Carefully Cultivated Narcissus

Draco Malfoy straddled Harry Potter with his cock pressed up against Harry's belly and Harry's white sheets tangled around his right leg and his left hand threaded in Harry's untidy hair. He raised Harry's mouth to his own greedy lips and they kissed, lazily. Early morning light trickled through the bedroom window, puddling unheeded on the carpet. Each morning that he was fortunate enough to wake up in Harry's bed, he thought about this, only this, nothing of their past, nothing of their future. Divine dispensation in the form of morning wood, he thought. He didn't voice the thought, but it amused him nonetheless.

Draco broke off the kiss and sat back on his knees, staring down at Harry until Harry opened his eyes, sleepily. He saw in Harry's expression what he fancied were warning signs of impending doom. God only knew that he didn't want to have another one of those great soppy discussions that never seemed to go anywhere about how Harry was, so far as Draco was concerned, the dead sexiest man that he had ever met, save perhaps one or two. Er. Not that he had ever had a discussion like that. (Draco was also rather good at self-denial.) Still. He was going to be using the stewed flies after all, damn it.

He wound his hand deeper into Harry's hair and pulled, hard.

"Ow." Harry planted his hands on Draco's chest and shoved, half-heartedly. Draco untangled himself from the sheets and stood up, still clenching his left fist. "What'd you do that for?"

"Nothing," Draco lied cheerfully. "Look, I'll be right back." He ducked out of the room, leaving Harry curled up moodily in his hideous old beige duvet.

Harry kept an oddly extensive and eclectic collection of potions ingredients and other magical accoutrements in his tiny, crowded flat, Draco thought as he finely minced the boomslang skin he had turned up under the bathroom sink. You would think he was still preparing to defeat a Dark Lord or something. Draco was a swift, methodical potions maker, with a good memory; it didn't take him long to brew the vile-looking grey mixture he had never practiced and only read about twice. It smelt highly unappetizing, especially before breakfast, but Draco shrugged, carefully stirred in the short black fragments of hair, and then swigged the potion, straight from the cauldron. No sense in dirtying a dish that someone might actually be expected to wash up, after all.

He stared at himself in Harry's bathroom mirror, which was one of those creepy, silent Muggle mirrors that had come with the flat, unlike the one Harry himself had hung in his bedroom. He didn't entirely mind the absence of commentary as he stared at his own grey eyes, his own pointy, pinched face. Harry's features washed over him, first in ripples, then in a great rush, and for a moment, he thought that he would be sick, but the feeling passed. Harry nearsightedness surprised him; he had to push his face in quite close before he came back into focus. Tentatively, he smiled at his reflection, and Harry's shy, crooked grin looked back at him. Perfect.

Harry was lazing in bed courting sleep when Draco stumbled into his bedroom. Draco joined him in bed and, when that didn't provoke a reaction, stole his duvet.

"Oi, Draco--" Harry began sleepily, and then what he saw sent him scrambling for his glasses. "Malfoy, what the fuck are you playing at?"

Draco smirked. "Didn't it ever occur to you that magic opened up all kinds of avenues for kinky sex?" he said lightly. His voice rasped in a rather lower register than he was accustomed to.

"It never occurred to me to have sex with myself." Harry snapped.

"That's odd," Draco drawled, with a long, lascivious look at Harry, who was naked in the sheets, propped up on his elbow. "It occurs to me all the time." He stretched out, trying to imitate Harry's rather kittenish habits, and waited. He couldn't read the expression on Harry's face. "Er. Do you have any spare glasses?"

Harry strangled a hysterical giggle. "No, I haven't. Serves you right," he pronounced, smugly.

"Never mind. I'll take care of it myself." Draco fished on the floor for his robes. With some concentration, he transfigured the empty mug sitting on the nightstand into a pair of glasses fully as clunky and black as the ones Harry always wore, and as he put them on he was impressed by the way the world suddenly had corners and edges again.

Harry was staring at him like he'd never properly seen himself before, which Draco figured was essentially true. Draco licked Harry's lips, Harry's lovely, lovely lips that were always so red, as if he had just eaten a raspberry ice lolly. Harry reached out and touched the mirror reflection of his own cheek, lightly, as if assuring himself that it was really there. It was.

The touch deepened into something more possessive, Harry running his hand along the jawline, the neck. He curved his hand around to cradle Draco's head, and Draco puckered up.

Harry gave the messy black hair a long, vicious tug.

"Ouch! Ow! Ow! Stop!" Draco whined, squirming.

"Serves you right," Harry repeated himself, sticking out his tongue. "If you just wanted a bit of my hair or something, you could have found it in the bathroom."

"True, very true. But what fun would that be? Ow!" Harry pinned Draco to the bed, easily. "I surrender," he said, sulkily, and Harry released his hair. For a moment they froze, and this time it was Harry's erection pressing up against his doppelganger's belly. Draco was already congratulating himself on the success of his maneuver; after all, he thought complacently, penises do not lie.

Finally, Harry gave in and stooped his head to kiss those upturned lips. He deliberately matched the lazy pace of earlier; Draco fancied he could feel the tension in the bed, in the back of Harry's neck as he put his hands about it and felt how sweaty they were, just like the hands still planted on his forearms.

Harry was the one who broke off the kiss this time. Draco resisted the urge to snap his eyes open immediately, but after a moment he peeked curiously with one eye.

"Like what you see?" Draco tried to raise one eyebrow, but they both seemed to shoot up together unbidden.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry responded automatically, but he licked his lips after he said it, then rested all his weight on Draco's right shoulder as he took his index and middle fingers all the way into his mouth, then slowly drew them from his puckered lips. Draco lay transfixed as Harry sat up to fish for Draco's wand in the bedsheets.

"Gelatinus," said Harry, pointing his wand in one hand at the fingers of the other, and they obligingly grew glossy and slippery. It was an infinitely useful spell in bed, though not a particularly sexy one, but Draco was always turned on by the way that Harry said it, all self-conscious, like a first-year casting his first spell with everyone watching.

Harry inched away slowly, slipping rather provocatively against Draco's cock the whole way until he found himself down between Draco's splayed legs, feeling tentatively with those slick slender fingers.

"Harder. More. Oh." Draco demanded incoherently, but Harry was going so very, very slowly, and watching, which Draco supposed was the whole point of this exercise. Insofar as he was capable of thinking at all with anything other than his prick. He fucked himself against Harry's teasing fingers, awkwardly, greedily, as Harry licked the fingers of his other hand by inches and brushed them over Draco's cock. "Fuck, Harry. Fuck. Fuck." Draco inhaled sharply.

"Perhaps. Since you asked so nicely." Harry's face was inscrutable, but the wavering of his voice gave him away. He was so fucking into it, Draco thought as he sat up, almost pushed Harry off the bed in his puppyish eagerness, and swallowed his cock, sloppily, but whole. Harry groped through the sheets for Draco's wand again, but Draco found it first.

"Here, let me," he said, and Harry nodded. Draco's wand didn't quite recognize him in his Polyjuiced form, he realized when he pointed it, but he performed the Jellifying Charm with no difficulty. Harry pushed Draco back down among the pillows and bent his legs back. He can't take his eyes off himself, Draco thought triumphantly, although he could already feel the protesting burn in his hamstrings, and he was too busy congratulating himself on his cleverness to be prepared for when Harry began fucking him.

"Ohgod," Draco said, reflexively, before Harry silenced him with a crushing kiss, pulling Draco's hamstrings even tauter as they fucked. He let Harry do all the work--it was all he could do to kiss back--and he knew, he knew he was going to come soon, he could no more help it than he could just spread his arms and fly--if it were true that he wasn't flying.

"Harry."

"Harry."

"Harry!"

"Harry ... "

He didn't know who came first, who came second. They rolled over and lay in a sweaty, messy tangle in the sheets for a while. Just breathing. Just thinking.

Draco broke the silence. "Did you just call me Harry?" he asked.

Silence.

"Did you?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry rumbled. Draco snickered, and Harry kissed him again, long and slow.

"Shower?" Harry asked, after a lazy silence. Draco considered trying to tempt him into more sex. Showering meant going out, and going out meant dealing with the past and the future again.

"Sure," said Draco, and the two of them disgorged from the dirty sheets. Draco headed for the bedroom door, but Harry tugged him over to the mirror hanging over his bureau. They stared at their reflections and saw Harry, only Harry.

"I never would have suspected it, love," chortled a cockney voice, "You don't spend near enough time with your reflection, but you're a proper narcissist after all, aren't you?"

For a moment, Draco thought that Harry was going to break his mirror. Controlling himself with some effort, he turned to slug Draco instead. He laughed as he hastened to protect his stomach with his arms. Harry began tickling him instead.

"He may," Draco explained to the mirror, breathlessly, "have had just a bit of help."