily, Harry hardly ever had any bad experiences with men who were not into other men at all, but sometimes it’s hard to read the signs especially with this visceral euphoria he’s feeling which, as he well knows, comes from the coke and the alcohol.
And in this case, it’s hard to tell. If looks are anything to go by, Draco does look a lot like he used to, back at school. He’s still ridiculously young in appearance, eyes, skin, and hair pale against his black clothes; if Harry didn’t know that they are born the same year, he would guess that he has a couple years on Draco. His shoulders are broad and taper down to his narrow waist and hips, incredibly skinny in tight jeans. Does he look or dress or talk like he could be gay? Harry can’t tell. But in his experience, most disinterested would have firmly, politely lost the touch had he laid a hand on their shoulder.
“Can we kiss?” Harry can’t help but ask.
Draco’s eyes are on Harry’s. He’s beaming with enthusiasm, but the moment Harry’s words soak in, his mouth slacks until he looks completely unguarded.. “Yes,” he replies. “Yes, please.”
They both laugh while rearranging their positions on the settee, and possibly Draco feels just as clumsy as Harry. When they face each other, arms meeting on the backrest, their hands squeezing each other’s forearms, Harry leans forward to put his lips on Draco’s, chaste, testing.
Draco smells of woodsy cologne and his lips feel like velvet. His lips look thin and his whole posture rigid, but as soon as Harry takes off his spectacles, and they shift closer to each other, his body against Harry’s own moves, pliable and responsive to his touch. Harry’s eyelids stay closed to savour the feeling of the touch and the humid heat of their mouths. But when he blinks, an odd, numbed realisation dawns in him that it is indeed Draco Malfoy he’s kissing, and it’s both funny and just- so unlikely and in some ways a little wrong.
Not able to suppress a soft chuckle, Harry smiles against the few pecks Draco presses to his lips, into his stubble. They don’t talk for a few minutes; they just look at each other, fingers tracing faces, hair, and arms.
The sun must’ve set. The half-burnt candles on the coffee table are painting the room in warm oranges and thick shadows. It’s too dark for the ordinary Muggle lighting that Harry is used to, but it almost feels romantic.
“I like the long hair on you,” Draco whispers. He cards a hand through it, denied halfway by the strands trapped in Harry’s bun. When he pulls off the hairband, the knot untangling into a mess of shoulder-length black strands, Draco starts massaging his head with both hands and, bloody hell, does it feel nice. Harry can’t remember the last time someone touched him so reverently and patiently when the part of the attentions wasn’t his prick or his arse.
A tingly wave of Draco’s magic streams over his scalp and down his spine, eliciting a groan emanating from deep within his throat. “Sweet Jesus,” he moans, angling his head for Draco to massage his nape. Just a second ago, his erection was straining against jeans, but now Harry feels far too relaxed for the urgency of that. He shifts closer to Draco until he’s in his arms, Draco’s hands a reliable pressure against his skull and shoulders.
“You smell so good,” Harry says, meaning both his cologne and his scent, nuzzling Draco’s jaw, the curve of his neck, which causes Draco to huff laughter and arch both away and towards Harry. The movement ends with Draco on his back and Harry on top of him, body’s aligned, limbs tangled into each other.
They are quiet while horizontal. Draco guides Harry’s head to his own, and for a while, all they do is kiss to the tunes of 00’s pop-rock, beats thrice the tempo of their languorous kisses.
