Azure Jane Lunatic (azurelunatic) wrote,
Azure Jane Lunatic

Fic. Gods. Kill me now?

Challenge: Josh: Okay, maybe the question should be: is anything not a metaphor for fucking?
Cassie: Being in a coma, maybe?
Josh: Okay, I can see that.
Josh: Maybe being in a coma. I once proposed in Armchair that someone should write comatose!Harry/comatose!Draco, but no one took me up on it.

Title: (untitled)
Author name: azurelunatic
Category: Romance
Sub Category: Just Plain Wrong, hurt/comfort, PWP
Keywords: Harry, Draco, coma
WARNINGS: non-consensual (unconsciousness), underage (implied), slash
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Pairings: Harry/comatose!Draco, Draco/comatose!Harry
Summary: After a particularly nasty Quidditch game, goings-on in the infirmary.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, nevertheless I play with them if I have a bright idea (or, in most cases, if someone shares an idea that's Just Plain Wrong, and I have to write it). This would never happen in the official universe. Ever.

Harry quietly opened the big doors and tip-toed across the bars of moonlight on the cold infirmary floor. "Malfoy?" he whispered, drawing aside the curtain from the only occupied bed. "Malfoy, are you awake?"

Silence from the still figure on the narrow bed. After the spectacular mid-air collision at that day's Quidditch game, Draco Malfoy had been carried to the infirmary, where he now lay comatose. The usual spells and potions had failed to revive him; Madam Pomfrey had summoned help, but the expert mediwitches and mediwizards wouldn't arrive until morning. After learning that it was unlikely that Draco's life was actually in danger, the entirety of Gryffindor had been in a festive mood, with one notable exception.

Harry Potter, the exception and other party to the collision, scrubbed at his eyes with a sleeve, then tentatively perched on the edge of the bed of his nemesis. "I'm sorry, Draco," he whispered, glad no one could hear him. "I wasn't looking where I was going. It was all my fault."

He paused, as if the sound of The Great Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, admitting himself at fault would revive Malfoy. Not so much as a twitch of the blond eyelashes. Harry reached out, and stroked the other boy's soft pale hair, drawing comfort from the touch. Malfoy's skin was warm, not deathly cold as Harry had feared.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered once more, and stood. He bent over Draco's head, and placed a gentle kiss on the lips of his rival.

Malfoy twitched. Stunned, Harry straightened, and looked at Malfoy narrowly. Had he imagined it? Carefully, eyes open this time, Harry kissed Malfoy again.

There! It hadn't been his imagination! Draco's hand had twitched just now. "Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Harry smiled, knowing he could never get away with touching, much less caressing, Malfoy once he did wake up. Their rivalry was too long-standing for either of them to back down, now, though he had caught Malfoy sneaking glances at him in class when he thought no one had been watching. Occasionally their eyes would meet, and they'd both blush before sneering at each other and looking away.

Malfoy moved again, a tightening of his abdominal muscles. "You're so beautiful," Harry sighed into his mouth. "I could love you, if you weren't such a complete bastard all the time." He straddled Malfoy on the narrow bed with the worn blankets, and thrust his groin against Malfoy's. He kissed Draco's neck as he moved, and finally kissed him on the lips again as he came.

As Harry went limp, whispering Malfoy's name into the echoing infirmary, Malfoy sat bolt upright, and the boys' foreheads collided. Harry saw bright sparks, then a rather lot of nothing.

"Potter!" Draco yelled, recognizing the keen green eyes behind those anachronistic spectacles, and that ridiculous scar. He sank back, dizzy from the impact, and Potter slumped unconscious on top of him. Draco gave the limp boy an unceremonious shove. Potter slid to the floor and lay in a broken-looking heap.

Draco slid out of bed and examined the unconscious body. "So, what brings you here at this hour?" he wondered aloud. Carefully, almost tenderly, he scooped Potter up and set him on the bed. In the process, his hand brushed against the warm, wet crotch of Potter's pants. "Ugh," he muttered. "If you got piss on my good Quidditch robes, Potty..." He stopped, then, as the distinctive scent of fresh ejaculate hit his long, pale nose. "Oh, so that's how it is," he mused, and didn't hit Potter as he'd been contemplating.

Instead, he touched Potter's face, gently, before undoing Potter's trousers, and very quickly rendering Potter naked below the waist. "Turn-about's fair play, wouldn't you say, Mudblood-lover?" he said, smearing Harry's anus with his own semen.

Draco took his time. It was nice to have Potter all to himself, without that whingeing Weasel or the mouthy Mudblood interfering. "I bet you'd love this, you slut," he hissed to the rhythm of his strokes, looking at Potter's closed eyes. "The Famous Harry Potter, getting buggered. Bending over for the Heir of Malfoy. Witch Weekly would eat it up." He bit his lip, and spilled himself inside the only person outside of his family he cared about enough to hate.

"Ow, my head," Harry said woozily.

"Hush," Draco said. "Do you want to bring Pomfrey in here right now?"

"Sorry I smacked into you so hard, you stupid lunk," Harry told Draco.

"You'll pay for this, Potter," Draco warned, and pulled Harry's face close enough to kiss.
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