
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/15295.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry/comatose!Draco, Draco/comatose!Harry, Harry_Potter/Draco_Malfoy
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Unconsciousness, Challenges, wtf-ery, Romance, just_plain_wrong, Hurt/
      Comfort, Coma, PWP
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-11-18 Words: 764
****** After Quidditch ******
by azurelunatic
Summary
     After a particularly nasty Quidditch game, goings-on in the
     infirmary.
Notes
     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.
      
     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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