Painted Stars

Saturday the 21st of December

It had been just shy of a fortnight since Harry had enjoyed afternoon tea with Luna, and somehow that span of time had managed to both speed past and crawl by. The holidays always seemed to bring out the worst in people and thus were the busiest time of year in the Auror’s Office. Because of this, his plate had been quite full with managing his caseload—not to mention finding someone he could bribe into covering for his last-minute, two-week holiday.  Luckily, between having one close friend and two exes that were professional Quidditch players, Harry was able to score season passes for the upcoming year at a steal; a small price to pay to Rolf's older brother Magnus for the fifteen days of peace and quiet that lay ahead. Snagging the tickets had also given Harry the opportunity to stop by the Burrow to break the news of his cabin-sitting to the Weasleys. And while Molly had seemed a touch melancholic at the news, she and the rest of the family couldn't find fault in him helping out friends. 

With those tasks completed, all that was left for Harry to do was to pack and wait. A feat which seemed herculean, as he found himself quite looking forward to a woodland getaway—even if secretly he wished that he had someone special to snuggle up with beside the fire on Christmas morning. 

He had found a common theme to the thoughts which had begun to crop up as he sat at his desk over those last handful of days and which seemed determined to distract him from his work. A certain curiosity over how Neville was faring in his new position kept nagging at Harry's consciousness. This curiosity had nothing to do with the fact that he'd had a crush on Nev since their days at Hogwarts, but instead was only because, up until he'd left the Ministry, Neville and Harry had always been assigned to the holiday shift together—a shift that Harry had chosen to volunteer for due to his meagre familial ties and definitely not because it was a way for him to more easily get his fill of golden hair streaked with amber and pale eyes that shone like glaciers. At least that's what Harry had told himself the three years previous. 

And so it was no shock that Harry was more than a little distracted as he hugged Luna in her kitchen, bidding her bon voyage, with the straps of his duffle—which contained both a list of information about the Scamander cabin and a freshly cut set of keys—in one hand and a fistful of Floo powder in the other. Perhaps, if there wasn't so much occupying his mind, he might have noticed the nervous way that Luna glanced in the general direction of her and Rolf's bedroom anytime Harry mentioned her husband's name, or even the impish smile that tilted her lips up as he'd been dropping the list and keys she'd given him into his duffle, but as things stood, he noticed neither. 

Instead, he simply smiled, waved, and murmured a soft, "Happy Christmas, Luna," before clearing his throat and tossing the green powder into Luna and Rolf's kitchen hearth. Stepping into the emerald flames it produced, he tucked his elbows in tight, closed his eyes, and clearly commanded, "Scamander Family Cabin—Cairngorms, Scotland." The flames flickered and rose around him and he disappeared only a scant couple of minutes before a sleep-rumpled Rolf shuffled into the room and pulled Luna into a bleary-eyed good-morning kiss.

When the wind that had kicked up around him died down and his feet finally felt as though they were on solid ground again, Harry opened his eyes and carefully stepped from the large slate fireplace that surrounded him. The room in which he found himself was a beautiful timber and stone kitchen. To his right stood a massive slate and river stone wall that was the backdrop for a handsome forest green range and hood, centred between beautiful wood slab countertops which stretched out and sprawled beneath the large garden window that stood opposite him and showcased a farmhouse sink. 

Sitting beside the sink sat a plate of what looked to be Harry's favourite treacle tarts with a note folded in half and standing beside it like a tent. Approaching the plate, Harry took a brief moment to admire the lovely snow-covered scene that peeked at him from outside the kitchen window before looking back down and picking up the note that awaited him. 

Printed across the front fold of the note, in Luna's familiar sprawling handwriting, was a Happy Christmas, Darling! Harry smiled and picked up a tart. Closing his eyes, he bit into the delectable buttery crust and took a moment to appreciate the deliciously gooey toffee filling as it melted across his palate, before opening them back up and flipping the note open to further inspect the message inside. 

Thank you again for agreeing to cabin-sit for Rolf and I. We hope that both your stay here and the surprises that the Cairngorms themselves have yet to reveal bring you as much joy as you have brought to both of us. All our love - Luna & Rolf

P.S. There is plenty of food and drink in the fridge and the pantry is fully stocked. Enjoy. ♡

Smiling, Harry set the note back down beside the tarts and turned towards the fridge that had been mentioned and the promise of a snack. The kitchen that surrounded him was beautiful, but it was the sight that met him to his left that really had a jolt of excitement running down his spine, and soon all thoughts of food disappeared from his mind. 

A gorgeous island made from a slab of live edge fir stood centred beneath a massive exposed beam, from which hung a variety of copper pots and pans that perfectly framed the enormous living room beyond. Running his fingertips over the smooth surface of the island, Harry stepped past it and into the room beyond. A stunning wrought-iron chandelier hung above, twinkling and casting a homely glow on the seating area beneath it. Two deep green armchairs made of buttery leather sat to either side of a matching velvet sofa, which had been covered in plush cushions and draped with a cosy-looking blanket that just begged to be snuggled beneath. The seating arrangements were nestled around a rustic coffee table made from the stump of what had once been an enormous tree, which itself sat atop the softest looking sheepskin rug that Harry had ever seen. All of which faced a towering river stone fireplace, flanked on either side by neat stacks of both kindling and logs. Luna must have woken up early in order to light it for his arrival, and Harry smiled at her thoughtfulness as he stepped closer to its warmth and admired the crackling flames for a moment. However, the true showstopper was the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched across the front wall of the cabin, flooding it with natural light and perfectly showcasing an incredible view of the snow-blanketed forest, meadow and mountains beyond.

Turning and wandering over to the windows, Harry stood and drank in the views. He leaned against one of the sills and contentedly watched the snow fall, appreciating the way that it sparkled and shone in the early morning light, until finally a large pop from the fire behind him broke his concentration and reminded him of the weight of his bag. 

Smiling to himself, he spared one last glance outside and then readjusted his grip on the bag before turning and spotting a winding log staircase that led to a large chalet-style loft which he hadn't noticed before. Figuring that must be where his bedroom would be located, Harry nodded to himself and mounted the staircase with ease. As he crossed over the top step he slowed, glancing back over his shoulder to admire the views that this new vantage point afforded, before turning around and freezing in place. The picturesque landscape behind him was immediately forgotten as Harry's eyes settled upon the immense wrought iron bed laid out before him and, more importantly, its peacefully slumbering inhabitant.

Snoring ever so softly as he slept amongst fluffy pillows and cosy cream linens, which for the most part had been cast aside during the night, was one of the most beautiful men that Harry had ever laid eyes on. Strapping and tall, he had one muscular arm thrown across his eyes, and while that may have concealed the upper third of his face, in reality it only served to draw Harry's eyes to the man's high cheekbones, chiseled jaw and full, pouty lips. A sense of déjà vu rang out in Harry's subconscious, but he ignored it while attempting, and failing, to avert his gaze. Following the path of the man's arm downward, he was rewarded with the sight of broad shoulders, a muscular chest, and another toned arm, all of which were painted with stunning botanical tattoos. 

As his eyes traced over the various types of flora and fauna, Harry marveled at how many hours of delicious pain must have been endured in the creation of each perfect petal, stem, leaf and branch. Feeling his trousers tighten, he let out a soft huff. 

Warning bells were going off in the back of his mind and a quiet internal voice was whispering that this was a mistake. That he should turn around, head back downstairs, take the Floo network back to Luna and Rolf's, and sort out what had happened. Perhaps Rolf had promised the cabin to one of his mates and had forgotten to tell Luna? Either way, Harry knew he shouldn't be standing here ogling the poor chap.

But some invisible force was tethering him down, anchoring him in place as his gaze travelled past beautifully inked limbs to the still-virgin expanse of skin beneath it. Kissed by the sun and softly rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep were a set of abdominal muscles so perfectly defined that they could have been cut from stone, and Harry watched with rising need as they bunched and unbunched. He flushed crimson as he found himself wondering what exactly they might look like framed between his thighs, and couldn't help himself as his eyes followed them down further still, past the deep vee created by the man's hips, to a neatly trimmed thatch of golden curls centred at the apex of two muscular thighs; curls which rested just above a thick, uncut cock which, even in the semi-erect state of sleep, was so large it made Harry's toes curl. 

The unexpected sight broke Harry from his trance, and hit by a sudden wave of guilt for seeing more than he should've, he backed up in an attempt to flee. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that he was standing at the edge of a staircase to a loft, rather than a normal room, and so rather than solid ground, his foot came down partially on the landing and partially into open air. Panicking as his stomach seemed to drop out from beneath him, he lurched forward and reached out, luckily managing to catch the railing with one hand before plummeting to his death below. 

And while he may have been lucky enough to save himself from the unfortunate fate of death-by-humiliation, doing so caused Harry to gasp and lose grip of his bag, which immediately dropped to the floor beside him. The thud the leather made as it impacted with the hardwood was soft, but apparently his luck seemed to have run its course, and it was still loud enough to wake the sleeping Adonis before him, whose stirring drew Harry's gaze back to the bed—although this time with a renewed commitment not to allow his gaze to dip any further south than the southern borders mapped out by his tattoos. 

His jaw practically hit the floor when the man, who he'd first thought to be a stranger, yawned and sleepily stretched, shifting his arm and revealing familiar golden curls sexily mussed by sleep and a pair of unmistakable glacier eyes. 

"Harry?" Neville murmured huskily. His already deep voice was gravelly, as though not entirely awake, and a confused smile stretched across his perfect lips as he patted a spot on the bed beside him and softly murmured, "It's cold. Come back to bed." With that, Neville's long amber lashes fluttered shut, and his head dropped back down onto the pillow beneath him with a contented sigh.

Holy hippogriff! Heat flooded through Harry at Nev's words, staining his cheeks pink and causing his heart to beat out an erratic rhythm against his chest. Both need and confusion warred for his attention and his pants had transformed from merely uncomfortable, as they had been a few moments prior, to now being painfully tight. 

I must have woken him from a dream , Harry reasoned, for there was no other explanation as to why Neville would want him to come back to bed. Which was truly unfortunate as, now that he had seen Nev's sheer perfection in all its naked glory, there was nothing Harry wanted more than to shed his own clothes, sink down into the sheets beside him and run his hands over every glorious inch of Nev's body.

___

Emerald eyes permeated Neville's mind as he teetered on the brink of sleep and consciousness. Eyes that were filled with lust and longing, and he desperately wished he could remember the rest of the dream as the last few moments of it replayed themselves back in his mind. Harry had been standing at the foot of their bed, his inky black locks pulled back into a messy bun, as though begging to be tugged on while Neville fucked him from behind, and a rosy flush was staining his lovely cheeks; a flush which Neville would have liked to see mirrored in handprints on Harry's tight round arse. 

Neville moaned at the image as it sprung to his mind and, reaching down, he palmed his rapidly hardening cock. He only managed to give it a few lazy strokes and had just run his thumb against the ring at its tip, when he heard a sudden inhalation of breath followed by the sounds of frantic rustling somewhere near his feet. Coming immediately to full consciousness, his eyes flew open and he shot up in bed, startled when he realised that he hadn't been dreaming at all. 

Standing towards the foot of the bed, only a step or two from the staircase that led down to the living room below, and fumbling to balance a rather large leather duffle upon his shoulder, was the man of Neville's dreams: Harry Potter. 

Harry stilled the moment that their eyes met, and both he and Neville froze, devouring the sight of one another.

A ruddy blush had blossomed across his tanned cheeks, and Harry wore an expression which perfectly matched the emotions that were currently coursing through Neville's own veins: a heady concoction of confusion and overwhelming lust. And as Neville's sleep-hooded eyes traveled longingly down Harry's body, both attempting to make sense of his sudden appearance as well as to devour the sight of him, his gaze halted as it landed on the unmistakable outline of Harry's hardened cock pressed tightly against the thigh of his fitted grey jeans.

The sight caused Neville's own cock to jerk in response, and he flushed upon realising that Harry had come across him completely nude and, furthermore, wanking at the mere thought of him. Cheeks flaming, he reached down and pulled the sheets, which he must've kicked off sometime during the night, back over his hips before looking towards Harry with a sheepish smile while floundering as he searched for something to say.

Harry returned Neville's smile with an equally embarrassed grin of his own and then, seemingly able to more easily collect his own thoughts, softly cleared his throat and murmured, "Hey, Neville. Fancy meeting you here."

Neville chuckled at the unexpected joke and was grateful to feel some of the tension ease from his shoulders, even if he could still feel his pulse as it pounded insistently through his shaft, and he scooted back until he was able to lean against the headboard of the bed.

"Indeed. Let me guess," he replied jovially. "Luna's sent you to keep me company over the holidays?"

And while he had certainly intended it to be a joke, and Harry's warm laughter was filling the space as though it was one, the reality of Neville's statement slammed into him like a freight train as the memory of what she had said to him on that snowy evening two weeks prior resurfaced in his mind. You simply never know what types of wonderful surprises will be waiting for you up north. 

Gazing more closely, Neville's eyes raked over the smiling man across from him. With his one dimpled cheek, flushed face, and the telltale bulge in his trousers, Neville wondered for the very first time if maybe, just maybe, Luna knew something about Harry that he didn't. Was it possible that it wasn't just he who had been longing for Harry all of these many years gone by, but also Harry who had longed for him?