Let's Not Talk About It

Nothing had changed.

Like every morning for the past couple of months, Harry sat on the windowsill of their little stone cabin, sipping his tea as he watched the sun slowly rise over the Highlands, the river running between the mountains reflecting the various shades of pinks and reds of the sky.

It soothed him, this peacefulness. The fact that they were alone here, in their own little world, without a single soul in a ten-mile radius. He'd thought he'd hate it at first, when he'd learned of the location of their mission, the last one before the end of their Auror training. But he had come to appreciate it, a fact that surprised him almost as much as the shift in his relationship with Draco Malfoy over the last few weeks.

Harry had entered a state of pure fury when Kingsley had assigned him Malfoy, of all people, after Ron defected a year ago. It wasn't going to work, he'd thought at the time, it couldn't.

And yet, it had. It had worked beyond his craziest expectations.

Draco was quiet and composed, bookish and thoughtful where Harry was all nerve and action.

Draco took his time elaborating complex plans and strategies, until Harry couldn't stand it anymore and pushed them both to act.

It was the perfect match.

Harry tensed when he heard the door to Draco's room shut behind him and he closed his eyes briefly. Draco rummaged in the kitchen cabinets, his morning rituals lulling Harry into a comfortable, familiar sense of belonging.

Nothing had changed, he told himself again. Nothing at all.

He almost jumped when he felt something cold against his free hand, followed by the faintest brush of cool, pale fingers against his. He looked up at Draco's face, unreadable, as usual. He accepted the phial with a nod.

No talking about it, then.

Fine.

He uncorked the phial as Draco made his way to the large wooden table. He always sat with his back to the fireplace, in front of a stack of parchments covered in his neat, precise handwriting. Harry downed the content of the phial and winced at the very recognisable bitter taste of Hangover Potion.

The potion had soon cleared his mind enough to bring back the memories of the past night.

Harry had been upset after he'd received the letter from Ginny. She was breaking things up for good, she'd said. She'd met someone else. Not that it was a surprise, really, since they hadn't seen each other in months. But it had hurt anyway.

Somehow, Malfoy - always so perceptive - had sensed it, and without a word, had gone to open a bottle of Ogden's that he'd poured in two glasses. He'd handed one to Harry, before sitting on the couch next to him.

After a couple of Firewhiskies - and Merlin, it was a fine vintage - Harry had started to feel the buzz of the alcohol running in his veins, his body slowly relaxing. He'd leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, legs spread out and had closed his eyes.

And then, out of nowhere, he'd started to talk. He'd talked, and talked, and talked, about everything and anything, about Ginny, and the war, and the future, and the past, and the fears, and the aches, and what still woke him up at night. He'd talked and Malfoy'd listened, filling up their glasses every time they'd reached the bottom.

Harry had never talked about these things to anyone. Never ever. People had tried, of course, but he'd never found it in him to speak about what it'd felt like to be in that war. What it'd felt like to be on the run without a precise goal, the fear of losing somebody they loved gnawing at them. How powerless he'd felt when his best friend had been tortured. How insanely powerful when he'd finally killed Voldemort.

Yet, here he was, spilling his soul to a silent Draco Malfoy. It was cathartic. The alcohol, the warmth coming from the fireplace, their solitude in this eerie, out of time landscape, Draco's comforting presence… For the first time, Harry had completely let go.

He didn't know exactly what had triggered it - the relief, the warmth and closeness of another human being, the freedom to finally speak about it or the pure rush of adrenalin - but somehow, it had happened. Harry had leaned a little bit closer to Draco, and Draco had wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Harry had closed his eyes and rested his head against Draco's shoulder. So different from Ginny, in every way. Draco's body had been firmer, sharper, but his scent had been so powerful, and strong, and enticing… that Harry had wanted to lose himself in it. He'd pressed his lips against Draco's warm neck, and when he didn't meet resistance, had made his way up Draco's jawline, pressed soft kisses on the fine stubble of his chin before catching Draco's mouth in his. Draco'd let out a surprised little cry and Harry had found himself unable to stop, Draco's lips so warm and soft and strangely pliant against his.

He'd licked Malfoy's full lips, hungrily kissed the mouth that - unlike during their school days - only uttered words that were strictly necessary these days. Harry was dizzy with want as he'd deepened the kiss, and Malfoy responded, eager, as Harry had pinned against the sofa.

The crash of a glass on the stone floor had somehow brought them to their senses, and Harry had stood at once, mumbling an apology before darting off to his room.

He couldn't understand what had happened. They were both straight, weren't they? Draco was to marry Astoria Greengrass in a couple of months; The Prophet had made great case of their engagement. Harry had never looked at another man before. And yet…

They didn't talk about it over the next days, and Harry was more than fine with it. They resumed their work, finding clues, examining evidence, and developing a strategy as more information came their way.

After a while, Harry had practically managed to convince himself that it had all been a dream.

And then it happened again.

Harry was washing the dishes - they weren't allowed magic in their refuge - when he felt Draco's gaze burning a hole in the back of his head. Draco had this unique way of looking through people, scrutinising them, analysing them. It was one of his strengths as an Auror: his formidable ability to see what nobody else could see, and use it as a powerful deduction tool that left Harry speechless most of the time. And a little hard, if he were honest with himself.

Harry was just putting the last plate on the drainer when he was shoved against the sink, Draco's firm body pressing hard against him. In a second, he felt Draco's warm breath against his neck, and soft, wet kisses against his skin. Harry moaned as Draco pinned him harder against the sink, his hands on his hips as he moved in a way that made Harry breathless with want. He whimpered when he felt Draco's erection rub against his trouser-clad arse over and over again, and just as Harry reached for him, Draco pulled back, leaving Harry simultaneously empty and frustrated. The door to Draco's bedroom slammed behind him and Harry let out a long sigh.

It happened again the next day. And in the days that followed.

Some intense snogging and rutting against the wall by the fireplace. Or the window, with its amazing view on the river. Against the wooden table. And again on the sofa.

The difference with the first, tentative couple of times though, was that now, they came shamelessly in their pants, like teenagers.

And still they didn't talk about it.

Because, surely, if they didn't talk about it, it meant it wasn't real, right?

A rush of adrenalin surged through Harry's body when they'd cracked the code to their final clue tonight.

They were good. They were a brilliant team.

Tomorrow night, they'd both be back home.

They were talking and laughing like mad when Draco pinned Harry's wrists against the cushions of the sofa.

They stared at each other for what felt like ages, Draco's eyes darkened with lust, his gaze intense as he straddled Harry's legs. Harry was rock hard in a blink.

Before he could do anything, Draco had his hand down Harry's trousers - and that was a first. Harry arced his back at the touch of Draco's cold palm against his hot, underwear clad length. Draco ripped Harry's jeans open and took him in his hand, jerking him feverishly, Harry thrusting up against Draco's hand, hot and sweaty and beyond himself. He came copiously on Draco's fingers shortly after. And then he came again when Draco cried his own orgasm against his lips.

Draco crumpled on top of him and Harry threaded his fingers in Draco's silky hair, feeling the fast heartbeat against his chest as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

When Harry woke up the next morning, the sun was barely setting behind the mountains and he was alone on the couch. He made it to his room and crashed on his bed still fully clothed, the dried come in his pants the testimony of the boundaries that had been crossed that night.

The sun was high in the sky when he woke up again, and the reassuring sounds of Draco making himself tea flooded him with warmth, and he smiled against the pillow. He waited for Draco to be back in his own room and headed to the bathroom for a much needed hot shower.

He came out of it in a cloud of steam, hair dripping, his towel hanging low around his hips.

The door to Draco's bedroom was slightly open. He knew Draco enough to be aware of the fact that nothing Draco even did was left to chance.

He made his way to the door and glanced inside the room. Draco lay on his stomach on his bed, his head resting on his forearms, his eyes closed. He was wearing only a pair of black boxers that contrasted with the paleness of his skin and the whiteness of the sheets. Harry shivered at the beautiful sight in front of him.

He silently made his way to Draco's bed and sat next to him. Draco's eyes fluttered open, and Harry reached for a strand of hair on Draco's forehead, removing it gently behind his ear. He let his fingers linger a while longer on the back of Draco's head before his hand unfolded down the back of Draco's neck. Harry held his breath as he caressed the soft skin of Draco's shoulder blades, a thrill coursing through him as Draco's skin raised goose pimples. Harry caressed his way down, soon reaching the soft curve of the small of Draco's back.

"Yes," Draco whispered.

Harry hooked his fingers in the waistband of Draco's boxers and pulled them down gently, his breath catching at the sight of Draco's gorgeous, round, perfect arse. "Fuck," he said.

A faint blush rose on Draco's cheeks as he closed his eyes again.

Harry slid Draco's boxers down to his knees, brushing the almost invisible blond hairs on Draco's legs before he removed them completely and discarded them on the bed.

He bit his lip at the sight before him: Draco Malfoy, lying stark naked on his bed, his head buried in his arms, his arse up in the air, open and vulnerable.

It was very different from what Harry had experienced before, and yet…

He'd never been that hard in his entire life.

He settled between Draco's legs and ran the trembling tips of his fingers on Draco's calves, soon following the invisible trails by soft kisses, licking his way up the inside of Draco's thighs hungrily, marvelling at the way his skin quivered under his ministrations.

He cupped Draco's arse cheeks and traced circles on them with the palm of his hands, laving the soft, flawless skin with kisses. He let out a moan when Draco spread his legs wider, exposing himself further.

Harry licked Draco once more, letting his breath hover over the patch of wet skin. Draco whimpered and Harry's breath hitched when Draco removed his hands from beneath his head and used them to spread himself open, displaying his tiny pink arsehole.

"More," Draco said.

"You want this?" Harry asked in a breath and Draco nodded again, rubbing against the mattress, seeking friction.

Harry leaned forward and licked experimentally at Draco's hole, making him moan wantonly.

What little blood was left in Harry's head went right to his now dripping cock. He kissed Draco's hole several times, and then licked a stripe along his cleft, Draco making all sorts of little noises that made Harry ache with want. He licked at Draco's hole over and over again, pressing his tongue against it harder every time, feeling it slightly open to him, dying to go deeper.

Draco writhed under him, thrusting into the mattress with increasing vigour as Harry finally breeched in. He pushed his tongue in experimentally, and soon stabbed Draco's hole, grunting shamelessly. It was messy, and hot and so fucking arousing Harry wasn't sure he could last much longer.

"Draco, I want- Can I-"

"Yes. Fuck, yes." Draco's answer came out as a moan and Harry discarded his towel. He straddled Draco and placed the glossy head of his cock on his wet hole. He rubbed the head of his dick along the cleft, up and down a few times, trembling with arousal, letting out soft cries whenever it caught with Draco's hole, opening up more and more each time. Harry rubbed harder still, entranced at the sight of Draco's hole opening slightly with each one of his thrusts, and the litany of small fuck, fuck, fuck Draco kept saying.

Harry was delirious with need.

"Can I press in? Just a little?" he asked, breathless.

"Yes, God. Do it."

Harry kept himself in hand as he pulled back the foreskin of his cock and pressed in, fascinated when the head disappeared completely into Draco's body. He froze, feeling Draco's muscles spasm around him as he adjusted to the intrusion. Harry bit his bottom lip, stroking himself slowly. Draco's hips moved again, and his hand disappeared under him. Harry pulled out, before pushing the slick head of his cock back in, up to the frenulum.

"Again," Draco said, his hand moving furiously as Harry pressed in and out, jerking himself frantically all along, feeling Draco tighten and relax around him.

"More," Draco shouted, voice barely recognisable now. "Deeper. Now."

"Yes," Harry said and he steadied himself on the mattress as he guided his cock achingly slowly inside Draco, the tightness, the heat way too perfect for words.

And then he was fully seated inside Draco, and he thought he could die right then and there.

"Harry," Draco cried. "Come on, do it. Fuck me," Draco ordered, and Harry complied. He pulled out completely, enthralled at the sight of Draco's hole so utterly open to him. He pushed back in again, gradually, until he was in to the hilt. Draco grasped the sheets tight and stroked himself faster still. Harry lifted Draco's hips off the bed a little, making it easier for Draco to touch himself. He took a deep breath, and pulled out again.

He then started to thrust, his movements soon incontrollable as he fucked Draco, he fucked Draco, harder and deeper than he'd ever fucked Ginny, the sound they made filling up the otherwise silent cabin.

"I'm going to come." Draco huffed, arching his arse higher up, pressing against Harry.

"Yes." Harry panted. "Merlin, Come for me," he said, and Harry felt his hand slow down, and soon it was too much, and too hot, and too damn good, and Harry lost himself completely when he felt Draco come under him. He gripped Draco's hips hard, and came inside him like he'd never came before. He pulled back and covered Draco's hole with his come, rubbing his cock over it, using the wetness to slick the head of his dick and slide once more into Draco. Once fully sheathed, he came again, deep inside Draco.

He collapsed on top of him, lightheaded and drained. He pulled the covers over them both and held Draco in his arms, slowly dozing off.

They didn't talk about it when they woke up, limbs tangled together in Draco's white sheets.

They didn't talk about it when it was time to pack, to leave what had been their haven of peace for so many weeks.

They didn't talk about it when they parted, only shaking hands before they headed home, Harry back to an empty Grimmauld Place, and Draco back to Malfoy manor and his fiancée.

They didn't talk, and Harry knew it was better this way.

Six weeks later.

Harry threw a couple of toasts under the grill, and made himself tea.

He sat at his kitchen table, unfolding the Prophet while waiting for his tea to brew. He scanned the headlines for something interesting, but finding none, let his mind wander back to all the exciting things ahead of him.

Tomorrow, he'd be a full-fledged Auror.

He'd done it. An immense sense of accomplishment rushed through him, and he grinned to the empty room.

He wondered whom he'd be partnered with. He hadn't seen Draco since they'd parted from their very last mission in Scotland. The wedding was in a couple of weeks, so Harry could only imagine Draco's mind was pretty much on it.

He sighed, rubbing his face under his glasses.

He'd tried not to think about Draco, about what had happened up there between them. There was no future in this, obviously. It had been nothing but a fling, something that had happened because of the circumstances. And yet, he felt a pang in his heart whenever he thought about it. It wasn't just the sex - although it had been fantastic - but it was all the little things around it. Their routines, the way they talked and laughed together, the way they-

Harry got to his feet and retrieved his toasts. He sighed. He'd let them burn, again. He grabbed a knife to remove the burned part when the bell rang.

He frowned. Ron and Hermione were away for the weekend, and his friends usually used the Floo when they visited anyway.

He opened the door and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Draco standing there, in perfectly pressed tartan flannel trousers that would look ridiculous on anyone else but him.

"I…" Draco started, a cleft forming between his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Harry said, trying to sort out the mess of thoughts that crowded his mind.

"I broke off the engagement."

Harry's eyes widened. "You did what?" he said in a breath.

"I broke-"

Harry didn't let him reply. He grabbed him by his jumper and pulled him inside the house, slamming the door behind them with his foot.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Harry shoved Draco into the nearest wall, and snogged him senseless. Draco let out a low moan, and replied in earnest.

"Shouldn't we- Oh. " Draco started when they finally pulled out for air. "Talk about it?"

Harry pressed his whole body against him and kissed him again. "No," he said against his lips. "Later."

"Later," Draco replied, and cupped Harry's head in his hands, angling his face so that he could kiss Harry again.

Later definitely sounded like a great plan.