Perfect, Or Something Like It
Harry/Draco | NC-17 | 22,397 words | Future fic - EWE | 06 June, 2009
Betas: Michelle, IcyAurora8, Mae_Linda, and Lunadragon
Summary: Challenging Draco was the only way Harry could get him to see that perfection was something almost impossible to attain, but something like it was worth changing for.
Notes:
Written for hd_smoochfest. A special shout-out goes to my g- abusing_sarcasm, who helped me plot and beta and was just generally a support system for me. *huggles* love you, bb! Also, to icyaurora8, to whom I am in debt for the all the times she came to my rescue while I was writing this. Also, mystery prompter – I hope this is to your liking! I tried to get all your likes in there for the plot…I hope it worked! :D Also, I am sorry for any Equus-type residuals going on…completely unplanned! It just sorta….happened. *headdesk*
The Prompt: #54 -
Time-period / theme: Post Hogwarts but not too far ahead =D Not more than 4/5 years after =)
Place: Your choice =D
Object / word prompts: a similar sentence like this: (can be changed) "I hate gays." "Nice thing to say. Me being on top/in you and all, with you moaning like this."
Action: Draco being a homophobe on the outside. He is being pursued by a determined/smitten Harry. Harry gets Draco to sleep with him due to something like blackmail (although it isn't really good blackmailing and nothing serious anyway^^).
Draco continues to sleep with him (although the blackmail material isn't worth it anymore) but doesn't admit that it's because of love (which it is) and plays 'I-don't-really-like-it-but-I'll-manage'
Slow but romantic progress on their relationship because Harry doesn't give up.
Squicks: Infidelity, Boys being playboys/having many partners, Unhappy endings...and the usual =D
Preferences / Other notes: This idea is due to a manga called 'The tyrant who fall in love' which I always wanted to see as H/D since I could really imagine it =D
I love romance (though not too fluffy), a little humour and due to the content I think Harry should top =D
Prompt Given by: isinuyasha
***
He was really quite content blaming Granger for all of this. No, she was much too smart to set up something so insane. Weasley then. No – no, Weasley hated most of them too much to think this was a good idea. That meant Potter was probably to blame. Or Pansy. That little bitch had a glint in her eye that Draco did not like at all.
He was sitting on the floor – the floor! – in Granger’s living room of all places, knocking back the remnants of the only good liquor in the place – brought by Pansy, of course, since the bitch must have known this was going to happen – and playing the stupidest Muggle game he’d ever heard of.
“‘Spin the Bottle’?” Draco had asked. “What kind of dumb name is that?”
“Well,” Granger had huffed, “it’s the name of the game and the action. See, you spin the bottle,” she said as she leaned forward and, with the empty butterbeer bottle lying on its side, she made it spin in place on the wooden floor. “And whoever is sitting in front of the neck of the bottle when it stops, the spinner has to kiss.”
“Kiss? Well, what if I don’t want to kiss you?” Draco had said as the bottle landed suspiciously on him.
Granger’s face became even more deplorable as she frowned. And then the Weasel chimed in with, “And what if I don’t want you kissing other guys?!” and Draco had thought he couldn’t agree more with the ginger-haired prat, and that scared him enough that he had grabbed the bottle of whiskey from a protesting Pansy and took a shot off of it, ignoring the girl’s complaints.
“Ron, you’ll be kissing other girls, and I won’t care.” At Weasley’s sputtering, she had held up a hand. “It’s just a game. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“What are you? Scared, Malfoy?”
Draco turned to his right. “No, Potter, I’m not,” he said, sneering.
“Good, because there’s a twist,” said Granger.
“A twist?” echoed Longbottom nervously, who had been, up to this point, quietly nursing a bottle of some horrible lager.
Granger dug into a pocket in her jeans and produced a six-sided die. “Once you spin, you roll the die to see how long you have to kiss the person for. Each side represents how many minutes, up to six.” She dropped the die and let it tumble to a stop. “I got five, so if this had been a real spin,” she said, gesturing to the bottle, “I’d have to kiss Malfoy for five minutes.”
As Weasley voiced his objections rather obnoxiously, Draco folded his legs under him and leaned back on his hands. Pansy took back the whiskey with a huff.
Yeah, so kissing Granger was hardly the highlight of his night, but there were plenty of other girls here to kiss, like that smooth-skinned Hannah Abbott, who really had very lovely thighs, and if he could just tilt his head a little farther, he could see up her skirt to her…
“Alright, Granger. Let’s get it over with, then.”
A hush had fallen over the group, and everyone turned to him, a mixture of expressions on their faces, ranging from shock to confusion to amusement.
“But that wasn’t a real spin, Malfoy,” Granger had said quietly.
“Well, why not let it be? What better way to start off a stupid, Muggle game than with yours truly?” Draco sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“If you’re going to act like that Malfoy, perhaps we shouldn’t play at all,” Granger had said.
Draco shrugged, splaying his hands in supplication. “Your loss.” Then he grabbed the whiskey again from Pansy and watched Granger watch his mouth as he took a hit off the bottle. He made sure not to wince as it burned his throat, and let his grimace become a smirk as Granger practically crawled on hands and knees, amidst protests across the large circle of their peers, towards Draco.
He had to hand it to Granger; at least she had the balls to take up a challenge, unlike her brutish boyfriend.
The kiss had been long and boring. There was no action in it, just an awkward pressing of lips for what felt like eternity, but when it had finally ended, and Draco had wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he challenged them all to make it a bit more interesting than Granger was obviously willing to go for. He made Hannah Abbot’s cheeks and thighs blush with an insinuating look while he voiced his proposal.
But now it was twenty minutes later, and he had yet to be kissed again. He nearly gagged as he had to watch Weasley’s over-enthusiastic swallowing of Susan Bones’ face for six minutes straight and sighed at the boring display of Longbottom and one of the Patil twins sharing a chaste one-minute meeting of lips, and Draco wondered how their daily N.E.W.T. preparation sessions had been reduced to a half-drunken Muggle-idea-infested party with only his old classmates as company. Goyle looked brooding and sullen as always on Pansy’s right, and Blaise might as well have been immune to the whole thing, as he held a remarkably quiet disdain for the whole set up. And then there was Draco, who was the most vocal of them all about having to get together with his old peers week after week, off Hogwarts grounds, no less, to finish their schooling. It was the most horrible idea the Ministry had ever had, letting them teach themselves, and he would have rather done his N.E.W.T.s by Owl, if it weren’t for the fact that his being here, their all being here, was a Ministry-declared sentence, and not one of them could get out of it. Not even Potter, it seemed, and he had bloody saved them all, supposedly.
Draco sighed, and rolled his eyes as Sally-Anne Perks and Potter shared an awkward sort of kiss, awkward only because everyone already knew at this point that the only reason Potter had never gotten back together with the Weaselette was because he was a sodding poofter. Not that anyone said it out loud, but Draco knew. He knew what sort of disgusting thoughts went through Potter’s mind, and what sort of things he and that MacMillan boy got up to during their “study breaks”. It made Draco feel quite ill, and that wasn’t just the large amount of whiskey he had drunk talking. He didn’t think it was, at any rate. The room was starting to get a bit blurry around the edges, after all…
Potter spun the bottle, and it landed on Goyle. Oh, the poor sods. Both of them, really. Goyle, for having to kiss Potty-wee-Potter, the gay fairy, and Potter for, well…it was Goyle, after all.
“Wait,” Weasel-bee said in protest. “It landed on a guy. Spin again, Harry.”
“No, that’s not part of the rules, Ronald,” Granger replied. “Harry’s got to kiss whomever the bottle lands on, and if that’s a guy or a girl, it doesn’t matter. It’s part of the excitement of the game.”
“It’s not like Potty’s going to mind, Weasel-bee. Isn’t that right, Potty?” Draco said, giving Potter a hard clap on the shoulder. Potter cast a dark look at Draco through his lashes.
“Oi! You take that back!” the Weasel snarled, rising up onto his knees.
“Well it’s true, isn’t it?” Draco said, shrugging. “We all know Potter here’s a poofter. I only feel sorry for poor Greg, who’s got to kiss Potter for… Well go on, Potter. Roll the dice.” Potter let the cube drop from his fingers. “One minute. Well, that’s one minute too long, in my book.” Draco leaned over to Greg, who was shifting in his seat. “I offer my services to obliviate you after the tragic event, Goyle, dear friend. I wouldn’t like you to be scarred.”
“Gee, thanks, Malfoy,” Potter said.
“My pleasure, Potter,” Draco said with a smile.
“Is it true?” Goyle said softly, glancing at Potter.
“Is what true?” Potter replied.
“That you…like guys.”
The hush that fell over the group was predictable and that all eyes were on Potter was to be expected. As was his bestial friend’s vain exclamation, “Of course he doesn’t! Do you, Harry?” Granger placed a hand on her boyfriend’s arm, looking quietly at Potter.
Draco’s grin spread slowly, as he turned to Potter and waited for the inevitable.
Potter met his eyes, and his eyes only, and where Draco expected the spectacled git to be angry with him for “outing” him, his eyes were hardly angry. If anything, they were amused, and Draco tried not to let his own smile falter as the corner of Potter’s mouth curled up. Instead of saying anything, however, Potter got up onto his feet, and stepped quietly over to kneel in front of Goyle.
Goyle stared up at Potter with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape.
“Would it bother you if I did?” Potter asked quietly.
“Er…” was Goyle’s elegant reply.
“I won’t kiss you if it’d make you uncomfortable,” Potter said, again, his voice dropping to an octave that was barely audible, but Draco could hear him quite clearly.
Goyle swallowed heavily and mumbled. “I, er…I don’t know.”
“It’s only for a minute, Goyle,” Draco felt the need to interject. Things were becoming too intimate. “And I really meant what I said earlier. I’d be happy to obliviate you afterwards.”
“No one will be obliviating anyone, Malfoy,” Potter said, looking sternly at him.
Draco shrugged. “Just doing my friendly duty. But who knows? Maybe Potter here’s the best kisser we’ve ever seen! Perhaps he’ll blow us all away with his skill and expertise! Isn’t that right, Potty? So, Goyle, you might not have a thing to worry about. Potter here could give you the best kiss of your life!”
“Oh, shove off, Malfoy,” Granger said.
“Draco, do shut up,” Pansy offered.
“Well, somebody do something,” Blaise finally said. “I’m getting bored.”
Potter turned back to Goyle. “So…should I spin again, or are you okay with this?”
Goyle beckoned Potter forward and cupped a hand around his mouth. Potter turned his head and let Goyle whisper a sweet nothing into his ear. Potter pulled away and smiled a soft kind of smile that Draco didn’t like one bit.
“It’s okay, Goyle,” Potter said. “That doesn’t matter.”
“O-okay, then,” Goyle said and straightened his muscled back, still looking up at Potter. Potter then placed his hands on either side of Goyle’s chubby cheeks, before leaning in and pressing his lips to the larger boy’s. Draco watched, both fascinated and disgusted, as Potter used his lips to create a response from Goyle’s unmovable mouth. It was bizarre on so many levels to watch Potter kissing someone else, to watch his lips slide against Goyle’s, to watch in shock as he saw Potter’s tongue sweep across Goyle’s mouth, and Goyle, too startled by the sensation, his mouth opening just barely and his eyes opening and going wide. Potter didn’t seem to notice, and merely passed his tongue inside of Goyle’s lips. Draco didn’t realise he had been holding his breath until Granger called, “Time’s up,” and Potter withdrew from Goyle, a tiny line of saliva attaching their lips for a fraction of a section before it snapped. Potter then licked his lips.
“Sweet. Sort of like frosting,” he said, and chuckled, standing up and going back to his spot beside Draco.
Goyle was blushing and licking his lips, looking to the floor. “I had some cake before I came here,” he said quietly, as if it really mattered.
Draco was floored on all accounts. It had been like watching a photo, knowing you couldn’t interact with the people in it, even when they were doing something really stupid, like kissing other boys. Except he really was here, and he could interact with them, and why wasn’t he saying anything?
“Well, that was…” Pansy started, sounding not at all disgusted.
“Don’t even start, Parkinson,” Draco bit out, finding his voice. “That was horrible. I’ll have to scourgify my eyes just to get that image out, though I fear a few brain cells are perishing already.” That was better.
“I don’t see what the big problem is, Malfoy,” Potter said.
“I can,” said Weasley, his voice sounding stuck in his throat.
Potter looked across the circle to his best friend. “We’ll talk later, okay, Ron? Let’s just get on with the game.”
“So you’re not denying it, then?” Lavender Brown asked Potter.
“Denying what?”
Lavender rolled her eyes, but it was her friend, Patil Twin No.2 that spoke for her. “That you…like that sort of thing,” she said, waving her hand ambiguously toward Goyle’s general direction.
Potter shrugged. “I don’t really see how it’s anybody’s business. Besides, this is just a game. Doesn’t mean anything. Right Hermione?”
“Right, Harry,” Granger replied, giving her friend a stiff smile and a calculating look.
Before anyone could say much else, Potter said, “Well, Goyle, it looks like your turn!”
Goyle started, then hesitantly leaned forward and spun the bottle. The game was back in play, and Draco noticed more than a few people take an extra shot of their own poison, whispering freely amongst themselves. It was no mystery what the topic was, but Potter seemed content not to let it bother him. Or he just didn’t notice. Draco didn’t know which was stupider.
“By the way, Malfoy,” Potter said quietly, leaning in towards him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your bigoted mouth shut. I don’t care what you think, but I’d rather not have to hex off that lovely face of yours. Thanks, kindly.”
“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco said, jerking away from the other boy. “I’ll say what I like, when I like.”
Potter shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then Draco was distracted from Potter’s lips on the rim of the bottle and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, when the lovely Hannah Abbot practically climbed into his lap and told him he needed to kiss her for five, long, beautiful minutes. He smiled up at her and dared to touch the soft skin of her thigh. Perfect.***
Let it not be known that Harry Potter didn’t have a bit of a devious streak in him. Nothing so far as to needlessly make fun of or prank another person solely for his own amusement…what fun was that? But to perhaps cast a bit of wandless magic to trick a bottle to land on a certain person when spinned? That might be something Harry Potter would do.
After Harry had spent the last five minutes watching Draco Malfoy snog Hannah Abbot in a way that might have been obscene (well, it nearly was to him, considering how close he was to the action), it was hardly any fault of Harry’s if he wanted to see Malfoy squirm a little. Especially after those comments the blond had made earlier. Harry would have believed that Draco really did think Harry being gay was a cause for disgust, except for the fact that he was thoroughly convinced that Malfoy was just saying those things to cover up his own desires.
The fact that Harry might be projecting his own desires onto the blond was of no consequence.
So he had a little crush on the git. So what? So what if his snarky quips during their study sessions had started to sound more amusing than demeaning over the past few months? So what if Harry started to pay a little too much attention to the way Malfoy took his tea, or how he flicked his hair out of his eyes, or which quill was his favourite, and which kind of parchment he preferred? These were all perfectly normal things to notice after spending so many weeks studying for your N.E.W.T.s together. Only natural, Harry kept telling himself.
But after feeling Malfoy’s eyes on him while he kissed Goyle, and after slyly observing Draco’s kissing abilities while he kissed Hannah, Harry was finally buzzed enough to think charming the spinning bottle might be his only shot at getting to finally put to work the fantasies even he tried not to think too hard on. The ones that flittered through his mind without warning or preamble. The ones that came and went before Harry had a chance to shut them down. The ones that made Harry wake up in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, touching himself and not wanting it to end. But it always did, and then Harry had to realise it wasn’t reality, that he was obviously losing his mind, and that it would never be.
That was, until tonight. He could have kissed Hermione for suggesting “Spin the Bottle,” but didn’t want to explain why he would be so excited just yet. He was grateful for the land on Goyle – it got the messy “should same-sex people kiss?” question out of the way, and it gave Harry an opportunity show Malfoy that he didn’t care what other people thought. It was too obvious that Malfoy would find something about that situation horrible, but that could have just been because it was Harry.
Which was what Harry was banking on when Draco’s spin landed on him.
A hush fell over the group again, and Harry rolled his eyes. When would there come a time where these people around him, who had seen so much in their short lives, some as much as him, would finally not be surprised by something? Hadn’t they had enough to drink yet?
“I’ll obliviate you, Harry,” Ron offered, and though Harry wouldn’t have taken him up on his offer, Harry was proud of his friend for not getting worked up over the situation again.
“There’ll be no need, Weasley,” Malfoy said. “I’ll not be kissing Potter.”
“Aww…am I not good enough for you, Ferret?” Harry felt compelled to say, feeling strangely smug.
“Never.”
“For Merlinsakes, Malfoy, do get over yourself,” Hermione said, and Harry was grateful. “If Goyle had to kiss Harry, you certainly have to.”
“I certainly do not, Granger,” said Malfoy, turning up his nose. He looked like such a haughty git, and Harry couldn’t help the flutter in his chest, and then promptly wished he could punch a hole in his chest, because a flutter? Really? He must be going mad.
“Are you saying Goyle there’s got more balls than you do?” Harry said, knowing he was striking a nerve as a slashing look from Malfoy’s grey eyes was the preamble to his response.
“Of course not. But what about you, Potter? You would actually kiss a ‘filthy-mouthed pure-blood’?”
Harry shrugged. “I had to kiss Goyle, didn’t I? Surely, you can’t be much worse.” Harry then leaned forward and said to Goyle, “I don’t mean your skills, Goyle, merely your associations with scum.”
Hermione dropped her head into her hand. “Haven’t we moved past petty squabbling over alliances by now?”
“Apparently not, Granger. No matter. I officially declare this game over,” Malfoy said, and meant to stand. Pansy Parkinson, bless her, Harry thought, was kind enough to clamp a hand down firmly on Malfoy’s arm, halting him.
“That’s not fair, Draco. I haven’t had a chance to play. A lot of us haven’t.” There were nods and mumbles of ascent from around the room.
Harry saw the exact moment when Malfoy gave in. He was tense in Parkinson’s grip, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell how tense just by looking at him, he hid it that well. Harry was almost surprised how much he’d grown attuned to Malfoy’s idiosyncrasies. Harry couldn’t see most of Malfoy’s face – it was turned towards Parkinson – but he could see the muscle in Malfoy’s jaw and the thump of his blood in the artery in his neck. His shoulders were held erect, and when all of those muscles relaxed, it was so imperceptible, but Harry saw, and knew he’d won. Perfect.
“Fine,” Malfoy bit out, jerking his arm out of his friend’s grasp. Harry caught the little curl of a smile on Pansy’s face, and studied her profile for a second as she turned away from Malfoy.
“How long?” Hermione asked, looking at her timer.
Draco reached forward and snatched the die from the centre of the circle. He shook his hand and with a snap of his wrist, let the cube fly, and Harry didn’t even try to charm it, but had to quickly check his face at the rush of anticipation that flooded his belly as the die stumbled to a stop, and landed with an almost audible clunk on “6”.
“Merlin’s bloody balls,” Malfoy swore, and Harry didn’t even have to look at his face to know he was scowling. It seemed like the normal state of Malfoy’s face when he was in the group’s company.
“It wasn’t bad,” Goyle offered quietly, and Malfoy barked out a laugh.
“You only had to kiss him for a minute. I’ve got to for six.” He sighed and shifted slightly to face Harry. “Okay then. Let’s get this disgusting crap over with already.”
Harry turned in his seat to face Malfoy. “Tell me, Malfoy,” Harry said conversationally, “what bothers you more? The fact that you have to kiss a guy, or that you have to kiss me?”
“That’s a trick question, Potter, and I’ll not answer it. Just kiss me already.”
“You spun. You have to kiss me,” Harry argued.
“Bollocks. You’re the dandy.”
“And so what if I am?”
“Will you two just get on with it?!” Blaise Zabini exclaimed and the two boys jumped.
“Fine,” Harry grumbled, letting Malfoy have this one small concession. He finally got to kiss him, didn’t he?
“No tongue, Potter.”
“That was your rule, Malfoy. You can’t go changing it on us now.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Malfoy, if you don’t let Potter kiss you in whatever manner he chooses in the next three seconds, so help me Merlin, I will seal you in the hall closet until you’ve done your penance. Now just kiss!” Zabini threatened.
Malfoy worked his jaw for a moment, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Okay, then. I’m a man of my word.”
Harry rolled his eyes and moved forward. Malfoy wasn’t fully turned towards Harry, but rather, had one knee bent up and was leaning an elbow off of it. Harry got up on his knees and fit them around Malfoy’s other leg, which was tucked under the blond. He held his breath as he leaned in, millions of thoughts running though his head, but the only one that seemed to make any sense was: This is really happening.
Harry’s peripheral vision picked up a minute change of pace in the rising and falling of Malfoy’s chest, just a hair faster than before. He noticed that Malfoy’s golden brown lashes fell as his eyes caught on the sight of Harry’s lips moving closer. The bow curve of Malfoy’s upper lip softened as the fuller lower lip parted from it and Harry swore he heard the parting, the intake of breath, right before his own lips covered them. His eyes fluttered shut and a thrill ran through him like he’d never felt before.
It almost tickled, the kiss was so light, like a tingling sensation up his spine, but on his lips. It spread into his mouth and he breathed in sharply through his nose, trying to cope with the sensation. He felt his hand come up to cup Malfoy’s face, but Malfoy’s hand caught his wrist and held on with a vice-like grip. He felt Malfoy shift slightly in his seat, to gain more leverage, Harry supposed, and he felt the shift against his lips like a tease.
Harry hadn’t thought he could be so aware of something before. But he nearly forgot they had an audience, he was so concentrated on the person he was kissing. Harry could practically hear the seconds ticking away, and meant to press his advantage, but only enough to coax more out of Malfoy…it would do no good to scare him off, of course, but it was Malfoy who tilted his head first, who seemed to challenge Harry to a duel of some kind…to find out just who was the better kisser. See, Harry knew Malfoy, more than he’d have liked to admit in the sunshine, and he knew what would get Malfoy going more than anything else. A challenge. It was one of the foundations of their rivalry, after all, and Harry would have played the card himself, if Draco hadn’t already done so.
So Harry tilted his head in reply, breaking lips for a moment to press in again, demanding a response. He let his tongue peek out in a question and felt Malfoy resist, his lips turning cold and unresponsive beneath Harry’s. Harry backed off, lips still touching, and waited for it. Malfoy shifted again and used his grip on Harry’s wrist to pull him closer, demanding his supplication with his mouth. Harry let him lead, but quickly pressed for his own advantage. He felt as much as heard Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath, and gasped around the tongue that pushed into his mouth.
He tasted bitter, like whiskey, but sweet like some kind of candy. Maybe the sugar in his tea? Harry didn’t think on it long, or at all – he slid his tongue past Malfoy’s and straddled the leg wedged between his knees. Not giving him a chance to stop him this time, Harry took his free hand and hooked his palm around the back of Malfoy’s neck, pulling him closer. It felt like a push and pull, the lulling of a rocking ship, and Harry was starting to feel dizzy as the shallow breaths he managed weren’t enough.
“Time’s up!” Hermione yelled, a little breathless, and their eyes snapped open, Malfoy springing away as if burned, panting against the back of his hand. Harry caught a glimpse of his lips, ruby from their kiss, and his arousal sprang to new heights. His eyes trailed down to Malfoy’s open shirt collar, and the hint of raised flesh against the rise of his clavicle, down his torso to the suspicious bulge in the shadow of Malfoy’s lap.
Gotcha. ***
It had been so easy to forget who he was kissing… Too easy. He was losing his mind.
“Granger, there’s more liquor in the kitchen right? I’ll go get it.” Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then flipped onto his feet and quickly left the room, entering the kitchen and banging around until he found a small bottle of rum in a cupboard.
He twisted the cap off with unnecessary force, bringing the bottle to his lips and letting the bittersweet liquid burn from his tongue down to his belly as he took a deep swig.
Oh, god. That…that shouldn’t have been possible. And I shouldn’t have left the room in such a hurry. FUCK.
Draco looked down to his betrayal and glared.
“You. You have betrayed me. Go away. Go away, now, I say!” he exclaimed quietly, but the bulge in his trousers either didn’t have ears or cared not to listen.
Bugger it all.
Draco, rum in hand, darted out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom. Feeling no urge to urinate, he slipped inside, turning on the gaslight and stared at his visage in the dull shine of the mirror.
“Oh, you look affright, dear,” the mirror said.
“Fuck off, you batty piece of glass.”
“Well, I’ll say!”
Sighing, Draco turned around and brought the bottle of liquor to his mouth, wincing as it burned again. Leaning against the sink rim, he shifted in place, trying to find a comfortable standing position, trying to think of something, anything to make his erection go away. But even Hagrid in McGonagall’s knickers wasn’t doing any good.
He set the bottle down on the counter behind him, letting it fall with a soft clink. His left hand pulled at his collar, feeling the heat of the alcohol in his veins, and he let the hand trail down to rub against the front of his trousers. It was like desire exploded in a wave of fire in his groin, and he moaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he could see patterns, his head bent in a curse to the man who put him here.
“Fuck you, Potter. Fuck you,” he snarled as he rubbed himself harder, faster, banging the side of his fist into the porcelain before gripping onto the rim of the sink. He fumbled for his zipper, his belt, something, he just wanted everything out of the way so he could wank properly, dammit, and -
“M-Malfoy?”
Draco’s eyes popped open as the words registered in his brain. Someone was here. In the bathroom with him. Was standing in the doorway, with wide eyes, and ridiculous specs, and it wasn’t just a figment of Draco’s overactive, and dare he say, deranged imagination that Potter was currently staring at him like the free world was his in a bottle. How dare he come barging in here! Couldn’t he see that the bathroom was occupied?
“I didn’t barge in,” Potter said, stepping over the threshold, almost like a seal, closing the door with doomed finality behind him. It became apparent to Draco that he had voiced his thoughts out loud. “The door was open, and I had to...but I heard noises, and I-“
“Just wanted to see who was in here so you could accost them and do your homosexual things to them? To make them want things they shouldn’t want and -” Draco cut himself off. He was saying too much. Never again. Alcohol and Potter would never mix with Draco again. It was too dangerous. Rum was too dangerous. It was close enough to a truth serum, and Draco had had enough experience with that to last him a lifetime, thankyouverymuch.
“What? No. I just… Malfoy.”
“What, Potter? Can’t you see a bloke is trying to get in a good wank, here?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I see.”
“So? Why are you still in here? Go. Away. Very far away.”
Draco watched as Potter adopted a rather cocky smirk that didn’t suit him at all, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the closed door.
“No…I don’t think I will, Malfoy.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, because you don’t want me to leave this bathroom.”
“What? Of course I do. I’m telling you now to leave me be or I will hex your balls off.”
“Hmm… You are really going to regret those words in the near future, I think.”
“Oh really? And why is that?”
“Because if I leave this room, I’m just going to go straight out there and tell everyone what you’ve been up to in here.”
“What, that I’ve been wanking in Granger’s dismal bathroom? I think I can lie through my teeth better than you can tell the truth, Potter.”
“Not if I show them the memory of you moaning and panting my name while you rub one out. I can place it in Hermione’s pensieve...” Potter’s smirk turned into a positively wicked grin, and it made the alcohol in Draco’s stomach and the distinct lack of anything else come to a nauseating halt in his throat.
“What?” he breathed, feeling the air leave his lungs in a stinging exhale.
“I think you heard me Malfoy.”
“You’re actually going to blackmail me? You? Potter?” Draco chuckled dryly, without humour. “You’re out of your mind.”
Potter shrugged. “Maybe I am. But you, the resident gay-hater, don’t want everyone to know you were wanking over your chosen rival, do you?” Draco, in the muddled mess the alcohol was finally doing to his brain had no immediate words, so Potter ploughed on, without regard. “Tell you what, Malfoy. You let me help you with that, and I’ll not breathe a word. We can leave here and be on our merry ways.”
“Help me? With what?” Potter raised an eyebrow and flicked his gaze south. Draco had nearly forgotten about the uncomfortable tightness in his trousers, which was thankfully waning. “What? This? No. Nonononono. You will not, and I’ll repeat this so your dull ears can hear, will not, be touching me anymore, Potter. You understand? I think you’ve done quite enough damage for one night, thank you.”
Potter shrugged and turned to leave. “Okay, then. I think Hermione keeps her pensieve in the bureau next to her dresser…”
“Okay, Potter! Wait! Just wait,” Draco said, holding up a hand, his breath coming quickly. He squinted against the mild dizziness in his head and bit his lip. He noticed where Potter’s gaze had fallen, and quickly stopped chewing. He certainly couldn’t let Potter do what Potter was so keen on doing. And he wasn’t dumb enough to think Potter wouldn’t carry through. What did the bastard have to lose? Nothing. It wasn’t like he would be showing anything to incriminate his own self. And Draco needed to hold on to whatever dignity he had left. It was all he had left. “Okay. Okay…” Draco took a deep breath to clear his head and asked, “What…what kind of help, exactly, do you have in mind?”
The look of a cat that got the cream was really unbefitting for Potter’s face. He’d have told him as much, but the git took a few steps closer to him and the words caught somewhere in Draco’s larynx.
“Well…” Potter said, placing his hand on the cool porcelain next to Draco’s, “we could start where we left off…”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can tell you’re getting soft. Considering kissing me was what got you hard, how about we start there?”
“Oh, god, you’re one of those girly, touchy-feely faggots, aren’t you?”
Potter had been leaning in imperceptibly, but he quickly pulled away. “Well, if you feel that way, I guess I shouldn’t bother…”
“Goddammit, Potter, if you try and walk out that door, I really will hex you.”
Potter chuckled, knowing he’d won. Draco hated him more than he thought he possibly could, and that was a lot.
“Fine, then. Fucking get over here.”
“So pushy,” said Potter, leaning in again. “One of these days, you’ll be coming to me.”
“Not fucking likely,” Draco mumbled before his lips met with Potter’s again.
Potter didn’t let Draco have any say in where the kiss went. Granted, the second their lips touched in a slide tinted with the tang of drink, it went straight to Draco’s groin, and there was really nothing to be done about that, as it was what put him in this position to begin with.
Potter’s hand slid around his neck again, like a vice, like a possessive ‘he’s mine’, and Draco could only grip a slippery palm around the porcelain in his hand, his other arm tense at his side. He didn’t want any part of this, but his brain just couldn’t get past thinking about how good it really felt, especially when Potter’s tongue slid into his mouth, and his body pressed against Draco’s.
The obvious erection pressing against him should have been more of a deterrent, but it wasn’t. At least not for Draco’s. The traitorous appendage was a lost cause, and Draco was beyond understanding his body’s betrayal.
They kissed in battle for too many minutes it seemed, Draco out of spite, and Potter out of some insane need to prove Merlin knew what. Then Potter’s other hand left the sink rim to pave a path down Draco’s chest to his belt buckle. Draco paused, but Potter tilted his head, softening the rough kiss, his grip on Draco’s neck turning into a soothing rub of fingers and Draco felt himself breathe again, despite the unease in his stomach.
Every gentle pull of the belt tugged his trousers in a way that escaped Draco’s throat, and he could feel Potter’s smile against his lips.
“Stop smirking, Potter,” Draco spit out between breaths. “It doesn’t become you.”
“Oh?” Potter breathed, unbuttoning Draco’s trousers. “And what does?”
“You, beneath me, all bloody and defeated. Preferably dead.”
Potter’s laugh was short and dry. “Never going to happen, Malfoy. You’d best give that dream up now.”
Potter let open the fly on Draco’s trousers, releasing Draco’s neck to use both hands to pull the opening apart and get access to his tented pants. Potter captured Draco’s lips with his again, perhaps to distract Draco from paying attention to every detail, to every movement of Potter’s fingers as he delicately exposed Draco’s cock. Their lips pushed hungrily at each others, only taking, never giving, and Draco wished it wasn’t like this – wished that kissing Potter was so horrible he felt like throwing up, but it wasn’t, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.
The air in the small room was stifling, and Draco nearly choked on it as Potter grabbed a hold of Draco’s erection, apparently not being one for teasing. It didn’t really matter what Potter was doing, it just felt so good after being caught in hard-on limbo for so long. Draco’s damp palm was slipping on the porcelain, and to catch himself, his hands came up to grip Potter’s shoulders for balance. Potter leaned against him, pushing him against the counter, speeding up the sliding grip he had on Draco’s cock. Draco moaned, deep in his throat, wishing to Hades that it didn’t feel so good, but it did, it did.
In moments, he came, nipping Potter’s lower lip before throwing his head back and gasping for air. He blinked against the brightness of the gaslight – which looked blindingly intense compared to the dark behind his eyelids.
Potter was leaning against him slightly, his head ducked down near Draco’s chest, his arms braced on either side of Draco’s waist.
“Potter, you can back off now,” Draco said, pushing him back minutely with his hands, still on Potter’s shoulders. Potter stepped back a little, his arms coming down to hang limply at his sides; his shoulders rising and falling quickly with this breath. Potter raised his head and Draco’s gaze was immediately drawn to the spot of blood pooling on Potter’s lower lip. Did I do that?
Potter’s hand came up to wipe at his mouth, and he raised an eyebrow at the smear of red that left with it. “Interesting,” he said.
Draco looked down to his dishevelled clothing, and winced. “Fuck, Potter, you bled on me,” he grumbled as he took out his new wand to clean the spunk and blood off his shirt and trousers.
Potter held out a hand. “Wait, don’t.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “If you think I’m going out there with dried come all over me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“No, I mean, don’t clean up the blood.”
“Why not?”
Potter shrugged. “Alibi,” he said, and took out his wand and waved it over his crotch. It looked like he had come as well. “It’s the only way they’ll believe why we were gone so long,” Potter finished before leaving the bathroom and Draco.
Oh. Draco hated himself for not thinking of that sooner. What had Potter done to him?***
“Harry! Harry, what happened to your face?! You’re bleeding,” Hermione said, jumping up from her place in the circle and rushing to him.
Harry rubbed his lip. “Got in a fight.”
“A fight? What, with Malfoy? Harry…”
Harry shrugged. “It was meant to happen. Let’s get back to the game, yeah?” And Harry went to go sit back down in his place in the circle, feeling Hermione’s worried gaze on the back of his neck like a brand.***
Draco ignored the woman hovering over his bed. It was surprisingly easy, actually.
“Draco, you’re going.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“What are you, four? Finally managing to assert your discontent with the mastery of your first word?”
“Oh, shove off, Parkinson,” he said from beneath his pillow.
“Draco, if you don’t go, you won’t pass your N.E.W.T.s, you won’t get an apprenticeship, you won’t have any job to speak of, you’ll never be rid of your past, and you’ll never, ever redeem your family name or honour.”
“Merlin, Pansy, don’t stab me where it hurts or anything,” he said, pulling the pillow away from his head in a huff.
Pansy shrugged, examining her nails. “What? You don’t expect me to play a little dirty? Now will you come on? We’re already late.”
Draco sat up and grabbed the girl by the wrists, pulling her down on top of him on the bed. “Then why go? If we’re already late, it’ll be half-over by the time we get there. Besides, I can think of plenty of things to do to pass the time right here,” he said, leaning up to kiss her on the mouth.
Pansy allowed it for a moment before pulling away and frowning. “This is about Potter isn’t it?”
“What? What’s about Potter?”
Pansy raised a perfectly shaped golden eyebrow and fixed Draco with look of pure dubiousness. “You cannot be that daft.”
“I’m not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do. The other night, you and Potter had a crazy-intense kiss in front of everyone, and now you don’t want to show your face in front of him.” She shrugged. “It’s only natural.”
Draco scoffed and pushed Pansy away, and she sat back on her heels while Draco scooted out from under her and slid out of bed to his wardrobe. “Natural, my arse. Kissing Potter was…abhorrent. Disgusting. As far from normal as you could possibly get.”
“Well, I meant your reaction, but if we want to talk about how much you liked it, we can do that too.”
Frowning, Draco turned around, a set of robes in hand. “Liked it? Now who’s being daft? Didn’t I just get finished telling you how horrible it was? I am scarred, Pansy. Scarred. Horribly disfigured. On the inside.”
Pansy’s mouth curved in a mock-pout. She hopped down from Draco’s bed and sauntered up to him, placing her hands on his bare chest. “Oh, I know, darling. So scarred, you had to go have a little wank just afterwards.” She nodded solemnly and sinfully brushed a hand over Draco’s waning morning wood. “Sounds just awful.”
Draco pushed her away. “Okay, now you’re just being cruel.” He grabbed a few more things from his wardrobe and laid them out on his bed. “You should go downstairs and keep Mother company with thoughts of our eventual betrothal. She’s worried about the family line, you know.”
“I wonder why that is,” Pansy quipped with flick of her eyes skyward and started towards the bedroom doors.
“Oh, Pansy?” Draco called as she reached for the door handle. As she turned Draco swiftly closed the distance between them, grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the door. He darted in and claimed her mouth with his in a passionate kiss. When he broke away, they were both breathing hard. “I couldn’t give a rat’s arse what those Muggle-lovers and faggots think. Potter’s kissing was abysmal, and the only reason I left the party was to drink the memory away in peace, before Potter came in and interrupted. I’d want nothing more than to see his head on a pike, and you in my bed every night,” he said, punctuating the last with a roll of his hips against hers. “Now go downstairs.”
As Draco released her and walked towards his bathroom, Pansy licked her bruised lips and smiled. “As you say, Draco, my love, as you say.” With a smirk, she turned and left Draco to get ready for the day’s study session.***
The week had been pure torture. Harry didn’t think he could stand much more of it, and he was starting to get suspicious glances from some of his former-classmates that he hadn’t ever really known that well, which was bad enough on its own, without Hermione and Ron glancing at him and trying to get him to “talk” about the “dreadful experience with Malfoy” every chance they got. He wished they’d had a teacher or two to tell them to pay attention to their work more than him. It was almost like being back in Hogwarts, all over again. Lovely.
Malfoy wasn’t helping matters. First off, he swaggered into their meeting place for the week (Susan Bones’ house) on Monday three hours late, looking like sex on a stick with Pansy Parkinson on his arm like a fucking trophy. And they continued to be all over each other all day, and the next, and the next, until Harry thought about hexing their lips off it disgusted him so much.
He knew what Malfoy was doing. He was trying to show everyone that whatever happened on Friday night hadn’t mattered, that he was as heterosexual as they came, but the secret message to Harry was, “It doesn’t matter how good you were. It’s still not enough. I’ll never be gay for you.” And that fucking hurt. It pissed Harry off a might too, so that’s what he focused on. It wouldn’t do to become some emotional mess because the object of his desires was off fucking the Slytherin Slag of Hogwarts, rather than coming to him and admitting how much just kissing Harry had affected him.
So Harry had to use another tactic, then. He still hadn’t figured out what, however, when the closing of Friday’s session was coming to an end, and Susan invited everyone to stay for drinks.
“We had so much fun last time, I thought it’d be a good idea to do it every week… You know, to unwind. All this studying is a bore, isn’t it?”
The ex-Ravenclaws (and Hermione) were mumbling their contradictions to Susan’s last statement when Malfoy said, “Sorry, Bones, I’ll have to decline. I don’t think alcohol and Muggle games are to my liking.”
“We don’t have to play a Muggle game, Malfoy,” said Seamus. “We could play Exploding Snap or something. And take bets!”
“Gambling, eh?” Malfoy looked intrigued. “Okay,” he said, after a moment. “I want to see you play Weasley, Finnigan. I’ll bet five galleons that he’ll beat you, three out of five.”
“Five galleons? My god, Malfoy, not all of us can play with that kind of money,” Dean said.
“Well, yes, I suppose Weasley would have to borrow against the bookie…that would not bode well.”
“Fuck off, Malfoy.”
“How about we don’t play for currency?” suggested Hermione.
“Well then, what will we bet with, Granger?”
Hermione thought for a moment. “How about…shots?”
“Shots?” Ron asked.
“Yeah. For those betting on any given game, they bet a certain number of shots. If they lose, they have to ‘pay up’ by taking those shots. Those who win, don’t have to. It’ll be like betting someone they can’t drink as much as someone else, except the bet is won by way of Exploding Snap games. The loser of the actual game also has to take a shot.”
Malfoy’s smile became devious. “Well, this’ll be easy,” he said. “I’m in.”
“So am I,” said Ron.
Seamus shrugged. “Why not? I can drink you all under the table anyhow.”
“Ha! We’ve got a bet right there,” Malfoy said. “Who’s got a pack of cards? We’ll need an unbiased dealer for each game.”
“I’ve got a few,” said Susan, who went to her room to retrieve them while everyone else set up a few tables and chairs for the action, and Hermione pulled Harry with her to get the libation provisions.
“If you’re about to ask me if I’m in love with Malfoy or something, save your breath. The answer is no.”
Hermione rolled her eyes as she found a few cups and transformed them into shot glasses. “No, I wasn’t going to ask you that. I’m just…worried about you, is all.”
“Here we go again. Hermione, I know you have this, like, built in ‘worry about Harry’ meter or something, but I’m fine. Really.”
“Well, Harry, ever since you came out to us, I’ve just been wondering is all. Wondering if maybe you’re falling for the ‘bad guy’ or something. Like an act of rebellion against the Wizarding populous, which just wants you to be their poster-boy for all that is good in the world.”
“Well, the Wizarding populous can fuck off. I’ll be no one’s poster-boy. Look, Hermione, it’s really sweet and all, you looking after me, but I don’t need looking after anymore. I don’t want looking after.”
“I know, I know. There’s been enough meddling in your life. I just love you, you know? You’re like a brother to me, and I only want you to be safe and happy.”
“I love you, too, ‘Mione,” Harry said with a smile. “But I am safe, and I am happy.” He pulled her into a hug.
“If you say so, I’ll believe you.” She pulled back and looked up at Harry. “You know Ron’s been kind of…not sure what to think about any of this, right? I mean, he was kind of upset about you dumping his sister, and now this… He’s worried Ginny turned you away from girls or something.”
Harry chuckled. “No, nothing like that. I do love Ginny, but…not enough. I know everyone expected us to be the perfect couple and get married and be just like my mum and dad, but it just wasn’t meant to be. I tried, but it just wasn’t there as much for me anymore. And then I was able to think about things without worrying about her, and I realised I like guys too.” He shrugged. “It was nothing she did at all.”
“Well, do tell Ron that. I really don’t think he gets it, I’m afraid.”
“Okay, I will, I promise.”
“You guys coming?” Seamus said, poking his head into the kitchen. “We need some alcohol in here!”
Hermione and Harry broke away, laughing. “Yeah, we’ll be there in a minute, Seamus,” Harry said, grabbing a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of vodka he found in the icebox.
“Oh, Harry, when will you ever remember that there are spells for carrying such things?” Hermione said, amused, and took out her wand, casting a levitation spell to guide all of the shot glasses she transfigured and the bottles of liquor and beer she found out behind her as she left the kitchen.
Harry chuckled. “I’m not really sure, Hermione. When people stop acting like I’m the son of God or something.”***
“Snap!” MacMillan said, setting down his final card, watching smugly as Pansy glared over the rest of her hand. Pansy’s set exploded in a small cloud of smoke and sparks, and the girl waved the smoke away from her face and stood.
“Hand over my shot, Granger,” Pansy ground out, obviously upset she lost, slamming her shot back with a snap of her head.
Draco stood and made his way over to the short line in front of Granger, who was acting as bookie for the evening. Potter sat next to her, sipping a beer, preferring not to take part in the festivities. Draco was lucky – he was a good gambler, so Pansy was his first loss, but he had bet six shots that she’d beat MacMillan, and by the sixth one downed, he realised that doing shots of hard liquor at such a pace was likely to have him on the floor in no time. Best to bet on a sure thing next.
“Hey Malfoy,” Potter said as he turned away from the bookie’s table. “Wanna bet?”
“On what, Potter?”
Potter seemed to think, but Draco could see stalling from a mile away. “Harry, do you really think you should be betting Malfoy?” Granger said to her friend. “He’s only lost once.”
Potter shrugged. “Don’t worry. This will be different.” He turned to Draco. “You and me. Poker.”
“Poker? Is that some Muggle game?”
Potter shrugged. “Yeah. But we’ll both be on the same level. I’ve never played before.”
“Harry, if you don’t know how to play, why are you betting him?”
Potter smiled a smile Draco didn’t like. “Because it’s all about bluffing. I’m betting Malfoy he can’t out-bluff me.”
Malfoy slapped his hand down on the table. “You’re on, Potter,” he said, knowing he’d already won. Potter couldn’t lie his way out of a paper sack.
“Perfect,” Potter said, showing his teeth. He turned to Granger. “You can explain the rules and the winning hands, right, Hermione?”
“Well, yeah, sure. But Harry-”
“Great. I’ll go find a pack of normal playing cards then,” he said as he stood, finishing off his beer. “Hey, Susan, you got any normal playing cards?”
“Er…I think so,” Susan Bones replied, showing Potter to another room.
“Wait, Harry’s going to play against Malfoy?” Finnigan said, pausing from setting up the next game of exploding snap. “I thought Justin was playing Ernie.”
“A different game, Seamus,” Granger said, obviously not liking the situation. “Justin and Ernie can still play if they want. Harry and Malfoy are playing poker.”
“Poker? What’s that?” asked Longbottom.
“It’s a game where each player is classically dealt five cards, and they have a chance to discard some of their hand to draw new cards, hopefully creating a winning hand. There are a few different combinations of cards that win, each one trumping another. The idea is to make your opponents think you have a high-playing hand so that they fold, dropping out of the game. If you think you have a better hand, you up the amount in the betting pool. Once the betting is over, the cards are shown, and the highest hand wins.”
“Sounds fairly simple,” Draco said, as Potter came back into the room.
“It is,” Granger said, with a glare in his direction, “but it requires skill and a lot of psychology.”
“Here you go, Hermione,” Potter said, handing her over a deck of standard playing cards.
“Harry, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, looking worried.
“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Potter said. “I intend on winning.”
“Don’t intend for long, Potter,” Draco said. “I’ll be the one watching you drink yourself under the table.”
“About that…” Potter said, and Draco’s heart picked up at his tone. “I was thinking of changing the stakes.”
“The stakes? To what?” Draco asked, wary.
“Well…if you win, you get to choose your…reward. Or my punishment. Whichever you like. If I win…I get a kiss. A good one. At least as long as last week.”
“A kiss? What? No. No. You had your gay fun last time, Potter. I’ve been having nightmares all week, no thanks to you.”
Potter had the audacity to laugh. “All the more reason for you to win, then, eh?”
Draco glared. He glared like he meant it. He imagined Potter’s head on a pike, and saw that as his clear goal. Nothing would stop him from winning. Nothing.
“You’re going down, Potter.”***
Harry smiled. He sure hoped so.***
They were playing best out of five. Two warm up games and four hands later, they were neck and neck, both winning two hands each. Draco was trying not to admit that there was a trickle of sweat inching down his neck. He had to win this hand. He had to.
He glared at Potter over his hand. He felt pretty confident in his ability to read people, Potter especially, and he’d picked up the game fairly quickly. Exploding Snap forgotten, the rest of their ex-classmates were avidly watching Potter, Granger and him, waiting for the outcome. And he was going to win, he could feel it. He had a full house, and as long as Potter didn’t have four of a kind or a straight flush, he had it. Potter would be his.
Since they weren’t using currency or alcohol to place their bets with, they had come up with a system: every sickle was one minute he had to kiss Potter, each game adding up to a final tally of minutes that he would have to kiss the git, assuming Draco lost this hand, which he wouldn’t. For every sickle Potter put down, Draco raised him his own, acting as hours that Potter would be bound by oath to do any manual labour around the manor that Draco saw fit. And Draco had some pretty awful ideas about what to make Potter do. And Potter had agreed to it, no problem. The moron.
Currently, Potter had eighteen hours of slavery owed to Draco, and Draco, twenty minutes of kissing Potter. But not for long. If he won, Potter would have to do whatever Draco told him to do for fifty hours, but if he lost, he’d have to kiss Potter for fifty-two minutes. Almost an hour! He’d rather gouge his eyes out with the shell of a diseased scarab than kiss Potter for that long. The stakes were considerably higher this hand, and everyone around them was holding their breath as they awaited the final outcome.
“So, Potter,” said Draco. “This is it. Your last chance to back out.”
“Not going to happen, Malfoy. Besides, if I fold, you win, and I can’t let that happen.”
Draco shrugged. “Your funeral.”
“Okay, both of you idiots, show your hands,” Granger said, sounding tired of the banter. Draco didn’t really blame her. He and Potter had been challenging each other for the better part of two hours.
“Moment of truth,” said Potter, and splayed his cards on the table. He had a full house, just like Draco, and Draco wasn’t sure what to say as he laid his own cards out on the table.
“Wait,” said one of the commoners. “They’ve both got full houses… Who wins, then?”
Granger bit her lip. “The player with the higher-ranking set of three wins. Draco, that’s you.” A litany of groans was heard around the room.
“Me? Really? Perfect.” Draco wasn’t one to jump around and crow out a victory, but inside he was surely doing a little victory lap. I won and Potter lost! Just how it’s supposed to be. He sneered at Potter across the table.
Potter’s expression was unreadable, which was odd, Draco thought. “Alright then, Malfoy. You’ve got me, for fifty hours,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand. Draco stood and took it, grinning. Potter pulled him close, over the table, so their noses were nearly touching. “But don’t think you’ve won. Not by a long shot.” Potter let go of Draco’s hand and stepped away from the table, leaving the room.
Amidst ominous “ooh”s from the crowd, Draco frowned, rubbing the feel of Potter’s hand in his away in confusion.
What had Potter meant by that? ***
“Potter, remember to really get down in there and scrub out the stalls until they sparkle! I made sure the house-elves left them alone, just for you. They felt so bad, they had to iron their hands, so don’t let their pain go to waste!”
Harry rolled his eyes as he scrubbed the brush over the horse stalls on the Malfoy estate. He was shirtless and sweaty, having spent a good three hours just getting all the manure and hay and grain and Merlin knew what out of the five stalls the Malfoys had on their property. They were large stalls, too, some of them; the Malfoy’s owned a few non-magical horses, but a few winged ones as well. Two Aethonans, if Harry remembered his lessons on winged horses correctly. Harry had to finish mucking the stalls, then he had to clean each horse, feed it, and put it back in the proper stall with fresh hay and grain. That didn’t include moving the bales of hay from the loft down to the stalls. Or re-painting the peacock hut. Or re-staining the stalls and white-washing the outside. And let’s not forget using the manure as mulch for the plants in the gardens. Fuck, this shit was hard. Most especially without magic.
But Harry wouldn’t complain. At least not out loud. For one, it’d only give Malfoy an ego boost he didn’t need, and Harry was perfectly capable of realising he had Malfoy right where he wanted him. Manual labour required Harry to wander around all sweaty and topless. And if he played his hand just right, Malfoy would be putty in his hands by hour ten. Thankfully, there were only so many hours in the day. Harry could have Malfoy flat on his back on a bale of hay by five in the evening, and by the time the sun sank below the horizon around six-thirty, Malfoy would be his.
It was reaching noon, and was rather balmy for spring, but Harry didn’t mind. However, Pansy Parkinson had something to say about it.
“Draco,” she drawled, “As amusing as it is to sit here under an umbrella sipping fruity drinks and watching Potter demean himself, it is rather boring. Can’t we do something else?”
“Really? You’re bored? I am far too amused to be bored. This is fantastic!” Harry could hear the glee in the blond’s voice from inside the stalls.
“Well, yes, for you.”
“What? Aren’t you having fun? I mean, look at him! He’s all sweaty and covered in horse shit, and doing my bidding! Isn’t this just the most glorious day ever?”
Pansy sighed. “Yes, but Goyle is starting to sweat too, which smells quite worse than manure, I can assure you.”
“Oh, you’re no fun anymore, Parkinson.”
“This is rather boring, Malfoy,” said Blaise Zabini in his deep rumble. “Potter can only work so fast without magic, and I, for one, am not going to sit here all day watching him shovel horse shit.”
“Well, no one is keeping you here, Zabini,” said Malfoy, disapproval or disappointment in his voice; Harry couldn’t quite be sure from where he was kneeling.
“Then I guess I’ll take my leave.” There was a scrape of a chair on stone and a few mumbled words.
“I guess I’ll go too,” said Goyle.
“Oh, Goyle, don’t let what Pansy said get to you. She’s just being a whiny slag today.”
“I am not! Goyle really does smell quite awful when he sweats.”
“You’re not very nice, Parkinson.”
“You don’t like me because I’m nice, Malfoy,” Pansy retorted.
“So, Goyle...I’ve been meaning to ask,” Malfoy said, turning to his friend. “What was it you told Potter last week? You know, before you let the leper kiss you?”
There was another scrape of a chair against the flagstones leading up to the stalls, but Harry couldn’t make out what Goyle said, only Malfoy’s reply.
“Oh, fine, you big buffoon! You’re far too touchy, you know! Be a man for Merlinsakes!”
There was a pause and then Pansy said, “Draco, you really ought to be nicer to him. He did lose his best friend, didn’t he?”
“I am well aware of who’s dead in my social circle, Pansy.”
Harry heard a third chair move, and supposed that Pansy got up to confront Malfoy.
“Draco Malfoy, you are such an ass! Look at you! Pushing all your friends away, left and right! And what’s this stupid thing with Potter, eh? You’re still acting like we’re back in Hogwarts, like we didn’t doom all those people we study with every day to die, like what we did never happened… Well, it did! Deal with it and bloody well move on! Potter is never going to be your friend if you keep playing this stupid game with him!”
“And what makes you think I want to be Potter’s friend?” Harry had expected to hear shouting from Draco, but his voice was low and hard to hear.
“Because it’s the same thing you’ve always wanted, ever since you realised he was going to Hogwarts with us on our first day. That’s why.”
Harry cleaned off the scrubbing brush he was using and shifted, taking the bucket of water with him. He positioned himself so that he could see as well as hear, peeking around the corner of the stall he was in as much as he could without being detected. Draco had grabbed Pansy and pulled her onto his lap, and was holding her there with his arms around her waist. They were glaring at each other, Pansy’s small hands pressing against Draco’s chest. Then he grabbed her wrists to cease her resistance, and hooked a hand behind her neck, pulling her in and kissing her deeply. Harry tried not to think about what the drop in his stomach meant; it felt like a branded coal burning its way through his gut. Jealousy. Wonderful.
Then Harry saw one thing he hadn’t expected. Draco opened his eyes and looked directly in Harry’s direction, as if he knew Harry was watching. And the bastard was enjoying mocking Harry, telling him that it didn’t matter how hard Harry had made him the other week, how well he had kissed; Draco still wasn’t going to fall for Harry’s charms.
Draco Malfoy thought he had Harry right where he wanted him, doing as he pleased, waiting for him to “give in.” But what Draco Malfoy didn’t know, was that Harry would be pleased to “give in.” Just not in the way Draco Malfoy would have imagined.***
Pansy had finally left around two, just after a late lunch, which Harry got none of, and just as the heat of the day was really starting to get to him.
“Do you mind if I take a break and perhaps get some food and water or something, Malfoy?” Harry asked, standing from the crouch he was in to re-stain the lower portion of the beam he was currently working on.
Malfoy cocked his head to the side, leaning against a beam with his arms crossed over his white shirt, watching Harry. “I suppose you’re not technically a slave. And yet, here is Harry Potter, dripping sweat all over my horse stalls and doing menial labour…” he said with a gesture. “Yes, things would not bode well if you suddenly died on me or something.”
“Gee, thanks, Malfoy.”
Draco smiled. “I do what I can.”
He called the one remaining Malfoy house-elf and asked it to bring something for Harry to eat. “Just some water and cucumber sandwiches should do,” Malfoy had said.
“I don’t know how you expect me to keep going on just cucumbers and bread, Malfoy,” said Harry, stretching his sore muscles.
“Oh, fine. Whine about it.” Once the elf had brought the water and sandwiches, setting them down on a saw horse used for saddling, Malfoy asked it to also bring some type of meat. “Whatever’s left over,” Malfoy told it.
“You are a paragon of hospitality, Malfoy,” Harry said right before he gulped down an entire glass of water, refilled it, finished that one off, and ate three sandwiches in about thirty seconds flat.
“My god, Potter. Do you still retain your manners from your poor upbringing? Or is this something Gryffindors never grow out of?”
“I’m fucking starving and parched, Malfoy. Shove off.”
“Touchy, touchy.”
Harry looked Malfoy up and down out of the corner of his eye while he downed another glass of water. “How are you not hot, Malfoy? Those pants must be torture, even if all you’ve been doing is sitting and watching me work.”
Malfoy glanced down at his dragonskin riding trousers. “You’d think so, eh? Cooling charm, Potter.” His smile was down right smug.
“And I don’t suppose I could get one of those, could I?”
“You mean some dragonhide riding trousers? Well, I suppose you could, if you really wanted to. Though I don’t know what you’d ever need them for.”
Harry waved his hand dismissively as he ate the cold chicken the house-elf had just placed before him. “I meant a cooling charm, but if you’d like to give me your trousers, I certainly wouldn’t be upset about that.” He paired it with a cheeky grin.
“Ah, no. You’ll not be going there, Potter. You had your fun last week. I’m not gay. Never will be. Best I crush your hopes now, than let you pine away for a love that will never be.”
Harry snorted. “I’m not sure where you got the idea that I loved you, Malfoy, but I can assure you, that’s not the case.”
“Isn’t it? Well excuse me if your sorry excuse for a poker face and your blatant come-ons weren’t some indication of your deep-seated feelings towards me.”
“Oh, I won’t deny I have feelings. But love? I’d rather eat that pile of manure over there that I just mucked out of your stalls than love you. Besides,” he said as he polished off the last of the cucumber sandwiches, “the only feelings I have right now are to see you hang.”
Malfoy just looked at Harry like he was trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle. Sighing, he pushed away from the beam and turned to walk back out of the stalls. “You are an odd one, Potter. You won’t forget to double-coat that sealant, will you?”***
At half-past three, Harry was surprised by the appearance of Malfoy’s mother, gliding down the flagstones. Draco stood and met her part-way, guiding her the rest of the way to the stalls.
“I hear from the house-elves that you finally fed our guest, Draco,” Mrs. Malfoy said.
“Of course, Mother. I am not a barbarian.”
“Quite,” she said, and turned to Harry, who was on a ladder, re-staining some of the high-beams in the stalls. “It’s commendable of you to help with such an arduous task, Mr. Potter,” she called up to him.
Harry smiled briefly down at the slender woman, who was standing in the light breeze wearing a flowing, pale green dress that looked light and airy. “Draco won the bet, fair and square, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said.
“So he did.”
Harry went back to his staining, but watched out of the corner of his eye as Mrs. Malfoy had a quiet exchange with Draco. His mother left after a moment, and Draco sat back down at his table, his brow dark in concentration.
I wonder what that was all about…***
“Draco, a moment.”
Draco looked away from Potter perched on the ladder and turned to his mother. “Yes, Mother?”
“Have you lost your mind?”
Draco probably looked as confused as he felt. “What do you mean?”
“Do not play dumb with me, dear child. What kind of fool not only bets Harry Potter, but sets his ‘punishment’ to be physical labour? On our estates! You would think the Malfoy heir wanted to have the entire Wizarding World see us hang!” Her voice was intense but quiet, and Draco felt his face heating.
“It’s just a bit of fun, Mother. And Potter agreed to it beforehand. Before I won.”
“You should have thrown the game.”
“I couldn’t. You don’t know what I would have had to do.”
“Whatever it was, it would have been better than this. What do you think were to happen if word got out that you had Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World mucking out stalls on our property? We’d be hanged! Stop this foolishness at once, and tell that boy to go home.”
“He won’t agree to it, Mother. He is an honourable man. If he thinks I won fairly, he will do the penance.”
“Then you go in there and help him. It’d be better for you to be seen making friends with him than treating him like a slave.” She leaned towards him, looking up slightly into his eyes; she was tall, but he was taller still, having gone through one last growth spurt after the war. “Do whatever you have to do, but don’t disgrace this family.” And with that, she was gone, floating away like a wisp on the breeze.
Draco sat down heavily in his chair. Do whatever it takes? Fuck. ***
“It’s getting dark, Malfoy. Perhaps I can come back tomorrow?”
“Rubbish, Potter. We can light the gas lamps. There will be plenty of light,” he said as he took his wand out of its sheath on his arm and waved it, the lights on the flagstone path and inside the stalls coming to life in a golden glow.
Harry shivered as a cool evening breeze flew through the stalls. It cooled his sweat and caused goosebumps to rise all over his flesh. “I’d really rather go home. You can’t keep me here. I’m not really your slave.”
“Yes, you could really leave if you wished, couldn’t you? Let it be known that no man can keep Harry Potter captive for long! You’ve proved that once before.”
“Leave the war out of it, Malfoy,” Harry said in dangerous tones.
Malfoy lifted up his hands in supplication. “You’ll hear nothing more from me.”
After a pause, in which Harry moved one bale of hay from his stack to one of the stalls, in preparation for bringing the horses back in, he asked, “Could I have a bucket of warm water, please? And a rag.”
“What on earth for?”
“To clean up. I’m rather dirty, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Malfoy’s eyes grazed over Harry’s form. “Yes…I had noticed.”
Malfoy’s tone caught Harry’s attention and he did a passing glance south. There were beginning to be too many shadows, and it could just be the way Malfoy was sitting, watching him, but it looked like there might be something…
A bucket of water suddenly appeared at Harry’s feet and he nearly tripped over it, a rag falling from netherspace and landing on his head.
“Clean up, Potter. I’ll get your things.”
Draco stood and walked the path back to the manor, while Harry took the cloth and dipped it in the water and began rubbing the grime and sweat off of his arms and face. Malfoy returned faster than Harry had expected, Harry’s robes and wand held safely in his arms. He placed them on the saw horse Harry had been using as a makeshift table.
“You missed a spot.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not done yet,” he said, scrubbing at a dirt smudge on his left side.
“You’ve got your wand back now. You could just use that.”
“I’d rather not peel off the top layer of my skin with a household cleaning charm, thanks.”
Draco sat down on an upturned bucket and leaned against the supporting beam behind it. “It was just a suggestion. I’m sure you have a few for me.”
“What, like not being a dick?” Harry said as he rubbed the back of his neck with the rough cloth.
“What can I say, Potter? I am a bit of an arse.”
“Only a bit? Well, let’s not be modest or anything…”
“Well, it’s not like you’re all daisies and sunshine all the time, is it? You’ve never been nice to me either.”
“Have you ever given me any reason to be?”
There was a pregnant pause, and then: “I suppose not, no.”
“Ooh, he can be honest. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“You know what, Potter?” Draco said, standing up, his cheeks turning pink, “Why not you be honest with me? You wanted me to win that poker game, didn’t you? You don’t mind being my little bitch because you think that if you kowtow to me, I’ll let you in my bed. Well, it’s not going to happen! I’m not gay! I hate gays! I think they’re disgusting and the end of proper pure-blood families! So you can just stop this charade and get the fuck off my property!”
Harry had just squeezed out the rag over his head, letting the water drip down his face and body and seep into his jeans.
“‘The end of proper pure-blood families’…” he repeated in thought, shaking his head a little and replacing his glasses. “You mean, besides giving a half-blood megalomaniac a shot at genocide? Hmm, yes, good reasoning, there, Malfoy.”
“Fuck off, Potter.”
“I’m not done washing.”
Draco stepped forward and grabbed the rag from Harry’s hand, throwing it in the bucket, water splashing on both their shoes. “Now you are. Leave!”
“I think you’re just afraid, Malfoy,” Harry said, turning to find his t-shirt amongst his things so he could clean it and put it on.
“Afraid? Afraid of what? I’m not afraid of anything.”
Harry thought of about a million contradictions to that statement that he himself had witnessed, but kept to one. “That you actually liked what happened the other week, and you think that it means the end of the Malfoy line – that you liked kissing me, and letting me get you off.”
“You know,” Draco said after a moment, “the Daily Prophet did always say you were delusional. And now I’m really starting to see that they were right.”
“C’mon, Malfoy. You know my blackmail was weak. I have no intention of ‘outing’ you.”
“There’s nothing to ‘out,’ Potter. I’m not gay.”
Harry put his clean shirt down. “Oh?” He backed Malfoy against the supporting beam behind him, kicking the bucket out of the way. Malfoy stepped back haltingly, putting up his hands, as if to ward Harry off.
Harry darted in quickly to pin Draco to the beam with his body and the blond paused in his struggles. “What are you doing?”
“This,” Harry said, leaning in for a kiss. Malfoy tried to turn his head away, but Harry’s hands cupped his face, and held him as their lips touched. Malfoy went with the kiss for a moment, but then Harry felt a sharp pain in his lip and jerked away. Malfoy had bitten him!
“Ow!” Harry put a hand to his lip, but it thankfully didn’t come back bloody.
“Next time, I draw blood,” Malfoy said darkly, glaring at Harry through his fringe.
Harry saw it as a challenge. With a flick of his wrists, Malfoy’s hands were tied together with a rope.
“Potter, what – Potter, release me this instant!”
He grabbed Malfoy’s hands and ducked between his arms, while Malfoy tried to struggle out of his grip and kick him away with his feet. A few bruises to the shins were nothing, Harry thought. He kissed Draco again, grabbing onto the blond’s hips and pressing his own into them, hoping to show him how turned on Draco made him feel, and was mildly surprised to feel something in return. Harry hadn’t been entirely sure if his hypothesis was correct until just then.
“See? You do like it,” Harry said against Draco’s lips, smiling.
“I do not, Potter. It’s just a natural reaction to being…to being kissed,” Draco replied, a little breathless.
Harry slid his hands north, guiding Draco’s arms up above his head. He pulled back just slightly, not breaking contact. “Or to being tied up?” Harry suggested, smirking as he hooked the rope that held Malfoy’s wrists together onto a nail that was above his head.
“What…?” Malfoy jerked his hands a little, realising he was caught. “Potter! Potter, what are you doing?”
Harry trailed his hands down Draco’s arms to his chest. “Taking advantage, what’s it look like?” he breathed against Draco’s mouth. He pressed a warm kiss to the lips before him, like a reassurance, and rolled his hips against Draco’s, who moaned.
“So this is what you meant by ‘you’d like to see me hang,’ is it?”
Harry grinned. “Yes.”
They both dove into the next kiss, and Harry grabbed Draco’s arse, wanting to feel the soft dragonhide covering it. He moaned into Malfoy’s mouth, and breathed sharply through his nose as Draco’s legs came up to wrap around his waist.
“You are a horrible liar,” Harry said.
“Liar? About what?”
“That you don’t love this. That you don’t love feeling me touch you and kiss you and rub myself against you…” Harry moved from Draco’s mouth to run a series of kisses down his jawline to his neck.
Draco gasped. “N-natural reaction, Potter.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Let me down.”
Harry pulled back and studied Draco’s face for a moment. It was flushed and pale at the same time; the blond’s hair was dishevelled and his lips were like bruised berries, bright red and glistening. His grey eyes shone like glass in the gaslight, the pupils slightly dilated, but they weren’t wild; they held Harry’s steadily.
“I’m not going to run off.”
“The fact that you said that is not reassuring.”
“But that’s what you’re wondering, isn’t it?”
“Why else would you want to be let down?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because my arms hurt? It’s not every day I’m hung up against a six-inch thick pole of wood by my wrists.”
Harry chuckled. “I’ve never told you this, but you’re really quite funny.”
“I’m guessing this is a new discovery for you? You didn’t find me so humorous in school.”
“I was too blinded by your overwhelming gitness,” Harry said, placing a kiss on Draco’s chin. He slid his hands up Draco’s arms, past his wrists, and to his hands, interlacing his fingers with Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s fingers half-curled to twine with Harry’s.
“I’ll let you down…”
“…If?”
“Hmm…no if, really. I’ll let you down because I want you to be comfortable while I suck your cock.”
Harry felt Draco shiver against him. “I’m guessing you like that idea?” Harry asked.
Draco turned his face away, trying to hide his expression no doubt, but Harry saw him bite his lip. So Harry dipped in and placed a breathy kiss against Draco’s neck, just below his ear. “I’ll bet you taste good,” he said, and Draco shivered against him again.
“I’m quite positive I do.” His voice was steady.
Harry chuckled. “You are so egotistical.”
Malfoy turned his head and looked Harry directly in the eye. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Harry cocked his head to the side. “On most days, yes. But right now, it only makes me want you more.”
Draco’s eyes shifted between looking at Harry’s mouth to looking into his eyes, and after a beat, the blond tilted his chin down and pressed his lips against Harry’s mouth, pulling him into a kiss, teasing Harry’s mouth with his tongue.
Harry released Draco’s hands and mumbled, “Hold on,” against his lips, and felt Draco tighten his hold on Harry’s waist. Using one hand on Draco’s arse and one on the rope tying his wrists together, Harry lifted Draco slightly, lips still pressed together, pulling the rope free of the nail.
Draco’s wrists dropped down behind Harry’s head as Harry pressed Draco against the beam, kissing him deeply. After a moment he pulled back and said, “You’re not trying to strangle me.”
Draco’s gaze was calculating. “My mistake. Would you like to be strangled? I hear that’s a kink. For some.”
Harry shook his head. “No. I just…”
“Didn’t really trust me not to do something?”
Harry felt embarrassed. “You have to understand, I like you, but I don’t trust you. Not yet.”
“Are you saying you could trust me?”
“I want to. But I’ll be honest, I know you’d only use it to your advantage.”
Draco looked disappointed. “Not everything I do is meant to undermine someone else, Potter.”
“I…” Harry was at a loss for words. Nothing he could say could take away what was already said, or correct it. He settled with, “I want to trust you.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to make you trust me,” Draco said.
Harry grinned. “It won’t be easy.”
Draco nipped at Harry’s lips. “I don’t like easy, Potter.”
Harry kissed him back. “Neither do I.”
Harry pulled away from the support beam and let Draco down. Continuing to kiss him, he guided the blond to a bale of hay, pushing him back until it hit the back of his knees and he sat down.
“Here? You mean to give me a blow job outdoors on a pile of hay?”
Harry grinned. “Yes. The house is too far away.”
“Well, aren’t you going to untie me?”
Harry shook his head and pushed at Draco’s shoulders. “Nope.” He kept pushing until Draco lay back, following him by straddling the blond’s hips and attacking his face with kisses.
“Potter, this is most unorthodox,” Draco said between kisses to his mouth.
Harry shrugged. “I don’t do things the normal way, Malfoy.” He pulled back and looked down at the blond. “Why? Do you need to be courted in a bedroom?”
Draco wrinkled his nose. “I’m not a bloody girl.”
“Well then. The stalls should be fine.” He punctuated the last word with a grind of his hips, causing Malfoy to gasp as his eyes slammed shut. Harry attached his mouth to a point about mid-way down Draco’s neck, and felt Draco’s bound hands trail up his chest and start pushing. Harry detached himself from the point of interest his mouth had and looked at Draco in confusion.
“Don’t leave a mark,” Malfoy said, panting. “I won’t be able to hide it from Mother when I go inside,” he offered at Harry’s hesitation. “Now when is this blowjob going to start? These trousers are kind of tight, and aren’t exactly made with stretchy material, Potter.”
Harry smirked. “You’re so needy.”
“I am not. You promised me a blowjob, and I’m trying to collect here.”
Harry quit with the pretences and trailed his hands down Draco’s torso to his riding pants, which were, indeed, straining against the bulge inside of them. He lightly teased a touch along the hard length just to see Malfoy’s reaction, which was as beautiful Harry had thought it would be. He pulled as gently as he could at the laces holding the front together before tugging the opening apart. Draco groaned at the small bit of relief, but Harry had to instruct him to lift his hips so he could tug the offending material down enough to free Draco’s leaking cock.
Harry fixed his eyes on it, his mouth parted and his breath shallow. He was aching in his jeans, and the sight of Draco’s cock was nearly enough to undo him. He grabbed his balls as well as he could and squeezed, wanting the need to subside just a little bit longer.
Draco’s cock looked different in the soft, warm glow of the gaslight than it had in Hermione’s darkly decorated and poorly lit bathroom, and then, Harry hadn’t the time to really look at it, but saliva pooled on his tongue as he looked at it now. Long, not too thick, pink and leaking and nestled in a thatch of curly golden blond hair. Perfect.
Harry took it in his hand and Draco shuddered under him. Harry’s tongue flicked the tip, causing a low moan to start in Draco’s throat. It continued as Harry took Draco into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue.
“Oh, Merlin…Potter…” Draco breathed, and Harry felt a thrill right down to his groin. God, did Draco taste good.
Harry worked his hand up and down Draco’s length as he sucked and licked. He slowly took more and more of Draco into his mouth, trying to be careful with his teeth, but he was getting far too excited and might have scraped once or twice. Draco didn’t seem to notice, only moaned louder as Harry’s tongue swirled and soothed the mark his teeth had made.
It wasn’t long, perhaps five minutes, but five minutes of the most glorious sounds and tastes and smells, and Harry clenched his fist in the bale of hay to keep from touching himself, but God, was he aching with want and need. Then Draco had come, almost without warning, just a tensing of his pale thighs, and a choked grunt, and he was shooting come down Harry’s throat. Harry tried not to choke, but it came too much, too quickly, and some of it dribbled down his chin.
He sat back, breathing hard and licking his lips, watching as Draco panted heavily and his beautiful prick softened in the afterglow. He was gorgeous, and Harry felt a strange contraction in his chest he didn’t want to identify.
He stood and crawled up Draco’s form to meet him face to face. Draco blinked up at him, looking a bit dazed, and then something on Harry’s chin caught his eye.
“Is that my spunk on your chin, Potter?”
Harry grinned. “Want to lick it off?”
“What? No, I…”
“It’s okay. You were right.” Harry leaned in close enough to brush lips with the other boy. “You do taste good.”
Draco groaned a little and kissed Harry, nibbling at the line of come on his chin. They kissed for a moment longer and then Harry pulled back enough to say, “God, I want to be inside you so badly.”
Draco stiffened. “What?”
Harry moved his kisses to Draco’s ear. “I want to fuck you, Malfoy. I want to be so deep inside you you’ll forget your own name.” He nibbled at Draco’s ear.
That was, until Harry found himself put ceremoniously on his ass. He looked up at Draco, who was trying to pull his trousers back up and tie them with his hands confined by the ropes.
“Malfoy?”
“No, Potter. Just – no. You’ll not be putting your…your… You’ll not be putting that in me!”
“But Malfoy-“
“No! I let this go too far. I can’t – I won’t – I’m not gay!” He exclaimed, finally giving up and standing. “Now untie me at once!”
“I…”
“Do it!”
Harry, still reeling and feeling rather hurt, stood and retrieved his wand from where he had discarded it on the floor earlier. He waved it at Draco’s wrists and they sprang free as the ropes disappeared, and Malfoy quickly tugged up his trousers, tied them haphazardly, and made for the open doors of the stalls. He walked briskly towards the manor, the gas lamps the only illumination, as it had grown quite dark outside in the interim.
He didn’t turn around or say anything else at all. Harry stood in the lit stalls, not knowing what to do or think. But he still needed to bring the horses inside from the pasture, so he slipped on his shirt, and grabbed a gaslight from the wall, going outside to do just that.***
“Potter, I thought my sudden departure earlier made it clear you were to leave.”
Harry didn’t look behind him, and was proud that he didn’t stiffen when he heard Draco speak.
“I still had work to do,” he said, continuing to brush Djaq, the chestnut Arabian in front of him.
“I can take care of the horses.”
“I’m almost done.”
After a pause he heard Draco say, “How’d you learn to take care of them? I wasn’t aware you’d been around horses before.”
“Your mother came out and showed me what to do,” Harry replied.
“Oh.”
“I haven’t washed them yet, just brushed and fed.”
“That’ll be fine. I’ll do it in the morning.”
“I thought the house-elves took care of the horses.”
Harry heard Malfoy walk up beside him and watched as his pale hands started petting Djaq on his left flank. The horse snorted, shaking his head.
“They do in some families. We’d rather handle them ourselves. We breed them, you know,” Draco said after a moment.
“Yeah, your mum told me.”
They were silent, Harry continuing to brush the horse as he had been taught.
“Look, Potter, about earlier-“
“You made yourself perfectly clear, Malfoy. I won’t touch you again.”
“That’s not what I-“
“It’s fine.” Harry stopped brushing Djaq and stepped away from the animal. “I think I’ll go now. If you could…”
“I’ll finish up,” Draco said, holding out his hands for the brush. Harry dropped it into his hand.
“’Bye, Malfoy.”
“Goodnight, Potter.”
Harry grabbed his robes and slipped them on as he made for the manor. He planned to thank Mrs. Malfoy for her help and hospitality before leaving through the front door to Apparate.
Once inside, Harry wandered around to a few of the main rooms, but didn’t find the mistress of the house. He was about to call for the aide of a house-elf when Draco appeared, stopping just inside the door that led to back of the house.
“Potter. What are you still doing here?”
“I meant to thank your mother, but it seems she isn’t around. It’s alright. I’ll thank her tomorrow.”
“You’re coming back?”
Harry shrugged. “You still won the bet, and I still have to finish staining and white-washing the stalls and the peacock hut needs to be painted. You still have me for thirty-six more hours, Malfoy.”
“I see.”
“Yes. So…I’ll just be going now,” Harry said, turning and walking towards the front doors. A part of him wanted Draco to call out to him, to tell him to stay, but it wasn’t until he was back home in Grimmauld Place that he realised it was never going to happen.***
Harry woke the next morning determined. He had been hurt by Malfoy’s sudden rebuff, but he knew that Draco had liked what had happened between them; that he had liked it and wanted more – he was just too set in his bigoted mindset to realise that what he wanted wasn’t a crime. That no one would care that he was gay – well, maybe his mother and father would, but that could be dealt with later – and that if he was going to be gay, which he really must be, than the only person he could be with was Harry. It was bound to get out sooner or later that Harry was gay himself, and once the hubbub of that died down, Harry would be able to offer some protection to Draco from those in the Wizarding World who would do him harm and think he had something to do with Harry’s proclivities. Because who would really try to get in Harry Potter’s way? Yes, it wasn’t something Harry was particularly keen on doing – using his fame – but if his feelings towards Draco and his hurt had told him anything, it was that he was willing to do whatever it took to prove to Draco that he was more than just some random fuck or that this was a phase. He wanted him, and now that Harry had the opportunity to finally do something just for himself, he was going to give it all his attention.
Smiling, he got ready for the day.***
“My dear, Draco, you’ll have to repeat yourself. I don’t think I heard you properly.”
Draco groaned and flopped back onto his bed, grabbing his pillow and holding it onto his face, hoping to suffocate himself. But Pansy was an utter slag, and would have none of it. She plucked the pillow from his head and smiled sweetly down at him.
“Draco?” she prompted sweetly, but her saccharine voice was just a ruse to get Draco to talk. And he didn’t want to. He couldn’t bear repeating it. He told her as much.
“Draco, just fucking tell me. Or else I will have to go on thinking whatever it was I think I heard, and you know I will tell all our friends, and won’t it be embarrassing if what I think I heard wasn’t really what I heard at all? So be a good lad, and just tell me.”
Draco huffed out a breath. “I let him give me a blowjob.”
Pansy sat for a second, studying his eyes. She tucked a golden strand of her hair behind her ear and sat back. “Nope, you did say what I think you said.”
Draco sat up. “And that’s it? No screaming? No yelling? No running to tell my mother? Because you know it will kill her. And I worry about her sometimes, with Dad away in Azkaban…”
Pansy shrugged. “Nope, none of that. What? You think I didn’t know you were gay? I mean, I’m a little surprised it took you this long to do something about it, and with Potter no less! No, this is wonderful,” she said, smiling. “It was getting a little ridiculous, you pretending to be straight with me…”
“What? Now wait just a minute, Parkinson! Let’s make things abundantly clear: I am not gay. You know how I feel about gays.”
“You hate them.”
“Precisely.”
“Isn’t that a little odd? Hating on yourself?”
“Pansy.”
“What? You’re gay, love. Get over it. Everyone else has. I’m even sure your mother wouldn’t be surprised.”
Draco stood, feeling upset. Why did everyone think he was gay? Or that for one second it was okay for him to be so? It was not okay.
“Pansy, you don’t seem to be listening to me.”
“I am listening just fine, Draco. You are denying your inner self. It’s quite plain.”
“Do you have any idea why I cannot be gay?”
“Oh, I have every idea of why you cannot be gay. I just don’t think they matter.”
“They don’t matter? Pansy, have you gone mad? My family! My bloodline! My social status! These things are now more important to me than ever!”
Pansy lounged back on Draco’s bed, raised up on an elbow. “I really don’t see what the problem is. With Potter, you’ll have social status, perhaps far better than you’ve ever had before, and you can continue your bloodline just fine. I could be your surrogate, even! I would do that, you know. They are making some outstanding progress with implanting embryos due to all the research that’s being picked up from Muggle-land and all that,” she said conversationally.
Draco stood there, dumbstruck. “You…surrogate…babies… You honestly think I could, or even would want to have babies with Potter!? You’re insane! That’s not possible! We’re both blokes for one, and for, well, for before one, I am not even gay! And I hate Potter,” he added, sullenly, crossing his arms.
Draco was saved having to continue this crazy conversation by a soft knock on his door.
“Draco, dear? Harry Potter is downstairs.”
“Coming, Mother,” Draco said, giving Pansy a good glare before storming out of his room.
What he didn’t expect to find, however, was Potter, wearing some Muggle tank top and shorts, smiling brightly at him, and bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child with too much energy. Something was up. Something not good for Draco. It was best he stay on his guard.
“’Morning, Potter. Come back for the torture, eh?”
“Well, I was thinking yesterday wasn’t so bad…” Potter said, trailing off, the look on his face stating quite plainly that he was thinking about how he’d… No. Draco would not think about it. It was bad enough he’d spent half the night wanking over the amazing blowjob Potter had given him the evening before, he wasn’t about to spend all day watching the speccy git work and get all sweaty and topless, and…
It was going to be a long day.***
By the end of the third hour, as Draco was enjoying chatting about gossip and other inane things with Pansy and sipping his iced lemon water, Draco realised something vital: if he didn’t want to think about how gorgeous Potter looked, nearly hanging from the rafters, staining wood in nothing but shorts and a scrap of a top, he really needed to just not watch him. Do something else, like going into his dark library away from all this sunshine, and decidedly not think about Potter. Study for his N.E.W.T.s or something.
But he had to sit here and make sure Potter did his work properly, no? Draco wouldn’t be able to properly boast about being able to lord one over on Potter if he didn’t sit here and watch him diligently, right? Right. So torture, it was, then.
“Hmm…I think I’ll retire to my house,” said Pansy, the traitorous wench.
“What? Why?”
Pansy stood. “Because I’m starting to get more conversation out of the flower bed. Honestly, Draco, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said in the last few minutes.”
“What! I have so. You were talking about how rabbits are infesting your property.”
“That was ten minutes ago.” She sighed. “Just go talk to him. I mean, even he can’t be daft enough to not know you’ve been staring at him for the last several minutes.”
“I haven’t been – well, I need to, don’t I, to make sure he’s doing his work properly,” Draco insisted.
“Yes, hun. Sure.” Pansy rolled her eyes, and stepped over to him. “Have a good Sunday, Draco.” She leaned down, and he tipped his chin up, expecting a proper kiss, but got one on the forehead like a child instead. He scowled.
“Oh, do look up, Draco,” she said as she backed away. “Who knows, perhaps Potter will give you another blowjob in the evening if you’re good.”
Draco’s jaw dropped, and he glanced back at where Potter was working in the rafters. Had he heard? Fuck, Pansy was a loud cow. Standing, he shouted, “You are a horrible friend, Pansy Parkinson, and I shouldn’t like to see you back here for some time!” Okay, so it was a terrible comeback, but he had to say something.
All he heard was Pansy’s laughter, filtering back to his ears as she walked away.***
It was getting late, and Potter had finished staining the inside of the stalls, and was now nearly done white-washing the outside. He was still fully clothed but sweaty, a drop of staining liquid on his shorts, smears of white on his arm and nose, and the git didn’t seem to notice.
Draco’s mother had joined them for lunch, which seemed normal enough, but there was something in the way she was looking back and forth between him and Potter that was a little odd, and Draco wondered if perhaps she had heard some of his conversation with Pansy earlier. Merlin help him, he hoped not. He was freaked out enough over the situation; he didn’t want to add that kind of discussion with his mother to his list of things to worry about. He was hoping it would all just go away and he could marry Pansy and pretend like this had never happened.
Except it was happening, and he tried to distract himself with a book, and even forced a house-elf to play Wizarding Chess with him, for real, not making the elf let him win, but the slowly tanning figure in white and khaki covered in splashes of paint was awfully distracting.
“Okay,” Potter said, stepping back from the stalls. “I think I’m done with that.”
Draco stood and walked over to stand beside him, looking at his work. “Yes, I suppose it is sufficient. You should go get the horses from the pasture. They need feeding.” Then he turned away and went back to his book.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Potter walked out to the pasture behind the stalls and reined each horse in, petting them, and calming them with words, letting them eat grain from his palm. The Aethonan’s were acting a bit skittish, though, so Draco got up to go help Potter out before he got trampled. Not that he cared if the git got hurt, but if he got hurt on the Malfoy Estate, there’d be hell to pay.
“Woah, woah,” Potter was saying to Melinda, the female.
“Melinda,” Draco called to the horse, clicking his tongue. “It’s okay, girl,” he reassured, approaching the animal slowly, motioning for Potter to stay still. The winged beast snorted, throwing its mane, stepping daintily from hoof to hoof. As Draco approached, the horse quieted its steps, breathing a little fast, but calming down considerably. Draco reached her and placed his hand on her nose, rubbing it reassuringly. “It’s okay, girl, that’s it…”
“You have a way with her, Malfoy,” Potter said, stepping forward to take her reins, and smooth his hand down her flank.
Draco shrugged. “She knows me. She’s my favourite of all the horses we’ve bred. She’s probably just feeling a little off because it’s the time of year we start breeding her.”
“Oh.” They turned to walk her back towards the stalls.
“You ever ridden on a winged-horse before, Potter?”
“Yes, actually. The Thestrals. At Hogwarts.”
Draco blinked. “Really? When was that?”
“Erm…the night my friends and I went to the Ministry. In fifth year.”
It took Draco a moment, but he got it. “Oh. That was the night…”
“Yeah.”
“So was it weird? Riding them when you couldn’t see them?” Draco said, trying to change the subject quickly.
“Oh, I could see them just fine, though most of my friends couldn’t. Apparently, that was terrifying for Hermione,” Harry chuckled, guiding Melinda into her stall.
“You could see them? But I thought they could only be seen by those who’ve seen death.”
“They can. I’d seen death by fifth year. The Tri-Wizard Tournament.”
Draco thought for a moment. Oh. “Diggory,” he said, more a statement than a question.
Harry nodded. “Cedric, yes.”
Harry closed Melinda’s gate and took off her reins, hanging them up next to her stall. Then he scooped out some grain, holding it to her mouth. “So how is it they don’t fly away?” Harry asked.
“A charm. They can fly around, but if they go too high or too far, they are automatically pushed, like an invisible force, back within the bounds. They learn quickly, though. About how far their limits are.”
“Ah.” Harry rubbed Melinda’s nose as she ate from his palm, and poured some more grain in her feeding trough, and then prepared the stall for Michelangelo, her mate.
“Hey, Potter?”
“Yeah?” Harry said as he grabbed the pitch fork.
“What was it that Goyle told you? Just before you kissed him?”
Harry smirked, cocking his hip a little as he used the pitch fork as a leaning stick. “You really want to know?”
Draco nodded. “Yes, that is why I’m asking.”
“You really, really want to know?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes. I really, really want to know.”
Harry shrugged, and hefted the fork in his hands. “He told me he’d never been kissed before.”
Draco cocked his head to the side in confusion. “That’s it?”
Harry nodded as he scooped up some hay. “That’s it.”
“Oh.”
Harry chuckled as he walked the hay to the stall. “Expecting something more scandalous?”
Draco felt heat blossom in his cheeks. “No.”
“Liar.” But it was said with humour.
Draco decided not to answer as he watched as Harry set up Michelangelo’s stall, scooping up some more loose hay with the pitchfork and placing it in the stall. Then he poured water into Michelangelo’s water trough. The muscles in Harry’s arms were toned and lithe, and his shoulders were strong. Draco could see that Harry was starting to tan nicely from all the sun, and his face had more freckles than he remembered before. But then Draco realised that he was actually comparing the amount of Potter’s freckles from one day to the next and shook himself loose of the thoughts.
Taking out his wand, he turned on the gaslights in the stalls. “It’s getting dark. You finish up in here, I’ll go get Michelangelo.”
“Alright,” Potter replied.
Draco strode out of the stalls and found Michelangelo on the far side of the pasture, lying down in the grass.
“Tired, old boy? You haven’t done a thing today but stuff yourself with grass. C’mon now.” He took the stud’s reins and coaxed him up. He was large, well bred, and perfect for breeding. He and Melinda produced perfect offspring.
He led the horse in a trot back to the stalls, hoping to get the horse out of its lazy stupor. It wouldn’t do to have him go lazy on them. He’d be no better than a show pony for the kids at the fair if they let him go. He had a few more good years of breeding in him.
When he got back to the stalls, he stopped just outside, hiding in the shadows. Potter was standing in the middle of the space, without his specs on, topless, wiping the sweat from his body with his tank top. Then he reached down and took a bucket full of water and upended it on his head, letting it soak him and splash to the floor. The brunet sighed as the water ran down his body, as if the cool water provided some form of relief, and then shook his hair out, nearly startling the horses with its spray.
Draco started forward, trying to hide his erection with Michelangelo’s reins. “You shouldn’t do that. You’ll startle the horses.”
Potter started. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Draco thought he could almost see a blush in the dim light.
“Just be more careful.”
“Sorry.”
Draco pulled Michelangelo into his stall and closed it, taking off his reins, and setting him up with some dinner. He felt a presence behind him and as he turned to face Potter, the brunet swept in and took hold of Draco’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly.
Draco flailed for a moment and backed into Michelangelo’s gate. He pressed himself against it, hoping to just not respond to Potter, so that maybe the jerk would get the hint, but his body had different ideas. He used the gate as leverage to push bodily into Potter, wrapping his arms around the slick torso, pulling Potter to him as he found himself kissing back.
Potter pulled back and shared a lustful look with Draco before wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck and resumed kissing him, sweeping his tongue into Draco’s mouth. Draco tried to cling to Potter, but his wet skin was making it difficult to find purchase. He felt like his world was being devoured, like a wild fire was running rampant in his brain, his body, and Potter was the source of it. And it was scary, oh hell, it was frightening, but it felt so good, and Draco didn’t really know what to do with it but cling to it and hope it didn’t burn him.
Potter started walking backwards, still kissing Draco, and Draco followed him. The other boy led him to the loose pile of hay and dragged Draco down on top of it with him. Breaking their kiss he asked, “Wand?”
Draco looked at him confusedly for a moment, but pulled his hands out from under Potter and revealed the sheath on his left forearm, pulling his wand out hesitantly.
“Something more comfortable,” Harry said before Draco could ask him what he intended to do with Draco’s wand.
Draco tried not to think too long on it – thinking was highly overrated, he decided – and transfigured the pile of hay into a mattress, complete with pillows and a sheet set.
Harry chuckled. “You honestly think we’ll need the sheets?”
Draco shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to scar the poor horses with your ugly arse.”
“You haven’t seen my arse. You have no idea if it’s ugly or not.”
“I’m assuming.”
“Then you’re an arse.”
“Quite,” Draco replied, before kissing Harry deeply.
They kissed for several long moments, Draco fitting his thigh between Harry’s and rubbing it against Harry’s cock. Harry moaned and arched up into him, and Draco felt power like he’d never felt before. It was amazing that he could have such control over Potter like this. It almost made Draco re-think his stance on being gay. Wanting to kiss Potter and get amazing blowjobs from him meant nothing more than he was horny and Potter was willing.
Then Potter turned them so that he was hovering over Draco and started slowly peeling away Draco’s clothes, starting with his shirt. Once Draco’s chest was exposed, Harry stopped and fingered the scars left over from the curse that had caused them.
“I didn’t know what it would do, you know.”
“I’ve long since given up getting revenge on you for that, Potter.”
Potter then leaned in and kissed Draco sweetly, like an apology. He continued taking Draco’s clothes off, Draco helping him and not really thinking about why, and then he was finally naked, and Potter was looking at him with something like reverence in his eyes.
“Merlin, you’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you for stating the obvious, Potter,” Draco replied. “Must you always be so mushy?”
“I can’t help it,” Harry said, kissing him. “I’m a mushy kind of guy. What would you rather? I could talk dirty, if you want.”
Draco almost laughed. “It’s just a good thing I’m an arse enough for both of us.”
“Good thing,” Potter mumbled as he kicked off his shoes and fiddled with the button his own shorts, pulling them down along with his pants.
A sudden nervousness started in Draco’s belly at seeing Potter naked, above him. He looked…well, he looked good, if Draco were being honest with himself, which he wasn’t, because he wasn’t gay, and he really wasn’t sure what Potter planned on doing with his nakedness, as Draco was perfectly happy with another blowjob, if Potter would be so kind…
He actually thanked Merlin, as a minute later, he received his wish, which was Potter sucking deeply on his cock like it was a favoured lolly. Draco moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, and he barely even noticed what Potter was doing as a hand caressed his balls, and slowly made its way back to his…
Then Potter was entering a finger inside of him – a finger! – and rather than feeling terribly unpleasant, it rather felt sort of good, but that could be the talented mouth on his cock playing tricks with his mind. It couldn’t possibly feel good to have body parts up inside his arsehole, but there it was, and a solid truth of Draco’s world was shattered forever.
But then Potter put in another finger, and that was a bit too much.
“Stop! Stop! No, wait, keep going… Oh, Merlin…” Draco mumbled, not knowing what to do.
Potter let go of Draco’s cock. “There a problem, Malfoy?”
“I…I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “It feels…”
“Odd?”
“Yeah.”
“Here, let me…” And Potter removed his fingers and grabbed Draco’s wand, casting some kind of spell.
“How’d you do that? My wand…”
Harry shrugged. “I managed to steal your wand before…maybe that means you could use mine,” he offered, before pushing his two slicked fingers back inside Draco, the blond moaning at the sensation.
Harry moved his fingers shallowly for a moment before trying deeper, twisting them or something, drawing out a scream from Draco.
“Did-did that hurt?” Harry asked, sounding worried.
“No…no,” Draco panted, trying to breathe. “No, it decidedly did not hurt,” he said.
Harry grinned. “Good.”
Then Harry went back to slowly finger-fucking him and sucking on his cock and Draco didn’t know what to do with himself. It really shouldn’t have felt so good if he wasn’t gay, right? But then the pressure built up, and Harry touched that something inside of him, and he was coming, white and black and coloured patterns bursting behind his eyelids as he arched off the bed.
Harry was grinning, and as Draco watched, he took Draco’s wand and cast that spell again – a lubrication spell, he guessed – and watched as Harry stroked himself. Draco was too busy coming down from the post-orgasmic high, and paying far too much attention to how delicious Harry’s cock looked to realise what he was doing before it was already too late.
Harry gently spread Draco’s knees farther apart, and with one hand guided his glorious-looking cock to Draco’s arse, pushing just inside while Draco’s mind suddenly snapped in place as pain took over.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Harry said, leaning down and kissing Draco, trying to kiss away the pain or something, Draco imagined. But it hurt.
Draco grabbed onto Potter’s biceps, squeezing tightly, scraping some of the dried white paint off with his short fingernails. Potter was thrusting shallowly, going deeper every time – deeper than he fingers had – if the pain was anything to go by. Draco was tossing his head from side to side, but finally, he could feel the brunet’s balls and thighs flush against him. Harry cupped his face and kissed his trembling lips, and then some wetness on his cheeks, and that was when Draco realised he was crying. Oh Merlin, he’d never live this down.
“I’m not gay,” Draco finally managed to get past his throat, turning away from Potter and wincing from the pain.
“Funny you say that, what with me buried so deep inside of you.” Potter’s voice was a little mocking, but it was gentle. He kissed his temple. “Don’t worry, it’ll feel better soon. I’ll make it feel good. I promise.”
“Nope… No, this can never feel good,” Draco said, determined to hate this.
Potter started to move, fucking him slowly. He showered Draco’s face and lips with kisses, and mumbled platitudes, but Draco didn’t hear any of it. He just kept thinking, when does this get good? When?
After a few minutes of this litany, Potter did something – Draco had no idea what – but it caused the blindingly-white pleasure from before to show itself again, and Draco tensed up, which sort of hurt, but then he relaxed a little, and oh, did that feel good.
He finally opened his eyes to see Potter looking at him and smiling softly. “Was that it?”
“Was what what?” he said, pretending to be dumb.
Potter shifted once more, and Draco gasped as the most glorious sensation came over him again.
“That,” Potter said simply.
Draco glared. “Stop being cheeky and fuck me,” Draco said, and watched as Potter bit his lip, closing his eyes briefly before he started moving his hips again, at first slowly, obviously building up a rhythm, but then in earnest, and Draco found himself scrabbling to find purchase on Harry’s slick back.
Harry was panting heavily into Draco’s ear, and it wasn’t perfect – Harry didn’t touch that wonderful spot every time – but fuck would Draco be denying that it wasn’t fucking fantastic.
Harry smashed a kiss into Draco’s mouth, and Draco kissed him back hungrily, delving inside Harry’s mouth with his tongue. Harry hooked a hand under Draco’s shoulder, using him as leverage as he sped up, fucking him faster and faster.
“Oh god, oh Draco, fuck…”
“Come, Potter. Come on…fuck me…” Draco didn’t know what he was saying, but whatever it was, it was working, because Harry was coming, shouting out harsh breaths, slamming into Draco hard three times before finally collapsing on top of him.
They lay there, breathing heavily for several long moments before Harry finally shifted and rolled off of Draco, slipping out of him in a sticky mess.
Draco shifted, wincing. Oh great. That’s going to hurt real bad in the morning… It was almost as if he had just ridden a horse for the first few times…muscles he’d forgotten he’d had were already starting to protest.
Well, I guess I did just ride a horse for the first time. Bloody hell.
“You okay, Malfoy?” Potter asked, his chest still heaving.
“I think I’ll be fine, Potter,” Draco said, wondering when he’d lost his mind, so he could request a time-turner from the Ministry and go back and find it.
Potter rolled towards him and rose up on one elbow. He looked up and down Draco’s body and said, “You really are beautiful.”
Draco scoffed and sat up, turning away to hide the wincing. “God, you really are one of those touchy-feely gays, aren’t you?” he said as he gathered up his clothes, and went about slipping his shirt back on.
He felt Potter sit up behind him. “You’re one to talk, considering you just got fucked in the arse and liked it, Malfoy. Talk about pot and kettle.”
Draco twisted around and glared. “Fuck you, Potter. I didn’t ask you to stick your prick in places it doesn’t belong. And I never like to cuddle after sex,” he proclaimed, knowing that Potter would never know it was a bit of a lie. He didn’t mind cuddling, but it was usually with a nice, soft, curvy girl, not…not Potter.
“You fucking wanted it, Malfoy, don’t you even deny it. You’ve been staring at me all day with a hard-on the size of France, and if you didn’t want it so badly, why didn’t you stop me?”
“Well, I would have, but you sort of caught me off guard.”
“What, so are you saying I raped you?”
Draco jerked back, a little shocked. “N-no. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying-“
“Saying what? Just saying what, Malfoy?” Potter was looking up at him with a glare that probably could have killed a hippogriff in its tracks.
Malfoy stood up and shoved his trousers back on, picking up his wand, its sheath, and his boots. “I don’t know why I thought… You’re a fucking prick, Potter.”
“Pot and kettle, Malfoy!” Potter mocked.
“Get the fuck off my property.”
“I’ll be glad to!” Potter yelled, startling the horses, and gathered up his things, shoving on his shoes and stalking back to the manor for his wand.
Draco sat back on the bed, upset. What the fuck just happened? ***
This was by far the most awkward situation he had ever been in, he decided.
Study sessions were being held at the manor that week, which Draco had oh-so-wonderfully forgotten over the course of his tumultuous weekend, and so here Potter was, in his house, again, looking pissed off and like some fucking god of wrath, and it was turning Draco on from across the room. Unfortunately, the rest of his classmates were also here, as were Potter’s Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, who were glaring daggers in Draco’s direction like they actually knew what had happened last night. But they couldn’t know, could they? Surely, Potter wouldn’t have… But it looked like he had, so while he was turned on beyond belief by Potter’s damning looks, he was also fighting off embarrassment, hoping his face wasn’t turning blotchy with emotion. It wouldn’t do to show the enemy just how much the situation was affecting him.
They had chosen the manor that week so that they had plenty of room to do some practice for the practical curriculum. They were currently in the ballroom, paired off and practising some of the more complicated shielding charms.
“Draco, if you keep staring, everyone’s going to notice.”
“…what, Pansy?” Draco said, turning back to his sparring partner.
The girl rolled her eyes and moved closer to him. “You’re staring. People are going to start wondering why it is you find Potter so interesting.”
“What?” Draco scoffed. “I’m not staring at Potter, I’m merely…watching out for the draperies! Yes, that’s it. Those drapes could catch fire at any time, I think, what with these spells zooming about and everything.”
Pansy shook her head. “You know as well as I do that your mother put up protection charms on everything in the house to protect it from us for the week.”
Draco sighed. “I know, I know.”
“Then what’s the deal?” Pansy asked, gesturing for Draco to follow her over to a quieter corner of the grand room.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he said, leaning against the wall.
“Would you rather I torture it out of you? Now, come on. Tell me what happened yesterday to make things so interesting between you and Potter.”
“Oh, no… I will not be adding this to your rumour-mill, Parkinson. And it’s not interesting. It’s fucked up, is what it is.”
“You know I won’t really tell a soul if you don’t want me to, Draco. We’ve known each other for how long, now? You don’t need to buy my loyalty. You’ve already got it.”
Draco sighed. “I know. It’s just… It’s really fucked up, Pansy. I think…I think I might have really messed things up.”
Pansy actually looked a little surprised. “Draco, are you actually admitting that you might have done something wrong?”
“Yes, Pansy,” Draco ground out.
“So tell me, what was it you fucked up?”
“I…well, Potter and I, obviously.”
“Yes, but how?”
Draco watched the Golden Trio from across the great hall. Granger was instructing Weasley on his wand technique, and Potter was ignoring them both, looking out the large windows into the gardens, beyond which lay the pasture, in which, Draco knew, you could see the horses grazing and flying around, if from a distance.
“We had sex.”
“What?! ” Pansy screeched, effectively halting everyone’s practice.
Draco glared at his friend and grabbed her arm, dragging her out into the hallway. “Nothing to see here, everyone. Go back to your spell-casting.”
Once out of the ballroom, with the door shut firmly behind them, Draco turned on Pansy and fixed her with a stern glare. “You fucking slag, Pansy.”
Pansy blinked. “Well, in my defence,” she said a little blankly, “you kind of caught me by surprise… Really? You had sex with Potter?”
“My god, Pansy, you make it sound like a scandal.”
“Well it is, isn’t it? Wow…I didn’t think…I mean, it’s no surprise about you, but I didn’t think you two would…and so soon…”
“Pansy, you are giving me a headache. Just…go back inside and…I don’t know. Forget to put a shield charm up when someone tries to hex you or something.”
“Who was on top?”
“What?! I am – that’s not even – Go away! You’re no friend at all!”
“Oooh, you guys fought about it, didn’t you? That’s why you’re both so upset…”
“No, Pansy that’s not why… You know what? I’m not talking about this anymore. Really, go away before I hex you.”
Pansy laughed. “You know what? The world will be better with you and Potter fucking. Less proprietorial damages.” And with a hearty chuckle, she ducked back into the ballroom, hopefully to be hexed into oblivion, if Draco had any luck.
Sighing, he leaned against the wall and bowed his head. He had stayed up most of the night trying to figure out what to say to Potter, if anything, but nothing came to mind that didn’t, in some form or another, wind up with one of them hexed when he played it out in his head.
The door to the ballroom opened, and Draco looked up as Potter materialised from behind the door.
“The restroom this way, Malfoy?” Potter asked shortly, jerking his head down the hall in the opposite direction than Draco was standing.
“No, actually, it’s this way,” Draco said, gesturing past him. “Last door on the left. Hey, Potter,” he said as the boy passed him, but Potter didn’t slow down, didn’t stop at all. He just went into the bathroom as if Draco wasn’t even there.
A few minutes later, he emerged, and Draco promptly grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the bathroom.
“Malfoy! Let go of me!”
“No,” Draco insisted, pushing him back away from the door, before closing it and locking it shut with a powerful charm.
“Malfoy, let me out of here,” Potter growled, looking wrathful, and Draco felt his cock jump at Potter’s tones. How could he have not realised just how fucking hot Potter was when he was ready to kill something?
“No, you need to listen to me,” Draco said.
“No, I don’t.” Potter moved to push past Draco, but Draco grabbed onto his shoulders and manoeuvred him against the door.
“It’d take you hours to figure out how to unlock that charm, Potter, so you’re kind of stuck with me,” he said as Potter struggled.
“What the fuck do you want, Malfoy? How about you tell me, straight up, so we can stop playing this stupid game.”
“I want this,” Draco said, pressing Harry against the door and kissing him, pushing his hips into Harry’s so he could feel how he affected Draco. “I want you,” he said as he pulled away, hoping Harry could see how much he meant what he was saying.
Harry was panting hard, his pupils dilated; his hands limp at his sides. “You’re…certain,” he questioned, though it sounded more like a statement, trying to give Draco an out he didn’t want.
Draco nodded. “I don’t…I don’t know how it’ll affect everything, but I know what I want. And I get,” he emphasised, “what I want.”
Suddenly, Draco found his back pressed against the door, and his mouth was being plundered by Harry and his wicked tongue. Draco fisted his hands in Harry’s robes and pulled him as close as he could.
“You know what they say about love and hate, right?” Harry said against Draco’s mouth, pulling at his outer robes.
“You mean the fine line in between? Yeah, that’s rubbish. There’s a canyon an earth-wide between love and hate,” Draco replied, pulling at Harry’s own clothing. “I had to cross it. It’s huge.”
“Well, yes, that, but what I mean to say is that they both make for fucking fantastic sex.”
Draco groaned, and pushed Harry’s shirt off his shoulders. They devoured each other’s mouths with a desperateness that stunned Draco in its intensity. It was as if they were just trying to get from one moment to the next without killing each other, and this was the only way to do it without destroying Malfoy property.
Harry pulled Draco away from the door and up against the sink, pulling his robes off, and pulling his shirt tails out of his belt from behind. Draco helped him by undoing his belt buckle, and quickly dropping his trousers and pants. Harry’s hand fisted in the back of Draco’s shirt, pushing it up, and then Draco felt Harry pressing against him, just nestling his hard cock against Draco’s arse.
“Do you need prep?” Harry asked.
“I…I probably should, but god, quickly,” Draco replied, lowering his head and bracing his arms on the basin.
He heard Harry cast the lubrication spell, and felt him enter two fingers right at once into Draco’s body. Draco tensed, but breathed through the intrusion, still feeling a bit sore from the night before. Harry worked his fingers in and out for a minute, before adding a third finger.
“Merlin, Potter, now, I need you now.”
Draco looked up into the mirror above the sink, and watched with wide and startled eyes, as Harry slicked himself before lining himself up and pushing swiftly, all the way into Draco. Draco watched the pain on his face and the bliss on Harry’s and they stayed there for a moment, Draco breathing through the pain and watching as the lines on his faced smoothed. Harry looked at him from over his shoulder, catching his gaze in the mirror. He placed a calloused hand on Draco’s hip to brace himself, the other one coming forward to interlace with Draco’s on the sink rim. Then he started to move.
Draco moaned, realising all of his fantasies about this happening again were nothing compared to the real thing, and he used the sink as leverage to push back into Harry, who groaned and sped up his movements. They fucked like that for a few minutes, and all Draco could think was, Perfect.
“Oh, god, Potter…Harry…fuck…” Draco breathed, and Harry pushed into him harshly, the hand that was intertwined with Draco’s coming up to rest on his shoulder for more leverage.
They watched each other in the mirror, and when Harry came a few minutes later, Draco thought he’d never seen anything so utterly beautiful and erotic, Harry’s face tipping back to expose his neck, and his mouth forming an ‘o’ of the utmost bliss. He rode out the waves of his orgasm, thrusting shallowly as his prick softened in Draco’s arse.
Harry pulled Draco away from the sink by his chest, making him lean back into Harry. Then he took a hold of Draco’s achingly hard cock and stroked him quickly and roughly, jerking him as he breathed harshly into his ear.
“God, Draco, you’re so fucking hot… So beautiful. I want to fuck you all day… Fuck, come. Come on, baby, come for me.”
If it wasn’t Harry’s quick work, it was his words, as Draco came all over his lover’s hand, some shooting away to hit the sink and mirror. Draco’s back arched and his head fell to rest on Harry’s shoulder. Harry pumped Draco’s spent cock a few more times before taking his hand away to turn Draco’s chin towards him, kissing him awkwardly, but feverishly, like none of the passion had left, despite having just orgasmed.
“God, Draco,” Harry breathed into his ear as they leaned forward again, and Draco braced his arms against the sink.
Harry slipped out of him in another sticky mess and slowly turned Draco around, leaning into him and pressing sloppy kisses against his mouth.
“Harry, I…”
Harry pulled back, looking Draco in the eyes. He looked so dishevelled, so completely undone, Draco was already feeling the stirrings of another hard-on in his belly.
“Yeah, Draco?”
“I…I don’t know. I’m afraid I’ll say something and you’ll hate me again.”
Harry smiled. “I never hated you. Well, I mean, not after last night. Before, a year ago, maybe. But now, I don’t. In fact I… Well maybe I…” Harry trailed off.
“Yeah, maybe me too,” Draco said, smiling and capturing Harry’s mouth in his. They kissed lazily for a few minutes before Harry broke the kiss.
“Well, maybe even if we’re fighting, it will be okay.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Because I hear make-up sex is the best. So says my satisfied libido.”
Draco chuckled. “My libido would have to agree.”
“Merlin save us, our libidos are agreeing with one another.”
Draco laughed and pulled Harry closer kissing him. “I am perfectly fine with that, as long as my ego gets to stay on top.”
Harry smiled. “I think my ego can arrange that. Perfect, then.”
Draco smiled. “Yeah. Perfect.”
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