Celestial Being

When Draco was about twelve he and his father walked in on King Voldermort cutting the skin off a man’s back, which is the experience Draco used his entire life to put every other surprise into perspective. King Harry might accuse Draco of not being able to lie convincingly, but that was because he didn’t know how Draco had been trained to witness nightmares without reaction. What were a few tokens of the king’s fascination with a made-up character that Draco pretended to be for a few evenings? It wasn’t the looming specter of death that his father had never quite been able to explain away with stories of disobedience and justice. “Be his majesty’s obedient servant and nothing bad would ever happen.” That was the lie Draco’s life was built upon.

Obviously, Draco couldn’t react to the collection of lost and found items that summed up Draco’s foolhardy decisions. He could, and did, mentally berate himself for what he was: impulsive, self-indulgent, headstrong. Draco recognized how he flitted from one idea to the next, always striving for something better but never planning a strategy that would work out. How else did he end up here, alone with the king, where the only signs of life in a dreary room were items he couldn’t discuss without his heartache showing clear as day on his face?

He had to react to something. His silence dragged, and if it lingered too long it would give him away. The urgency of the situation clawed at him, driving him to words he once again didn’t think out. “You put all that energy into taking over the kingdom and couldn’t be bothered to redecorate?”

The king’s lips quirked upwards as he watched Draco scrutinize his space. “I did redecorate. This room was trashed when I moved in.”

Draco’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. The king had come to his aid after all and created the perfect distraction. “But this is hideous. It’s like someone gloomy died and their soul is haunting you.”

King Harry raised a hand to his chin as he pondered. “I suppose I can see it.” He shrugged. “But there’s no reason to fuss over a room. I just had them grab stuff out of wherever was closest.”

Draco raised both hands to his face and mouthed the word “Wow.” The rapid beat of his pulse was slowly calming as the king proved open to his banter. Draco looked at the uninspired wall tapestries and suggested, “At least bring in something better than that. It’d be no trouble.”

“Nah, it would feel selfish. The art is out so people can see it, I wouldn’t want to hide it up here.” God help him, the king looked bashful over it. Like perhaps he truly was the sort of bloke who’d nobly live in the saddest room ever so that everyone else could have the nice things.

It was bollocks, naturally. This wasn’t an either/or situation. Draco narrowed his eyes and glared haughty at the older man. “Your lack of ingenuity is troubling. Fortunately for you, I am very clever and will save you.” He crossed his arms and jutted out his chin, daring the king to reject his offer.

“Sounds like trouble.” The king managed to hold back a smile but his eyes were twinkling.

Draco sniffed. “Hardly. Save your thanks for when I return in October.” He held on to his confidence above all else, knowing that it alone could carry him forward until he made it home and could collapse in on himself.

“Alright,” the king said agreeably. He slowly let his smile out until it curled good naturedly across his face. It lit up his face and instantly King Harry looked younger and carefree. More like the man Draco met at the balls. Watching the king open up eased a knot in Draco he hadn’t realized was pulled too tight. It awed Draco. The king’s smile wanted nothing but to show Draco that he’d been right to be confident. King Harry was happy. He trusted Draco would deliver. Draco couldn’t make himself look away.

King Harry caught Draco staring and the smile shifted just enough that it became a smirk. The subtle shift extended to his eyes, which notched up the twinkle into a heated blaze that flooded Draco with a warm sensation that caught his breath and left him feeling tingly. He stood mesmerized, watching the king slowly lift a hand, grazing it over his stomach and up his chest, before using it to pop open a button towards the top of his shirt, revealing an even larger expanse of skin. Draco’s cheeks flared pink but he still didn’t look away. A rumbling chuckle came low and sultry from the king, who finally broke eye contact and strode towards the side of the room. “I’m sure I’ll think of a proper way to show my appreciation. Take a seat, they’ll be bringing supper up any moment now.” The king stepped behind a folding privacy screen, leaving Draco to stand there, half hard, listening to the king undress.

What the fuck was happening.

Draco collapsed into a chair at the table. Foolishly, he sat within reach of the items, leaving the hope of reclaiming his handkerchief alive even if it would never be in reach. He couldn’t take it without being caught, and he couldn’t get caught without having to explain… maybe everything. Still, his hands felt twitchy and he didn’t trust himself not to go for it. All his feelings of fear and desperation were jumbled up with arousal and longing - longing for who knows exactly what. He lurched forward instead to grab what looked innocuous. Just something to distract his hands and his mind before dinner arrived or the king returned. A few papers to snoop over because Draco was nosy and not a good person. He unfolded them and stared, recognizing what he found immediately but hoping it wasn’t true.

Page after page contained lists of names. Each list was titled Observatory page 1, Observatory page 2, all the way up to page five. There must have been over a hundred names all told. Maybe as many as a hundred fifty. One portion of all the eligible gentlemen invited to the ball, conveniently whittled down to a targeted group by Draco himself when he revealed his invitation to the king. There was Draco, listed on page 4. Far away from where the crossed out names ended on page 2, but who knows how eagerly the king would search as it got closer to the end of the year. Fuck.

The doorknob rattled and Draco hastily put the papers back, hopefully in a way where his meddling would escape notice. Then there were servants with the supper. They were too skilled to react to Draco huddling at the table, nearly having a fit because his entire life had gone off the rails and he didn’t know what could be done about it.

When King Harry came back he had changed into one of his casual outfits that was more suitable for an off duty soldier than the ruler of a kingdom. He took in Draco, befuddled and slouched in his chair. The king served two bowls of stew, each with a hunk of bread beside it. He pushed one bowl over to Draco. “Eat something, you’re looking a bit peaky.”

Draco looked first at the bowl, then to the king. The king was smirking. He looked pleased at something, probably himself and how he’d finally managed to put Draco back on his heels after all the times Draco got the better of him.

“Of fuck off,” Draco grumbled.

The king laughed, loud and open. He tore off a hunk of his own bread and soaked it in broth before eating it. The king kept his eyes on Draco as he ate. It made Draco feel warm and twitchy. Draco reached for his own bread and began tearing it into shreds to keep his hands busy.

The king set down his food and leaned back. “What had you planned next?”

Draco scoffed self-deprecatingly. “I don’t plan. I just do, to hell with the consequences.”

“Hmm,” the king murmured. “What did you want to do next?” His tone was deep and playful. Draco couldn’t stop himself from looking back up at King Harry’s smirk. Draco could feel his face heat once again at the implication. What madness was this that had the king flirting? The king chuckled again at Draco’s reaction before popping another bite into his mouth and chewing. He made the action look unbearably smug.

It was clear the king was calling out Draco on his bluff. An hour ago Draco had been petulant and needy and flung himself unsupervised towards King Harry’s chambers because… well… he was feeling useless and unappreciated. Only Draco and the king knew that the king had just admitted deeper, or perhaps shallower, feelings towards Draco. Draco had wanted to force the issue. To use his cleverness to force his way into a space where he wasn’t wanted because once here maybe he wouldn’t be ignored or dismissed.

The king had certainly not ignored or dismissed him. He’d opened the door for Draco to what was expected when you invited yourself back to another man’s room for the night. Or for Draco to refuse, and for the king to chuckle again in his deep and alluring way before tossing Draco aside. It was entirely in Draco’s hands.

“Why the fuck do you have muddy shoes on the table?” Draco’s croaked. He cursed his dry throat and cracked voice but was proud nonetheless that he’d said anything, even if it was a desperate shot in the dark to divert attention away from the question he couldn’t answer.

Only the question rattled the king. He sat up at attention, all playfulness gone. Draco watched the king pick up his spoon and eat the stew properly. He’d closed himself off the way he did any time Draco asked a question that went too far. “I’ve been meaning to get them fixed.”

Draco glanced at the shoes, then peaked under the table at the king’s feet. “Bit small for you,” Draco said as he pulled himself back up to seated.

The king shrugged. “They’re a friend’s.”

“You planning to give them back?” asked Draco, failing to keep his voice light.

“I’d like to.” The king’s voice was strained. He was staring at the shoes.

They were more than muddy. They were cracked with holes rubbed into them. Draco had bled on them where they rubbed welts into his feet. “These are done for. You should probably just get him a new pair.”

That startled another burst of laughter from the king. “Sure, I’ll get on that.” He sounded actually forlorn.

“Wow,” Draco said for real this time. Then, because he hated himself. “You really like this guy, huh.”

The king managed a wry smile. “No. I don’t know him at all.”