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Blaise and Ginny’s New Year’s soirée was— well, it was fine. Uninspired. Ron and Hermione were long gone— parenting obligations, how convenient— and Harry was left standing around, eating prawn cocktail off a very tiny gold plate with a very tiny gold fork while listening to Blaise gossip.
No one would notice if he Apparated home. Blaise was occupied with the Slytherin news circuit. Ginny was looking cosy with Pansy Parkinson. Malfoy, who he usually chatted to, was in Bulgaria, and very occupied with his boyfriend. Harry scowled into his drink.
Harry had no prospect of pulling anyone— he might as well go home and have one off with himself. Gods, that would be… really nice, right about now. Wrap his hand around his cock and ring in the new year with a wank. Better by far than standing around in Blaise’s cavernous parlour, eating prawns because it was the only food he recognized.
He watched Blaise carefully, mulling over if he needed to thank him for the invitation. Malfoy would know what to do, but he wasn’t here, was he? The twat. Parties were horrible without Malfoy. Malfoy was always posh and pretty and showing off, hell-bent on bothering Harry at every function they attended in a way that made Harry feel warm and— well, fond.
Harry supposed he’d just have to avoid everyone and make a beeline to the front door. Malfoy wouldn’t approve, but Malfoy was with his fucking boyfriend, leaving Harry all alone. Didn’t he know Harry needed him at these things?
“Did you hear about Draco?” Blaise’s voice dropped into sudden focus.
Harry’s ears perked up. He downed a swig of plum brandy and nonchalantly stepped closer.
“Viktor Krum broke up with him. Kicked him out of their flat. Flew home to Bulgaria without Draco.”
“No—” Daphne gasped. “I thought they were going to get married.”
Harry blinked. Married? That musclebound fuck didn’t deserve Malfoy, never had.
“Narcissa’s in France, so Draco broke into the Manor,” Blaise continued, fully aware that he had an audience now. He glanced back at Harry and winked.
“He broke in? Isn’t that his home?”
“Well, ‘broke in’ might be an exaggeration. Narcissa has the place warded to the teeth, even against relatives. But Draco dismantled them and strolled right in. He’s living there with that ancient house elf.”
A shiver rolled down Harry’s spine. He liked it when Malfoy told him about picking apart magic. It wasn’t quite Dark, but it was borderline— a bit dangerous. He’d have to ask Malfoy about it when he saw him again.
“Poor Draco. He must be taking it hard,” Astoria chimed in.
“From what I hear, he’s taking it quite hard, but not in the way you might imagine.” Blaise’s eyes darted toward Harry again. He was smiling in that very Blaise way of his. “He’s been pulling all sorts of chaps, bringing them back to the Manor for a good fuck and Banishing them to the front gates as soon as they’re finished. One of them— that lawyer at his firm— hadn’t even gotten his trousers back on yet.”
“Classic Draco. Back to his single ways.” Theo Nott took a delicate sip of brandy, looking thoughtful. “Rather crude of him, don’t you think?”
Harry scowled, but he didn’t say anything. There was an odd twisting in his stomach that he couldn’t identify, settling alongside the heady arousal he felt at the idea of Malfoy, single— and clearly on the prowl.
“I think it’s good for him. He’s really sticking it to the memory of Lucius and getting his rocks off besides. Mother told me the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy has been positively apoplectic.”
Merlin. An image flickered into Harry’s mind— Malfoy bent over an expensive wingback chair, getting railed within an inch of his life in front of a portrait of Abraxas Malfoy. That queasy feeling was still there, but Harry’s soaring need for a wank had overtaken it.
It was always like that, after parties. Harry would get an odd feeling in his gut when Malfoy paraded his date or, worse, his boyfriend around. But by the time Harry had left the party to go home, he’d have an image of Malfoy picked out— his rosebud mouth and soft, pale hair, or his long legs and round, high arse— and he’d have a guilt-free wank when he got home.
Tonight would have been a nonspecific wank, but now Harry had a thought to carry home with him— Malfoy, single, picking up blokes and getting splendidly fucked over every surface in Malfoy Manor.
Harry could very easily switch out one of those faceless men with an image of himself, fucking into Malfoy’s tight, pretty arse, his hips bouncing against it, fingers digging into pale skin, hard enough to leave marks. Harry wondered absently if Malfoy liked to bottom— Harry thought he probably did. He just looked like he’d be an expert at taking cock. Just to avoid pigeon-holing him, however, Harry also weighed the idea of Malfoy fucking him. He liked that, too.
He liked so many things about Malfoy, honestly. He was clever, his humour sharp and just the right amount of mean. He wasn’t afraid to disagree with Harry or call him a git. And he sought Harry out at every party they attended— like Harry was someone worth talking to, like he couldn’t wait to make fun of Harry’s ties and gossip about everyone in their extended group of friends.
The last time he’d seen Malfoy was at Blaise and Ginny’s wedding two months ago, and they’d had a long, satisfying argument about esoteric Quidditch rules, while Malfoy summarily ignored a very pissed-off Viktor Krum. Harry had left the reception smiling, kinetic potential buzzing beneath his skin.
Harry had fucked into his slicked up hand that night, imagining what it would be like to get on his knees for Malfoy and take his cock down his throat while he listened to the prim, crisp lilt of his voice, his hands tangled in Harry’s hair. He’d be demanding in bed, an attention whore, Harry was sure— but gods, Harry wanted to be the one following his whims.
Malfoy would never go for Harry in real life. Malfoy only dated professional Quidditch players and expert curse-breakers and once a dragon tamer who’d also dated Charlie Weasley. There had always been some boyfriend or another, paraded in front of Harry at events, usually just before Malfoy roped Harry into an argument.
Malfoy was, however, briefly single right now, and he wasn’t here. And Harry would enjoy thinking about it. With his hand. On his cock. Malfoy would be none the wiser.
Harry put down his stupid gold plate and his plum brandy and said to no one in particular, “Right, then. I’m going to go.”
“Have a splendid evening, Harry, and happy New Year,” Blaise drawled from behind him.
“Er, thanks,” Harry said, only half turning around. Fuck propriety. He need to get out, now, before he lost his feelings of horny goodwill and focused instead on his shortcomings as a chronically single ex-Auror who wanked over his childhood rival after every party.
Harry made his way through the parlour, dodging pods of Slytherins and neatly sliding away from anyone who made eye contact with him. He gave Ginny a slight wave— she knew him well enough not to be offended, and she looked like she was moments away from snogging Pansy. He’d bet ten galleons Pansy was shagging both Ginny and Blaise. Malfoy would know for sure. He’d ask him— well, whatever. Harry had more important things to think about currently.
Wanking about Malfoy bent over a wingback chair was now his single-minded goal.
He pushed past a group of people he recognized from the Ministry. One of them tried to stop him, but he was too quick. He might just be a paper pusher for the Aurors, washed up at thirty, but he could still dodge unwanted social interactions with a Seeker’s grace.
Anyway. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy in tight trousers. Draco Malfoy in tight trousers with the visible bulge of his cock and a blush high on his cheeks. Oh, Harry— Malfoy inevitably called him “Harry” in his fantasies— Oh, Harry— you’ve got such a big cock, would you put it in me?
Hmm. That was too pedestrian. He couldn’t imagine Malfoy actually saying that. He’d have to workshop it.
He made his way out of the parlour without having to stop— a big win. And right into the enormous foyer, which was also, horribly, full of people. Throngs of people. How many people did Blaise know? Why would anyone want to know this number of people?
Gods.
“Harry— Harry Potter, is that you?”
Shit, shit. Bollocksing bollocksy shit.
Harry didn’t even look to see where the voice was coming from. He just ducked into the side hall that led to Gin’s study, where he went to talk shit with her every Friday afternoon. It was dark, but it was the only part of Blaise and Ginny’s house— manor, excuse him— that he knew well enough to navigate in the dark. He could get to her study and go out the side doors to the garden. If he could just get past the wards he could Disapparate— and he could get the fuck home. He could lube up a dildo with a nice, flared base and stick it up his arse and jerk off in glorious slow motion, thinking about all the things he’d very much like to do to Draco Malfoy.
Maybe Harry should send him an owl and ask him to coffee. Gods, no, he wasn’t going to fucking do that. Malfoy would say no, and then he’d never talk to Harry again— and what would Harry wank about then? Who would he talk to at parties?
He rounded the corner to Ginny’s study— he could taste freedom— and collided straight into someone, chests bumping together, his glasses clattering to the floor. He lost his footing and nearly fell, stumbling backwards.
“Merlin’s hairy taint.”
The person in the dark caught him, strong, warm hands on his body.
“How do you know it’s hairy?” A crisp, posh voice in the darkness, the words a touch derisive. “Have you travelled to the tenth century? Wouldn’t put it past you. Time and space bending to Harry Potter’s will.”
“Oh, fuck me.” Harry tried to pull away.
“What were you doing with Merlin that allowed you to discover such an intimate detail? I always knew you were filthy, but I didn’t know you were profane.”
Draco held him fast, one hand at the dip of his waist, the other clasping his wrist. The space between them felt suddenly very small.
“Er, no.” There was a flutter in Harry’s chest, a treacherous thing.
“No, what?”
“I didn’t travel back in time. Or eat Merlin’s arse.”
There was a breath of a laugh. “I wasn’t suggesting you had. You’re the one who’s mad about rimming.”
“I’m not— I mean.” Harry licked his lips. Now he was thinking about rimming.
“Likely story.” Malfoy’s thumb brushed over his inner wrist. His breath was hot and close in the darkness, his voice a low, sensual rasp. “And where are you off to? I was about to come looking for you.”
Malfoy let go of Harry and cast a Lumos at the ceiling, light crackling to life above them. His pale hair lit up like gold, soft and fine over his forehead. He was wearing a supple maroon jumper over a pinstripe shirt and obscenely tight jeans. A single diamond sparkled in one ear.
Looking at Malfoy under the gentle glow of the Lumos put Harry in mind of peeking out of the cupboard under the stairs on Christmas morning and seeing Dudley’s presents beneath the tree. All these expensive things that Harry couldn’t have— things he would cherish if given the chance.
Harry swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Or I would have waited to see you— not that I’m just… waiting around to see you. Just now, I was going to leave. Through Gin’s study. Avoiding the crowds. Don’t do well with those.”
“I know you don’t.” Malfoy’s eyes searched Harry’s face for a moment. “Well. I won’t stop you, I suppose. Though going home sounds terribly dull. Slytherin parties always get far more interesting after midnight.”
“I— yeah. I remember the sex room last year.” Harry’s ears went hot.
“I do seem to remember you cackling like a madman outside the room they chose to defile. Very gauche. Terrible orgy etiquette.” Malfoy smiled, his eyes crinkling up just a bit at the edges. He had a pinprick of a dimple on one side of his mouth. “Certain I can’t convince you to stay? I do so enjoy it when you’re a touch sozzled.”
“You do?” Harry swallowed. The palms of his hands prickled. He wanted to touch Malfoy, peel off his lovely Muggle clothes and his sodding dragonhide boots— and kiss him absolutely senseless. Even if it was only for a night. Even if he was just one of Malfoy’s boys, tossed out with his trousers still in hand.
Harry usually kept a tight lid on his feelings for Malfoy, guarding them, only letting them out when he was alone in his room at Grimmauld, long after the party had been packed away. But Malfoy— single Malfoy, standing close in the dark— had caught Harry off guard.
“I do. Ever so.” He was watching Harry intently. His eyes were dark grey, almost black, in the light of his Lumos.
“We are party friends,” Harry said weakly. He ran his fingers through his hair. When he got home, he assured himself, he would have a truly epic wank. That would expunge all of this wild, unmitigated longing.
“Oh,” Malfoy said, his voice low. “Is that what we are, Potter?”
“I— yeah. I’d better— I really need to go.”
“And what is it that you’re running off to do? Is it more important than me? Why can’t you stay and entertain me?” Malfoy’s voice was melodic and tempting. He reached out and caught Harry’s wrist again. “I want you to stay and entertain me. That’s what I want, and I ought to have it.”
“I— well I thought… I heard you were— er, dating.” Harry tried to think, but the air felt thick and hot, Malfoy’s grip tight around his wrist. “Since Viktor. I thought— well, now I’m thinking… I’d probably slow you down tonight.”
“I’ve been keeping myself amused. But those are just— amuse bouches. Not dates. Besides, you’re hardly capable of slowing me down, Potter.” He let go of Harry’s wrist and brushed his fingers over the back of Harry’s hand. Harry was going to simply lift off into space, never to return, if Malfoy kept touching him.
“Amuse bouches? Like appetisers?” Malfoy, of course, had taught him the word— and everything he knew about appetisers, but Harry didn’t feel the need to mention that. “You’re brutal when you’re on the rebound.”
“A rebound would imply I’m upset about the breakup. I’m not, really. I knew it was coming for a long while. He was terribly jealous.”
Harry scoffed. “Jealous— why? He’s Viktor bloody Krum. Prat.”
Malfoy didn’t clarify. “If you’re going to abandon me, go ahead and do it. I’ve got a night to get on with. Boys to seduce. All that. I’d rather you stayed, but I suppose I can’t stop you.”
Harry paused. He should step through the doors into Ginny’s study and walk into the garden past the wards, where he could politely Apparate without ripping through Blaise’s protective magic. He’d get home and he’d wank— splendidly— while thinking about Malfoy’s arse. Then he’d Scourgify everything in sight and tuck into his bed for a full nine, maybe ten, hours of sleep.
There was a quiet, intrusive thought at the back of his mind. If Malfoy was looking for an amuse bouche, a boy to seduce, Harry was right here, quite ready to be seduced. He crouched and picked up his glasses, adrenaline spiking when he slipped them back on. Malfoy was watching Harry intently, but his expression was inscrutable.
Was he going to do this? He wasn’t— he couldn’t. But.
“Or you could come home with me,” Harry said. His heart pulsed in his throat, in the pads of his fingers. “Right now,” he added.
“Beg pardon?” Malfoy’s eyes widened. There was a flicker of something in his expression, but it smoothed over, just as it always did.
“For a drink,” Harry said, his voice pained. Why was he still talking? “Or— I have a— Muggle toaster. I could make toast.”
Malfoy frowned. “Toast?”
“Or not,” Harry said helplessly. Gods, he was going to have to come out and say it. He had the sense of barreling down a hill in a cart, no brakes, wheels wobbling and likely to fly off at any moment. “I just meant— I just meant. You said you wanted me to entertain you. And I could do that. I could be. An appetiser. Like you said.”
Harry wished he could sink into the floor of Blaise’s stupid mansion and let the bones in the catacombs— he was sure Blaise had catacombs— draw him into their icy embrace. Malfoy was certain to never speak to him again, so he could never come to one of these parties again, which was honestly maybe for the best. He could have fucking toast— gods, he was a complete and utter twat— and wank off by himself. Alone. Forever.
“Oh.” Malfoy’s mouth fell into a little O. “You’re asking me back to yours?”
“Er. Yes.” Harry scratched through his hair again. Merlin, his hair was too thick, and he was hot. Sweating. Horribly. “But it’s fine. Forget I said anything. I know you’d rather— probably— anyone else—”
Malfoy’s lips curled into a smirk, so much more inviting than the sneer he’d worn so often as a boy. “Let’s clarify, Potter, what exactly you’re asking.”
Gods, Malfoy was never going to let him live this down. By morning, every Slytherin who’d ever existed would know that he offered Malfoy toast— and his cock. “Sweet Merlin, fuck, I’m so… I’m such a git.”
Malfoy held a finger up to stop him. “You’re attempting to flirt with me?”
“I— sort of.”
“And you’re inviting me back to your place for a shag. Am I correct?”
“That wasn’t assumed,” Harry said. He cringed. “Just implied. Like I said, I know we’re just party friends. Or not even friends, really. I know you don’t want me… like that.”
Malfoy made a frustrated sound. “Merlin, you’re thick.”
“We don’t even—” Harry wasn’t sure exactly what he meant to say, maybe that he and Malfoy didn’t really know each other all that well. But that wasn’t true, was it? They’d been circling each other the better part of two decades in one way or another. “Do you really want— are you sure— it was just an idea.”
“Hush. Take me home.” Malfoy stepped close to him and slipped a hand around Harry’s waist, the other to Harry’s cheek, sweeping his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. Then Malfoy leaned in and kissed him.
He’d thought many times about kissing Malfoy, slipping his tongue between those rosy lips. Harry really thought he had a decent imagination, honed from years spent in a dark cupboard— but none of his fantasies came close to the real thing.
Malfoy led him in the kiss, bringing his hand to the back of Harry’s neck, tangling in his hair as he moaned into Harry’s mouth, swiped his tongue across Harry’s lower lip and bit him, gently, just there. Harry didn’t know what to do with his hands or his body, but Malfoy made him feel like he knew what to do, pushing Harry against the door of Ginny’s study with a satisfying thunk and pressing his knee between Harry’s thighs, guiding Harry’s hands to his waist. Malfoy nipped at his lips and dragged his teeth along Harry’s jaw and pressed his lips against Harry’s neck, sucking a smarting, heated mark just above his pulse point.
Malfoy pushed Harry through the door, somehow still kissing him, running his hands under Harry’s jacket and his fingernails down Harry’s back. Malfoy herded him toward the doors that led into the side garden. Harry flicked them open with a twist of his fingers, and Malfoy groaned into his mouth.
In all the times Harry had fantasised about this— exactly this, Malfoy cornering him at a party and kissing him senseless— he’d never imagined how much he would feel: his nervous system lighting up, his body vibrating with need, his cock thickening in his trousers, pressing tight against the fabric. Everything was more than he’d thought it would be: Malfoy’s lips softer, his hands more nimble, his moans needier and filthier than what he’d conjured in his mind.
They stumbled out into the cold night… and directly into another throng of people. They pulled off of each other with a sound that was loud and slick and unmistakably dirty. Harry’s hands were still scrunched up in Malfoy’s shirt. He panted and, unabashed, pressed another kiss to Malfoy’s lips. If he was going to be one of Malfoy’s conquests, he’d make sure he got the most out of it.
“Oi, Malfoy,” Ginny yelled, “Harry!”
“What?” Malfoy drawled. He was gripping Harry by the tie.
“We had a bet going. Pansy owes me a hundred galleons.”
Harry glanced over at her; she was hanging on Pansy, arm wrapped around her shoulders. There was a wicked smile on Pansy’s face. She looked like a big cat sizing up her prey.
“I said it would take until February,” Pansy drawled.
“You’re an absolute cow,” Malfoy shot back, his gaze not leaving Harry’s face. “You cause me nothing but misery.”
“We do love you, Draco. Ever so much, darling.” Pansy’s voice was singsong and sweet.
“Ever so much. Glad you two are finally shagging,” Ginny called after them. “Every last one of us was getting blue balls!”
Pansy and Ginny’s voices faded into the darkness as Malfoy shoved him towards the edge of the property.
He grabbed Harry’s tie and pulled it, sending a rush of blood to Harry’s head. “This tie is horrible, Potter. Never wear it in my presence again.”
He didn’t know what anyone would have against his tie. It had Golden Snitches on it. “Gin gave it to me,” he mumbled, chasing after Malfoy’s lips and catching them just as Malfoy dragged him in close.
“As a joke, maybe. It’s truly a crime how terribly you dress and how good you manage to look while doing it.” He marched Harry past the wards, pulling him by the tie in question until they pushed up against the edge of Blaise and Ginny’s magic and tumbled through to the stone path on the other side. The whoops and jeers of drunk partygoers were faint now. In the distance, Harry could hear people shouting, counting down from ten.
Malfoy tugged him close and kissed him again, full of heat and wanting, as midnight struck.
“Happy New Year, Potter,” he murmured as he pulled away, sending puffs up into the cold air around them. The night sky was inky black, dotted with stars and just the sliver of a moon. It was a good night to get the one thing he wanted most, even if it was just tonight.
“Side-Along?” Harry managed the words, panting heavily.
Malfoy let go of his tie, finally, and nodded. For a moment, Malfoy looked wholly unreal, a pale, ethereal being set against the darkness of the night. Harry tried to commit it to memory in the moments before they Apparated.
Draco Malfoy beneath the stars, his hands on Harry’s chest, his lips kiss-bitten. Draco Malfoy, hair mussed and pupils blown dark. Long legs in tight jeans, looking like a wet dream. Like porn.
He’d memorise this and keep it close, hidden and precious. He didn’t care if everyone laughed at him, foolish enough to fall into bed with Malfoy before he seduced another celebrity cursebreaker or professional wizarding spy or small-batch firewhiskey mogul.
“Well?” Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “Getting cold feet?”
“Not likely,” Harry said. Hands gripped tight around Malfoy’s waist, he Apparated. The two of them were sucked into darkness and spit out unceremoniously on the stoop of Grimmauld Place, both panting. Harry flicked the door open with a wandless Alohomora and pulled Malfoy through into the front hallway.
Harry was gobsmacked. He was sure he looked it, staring at Draco Malfoy, who was standing in his foyer in his very tatty old house, his hands wrapped around Harry’s waist.
“Hi,” Harry said, lamely.
“Hello,” Malfoy said, raising his hands to Harry’s collar and smoothing it down, rumpled as it was from all the tie-pulling. Standing next to Malfoy had felt different in the darkness of Blaise’s hallway, more like a dream.
But Malfoy kissed him, all the same, pulling Harry in and slotting their lips together again, gentle this time. His hands, though— his hands were everywhere, pushing Harry’s jacket off over his shoulders, undoing his tie and throwing it to the floor, flying deftly over the buttons of his shirt until Harry was entirely undone and pushed halfway to the stairs.
There was a screech to their right, and Harry cringed, watching as Malfoy stopped and laughed, taking in the portrait of Walburga Black Harry had never managed to get rid of. “Salazar, Potter. You’ve kept that old bag on your wall?”
Harry shrugged. “She’s usually quiet these days. But she really doesn’t like—”
“Filthy heathens! You defile the ancient house of Black with your vulgar homosexuality!”
“There it is,” Harry said.
“Oh, sod off, you nasty old bint,” Malfoy said. He palmed Harry’s cock— viciously hard now and straining against his trousers— and rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head. Harry let out a broken noise.
“Vile! Disgrace and defilement!”
Malfoy unhooked Harry’s belt, sliding it through the loops dramatically and flinging it on the stairs. “Take me upstairs, and fuck me until I can’t walk,” Malfoy said silkily.
“Get ye gone, pretender to the Black name!”
Harry flicked a wandless spell at Malfoy’s shirt and unbuttoned it all at once. “I know you’re like—” He kissed Malfoy, deep and hot and slick. “Doing that for Walburga’s benefit— but I’d like to— yeah— sounds quite good, actually.”
Malfoy nodded, his eyes bright. “That’s top of my list. Yours?”
Harry groaned and Apparated them to the bed in his room with a twist of his fingers. There was a pop, and they appeared next to Harry’s bed.
Malfoy was panting. He raked his nails through Harry’s chest hair, dragging his thumb over one nipple, sending a heated jolt right to his cock. “You’re an incorrigible showoff. All of that wandless magic.”
“I— yeah. Er, sorry— got in the habit after the spell damage. It’s showy. I get that.”
Malfoy let out a breathy laugh. “If I disliked it, Potter,” he said, pushing Harry so he fell backwards on the bed, “I wouldn’t be here about to take it up the arse.”
“Holy shit.”
“Didn’t know what you’d do with me once you got me here, did you?” He brushed his thumb over the other nipple, eyes flicking over Harry’s body, his movements languid and easy as he climbed onto Harry’s lap and shucked off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. His chest was porcelain-pale and smooth apart from the web of silvery scars Harry had given him more than a decade ago. There was a tattoo of a dragon, coiling around his forearm, covering the Mark. Harry had seen it before, glimpses here and there, but here in the dim light of his room, it felt more intimate, more real, a stark reminder of the person Malfoy had become.
“I— ” Harry licked his lips, frozen still as Malfoy slowly began to rock his hips against Harry’s stiff cock, the fabric of his trousers catching on Draco’s, the friction making him shudder. “Oh, fuck.”
Draco took Harry’s hands in his and placed them on his waist. “Well, I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Malfoy bent down over Harry, kissing him hard and dragging his teeth over Harry’s lower lip, down his jawline, sucking marks along his neck and nipping his shoulder, all the while grinding down on Harry’s aching dick.
He could come like this, he thought, with Malfoy’s hard prick sliding against his through layers of fabric. He could go off like an Incendio, pleasure building and rolling through his body as Malfoy dry-humped him, running his fingers over the notches between Malfoy’s ribs, arching up to kiss his pebbled pink nipples. Not only could he come like this, he could die like this, evaporate from this very spot and vanish into the ether— as long as Malfoy kept touching him, kept wanting him.
“I wanked thinking about doing this fifth year,” Malfoy whispered, low and dangerous, against the shell of Harry’s year. “Holding you down and making you come in your trousers, making you go to class all filthy.”
“Fifth year?” Harry’s hips bucked up, and he gripped Malfoy’s waist, trying to get more leverage.
“I won’t let you get away with that just now, though,” Malfoy said, thoughtfully, batting Harry’s hands away. He slowly stripped out of his trousers, still graceful somehow, even as he pulled off his pants, revealing his obscenely hard cock, its purple-red head peeking out of his foreskin and curving toward his flat belly. “I have plans for you, pet.”
“You say that to all the boys?” Harry rasped, gaze focused on Malfoy’s pale, perfect cock, its shiny tip.
“Look at me,” Malfoy said, “in the eyes.”
Harry looked at him. Malfoy had an assessing look on his face— and a slight sneer that made Harry’s dick feel even harder. He wasn’t sure what that said about him, but he wasn’t about to start unpacking that just now.
“I don’t say anything to my quick fucks, Potter. And very little to Viktor fucking Krum.” Malfoy palmed Harry’s cock and slid down his body, undoing his flies and rucking down his boxers, his cock jerking as it hit the cool air of his room. Malfoy smeared his thumb over the head, pulling slickness down over Harry’s foreskin, toying with him. He still wore that little sneer as he took them both in hand and started rutting against Harry’s cock, letting out little grunts as he moved, both of them messy and leaking.
Harry arched into his hand, letting out a strangled noise. He wanted to know what Malfoy meant. But his head was spinning, and almost-painful pleasure was coiling up in his abdomen as Malfoy held them together and rocked his hips, torturously slow. Harry was trembling, bucking into Malfoy’s hands, heart beating wildly. “Christ. Christ— Merlin— I’m going to— I’m going to come if you don’t—”
“Can’t have that, can we?” Malfoy paused, panting. He was looking down at Harry’s cock, squeezing it like he was testing for weight and heft, ignoring Harry’s distress. Harry let out a long, low groan. “My, my, aren’t you big and thick?”
“Gods.” Malfoy was a maelstrom, a tempest, batting Harry around like a dinghy caught in a storm. Before Harry had room to fully process that metaphor, Malfoy had slithered down his body and spread his knees apart.
“I do want you to come, but inside me,” Malfoy said, conversationally. “I’m sure you can manage it twice tonight.” He squeezed Harry’s cock again and raised an eyebrow as he sank down and took the head of Harry’s cock in his mouth, tracing the edge of his foreskin with his tongue.
“Merlin, fuck—”
Malfoy looked up at him, all stormy-eyed and pale blond, cheeks prettily flushed. He took Harry’s hands in his and placed them in his hair. “Pull,” Malfoy said, breath warm against the tip of Harry’s cock.
“What?”
“Pull my hair,” Malfoy said. “Like you mean it. Hard enough that I can feel it in my cock.”
Seeing no other option, Harry tangled his hands in Malfoy’s hair and pulled. Malfoy groaned, sighing with apparent bliss. In one fluid movement, he slipped Harry’s cock into his mouth and took him down to the root. It was all wetness and tight, silken heat, enveloping him, drinking him in.
“Oh, sweet Circe’s tits.”
Harry’s nipples went hard as his cockhead slipped over Malfoy’s soft palate and hit the back of his throat. He let his hips buck up, fucking into the slick channel, clutching the sheets as Malfoy grabbed his hips, digging his nails into Harry’s skin. His belly tightened, thighs shaking, his cock jerking and leaking as Malfoy swallowed him down, throat working, undulating.
Harry had only gotten a medium amount of blowjobs in his life— and they were all good. What blowjob wasn’t good, really? But they were nothing like this. Malfoy groaned, low and filthy, hollowing his cheeks, going after Harry’s cock like he was starving for it, like he needed it to live.
He sucked Harry fast and deep, grunting when Harry pulled his hair and guided him. It was clear he loved sucking cock, adored it, tasting it and stroking it, looking up every so often at Harry’s face, pupils blown wide. Malfoy loved it when Harry pulled his hair and put him where he wanted, grunting and reaching down between his own legs to palm his own cock as he sucked Harry.
His cock in Draco Malfoy’s mouth, brutalising the back of his throat. Draco Malfoy, in his bed, bare and gorgeous and slutty, rutting against Harry’s quilt like he couldn’t help it, like he was moments from coming, just from the taste of Harry’s cock.
Harry grunted and thrust up into his mouth hard, Malfoy moaning around it and taking it. His cock and balls ached, needy and pulsing, pressure growing, lower back tensing. He could feel the throbbing need for release in his thighs, in his fingertips, down to his toes.
“Fuck, I’m close— oh, gods, Draco— you’re so fucking beautiful—”
Malfoy moaned, shivering, his body shaking as Harry pulled his hair and fucked into his eager mouth. He took it and took it, his eyes fluttering closed like he was in ecstasy, like all he’d ever wanted was a mouthful of Harry’s cock. Harry carded his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, awestruck as his hips arched up, his cock sloppy-wet and pulsing, a hair’s breadth from going off.
Draco Malfoy, cock-hungry, lips red and lashes pale against his cheeks. Draco Malfoy, taking Harry’s cock all the way to the back of his throat and swallowing around him.
Harry tried to hold onto the image, the memory, the heady feeling of his desire and the heat twisting up inside of him. But Draco groaned around him again, and Harry lost what little control he had left, searing hot pleasure hitting him like a well-aimed hex. Harry’s cock jerked hard, his hips twitching, abdomen trembling as he spilled in Malfoy’s mouth.
Little aftershocks rolled through him as Malfoy groaned and swallowed him down, sucked him until he was going soft and hissing with oversensitivity. He let Harry’s cock fall from his lips, and Harry’s hands fell from his hair. Malfoy crawled up Harry’s body, wiping a tiny bit of come from his bottom lip and placing it on his tongue before faceplanting against Harry’s chest and taking in a long, deep breath, like he was drinking Harry in.
“You smell so fucking good.” Malfoy inhaled again, rubbing his nose in Harry’s chest hair, his smooth cheek over one nipple. Then he kissed his way up to Harry’s neck, sucking on his skin desperately, like he was trying to leave evidence of himself. “I want to roll around in your scent like a Crup in heat.”
He wondered if that was something Malfoy said to Krum— or the dragon tamer, or any of the amuse bouches Malfoy brought home. Head swimming, he ran his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, over his back, pulling him up closer so his head was on Harry’s shoulder. He reached down and cupped Malfoy’s perfect, round arsecheek. Malfoy’s cock was hot and hard against his thigh.
“You’re quite good at that. Cocksucking.” Harry would be wanking about Malfoy’s mouth for ages. Until they had to put him in a home for elderly wizards.
“I’m a dream, darling. You’ll find no one better, should you be so foolish as to look.” He played with one of Harry’s nipples, circling it with his thumb.
“Are you a dream?” Harry squeezed Malfoy’s arse. “I feel like you might actually be a dream.”
“I’m perfectly real,” Malfoy said, a bit tetchy, as if he hadn’t just claimed to be an apparition. “Have you ever come in a dream’s mouth? Or in his arse? Which is what I’m intending for round two, before you fall asleep.”
“I’m not falling asleep.” Harry ghosted one finger between Malfoy’s arsecheeks, smiling as he shivered against Harry. He nuzzled into the crook of Harry’s neck. “You’re the one falling asleep, looks like.”
“No.” Malfoy’s tongue darted out, and he licked Harry’s neck. “I’m just relaxing. You’ll tend to me as I instruct you.”
“And how do you want to be tended to?” Harry worried his finger over the tight furl of muscle between Malfoy’s cheeks, and smiled when he rocked his cock against Harry’s thigh, making a desperate sound against Harry’s neck.
Draco Malfoy, his fabulous arse in Harry’s hands.
“I’ve been perfectly clear. I want you to fuck me. No lazy prep spells. I want a full spa treatment before you put this” — Malfoy palmed Harry’s cock, sending a shiver up Harry’s spine — “in my arse. I want to be positively dripping before we fuck. Make me beg for it, will you?”
“Right then. I’ll give it my best,” Harry said, placing a kiss to Draco’s forehead and rolling him onto his stomach. Harry’s hands were shaky with nerves, but his cock was already plumping back up at the thought of fucking Malfoy. There wasn’t a wingback chair, but Harry could just as easily come in Malfoy’s arse right here, make a Pensieve memory and watch it again and again, until it wore a groove in his mind.
He rolled on top of Malfoy’s body, nestling his cock between Malfoy’s arsecheeks, rocking against him as his cock filled, his knees whispering against the sheets.
“Spa treatment,” Malfoy said, his voice breathy and low. “Don’t just stick it in. I won’t be able to go to work next week if you do.”
“You’re awfully demanding when you’re sucking cock.”
“You loved it,” he murmured into the pillow.
“And now you’re downright lazy and a still bossy fucking bottom.”
“I’m perfect, Potter.”
Harry didn’t disagree. He squeezed a handful of Malfoy’s arse. Gods, it was a fine, round piece of work. His cock twitched, and he jerked forward, groaning.
“I gave you the best blow job of your life so you wouldn’t get in my arse and come immediately.” Malfoy stretched beneath him like a cat, pressing up against Harry’s cock, languid and sinuous. “Now you’re going to fuck me so splendidly I forget my own name.”
Harry’s cock hitched against Malfoy’s hole as he pressed up against Harry, making both of them groan. Harry felt drunk— he felt high. He licked Malfoy’s neck to get a taste of his sweat, to keep the taste of it forever. “Is that how it is? Giving me performance goals? Like I’m an intern?”
“That’s precisely how it is. You’re an intern and your performance depends on how well I can take your massive cock.”
That’s what Draco Malfoy would say. Much better than Harry’s fantasy. Warm and real, imperious even when he was about to be fucked.
“In that case, I’ll get started right away.” Harry placed a wild kiss between Malfoy’s shoulder blades and down, further, over the knobs of his spine until he was gripping and kneading Draco’s arse, biting one firm cheek before spreading him apart.
“Oh,” Harry said. It was a pink furl, tight and small and fluttering when Harry touched him there. It didn’t look like it could fit a finger, let alone Harry’s cock. But Malfoy— Malfoy knew what he was doing; he’d been taking cock for ages. Harry had strict, specific instructions. “God, you’re— you’re so pretty.”
“I am,” Malfoy said, moaning against the pillow. “I’ve the loveliest arse in the kingdom.”
“Too right,” Harry said.
Draco Malfoy— in his bed, hard cock pressed against his quilt, arse in the air, telling Harry just how to fuck him.
Harry cast a wandless cleaning spell, and Malfoy shuddered, pushing his arse up into Harry’s hands. It was unbelievable, really, how gorgeous he was. How tempting and rosy he was, how his hole winked when Harry licked his fingers and circled it. Heady and buzzing all over, he swiped the flat of his tongue over Malfoy’s puckered rim. He made the most gratifying sound— a wrung out, keening noise that went straight to Harry’s cock.
Gods, he’d dreamed about this before— countless times. He’d been late for dinners out because he’d been wanking over Malfoy’s arse; he’d slept in on Saturday mornings because he was dreaming of eating him out for hours. So he went after it with verve, with enthusiasm, digging his thumbs into Malfoy’s arse cheeks and spreading him open, tasting him.
Malfoy, maybe unsurprisingly, started getting mouthy about ten minutes in. He kept crying out and pushing his hips up, demanding Harry change up how he was using his tongue. The surprising thing was how silkily he praised Harry, telling him how hard Harry made him, how delicious Harry made him feel.
“Merlin, Potter, I said push your tongue inside me— yes— open me up, pet— just like that!”
Harry did as he was told and speared his tongue, pushing past that tight, trembling ring of muscle, feeling it flutter and give the longer he worked at it.
“I’m ready for more. Get me all opened up and fuck me, won’t you? Won’t you? I said, I’m ready for your fingers, Potter.”
Harry sat up, still holding onto Malfoy’s arse, his cock bobbing heavily and twitching at his view. Draco was propped up on his elbows, gazing over his shoulder at Harry, cheeks slapped red and hair mussed. He looked debauched, his arse shiny and wet, legs spread open.
“Is this your version of begging?”
“Hardly. You’re roughly halfway there. But I do want your fingers inside me. As many as I can take.”
Harry did a wandless spell while Malfoy watched him, eyes blown dark, mouth falling open as he watched Harry’s hands. A pool of thick, warm lube appeared in the palm of Harry’s hand, and he coated his fingers with it. “This is what you want?”
“Yes. Don’t… keep me waiting.” Malfoy’s words were Malfoy-ish, to be sure, but his voice was breathy, like speaking was becoming something of an effort.
Harry pressed one slicked-up finger between Malfoy’s arsecheeks, marvelling at the little stretch as he sank inside, feeling tender and protective about the way Malfoy’s hips pushed back. Ready to be filled to the brim as Harry fucked him. Merlin, he was hard, the head of his dick purple-red and shiny with precome. He conjured more lube and coated his fingers again, breathing heavily as he worked a second finger inside.
“More,” Malfoy rasped.
Harry should have slowed down or maybe asked Malfoy if he was sure. His legs were quivering with only two of Harry’s fingers inside, but he was stretching around Harry’s fingers so prettily. So Harry slipped a third inside, watching as Malfoy keened and fucked back on his fingers, his back bowing in pleasure.
A red flush had spread down Malfoy’s neck, over his back. He looked back at Harry, his cheeks slapped red. “Please. Will you fuck me now? ”
Breathing hard, Harry pulled his fingers away, and wrapped them around his cock, dripping more lube over himself before lining up at Malfoy’s entrance. Harry swallowed hard, shivering as a bead of precome drooled from his tip. “You’re begging, now?”
“Yes. I need it. Please—”
Harry groaned and pushed— slowly, so slowly— his blunt cockhead stretching that small, rosy hole open and finally slipping past his taut ring of muscle. No matter how well Harry had prepared him, it was a tight fit for Harry’s cock, Malfoy whimpering as Harry breached him. Harry couldn’t stop himself from pushing in further, probably too fast, but Malfoy was moaning like he could imagine nothing better than being impaled on Harry’s cock. It was so tight that Harry had to bite his lip to keep himself from coming before he was all the way in, but he breathed through it and pushed himself inside, down to the root.
Draco Malfoy, split open on his cock, gasping as Harry held still, his cock throbbing painfully.
“Gods, Potter, I can feel that thing in my lungs,” Malfoy said. “Don’t move just yet— I— nngh— I need a moment.”
“Harry. Call me Harry when I’m inside you.” Harry could feel the thrum of Malfoy’s body around him.
“Yes, of course,” Malfoy said, voice thin. “Harry, love, you’ve— you’ve made me so full. Tell me, am I the best you’ve ever had?”
Harry’s hips bucked reflexively. “Y-yeah. Yes.”
Malfoy nodded like he knew it was true. “Harry,” he sighed, rocking forward, then back, moving slowly on Harry’s cock. “You can fuck me now.”
Harry canted his hips back and pushed inside again, bringing his hands to Malfoy’s waist and digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. “Draco. Draco.”
“Merlin, yes. I knew you would make me feel… make me feel…” Malfoy’s words trailed off, and he cried out as Harry drew back and snapped his hips, falling into a rhythm of hard, brutal thrusts. Malfoy’s arse clung to Harry so sweetly, welcomed him inside, stretched to take every bit of him. So slick and hot and needy, taking in all of the yearning he’d been holding onto for so long.
“Feel— what?” Harry was barely aware of the words as he spread Malfoy’s legs wider and fucked him harder, sweat rolling down his back, the cavernous ceilings echoing with the creaking of Harry’s ancient bed and the filthy-wet sound of fucking. A sinful, erotic weight was building in the cradle of his hips, growing heavier with every stroke.
“Like I’m— everything. Like I’m yours.”
“Oh, gods— Draco—” Malfoy didn’t know what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. Yes, he was the best Harry had ever had, would ever have. And he’d always have tonight.
Harry bent forward and placed a hand to the centre of Malfoy’s chest, pulse racing against Harry’s palm. Gods, he was so lucky. Harry fucked into him in short, staccato strokes, his hips starting to stutter. His hand snaked down to wrap around Malfoy’s cock, and he cried out when Malfoy’s body tensed around him.
“Harry— oh, darling.”
Harry stroked him once, hard, and Malfoy was coming over his hand, on the bed, tensing around Harry’s cock.
Frenzied, Harry wrapped slick hands around Malfoy’s slim waist, fucking into him without finesse. Merlin, he was stunning, taking Harry’s cock like he was born to do it, his body limp and fucked out, jolting forward with each thrust.
“Come inside me,” Malfoy said dreamily, “you’re going to come inside me.”
Harry was nearly sobbing now, his legs shaking. And, finally, he let go. It hit Harry in waves this time, rising and cresting, slow and sure, relief flooding through him as he buried himself deep and came. His hips twitched, toes curling against his bedsheets as he pulsed and pulsed, filling him up, giving him everything he had.
He fell to the bed and pulled Malfoy down with him, their bodies wet and messy, their breathing ragged. He had one hand slung across Malfoy’s chest, holding him close, possessive. He shivered when his cock slipped free, and he cuddled close to Malfoy, kissing the back of his neck with reverence— as if Malfoy might stay a little longer if Harry was just gentle enough.
“Harry.”
“Mm? Are we on a first name basis now?”
Malfoy made a noncommittal noise, but he didn’t say no. He turned his head and caught Harry’s mouth, pulling him into a sweet, soft kiss. Harry had the thought that he was ruined, then, for anyone else— because no one else was Draco. If he could just stay a little longer, just stay the night… but, no. He was sure to leave.
“We’re utterly filthy,” Draco murmured. “Show me to your shower.”
“S’through there,” Harry murmured, pointing at the door to the right of the bed. He didn’t want to let Draco go, but he supposed he had to. Maybe he’d come back to bed after he was clean.
“You’re coming with me.”
“Oh. I thought—”
“You thought you could get me to sleep in a pile of sweaty sheets streaked with come?”
Harry snorted, the tension in his abdomen dissipating. Maybe he’d ask Draco to fuck him in the morning. He really hadn’t touched Draco’s cock enough. “It’s your come, you know.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to sleep in it! I’m not an animal, and you’re not either. I’ll have you clean if you’re sleeping next to me.” He pulled away and scowled at Harry.
Harry kissed him, thrilling when Draco sighed and melted into him.
“Come along then,” Draco said, murmuring against Harry’s lips.
He let Draco bully him into a hot shower, yawning as Draco soaped both of them up and made Harry gently soap up his arse. (“It’s all your fault I’m sore.”) They bickered over the shampoo, Draco telling Harry he was going to order several new and much better potions for Harry’s hair. Then, horrifyingly, Draco made Harry change his sheets and his quilt “because a Scourgify wouldn’t suffice.”
“You’ll be needing a new mattress as well, something far more comfortable than this dreadful thing,” Draco said, kissing Harry on the tip of his nose just as he was drifting off to sleep and couldn’t quite form the words to ask Draco what he meant.
When Harry woke, the morning light was streaming in through the windows, and he was alone in his freshly-changed bed. His stomach dropped. Well, it was what he expected, wasn’t it? Draco was clear enough: he took boys home for a night, and that was all he wanted out of them. The heartache was worth it— after all, Harry had stumbled into the best night of his life. No sense in getting all broody about it. It was a shame Draco hadn’t stuck around to fuck him this morning. Maybe Harry wanted to get railed until he couldn’t walk— had Draco ever considered that?
Perhaps he was a little bitter.
He wondered if he could borrow a Pensieve from the Ministry without anyone knowing— he’d have to get those memories saved and stored while they were still fresh. Harry sighed and rolled out of bed, still pondering the question of the Pensieve while he pulled on a pair of boxers and stepped into his slippers. He scratched through his chest hair, yawning as he opened the door to the hallway outside. There was a clatter at the bottom of the stairs, and Kreacher Apparated in front of him with a crack.
“Harry Potter!” Since Harry had insisted on paying Kreacher a little over a decade ago, he always used Harry’s full name to greet him, dropping the ‘master’ from his vocabulary. He hadn’t yet gotten the hang of just calling him ‘Harry.’ Harry had faith that he’d get it. Someday.
“Er— Kreacher. What’s— what’s going on?” There was a much louder thump at the bottom of the stairs.
“Master Malfoy—”
“Draco,” Harry corrected.
“Master Draco Malfoy, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black—” Kreacher took a deep breath, his frail frame teetering.
“Didn’t he— he left, early this morning?”
“No, Harry Potter. Well, yes— but he was returning very quickly with not one trunk, as he told Kreacher, but ten. And he is having movers bring in furniture, and the furniture from the front parlour is being Banished—”
“Banished? What are you on about, Kreacher?”
“If Harry Potter is going downstairs, he is seeing it with his very own eyes. Master Draco Malfoy, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, is bringing in paint samples—”
“Paint samples?”
Harry stepped past Kreacher and stumbled down the stairs to see a scene his brain couldn’t quite process. “Malfoy? Er— I mean, Draco?”
“Good morning, Harry,” Draco said mildly, without looking up. He was dressed in a crisp set of trousers— that also, Harry noticed, showed off his arse— and a Slytherin green jumper, an emerald earring glinting in his ear. There were two movers in the hallway, taking down Walburga Black’s portrait as she screeched and wailed.
“Vile homosexual!” Her voice went muffled after the movers covered her portrait with a black cloth. Harry watched, mouth open, as they carried her outside and shrunk her down, stashing her away in a metal box on the pavement.
“You went home to get changed?” Harry's heart was beating traitorously fast. He walked down the stairs in a daze.
“Oh, yes. And I picked up a few things.” The movers were now enlarging an eggplant-coloured settee and floating it through the foyer. “Since all of this” — Draco gestured to the furniture in Harry’s sitting room — “is so dated, I took the liberty of having a few things sent over from the Manor. Mother will be ever so cross, but these pieces are from a parlour she rarely ever uses.”
“You picked up a few things,” Harry repeated. He peered in his sitting room, which was now host to the settee and two wingback chairs. There was a fire going in the fireplace, crackling merrily, a desk on the far wall, sporting a stack of expensive parchment and a set of fine quills. Several paintings adorned the walls, all of them landscapes. No portraits.
Another mover stepped inside, carrying a large cage, host to a large, regal looking barn owl. “Where do you want” — the mover looked down at the engraved plate on the cage— “Lady Macbeth?”
“You can put her in the kitchen for now. I think there’s an owlery near the attic. We can take her up after she’s had her morning nibble.”
“Lady Macbeth?” Harry watched blankly as the man took the owl to his kitchen.
“Yes, that’s my owl.” He looked at Harry like he was stupid.
“Yeah, I got that. But she’s named Lady Macbeth?”
“It’s Mother’s favourite play. And her favourite character. Do keep up. I know you’re not terribly cultured, Harry.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Does she know Shakespeare was a Muggle?”
Draco touched the side of Harry’s neck, tracing the marks he’d made made there last night. “Is that what they taught you in primary school?”
“Ah, yes? Is that not— no, you’re not distracting me right now.”
Draco’s hand went to the back of his neck. He was looking at Harry with a smirk, his eyes very fond. “I have the very best time distracting you, Harry. I’d like to do it on a more regular basis.”
The way he said Harry’s name sent a bolt of heat to the pit of his stomach. He scratched his nails through Harry’s hair and bent down to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips.
“And so you’re here.”
“Yes, and so I’m here,” Draco said, looking very pleased. “Isn’t it thrilling?”
“I thought you’d be gone in the morning,” Harry said softly.
“Why would you think that?” Draco kissed him again, as if he couldn’t help himself. It made Harry’s head spin. Draco was a maelstrom— he’d had that thought last night, hadn’t he? As unavoidable as an oncoming storm.
“All those men. Blaise said— and you said they were all amuse bouches.”
“Mm, yes, I did say that.” He traced a finger over the shell of Harry’s ear, still smiling at Harry like Harry sometimes smiled at Rose— like he was being sweet. “That’s all done now.”
“I thought I was… an appetiser.”
Draco huffed out a little laugh. “You’re so charming, standing here in your pants and those adorable house slippers. You’re really the most charming thing that’s ever been.”
Draco was so bloody patronising. Harry should rail against him, tell him to explain himself like a normal fucking person and stop speaking in riddles. Instead, he’d gone half hard in his boxers, wishing for all the world that Draco would kiss him again and never, ever stop.
“What?” It was the only word that Harry could manage.
“Darling.” Draco tugged him close, slipping a hand around his waist, apparently giving no thought to what the movers saw or thought. “You’re no appetiser. You’re a five-course meal. And I intend to have you. As often as I like.”
Harry went weak in the knees. If Draco weren’t holding him, he’d surely crumble into pieces, slipping through the floorboards and becoming one with whatever nasty Dark magic lay beneath Grimmauld Place.
“I’ve been in love with you for ages, Harry.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “And so you’re— you’re staying?” It was stupid and reckless, and he really should kick Draco out for being unaccountably bossy and tremendously overbearing and horribly meddlesome. He knew he wasn’t going to.
Hermione was going to have his head and accuse him of thinking with his prick. But it was his heart, too, doing the thinking, along with his prick. And all of Harry, every bit of him, was elated. His life suddenly felt worth it in a way it never had before— worth all the holidays watching Dudley open his gifts, worth being honed into a weapon of war by adults he thought he could trust, and worth having his wand arm irreparably injured after he’d become an Auror, a job that he’d never even liked.
“Yes, pet. I’ll make everything so beautiful for you, like living in a fairy tale. I’ll savour every last bit of you. What do you say?” There was a flash of vulnerability in Draco’s eyes.
Harry pulled him in and kissed him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as Draco’s tongue met his and he pushed Harry against the wall where Walburga’s portrait had once hung. Draco crowded him in, hands roaming over Harry’s body, cupping his arse, teeth dragging over Harry’s bottom lip.
“Draco,” Harry said, breathless, panting into his mouth.
“Mm?” He was kissing Harry’s neck now, licking over the bruises he’d sucked there last night.
“Would you fuck me?”
Draco’s mouth curled into a grin. He turned towards the door and caught sight of one of the movers. “Leave us. Unless you’re in the mood for a show.”
“We have more to unload from the….” The man trailed off, watching as Draco slowly pressed his knee between Harry’s legs. A signature move, it seemed.
“I’ll pay you triple if you come back this afternoon,” Draco said. And holy fuck, Harry was completely hard now. The men filed out of the house, closing the door behind them.
“So that’s a yes?” Harry grinned.
Draco shoved him towards the settee in the sitting room, spread him out on it, and took his time getting him wet and open, until he was very nearly weeping with desire. Then Draco fucked him slow, staring into Harry’s eyes, intense and possessive.
“Do you love me, darling?” Draco crooned, just as Harry had started to tighten around him, shaking and begging for Draco to let him come. “Do you? Tell me you do, Harry. Tell me.”
“Madly,” Harry said, completely out of his mind.
“Tell me, love. And I’ll give you anything. Anything you can dream of.”
“I love you,” Harry said, clutching at his shoulders, legs tight around his waist, as if he could pull more of Draco inside of him. “Draco, I love you so much. Please.”
Draco searched Harry’s face, that same vulnerability from before flickering across his features. But whatever he saw in Harry’s expression, he seemed to approve.
“Very good, Harry.” Draco was fucking him fast and hard now, sweat matting down his neat blond hair. He pushed two fingers between Harry’s lips, and Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. “We’ll grow old together, love. Because you’re mine. You’ve always been, haven’t you?”
Harry came undone.
Draco kissed him endlessly afterwards, murmuring about flower arrangements and non-traditional jewels that he liked for rings— and how it would probably be best if they waited a while to get engaged. They’d have a wedding in the spring the following year because spring was Draco’s favourite season. Draco also had a list of children’s names and several wizarding nursery schools— because, really, Harry, they weren’t getting any younger.
It was all obsessive and intrusive and completely, utterly unhinged— but that was them, wasn’t it? Harry let himself ride high on the bliss, tingles running down his spine with Draco’s melodic voice in his ear. Draco didn’t pause to ask if any of it was okay with Harry— he just rambled on and on, sharing all of the want he’d been hanging onto for so many years.
The whole situation had the potential for grand disaster, but Harry thought that there was an equal chance it would work, that Draco would make his house into a home and give him just the sort of love he’d always secretly craved— wild and decadent, over the top, all wrapped up in the most gorgeous package he’d ever laid eyes on.
Finally, all of that belonged to him.
