#zigster

Starkissed

Zigster @zigster-ao3

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Original Character(s), Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Cameron (Original Male Character), Cecilia (Original Female Character) Additional Tags: Digital Art, Fated Markings, Tattoos, But Not Tattoos, Italy, Venice, Vacation, Beaches, Crashing Waves, Deception, Intrigue, Carnevale di Venezia, Muggle Photography, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Body Worship, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Rimming, Enthusiastic Giving of Head, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Tattooed Harry Potter, Pining Harry Potter, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy With Pink Hair, Original Characters as Draco's Flatmates, They Have Lots of Plants, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, H/D Sex Fair 2020

Summary:

“Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.   “No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.”

Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected.

Excerpt:

“Why?” Harry asks him. 

Draco lifts a shoulder. “Why not?” He’s aiming for indifferent but Harry can tell it’s all a front. Draco had chased him this time. Put himself into Harry’s space, licked a stripe across his lips, how dare he now stand there feigning nonchalance. 

“You deceived me.” 

“I freed you from your inhibitions, Harry. Don’t act like you weren’t begging for it.” 

Harry flinches, knowing very well how his brash actions must have come across. 

But then, one thought occurs to him. Harry looks up. “Why didn’t you let me kiss you?” 

Seconds pass as Harry takes in what he can read of Draco’s face behind the dark shadow of his sunglasses. In lieu of answering, Draco’s mouth lifts into the softest of smiles, small and sad and so painfully sweet it angers Harry to see it. He watches Draco vanish the melting cone and lick his fingers clean. Harry swallows and steps closer, frustration winning out over all the other emotions whirling through him. “Why, Draco?” 

Draco shrugs again, looking away over his one shoulder. “It’s like I said, you’d regret it in the morning.” 

“It’s morning.” 

Draco nods. “And?” 

“You’re right.” 

“I knew—” Draco’s saying but Harry doesn’t let him finish the thought. He grabs the back of Draco’s neck, twisting his hand into the gorgeous pink shock of his hair, and pulls him forward. They connect to the sound of thunder ricocheting across the sky. 

It takes a moment for Harry to realise that the sound reverberating around them isn’t an oncoming storm but their magic colliding. It vibrates in his very bones as he holds Draco to him, pushing his tongue into his mouth and tasting the melted gelato he’d stolen from Harry mere minutes before. Harry wants it back and Draco gives it, freely and with a matched hunger Harry is thrilled to feel as his hands grip tightly and bring Harry closer. 

When Harry pulls back, his mouth is deliciously sore, his chest heaving with a need for breath. He puts his forehead to Draco’s, nuzzles against the dampness of his overheated skin and runs his hands down his back, landing on his hips and squeezing, fingernails biting into the fabric of his Muggle jeans. 

“You’re a fucking tease,” Harry tells him, only to be met with a soft laugh; a puff of amusement against his lips. Harry chases it, kissing Draco silent once more. 

Another crack, another ripple of magic shooting through his entire body. He’s weak with wanting and lightheaded from the heat, the sun, the intensity of Draco’s hands on him. He breaks free of Draco’s mouth and bites along his jaw, hearing Draco’s answering hiss of approval. He nips at his earlobe, drags his nose down the exposed column of Draco’s throat and licks across that obscene pale line of collarbone, now painted a ruddy pink, either from the sun or Draco’s natural flush, Harry couldn’t care less which. 

Draco moves his hips against Harry’s, and Harry feels the bite of an iron railing at the small of his back. He turns to look, mind blanking for a moment as he takes in where they’re standing. They’re on the steps of Ponte Michel, just outside Draco’s home. 

“How?” he breathes, but Draco grabs his face with long fingers and directs their mouths back together, smiling into the kiss with a wickedness that Harry eagerly meets. 

“Side-along” Draco says into Harry’s mouth, and his head spins. He hadn’t even felt the tug in his gut, too wrapped up in the sensations Draco was wringing from him with simply his hands and tongue. He lets his head fall forward onto Draco’s shoulder, overwhelmed by a sudden onslaught of images tumbling through his mind as he imagines what else this man might be capable of. 

“Fuck.” 

“Not yet. Kiss me more.” Draco’s greedy with it, never leaving Harry’s mouth for more than the moment it takes him to breathe in some much-needed oxygen. He kisses Harry with a desperation Harry understands only too well, though the depth of it still sits uneasily on his shoulders. Has this always been simmering under the surface when it came to the two of them? This want to get under each other's skin is not new, but the variation and why of it certainly is. Harry holds Draco close, licks into him with his tongue and wonders how this version of their obsession with each other came to pass; has the inclination to take this path with Draco always been there, or is the time they’ve had to grow out of their idiot teenage selves the key ingredient that’s caused this delicious reaction? 

“Stop thinking, Harry,” Draco demands, pulling his hair taut in his fist.

“I wasn’t,” Harry hisses at the sting, and Draco laughs into his mouth. 

“Liar.” 

“Well, distract me better,” Harry taunts, only to be met with a wide-eyed gasp. 

“Is that a challenge, Potter?” 

Author: Zigster

Summary: “Your tattoos!” The intruder says, boldly stepping over Ron’s chaise and crossing in front of Hermione to get to Harry, eyes wide and hungry. Harry immediately sits up, pulling the towel draped across the back of his chair down over his shoulders.

“No! Don’t cover them. They’re beautiful.”

.

Harry hopes an indulgent trip abroad will help shake him out of the doldrums of his life. What he finds once he gets to Venice is more than he ever expected.

Length: 6 chapters, 32,631 words

(Yes, that one post does look like a cock.)

. . . . 

He stares at the carved beams lining the ceiling of his rental flat, located on the second floor of a sinking palazzo owned by an ancient woman with too many cats. One sits nearby, purring. It’s using a pile of his most recent writings as a perch, but he’s too preoccupied to care.  

The shimmering reflections of the lagoon below cascade over the intricately painted beams like swirling clouds of milk poured into a cup of tea. He’s transfixed by them - stoned. He raises the pipe to his lips, pulls another hit and holds in the burn, allowing it to pool in his lungs and course its way through his insides before expelling the smoke into the room in a series of translucent rings. He puffs them out one by one, smiling at the small accomplishment.

He crosses himself in jest, reciting, “Padre, perdonami, perché ho peccato,” before breaking off into a fit of coughing laughter at the absurdity of it all. John Watson has no god. Not anymore.

The plumes swirl above his head and he falls back in the leather chair, the laughter chasing the last tendrils to the ceiling. There they twine with the forever changing reflections of the lagoon. He watches the dance play out before him, as the Italian sun sets outside the thrown-wide balcony doors. His mirth settles with it, softening into a quiet giggle. Sinned, he most certainly has, but giving a shit about it, he most certainly does not. 

ficlet? fic? multichapter birth? perhaps? What sin has he committed? Could it be that he slept with a tourist? A male tourist? Of a certain curly-haired persuasion? Gasp! 

tagging readers below the cut for shites and giggles and opinions. lol